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pixiedst · 4 years

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Dance With Me 04 // KYG

Request from @lost-midnight-flower

Hiii can I request a got7 fic? Maybe something along the lines of meeting the guys at a fan meeting or something and one of them falling head over heals with the reader? That seems pretty cute to me, is that weird? If you choose to write this, you can pick which member you want to write about ^^ have a great day/evening ahead!

Genre: Fluff Pairing: Reader x Yugyeom Rating: PG-13 Warnings: None Description: Dance studio owner Y/N meets Yugyeom at a fan sign. Word Count: 6,997 A/N: First of all, I just want to say thank you for reading this story. It's my first fanfic in two years, so my skills have gotten rusty but I hope you enjoyed it anyway!! I also apologize for the month long wait since the previous chapter. Writer's block is really a pain in the ass, but I finally got through it! Thank you for your patience!! Lastly, I'd like to thank @lost-midnight-flower for requesting this. I hope I reached your expectations and enjoyed what I wrote for you!!

Index // Part One // Part Two // Part Three

BREAKING: Kim Yugyeom Caught Kissing Mystery Girlfriend, Source Tells DISPATCH

It's all his fault.

Yugyeom knew the risks. He knew how thin the ice was the moment he asked her, but he did it anyway. Now, with the effects of his mistakes unfolding, he not only put his career at risk, but Y/N’s too. If only he could turn back time and take it all back. He would have stayed quiet, kept his thoughts to himself. He would have kept her safe.

But that doesn't make sense either. How is this fair? How does being an idol take away his right to a normal life? Since when did the media control him? No, it's not his fault. It can't be. Falling in love with Y/N was never a choice. He only did what felt right.

Y/N knew the risks as much as he did, but she still took the leap.

“You can still make things right. There isn’t any proof. Just a source.”

Yugyeom slumps lower in his seat and wishes he could melt into the cushion. “But it’s true. Everything the source said is true.”

His manager shakes his head. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is your next move. You can confirm this, but think about how it could affect your careers.”

“So you want me to deny all of this? Nobody would believe it.”

“It’s better than having the media in your face every second. Take a couple days to think about it. But remember: you’re the only one we can protect here. She’s on her own.”

Nothing is going right for her anymore. The studio has been tense; she only talks to the girls when she has to, and despite their invites, she committed to eating lunch without them. Sure, she's got Yugyeom, but he's too busy to have lunch with her. They haven't even talked much since the news. It’s been rough for the both of them.

For the first time in a long time, Y/N is completely alone.

She put her social media on mute. The notifications froze her phone too much, it nearly broke. It was ridiculous. She was able to handle all the hate before, but after Sunhee told Dispatch what she saw, Y/N has not been getting any peace at all. The worst part is that she has to pretend like nothing is bothering her. She still teaches. She still goes according to plan.

She tries to be professional, but she doesn’t know how much more of this she could take.

They say there’s no place like home.

Maybe that’s why Y/N is ugly crying on her childhood bed. She’s been at low points before, but she never thought about going home to face them. She simply told the girls the studio is closed for a week and hopped on a train.

Her parents were the most surprised. They could only stare as their daughter pushed the door open, bags and all, with a face full of tears and puffy eyes.

She was never the most comfortable with her parents. Her monthly visits would only last for a weekend. It’s not like the people who tried to hold her back from her dreams would be her favorite people.

But they’re her parents. No matter how hard she tries, she will always have a soft spot for them. Maybe that’s why she came home.

“Y/N?” her mother calls from the other side of the door. "Can I come in?" When she doesn’t answer, the door opens.

Y/N buries her face in her pillow, embarrassed to face her mother. She’s not ready to hear the I-told-you-so speech.

"I brought apple juice."

Y/N’s heart falls. Her favorite drink when she was a child. She looks up.

“I remember it always made you better,” her mother says and sits on the bed. “Every time you drank it, you would be ready to take on any challenge.”

Y/N smiles. If only it would give her the energy like it used to.

“Have you been drinking apple juice?”

She shakes her head and immediately regrets it when the world spins. "I'm not a child anymore, mom. I have so much work to do in the studio, and… with everything going on, I don’t really have time to think about having energy anymore.”

“That’s not right, now is it?”

Tears cloud her vision again. Her body trembles as she sobs and falls into her mother's lap. “What should I do?” she asks.

She lets out another sob, and a beautiful string of snot drips from her nose. She wipes it helplessly.

Her mother strokes Y/N’s hair. “You've always been a strong person. You defied your father and me to chase your dreams, and you ended up doing so well. Eventually we realized we were holding you back because we were afraid. We didn't want what we were comfortable with to change, but in the end we knew it would only make you miserable if you stopped doing what you love.”

“What if I failed, though?”

"People fail. It's normal. But knowing you, you would have just chugged a gallon of apple juice and gotten back to work. That's just how you are. You are so determined to prove to the world that you are worthy of what you love."

She gets up. “What are you trying to say?"

Mom takes the glass from the nightstand and hands it to her. “I'm telling you to drink your apple juice. The ice is melting."

At this point, Y/N is sure she’s crazy. She watches the gray bar slowly fill with blue as a video of her and Yugyeom dancing to I am Yours uploads. Yes, she has completely lost her mind. Nobody was supposed to see this video—it was used for reference when they practiced—but she’s about to change that. She needs to get this out there, to face the cameras and the comments. To show them they are untouchable.

During her week at home, she realized that artists tend to deny their relationships when the media put pressure on them. They crawl away and keep the truth to themselves or break up altogether. She doesn’t wasn’t want either of that to happen to them. Her mother did not raise a coward.

This could be it for her career, for a stupid reason too. She’ll have to move back home and find a way to make a living again. But if it means standing up for what’s right, then perhaps it’s worth it.

67%.

The hate will not matter. She will not let it touch them.

She sips her apple juice and sits back on her seat, the wheels rolling her from the pressure. She scans the room. How long has she lived here? Two years? Three? It's been a long time. This studio apartment holds her biggest memories. These walls watched her cry when the stress of opening a studio overwhelmed her. This floor kept her on her feet when the world shook as her parents begged her to come home and do something "practical." And this door has pushed her to face so many tomorrows, especially on days when she’d rather stay locked in.

This has been her home, and she hates to leave it for a reason so shallow.

But everything happens for a reason, right? That’s what they always say. Who knows? Maybe miracles will come her way.

100%.

She did the right thing. She chose to be strong. This must be the right move.

Her phone lights up. Naver uploaded a new article.

BREAKING: Kim Yugyeom denies dating rumors.

When they say communication is key, they’re not joking.

Her hands are sweating so much she fears she might drop her phone. For the first time ever, his voice does not calm her down.

"This is only getting worse," she says. “Is it too much to ask for you to come over? We can’t talk about this on the phone.”

“I’m on my way to you right now.”

“Okay, drive sa-“

But the call ends.

He’s at her apartment in less than 10 minutes, and nothing could be more tense. The air around them has never been like this. When she felt safety and comfort in his presence, she now feels anxiety and fear. She doesn’t know how this conversation will play out, or what their relationship will be like when it’s over.

She uploaded the video, unafraid of losing her career, but never thought that she might lose him.

“Yugyeom, I-“

"You should have told me you were going to do this. We’re supposed to work this out together, not make the move on our own. I can’t believe you right now! Not only did you jeopardize your job, you hurt mine too!”

She tries to keep her voice calm as she says, “Yugyeom, you made the statement without telling me either. Can we take a breath for a moment? We made the same mistake, and I’m sure it was because we thought it was best for both of us. "

"I understand we both made a mistake, and I know I should have talked to you first, but I didn’t exactly assume you would throw yourself right into the hate for this. Have you even read the comments in the video?”

Y/N shakes her head. “You said I shouldn’t let them touch me.”

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be careful!” he sighs. “Look, I’m sorry I assumed you wouldn’t want to act so impulsively. I didn’t know that week at home would lead you to make a decision like this.”

She scoffs. “What are you trying to say? You think I can’t act on my own? That I can’t make good decisions?”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know that. Let me put this simply. I thought you wanted to protect your career, so that’s what I prioritized. Denying the claims won’t kill the rumors, but it could reduce them. The company's plan was that if we could just protect the secret better, we could make this work. They were worried about you, Y/N. They could only legally protect me. They thought if we denied the rumors, we could protect you too.”

The air is thick. She wishes she could be thankful for his consideration, and to maybe even feel guilty for uploading the video, but she can’t. She could never be guilty for doing what she thinks is right.

“Yugyeom,” she says. “I did what I did because I want to be with you. I want to fight for what I believe in, and that’s respecting idols’ privacy. I thought you believed in that too.”

He groans. “I do believe in that, Y/N! But we have to accept the reality, and sadly, it’s not that. People have no respect for our privacy because we are business products! That is literally what we are. That’s why we can’t swear on camera. That’s why we can’t make mistakes in public. That’s why we can’t date whoever we want! It’s messed up, I know, and I hate it as much as you do, but we have no choice. Uploading that video is not going to make a difference. If anything, it makes matters worse. "

If you hated it as much as I did, you would take action, she thinks, but says nothing. But he is right. Idols are products. Everything they do is walking on thin ice. What right did she ever have to try and interfere with that?

Before he can say more, his phone rings. She doesn’t listen. His voice is muffled, like someone put him in a box and hid it in another room. She shifts her weight on each foot every few seconds, like simply standing is tipping her off balance. The call seems to go on for hours.

Finally he hangs up and looks at her. “I have to go. They want me to come back to the company.”

“Let me go with you. This is my problem too. Maybe we can discuss this better with me around.”

He shakes his head. “No, this is my problem as an idol. You wouldn’t make sense there.”

Her heart drops. This is unbelievable. This is not the Yugyeom she knows.

He sighs. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong. I-“

“Just go. I don't really want to look at you right now.”

He hesitates and keeps his hand on the doorknob like he wants to say something, but his phone rings again and he leaves.

Y/N rushes to her computer and deletes the video, but there’s no use. 100,000 people have already seen it.

Y/N is having a very pleasant morning. She absolutely loves going to the studio to see the windows completely covered in spray paint. At least now it’s noticeable. Maybe this is the advertising she needs.

She groans. Could her life get any worse? She barely has a boyfriend anymore. The least the universe could do is give her an hour of peace before the dance classes begin.

Yugyeom hasn’t spoken to her since that night in her apartment. Two days without contact may seem short, but with a heavy situation like theirs, the lack of communication is suffocating. The worst part about waiting for him to talk to her is resisting the urge to text first.

Maybe it’s pride, but Y/N calls it self respect. She admitted her mistake, but he still hasn’t spoken to her. He screwed up just as bad, so why is he being so childish?

She sighs. Missing him is not going to clean the windows. With a bucket of water mixed with vinegar and a cloth in hand, she gets to work. She doesn’t exactly have the energy to add force to her strokes, but she doesn’t have a choice.

"Hey, boss." Jia’s voice brings her to a stop.

Y/N turns. Somehow, even as she looks at them, she feels nothing. She wishes she could feel even just the slightest irritation at the sight, but she can’t. Not even if Sunhee avoids her eyes and keeps her hands pocketed in her hoodie.

“Hi,” she says, squeezing the rag as if it would ease her mind. Water drips from her fingers and onto her feet, but she doesn't move.

“We wanted to see if you were okay.”

Her chest burns. She licks her lips and laughs, raising her arms in the air like she’s trying to imitate a welcome sign. “What do you think?”

Areum tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and clears her throat. She takes a step forward, and just when Y/N thinks she’s about to hug her, Areum walks past and enters the studio. Jia follows, and Sunhee comes in last.

If Y/N could describe the breeze that passes between them as Sunhee walks, it would be like fire burning her face. Brutal, but she doesn’t know how else to feel around her. It’s not like she can smile at the very reason why Dispatch ultimately ruined her life in a week.

That’s why when they come right back out with buckets and rags, she doesn’t know how to react. They stand next to her and wipe off the marks.

She could only watch. She knows she should help them, but her body refuses to move. Why are they being so nice to her now? Do they feel sorry for her? Is that it? If that’s the case, she doesn’t want their pity. They could quit for all she knows, and she would not be angry. Okay, maybe a little, but that's not the point.

Areum speaks up. “I think it’s stupid that you’re getting all this hate.”

Jia nods and reaches for the bucket. “Me too. It’s been like, what, two weeks? Week and a half? I can’t even remember. It’s old news, like, move on, already.”

“Why…” Y/N whispers.

Sunhee turns around. This is the first time she makes eye contact with Y/N. “I know you think I told Dispatch, but it wasn’t me.”

Her mind whirls. “What? Do you realize that doesn't make any sense at all? "

Sunhee nods. “It doesn’t, right? But I swear I didn’t tell Dispatch. I don’t even know how to do it! "

Before Y/N could reply, Jia steps in between them. "All done! How about we talk about this inside?”

If anyone told Y/N two years ago that she would sit in the middle of the studio having a heart-to-heart with Jia, Areum, and Sunhee, she would laugh in their face.

With everything going on lately, nothing feels real anymore. It's like she's floating around and looking at her life under a microscope.

“You know, I’m really surprised you guys came to help me today,” Y/N says, her voice so quiet, she’s not sure they heard.

“Why wouldn’t we help?” Areum asks. “You’re our boss.”

“I don’t know, I thought you guys hated me or something.”

Y/N plays with the hem of her shirt, as if the texture of the fabric is more interesting than the conversation. She doesn’t know how to face them. She feels like a failure of a boss. Hell, she feels like a failure, period.

“What? How could you think we hate you?” Jia asks.

Sunhee leans a little closer to add, “You are pretty rude sometimes, Jia.”

Jia pauses and nods after a moment. “You know, I totally get that.” She turns to Y/N. “I’m sorry. I never hated you, though. I think you’re pretty cool, just intimidating.”

“Intimidating? How am I intimidating?” Y/N asks.

“Well,” Areum says. “For starters, you’re our boss. I think it’s kind of the natural order of the universe for us to feel that way. But also because you’re a hard worker. You’re so focused on work, we never really got the chance to relate to you. You’ve always been closed off. The only time you show interest in things is when we’re interested in them too.”

“It’s also why we were so surprised to find out you were an ahgase. You keep so many things private, it’s hard to connect with you. We never hated you, boss. We just didn’t know you,” Jia adds.

The room is silent after that. Y/N’s mind scrambles for memories of the two years she shared with them. They’re right. She’s so used to people being against her, she assumed they were the same. She cannot rule out the times they were annoying, but that’s normal. Surely they got annoyed with her at some point. They’re only human.

Y/N sighs. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions like that. I never gave you guys the chance to prove yourselves to me as anything other than great dancers. I should have been a better boss.”

Sunhee shakes her head. “You’re a great boss. You just need to learn to be a friend.”

“You’re right. You’re definitely right. I am too closed off. But I need to know,” Y/N faces Sunhee. “How can you say you didn’t tell Dispatch? You’re the only one who saw us.”

“This might sound unbelievable, but I don’t snitch. Well, except to them,” Sunhee gestures to Jia and Areum. “But I swear, I didn’t tell Dispatch.”

Jia nods. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot, and the only thing that makes sense is that someone may have heard us talk about it.”

Areum taps on the floor. “I bet it’s that girl from the steakhouse.” They all turn to her. “Think about it. The first picture that went viral was them in a steakhouse. And remember when Sunhee came running to us after she saw them? We took a walk just around here and went past it. A waitress was outside by the big chalkboard menu. It could have been her.”

Y/N slouches. That does seem to make sense, but it’s also a just a guess. And even if they did confront her, what difference would it make? It’s not like she can take it all back. The damage is done.

Jia clenches her fists. “Let’s go to her! I bet we could totally make her confess.”

They stay seated and wait for Y/N’s signal, but she only shakes her head. “Don’t bother. It wouldn’t change anything.”

“So what are you gonna do?” Sunhee asks.

Y/N shrugs. “I don’t know.” When they slouch, she adds, “But it’s okay. I have you guys now. That makes everything better.”

Bad things happen all the time, but if you know where to look, you just might find a little bit of good. That's what her father always said. She didn’t know it then, but maybe his words stuck enough to push her this far. Despite their unwillingness to support her dream, it seems they were also the reason she achieved it.

If none of this happened, she wouldn't understand how Jia, Areum and Sunhee felt about her. She might even spend the next couple of years slowly losing the strength to keep up with them. As much as she wishes none of this got so out of hand, she’s glad it brought them together. They are the perfect example of what her dad meant.

The good in the bad.

Her phone screen lights up, and just when she thinks it’s a text from their group chat, her heart stops.

GMAIL: JYP Entertainment

She screams. The room spins. Her hands shake, and she almost drops her phone. An email from JYP Entertainment? What could it be about? Is she in trouble? She already deleted the video! Instead of unlocking her phone to open the email, she calls the girls through the group chat.

“You got an email from who?” Areum screams.

“J-JYP Entertainment. Oh my God. What should I do?”

“Read it!” Jia says.

"Out loud so we can hear it!” Sunhee adds.

“Okay, okay, okay, okay.” Y/N pulls down the notification bar and takes a deep breath before tapping on the email.

“What does it say!” Areum asks.

“Dear, Y/N. We are pleased to inform you that we are interested in hiring you as a dance teacher for the artists and trainees of JYP Entertainment. We received a recommendation for having you on our team and after researching your activities as a dance studio owner, we would like to hire you. If you are interested, visit the JYP Entertainment building on Saturday at 2:00 PM for an interview. Thank you.”

Y/N falls to the floor. She can’t believe it. Even with the words staring back at her and the girls screaming in her ear, she can’t believe it. The company her favorite group works for is interested in hiring her. Her! A low-rate dancer with a small studio. Her, even after the mess of the scandal. They want to hire her.

“What do I do?” she whispers.

“Go! Take the job!” Areum says. “This is what you worked so hard for!”

And that’s when it clicks. When she uploaded the video, she wasn’t afraid of losing her career, but not once did she think about the girls losing theirs. They worked just as hard as she did. They share the same dream, the same passion. How could she be selfish enough to risk that?

She has to take this opportunity. A part-time job at JYP? This could save all of them.

Y/N’s heart feels like it’s going to explode.

Standing in front of the JYP building has never felt more intense. She’s visited before, ate at the famous JYPBob, but with a new intent in mind, the building looms above her like a taunt ready to criticize her every move.

But she can totally do this. At least that's what she keeps telling herself, anyway. So much is at stake here. She needs to do everything she can to get this job. That’s all that matters.

“Okay, Y/N,” she mutters. “One step at a time. Just walk to the door.”

She could see the inside through the revolving door, but it somehow looks better on the other side. The first thing she notices is the JYP logo on the wall, which glows as if it's greeting her. Two women sit behind a long marble counter with a huge stone slab in front. Y/N wonders how they managed to make it look good. This room looks like the entrance to a god’s house. There’s no way she’s worthy of standing on this floor.

After explaining what she's there for, she follows an employee up the elevator. As they walk along the blue walls, she can only think of one thing: she might work here. One day, she could get used to walking down these halls, passing idols and giving them a smile. This could be her life.

But first, she has to pass the interview.

Behind this door could be the turning point of her career. She takes a deep breath. There’s no telling what could happen next, but it's okay. This is where her efforts brought her. She just hopes she drank enough apple juice.

“Hello, you must be Y/N,” a man in a black blazer and khaki pants says as he extends his hand. “I’m Jung Wook.”

Y/N shakes it. “Hello, it’s very nice to meet you.”

“So,” Jung Wook sits behind his desk and smiles. “you’re a special case here. We received a recommendation, and we don’t get that often. We watched some of your videos on YouTube, and we think you’re very talented.”

“Thank you.”

“But first, tell me about yourself.”

Here we go.

The interview is a blur. With so much adrenaline running through her veins, it’s difficult to catch the details. The words roll off her tongue like she knows exactly what to say, but in reality, she has no idea if anything made sense.

She just hopes they accept her anyway.

After an awkward amount of bows and thank yous, Y/N opens the door to find a man sitting on the floor. He looks up.

Yugyeom.

“Did you get the job?” he asks and stands up.

She closes the door and sighs.

“I know you’re mad at me, but can we please talk?” he says.

“All right.”

She follows him around the building. Honestly, she's glad he's here. She was too nervous to pay attention to where she was going, she doesn’t remember how to get back to the front door. At least after this, Yugyeom can escort her out.

He takes her to a dance practice room, and she swears she almost cries. It’s bigger than her entire studio, and they have more of these in one building? The lights are much brighter, it's like they flow through her and give her energy to dance. She runs to the middle of the room.

“Makes you wanna dance, right?” he says, bringing her back to reality.

She frowns, and all the energy the room gave her seeps from her body. She turns to him.

“You recommended me, didn’t you?” she asks.

He nods. “With Jaebeom-hyung’s help. He’s more persuasive. It was the least I could do after…” When she looks away, he adds, “I’m sorry I hurt you. You only wanted to fight for our relationship, but I chose to be a coward. I should’ve consulted you first.”

She sighs and sits on the floor. “Even the floor feels better.” She looks back at him. “I should’ve talked to you too. But you were right. JYP could only protect you. I’m on my own. Denying the rumors was the safer choice, but I ruined that.”

“How did the interview go?” he asks as he takes a seat in front of her.

She shrugs. “I don’t know. It was kind of just a blur. I don’t remember the questions or what I said, so I really can’t tell if I bombed it or not.”

“I’m sure you did great. You’ll fit right in here.”

“If I become an official employee here, does that mean they can protect me too? The way they protect their idols?”

Yugyeom nods. “You’d have a powerful company to take legal action against anyone who attacks you again.”

Y/N slouches, as if the weight of the information is too heavy for her shoulders. “I need this job.”

They stay silent for a moment, like they’re waiting for someone to say something. To be honest, Y/N doesn’t know what to say. She said sorry, she took responsibility for what she did and asked about the recommendation. What more is there to say? That she misses him? With so much happening at once, she never really got the chance to think about him.

Now that he's right in front of her, it’s like her emotions finally caught up. Sadness and anger come at once that she has to look away, but in the middle of it all is the one thing she did not expect to feel—longing.

“I miss you,” they both say, their voices echoing and bouncing off each other like a trampoline.

Then they laugh. She missed this, being with him without a care for anything else. To be in his presence, even when they were nothing but friends.

“Y/N… I hope you know I didn’t just recommend you because I wanted to help you,” he says. "I want to be with you. I still do. I was angry, but I missed you anyway. Everyday.”

She meets his gaze. “I wanna be with you too, Yugyeom. But I'm afraid if I don't get the job, I won’t have the same protection as you. How would that work?”

“I’ll protect you.”

She snickers and looks away. “You’ve always been so idealistic.”

“You’ve known me three months.”

“I’ve known you since you debuted. You’ve known me for three months.”

"Touché," he laughs. “But really. Whether you get the job or not, I’ll do what I can to protect you.”

“My knight in shining armor," she says, placing the back of her palm above her forehead like a damsel in distress.

He stands and bows, offering his hand as his other rests behind his back. "Anything for my love."

She smiles and takes his hand, which falls to her waist and pulls her closer. His eyes scan her face for any resistance, and when he finds none, he smiles.

“I missed this,” she whispers and rests her forehead on his.

She wishes more than ever that the door is locked.

"I love you," he says.

Y/N pulls her head back and looks at him, like the words he spoke touched every inch of her skin. He looks at her, his eyes shining with the reflection of the lights.

“What-“

“I know it might be too soon. We haven't been dating for a long time, but I love you. I hope I don’t scare you away.”

She must be dreaming. She hasn't woken up yet and still needs to go to that interview. She’s imagining all this because she misses him, because she-

"I love you too." If this is a dream, she never wants to wake up.

Before she could think further, he kisses her, and her mind shuts down. His arms wrap around her body and pull her closer than she already was. They could not waste any more distance between them. She melts into his embrace, his lips, his hands, and the sound he makes when she kisses him back. This is their reminder to each other that the world cannot touch them. It tried, and it hurt for a moment, but they found their way back to each other.

He walks them to the wall and guides her so her back rests gently. But they don’t pull away. They need this. They’ve been needing this, because the last time didn’t go so well.

For someone who hasn’t had a lot of experience, Yugyeom is a fantastic kisser.

When they pull away, their faces remain close, like going further apart is wrong.

Y/N smiles because this is real. She knows because no dream could ever compare to him.

It’s been at least two months since Yugyeom went live, when he told the world Y/N waswasst a friend. Nobody believed him, of course. Just as no one believed him when he denied the claims once more. But tonight, he’s going to right his wrongs.

Y/N is great as a new dance teacher in the company. The trainees seem to really like her because she’s his girlfriend. They think it's cool that she met him at a fan sign and managed to win his heart. If only the rest of the world were as accepting as they were.

“Hi, guys. Did you miss me? I missed you,” he says, watching the comments fly up in a swift.

It’s always hard to read them, but he manages to catch a few. A lot of them are ‘I MISSED YOU’s and ‘ARE YOU OKAY’s, which he always finds so sweet.

“I know I’ve been gone for some time, but I have a good reason. I’ve been taking care of my girlfriend. Yes, she's my girlfriend. I know what the news said, and that was my fault. I was scared. But that was because I was afraid of what you might think. I know a lot of you won't like this, but it’s the truth. And I came on live because I wanted to tell you guys on my own instead of some news article.”

He chuckles as he reads more of the messages. His basic English skills can catch the supportive ones. He’s surprised to see a lot of the Korean comments following the same theme. It takes a great deal of the weight from his chest.

“I’m glad to see some positive comments on here, but I know there are still some who don’t like this. But I’m here to ask all of you, as my fans, as my best friends, to respect us. You don’t have to like it, but at least respect it. I’m… I’m really in love with her. We are all human and we all fall in love. You wouldn’t want the people you care about to restrict you from doing what your heart wants, right? We all deserve this freedom. I deserve this freedom. So I hope you guys can be okay with that. Because you guys mean a lot to me.”

He takes a deep breath and smiles at the comments.

"Hello, Brazil," he laughs. “Well that’s all for now, guys. I’ll come back soon, I promise. I’ve missed you all. Goodnight everyone!”

He lays in bed and takes a deep breath, the weight of the past few months slowly leaving his chest. He did the right thing. Not everyone is going to be happy with the news, but he’s happy with Y/N. That’s all that matters.

Together, they will face the hate, but they will not let it touch them.

“That’s all the boxes, right?” Y/N asks as Sunhee sits at the truck driver’s seat.

She nods. “Yeah, I counted. Get in.”

Y/N does as she’s told and sighs. Her heart falls. She already said goodbye to the studio at least five times, but she can’t help but get emotional. That little room was the beginning of her career. Sure, she has to move on and continue the road that very room started, but the emotional value is too much.

It’s why it took one year of convincing her to finally move to a larger space. The new studio is still in Hongdae, which is nice because they’re familiar with the area, but it’s much larger. It’s almost like JYP dance practice rooms: spacious with the most beautiful bright lights.

“Can I ask you something?” Y/N asks.

“What’s up?”

“What does it mean when a guy doesn’t reply to you for over 24 hours?”

Sunhee snickers. “Normally, I would say it means he’s mad at you, but in your case, your idol boyfriend must be exhausted from his world tour. Give him time to sleep and relax. You can make out in the studio when he’s ready.”

Y/N sighs. “I just don’t get why he wouldn’t text me a simple ‘I’m home’, you know? It doesn’t take much energy to type it. He can even just say it, and his phone will send it! A world tour doesn’t mean he can just forget his girlfriend.”

“He hasn’t forgotten you, Y/N. He’s crazy about you, and it’s already been a year. That says a lot.”

“How can you be so sure? What if he’s tired of me?”

“Just trust me. I’m sure you’ll see him again very soon.”

Y/N nods and takes a deep breath. She looks out through the window to distract herself. She’s pretty bummed out that her boyfriend can’t do something as simple as send her a text.

Especially on her birthday,

When Sunhee pulls over, Y/N gets off right away to bring the remaining boxes into the new studio, but Jia and Areum run out immediately and block her path.

“Oh, good. We’re gonna need the help. These speakers are heavy,” she says and walks to the back of the truck.

“Wait!” Areum says and gently pulls Y/N’s arm. “Aren’t you hungry? Why don’t we go inside to get some food first?”

Y/N pauses. “There’s food inside?”

Jia scowls at Areum before smiling back at their boss. “Yeah! We ordered some take out because we were starving. Setting up is a lot of work! We waited for you guys so we could eat together.”

“Okay, but there better not be an odor. We don’t want the first problem in our new place to be a stench.”

“What are we? Stupid?” Areum says, laughing a little too loudly, which earns her a slap in the arm from Jia.

Y/N walks past them and pushes the door open only to be greeted by a very dark studio.

“God, where are the lights here? Why did you guys turn them off?” she says as she feels for the switch on the walls.

When the lights turn on, she takes a moment to adjust to the change before she realizes her friends are standing in the middle with Kim Yugyeom.

“Happy Birthday!” they say in terrible unison, but the effort makes her smile anyway.

“Oh my God!”

Despite the bare room and boxes at the side, the table in the center with cake and take out food makes up for it. And Yugyeom. That ass. She walks toward them.

“Is that apple juice?” she asks, pointing to a clear plastic pitcher.

They nod, and she laughs. She turns to Yugyeom and glares.

“I’m sorry I ignored your-“ he starts, but Y/N interrupts him with a combination of hits on his chest.

“You! Could! Have! Texted!” she yells.

He takes her hands to stop the attacks and pulls her into a hug. “I missed you too.”

She buries her face in his chest and takes in his scent. Before their relationship, she never thought she would be the clingy type, but Yugyeom proved her otherwise. There’s something about him that makes her feel safe and at ease, that being away from him for too long makes her want to hop on the next plane to wherever he is.

“Alright, guys, I know this is a birthday surprise, but I wasn’t kidding when I said we were starving,” Jia says.

Y/N pulls away and smiles at the girls. “Thank you. Really. A year ago, I never thought I would ever say this, but I love you guys. I’m so grateful to have all of you.” She turns to Yugyeom. “And you. Thank you for taking time out of your rest to come here. I know you must be tired, so get some sleep after this, okay? Now. Let’s eat!”

They cheer, and together, they celebrate.

There is no way Yugyeom could afford this place.

“Look, this guy is really desperate to sell this apartment! I kinda feel bad for him,” Yugyeom whispers.

“You are not buying this apartment because you pity the agent. It’s probably only a trick he does for rich guys like you to give in!”

“Yeah, but look! Let’s put that aside for a moment. This place looks really nice. Admit it. You’d live here.”

She sighs and takes another glance around the empty living room. “Yeah, but I could never afford it. But this is you we’re talking about. Look at this price! This would be a total waste for when you’re away on tour. Who’s gonna keep it clean?”

He smiles and glances at the real estate agent who peeks from one of the rooms. The man blushes and hides back.

“That’s why I want you to move in with me,” he says.

Y/N’s breath hitches. “W-what?”

“Think about it. I could send money every month when I’m away so I can pay half the rent. You’re right. I could never afford this place, but only on my own. You’re really successful now, with income from your studio, YouTube channel, and JYP,” he takes her hands. “What do you say? Will you live with me?”

She takes another look at the apartment. Her imagination fills the room with a couch, television, plants, bookshelves, and an image of them having dinner together at a table. He makes a good point. Not to mention, they don’t see each other at the JYP building as often as they’d like. Having one home could change that.

It could change their entire relationship, but since when did change every scare her?

She squeezes his hands and smiles. “Okay.”

Yugyeom pulls her close and kisses her, not an ounce of shame in the real estate agent’s presence. Why would it matter?

He’s home.

#ultkpop #dancewithmefic #got7 #got7 fanfic #yugyeom #yugyeom fanfic #kim yugyeom #kim yugyeom fanfic #got7 fluff #yugyeom fluff

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isoboto · 4 years

Text

ashes in the water

▬▬▬

#fff62: let me go (@flashfictionfridayofficial)

word count: 1262

poetry

▬▬▬

i. I cried the first time around.

I cried when I had to do it the second time.

I wanted to cry when I thought about doing it the third time. But I didn't cry when I finally closed my eyes and did the deeds.

The fourth time, the fifth time, the sixth time—

I stopped crying a long time ago.

I stop feeling guilty every time I light a match, stop feeling sad for burning down another bridge, amongst many others.

Soon, it didn't really matter anymore.

Things tend to blur together when you don't want to remember about them.

Let's forget to forget.

Remember the past, no more.

ii. There's something sterile about the procedure. Muscle memory.

Burn up all the bridges every four year, leave nothing behind.

Every summer before I turn a new page in my life, I rip the current one to shreds.

A last hurrah, a coming-out party—something along the line, I don't really know.

Anything for a few days of rushed adrenaline and cathartic releases, I suppose. Anything to show the cards I've held close to my chest just to rub it in how little do people really know about me.

Humans are creatures of habits. Not a hard thing to do when you acknowledge long ago your life is a predictable pattern, a cycle of rinse and repeat over and over again: Tear everything down to its hull for all that is worth it. Everything I built and nurtured and constructed—down they go.

Same faults, same consequences, same kinds of troubles.

Fallouts and accusations—you know I love this kind of thrill—last time and the time before this and the time before that. A hilarious sport that I compete with myself at my own expense.

When the match drops, the diesel will burn. The flame will devour everything in front of me, and I'll watch it until the last second—watch a kingdom, a legacy, reduced into nothing by itself.

Maybe this time, I'll stay back long enough to let smoke in my eyes and trick myself into thinking I'm mourning a good riddance.

Goodbye, my friends.

I'll miss you.

iii. There will be blisters on your fingers, black flecks crammed under your cuticles. You have to cut them, file them, rub salves on the burn marks until there's nothing there anymore. And then you drive away. You don't bring any baggage, any trinkets. Keep driving on this straight, one way road and don't look back. Drive until the tank runs out and the engines stopped running, drive until you don't see the silhouettes of five burning bridges and three flaming houses behind you no more. Drive until all you can see is the ocean yearning in front of you and you can see the distant land stretches across the horizon. Drive until you can exhale again and feel that glimmer of hope, of renewal, of finality beyond your windshield.

That hope wouldn't burn—not the same way the excitement and the anger did. You wouldn't notice it lingering at the back of your throat—bitter and prickly and hard to swallow, or sting the corners of your eyes or tingle your fingertips. Hope is a slow, fragile thing. You wouldn't notice it at all, not even after it fades away. Because it doesn't matter—who would notice such small, insignificant details when you crave bigger, brighter motions?

You're at the beginning of the end all over again. Building everything up from scraps. Building bridges and houses, sorting through the new memories and stowing them away with the same carelessness I did with the old ones that were lost in the fire.

It's another chapter that I already knew the ending to. But that's the appeal—I'm the only one that knows the ending, nobody else does.

vi. Most of the time, I don't see the small cracks until the whole structure collapses.

Most of the time, when I see the cracks I start punching at it until there is a hole there instead.

Most of the time, burning is easier.

But I think about the alternatives a lot:

What if I just turn around, walk away? I can leave things as it is, slip into the night and begone as though I was never really there in the first place. I could bring some trinkets along. Bring the memories—detached, cursory memories that I think will make my heart warm if I keep them close to my chest long enough. Bottle up the laughter, the happiness, and put them at the bottom of my trunk.

It would be very nice, yeah? I like the sound of it. vii. Eventually, that feeling will come creeping up my spine.

It's silent, but I know it's there when it's there. It'll lay next to me, squeezing my shoulders gently, breathing down my nape.

It's time.

viii. One morning, you would open your eyes and look at the new bridges and the houses you have surrounded yourself with, the people and the smiles, and you realize everything you thought is real is not. The space you had carved out for yourself isn't yours. The people who you love only love me back for the pompous pieces of you that fit their vision.

But you wouldn't believe it. You wouldn't and you wouldn't and you never would until the very, very end. Because when crashes and burns are a distant dream you haven't revisited in months and years, when you've fallen asleep to the lull of the presence, hope is a distinct stab at the back of your brain that you can't ignore, can't not believe in. It's a beautiful, fragile thing, and you have never been able to keep beautiful, fragile things alive for very long before.

So.

You stay and pray this time will last. You aren't going to run, you are going to stay and you're going to make it work.

It won't, but you want to be hopeful, anyway.

You still don't cry when you strike a match. ix. Sometimes you have to burn everything to the ground because that's the only way you can forget.

Sometimes you have to hide the secrets under the floor because that's the only way you can remain. You may succeed, you may not. You often don't, because you don't let people into your house, but you tell them enough about it they vaguely know all about the holes in the walls and the floorboards.

That's the problem here, isn't it? You still can't learn how to keep your mouth shut. You won't learn.

Perhaps once you learn that, you won't be stuck in this sickening cycle anymore.

Until then, you will keep the matchbox in your right pocket and your car key in your left—ready to bolt.

Sometimes, you think lighting yourself on fire is the only true way out. x. You will know when it's time to look at the home you've built crumbling. You will know when you have to take out your matches, have to walk across the bridge, have to leave everything behind once again.

It's hard to burn everything down by your own hands after the time you've built it up.

But it's harder to watch if you aren't the one that poured gasoline on all the precious memories that were still there, watching helplessly as the other person across the bridge did.

Don't be the one that is stranded and trapped in a fire. Don't be the one that is buried under tonnes of cement,

It isn't pretty, but you have to do it.

Light up the bridge,

And run.

▬▬▬

posted on Wattpad on July 10, 2020.

#prose #poetry #metaphorical journey #flash fiction #fiction #short poetry #drabble #short story #blank gun silencer #short stories

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randombtsprincessa · 5 years

Text

Accounting Afterglow

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: Min Yoongi x Reader (Ft. Park Jimin) (2nd POV)

Words: 7.9k

Genre: Smut/Angst

Summary: Your Accountant hates you. You thought the feeling was mutual until a happy incident changes your mind, for the better.

Warning: Jerk! Yoongi, Office Sexism, Dom! Yoongi, Dom/Sub Themes, Sexual Themes, Light Bondage, Blindfolding, Oral (Both receiving), Dirty Talk, profanity, Unprotected Sex.

A/N: Whew Baby!

You sat anxiously, watching the second hand tick steadily away as the minute had slowly crept towards the digit 6. Soon it would be 4:30 PM and the great cloud of huffing impatience would be at your door. The damned man had tons of flaws but being late was not one of them. He was almost unnervingly punctual – almost as if he enjoyed terrorizing your Friday evenings on a weekly basis.

Just as the minute hand reached the doomed number, you phone gave its warning blare making you jump. You hurriedly got up, turning frantically to look for your phone. It was a routine thing. He would always call before ringing your doorbell – just in case you had other plans – but of course you never did. If you sent him away once, it would be incentive…and also he would show up on Saturday and you didn’t want your weekend soured.

You finally found the sleek rectangle and hit the accept button, pressing it to your ear.

“Hello,” you asked breathlessly.

“Miss Y/L/N, good evening…is this a bad time? You sound out of breath.” His gravelly voice filled you with equal parts anger and excitement. Why did he always have to sound so polite? He should just come out and say he thought you were an idiot. You knew he thought you were one.

“No, no, I’m fine…I was just in the bedroom and the phone was out in the hall.” You said.

There was silence on the other side for a split second before he spoke again. “I am outside your door.” He said and hung up.

I know where you are, you thought, tossing the phone on your plush couch before walking down the hall to the door and unlatching the chains and locks, swinging it open.

Min Yoongi stood there just like usual, in a white pressed shirt and black slacks, a navy blue tie loosened around his neck and a black leather bag in his hands. His platinum blond head lifted when you opened the door, giving you a searching look. “Good evening, Miss Y/L/N, may I come in?”

“Of course,” you returned as politely before backing up and letting him enter your opulent apartment. Once upon a time, he had been appreciative of your wealth, but now it was just more trouble for him.

You sighed softly, sitting down on your light grey sofa and motioning for him to do the same. He obeyed, immediately pulling up the bag onto his lap and unzipping it, taking out his laptop, tablet, and all the files he had on you.

You pursed your lips, reading the different labels on the files as he set up his temporary work station on your coffee table. Finally, he picked one file up, flipping it open and turning it to face you before starting to speak in his low baritone and just like usual, you helplessly zoned out, memories of your and Yoongi’s practically non existent relationship flooding your mind.

You had come into a considerable inheritance once your uncle had passed and instead of merging with your father, you had taken an initiative and started your own business, one that struck gold by sheer luck.

In only three years, you had expanded and now had an established practice, connections, money and reach. Of course, nothing is always rosy, as they say because while you were shrewd and smart in trade and business, you had one severe drawback.

You sucked at mathematical commerce.

Thankfully, you father helped in getting you a team of professional accountants and watched over your assets so no one pilfered from your fortune. These accountants met with you every week to tell you of your business and personal accounts and reported to your father biweekly.

Slowly, that team had dissolved and assigned different sections of your banking and taxes to watch. Min Yoongi, by happenstance, became your personal accountant and managed your singular accounts.

The first time you had met with him with your father, you had been subtly thrilled. Min Yoongi was young, clever, well-spoken and educated; all of this packaged into a gorgeous body. Once a home meeting had been fixed, all your expectations dashed to the ground.

Min Yoongi hated you.

The moment he had started spewing details about your payment methods and other tax related details, you had to stop him every five minutes and ask him to elaborate. Apparently your father had forgotten to mention you were slow with numbers because within the first twenty minutes Yoongi had been reduced to minute huffs and you were nearly whimpering at the sheer amount of numbers. Why were there so many numbers on a single sheet of paper?

And while Yoongi was very articulate and eloquent you weren’t completely stupid, you knew exactly when and how he slipped in delicate insults between his explanations. However, he was the best at his job and it would be a loss to lose him from your employment so you endured.

Soon, even Yoongi gave up on trying explaining all the procedures to you. You paid your taxes on time the right amount, your personal accounts were flourishing, your employees got their salary, your father designated a nominee, no one stole from you and Yoongi got paid too, so there were no complaints.

Of course, except the fact that he had distinctly hinted at losing about twenty IQ points each week sitting with you.

You had let that slide. It wasn’t your fault, no one taught the important things at school.

“Are you listening to me?” his sudden sharp voice jolted you out of your reverie, making you blink rapidly at him.

“Of course,” You lied quickly, scooting closer to the edge of the sofa to peer at the file he had open to look engrossed. “So, I take it the taxes this year are going to go by smoothly too. What about the FDs?” You asked.

Yoongi raised his eyebrow and scoffed.

“Miss Y/L/N, we’re not discussing your personal accounts.” He said.

You froze for a split second before offering him a nervous smile. “Can’t I even ask a question?” you asked.

“Of course you can. Allow me to ask you one as well. What were we discussing?” he asked, leaning back and crossing his arms across his broad chest.

“Um…” you fumbled and he huffed yet again. “No matter; I think I have what I need. If you would be kind enough o stop by the accounting department tomorrow, I will have the leasing file ready for you. Have a nice weekend.” He pushed in his equipment hastily inside the leather bag, before stomping away.

The slam of the front door, made you drop your face into your hand, letting out a frustrated groan.

Monday morning saw you taking the elevator three floors to the accounting department. Your five storey office complex was smack dab in the commercial district of the city, making it notable and easy to access for both clients and employees. That was how most of the people who worked for you found you, including Yoongi’s team of accountants.

After a weekend of lamenting with your girlfriends, you’d returned to your workplace with new zeal. Your kitten heels, subtly clicked against the polished tile floor, letting people know their boss was here as you undid the bind of your coat, taking it off and placing it on the coat rack in your office, before going to your assistant for the day’s errands.

“You have a meeting with that client to discuss the last property deal which kind of went south last week. He has a new deal for us to look into, he says it’s better but I doubt it. Also, Miss Rose called about the mall inauguration; she wants a written agreement that you’ll be there. Also, your mother wants to have lunch with you. She said she called you but you diverted her to me, which listen; I love you and your mother but can you stop doing that? I’m asking as your friend. Also, I penciled in a session with the accountants like you asked me when we went out.” Jennie said, following you around as you signed a couple papers.

“Yes, thank you, Jen.” You mumbled mindlessly as she lowered her clipboard to peer at you.

“Did you think about what I told you?” she asked.

You laughed, looking up at her.

Jennie had been your best friend since high school. She knew all your ins and outs and while she had been all too happy with her post as your right hand woman in your business as your assistant, she certainly took her post as your best friend much more seriously. One of those job requirements meant she knew about your troubles with Yoongi.

In a too red and too dark club with a few drinks in her, Jennie had given her brilliant solution.

“Who cares if he’s hot? If he’s an ass, dump his ass. You have a parade of accountants! Switch a few positions. Assign him something else and make someone else handle your personal accounts.”

“Well?” Jennie pushed.

“I thought about it, Jen. I’ll see if it’s necessary, I promise. Now, I’ll go deal with that idiot of a man who can’t even book a simple land, I’ll have lunch with my mom on the way; when I get back I’ll go talk to the accounting people. Have the legal letter of attendance ready by the time I get back so I can sign it and send it before Rose gets someone else to cut that red ribbon. You can have lunch off till I get back; I’ll call you when I leave my mother.”

Jennie nodded, already scribbling down what I said. “I’ll have the car sent to the front gates.” She said before leaving my office.

I called Jennie as promised when I gave the driver instructions to take me back to the office.

The day spent outside had been shot dead in the forehead.

The man who had talked about having a ‘new’ deal had only refurbished the old contract and tried to feed it back to me. My mother had been her usual somewhat normal and somewhat crazy self, talking about how it was unethical of me to be doing what I did in my life. All in all, I was glad to be in the air conditioned confines of my office complex.

Not for long though.

“Hey, is that leasing file ready for the boss lady?”

You heard one of the men ask in the accounting department as you headed towards Yoongi’s cubicle.

“Yeah, I had it ready the very day I left her place. God knows what good that’s going to be though; she doesn’t understand a damn thing.” You heard the husky voice of Min Yoongi from where you were immediately making you stop in your steps, listening closely.

“Oh come on; how do you think she got where she is? Don’t be a jerk, Min.”

“How do we know how she got here? Maybe she spent her dad’s money or something. Nobody’s that lucky.”

Well, you certainly happened to be lucky…and now you were fuming.

“Min,” you snapped loudly.

The floor fell silent as heads turned to look at their usually mild mannered employer. Some people even stood up in their cubicles to look around to where with a soft creak, Yoongi stood up, looking at you with a surprised look on his face.

Your voice had gone from a soft friendly girl who cared about all her employees to a woman who would chew out anybody who pissed her off…and Min Yoongi had just pissed you off.

“Do you have that file you told me you would have ready by today?” you asked your pitch not decreasing.

He nodded, looking down and fumbling in his desk.

You huffed, just the way he liked too and walked around to where he was pushing about papers and binders. The man sitting next to him, who’d engaged him in conversation bowed a little as you passed but you only threw him a passing glance. Park Jimin, his desk plate said.

“Well?” you folded your arms.

“I have it,” Yoongi mumbled before finally unearthing the file from under his many papers.

You snatched it out of his hands, flipping it open to see scans of the pass book keepings that kept track of the transactions that happened over the land areas you occupied, the office complex, your penthouse up keep, a few refurbishing you’d helped Jennie and your parents with and some checks you’d deposited for a few employees in need.

“Good,” you turned around to see that many of the people were still gaping at you.

“Everything is fine, people. Back to work,” you said, decreasing your volume by an inch and marching towards the elevator, leaving Min Yoongi to stare at your back.

You paced around your private office in wide sweeping circles, cracking your knuckles and mumbling under your breath.

Damned Min Yoongi, what did he think of himself? You were the one paying him and he was bad mouthing you? It would’ve been moderately easier to understand if some outsider had been doubted you and your caliber but the very people who worked under your roof? No, that was unacceptable.

You went out of your way to have sexism banished from your employees – female and male both. You would not let it come in your way for Yoongi.

You marched to your desk, calling Jennie.

“We have the intercom for a reason,” she said as she picked up. “I’m calling as your friend.” You said in answer.

“Yeah,” you heard Jennie say, her voice slowing in puzzlement.

“You were right. Min Yoongi is an ass.”

“Okay,” she said.

“I have to get rid of him.” You said. There was a pause before she spoke again. “I’m coming to you.”

You placed your phone down just as the door opened and Jennie entered, looking at you with concern.

“Y/N, as your friend; I’d say that’d a great idea but as your assistant, it’s my job to tell you that Min Yoongi is one of the best named CAs in the field. Your dad hired him for a reason. He’s certified as The Best. Besides, you’re angry right now and Mondays are never worth firing someone. Especially not someone like Min Yoongi…just…reassign him or something.” She said.

I sighed as I dropped my head to my chest.

“Any ideas?” I asked.

“You’re the Boss, Y/N.” she reminded you gently and you nodded. Get a grip, Y/N Y/L/N.

“Alright, pull up his sheet, change all his future assignments. Put him with the company accountants, he can manage the office from now on. Have every private file he has on me removed from his cubicle; desk, tablet and laptop. Who’s in charge of the department?”

She looked down into her own tablet. “Kim Namjoon,”

“Have a word with him. Let him know Min Yoongi is not supposed to be affiliated with my accounts from now on. If he has anything of my family’s, take those away too. He is strictly a general accountant from now on.”

Jennie nodded quickly, her manicured fingers fluttering over her tablet before she looked up at you.

“You’re going to need a Private CA though. Do you want to talk to your Dad first, or should I talk to Namjoon about that too?”

“No, I have one…how is Park Jimin?” I asked.

She pulled up his date sheet and nodded thoughtfully.

“Hmm, capable, hard working…good looking,” she gave you a mischievous smile, “Oh, he was a Math stand out…I think we have found a new genius among your accountants, Y/N.” she smiled.

“Good, have him reposted. Reassign all Yoongi’s future projects to him and…give him a call first too. I want him to personally be aware of his change in position before Namjoon charges him with the work. There’s no point in loading him with everything if he’s unwilling to do it.”

Jennie nodded. “I don’t see why not, he’ll get to spend private time with you every week. Who knows? He might just be able to teach you math.”

You scoffed but all you got back was Jennie’s parting chuckle.

The week passed.

Naturally, you weren’t expecting Jimin and Yoongi to switch roles overnight but by the time Friday rolled in, you were praying that the ordeal would be over soon.

Jennie had told you about the phone call she’d given Jimin. He’d been happy, sounding enthused at being promoted so suddenly, going so far as to show up at your office just as you and Jennie were about to take off for lunch to personally thank you.

“You won’t be disappointed.” He beamed.

You couldn’t help but smile. The last time you’d seen the man, you’d been too angry to look properly but Jennie had been right. He was very good looking. Bright red hair parted neatly to expose his forehead and round rimmed glasses showcased a plump lipped smile which creased his eyes into invisible crescents. You couldn’t help the equally wide smile.

“I’m sure she won’t be.” Jennie muttered, catching the look on your face and you stopped yourself from elbowing her.

“I’m sure, I won’t be.” You repeated before slinging your small purse up on your shoulder. “How are things down at the department with the switch?” you asked.

He shrugged.

“We were leaving when Miss Jennie called so not a lot of people know yet. Mr. Kim is keeping it hushed up. Only Min Yoongi, him and I know,” he said.

Jennie and you exchanged a look before he took his leave, setting off for his own lunch.

Moments had passed with your return to your office that it was made clear to you that Min Yoongi was not happy about his demotion.

He hadn’t taken an appointment with Jennie, knocking on your door with the certainty that both enraged you and enticed you. You’d looked up from signing work papers and mumbled a ‘come in’ when he’d walked in, carrying himself with the same arrogance which he always commanded.

“Mr. Min,” You’d cleared your throat. “I didn’t know I was expecting you.”

“I didn’t tell Miss Kim. I want to have a word with you.”

You frowned. “Mr. Min, you realize there are rules in this workplace…ones that you can’t break. If you want a word, you should be talking to Kim Jennie first.”

“You’re free, aren’t you?”

You almost snarled. “Regardless, and I’m working,”

“You should call a meeting; with me, Namjoon and Jimin.”

You leaned back, raising your eyebrows. “If you wanted to call a meeting with a colleague, the proper protocol would be to tell Kim Namjoon and he would be recommending it to me.”

“It’s not with a colleague though, is it? I’m a general CA now, not your private Math tutor.”

You could see his mask of self assurance cracking now. His indignation at having being removed from counseling you was gnawing at him. It would’ve made you smirk if not for the dig he blatantly took at you.

He’s the best…he’s the best…he’s the best…you chanted to yourself. Just because you couldn’t fire him though, doesn’t mean you couldn’t scare him.

“Between obvious sexism at the workplace and just insulting me, you’re asking to be fired, Mr. Min.” you gritted out. “It would be very poor reflection on your resume.” You continued, watching his eyes narrow at you but you held your ground…or rather your seat, as your gripped your armrests, digging in your nails.

Oh how badly you wanted to smack that elfin face.

“Fine, I’ll just tell Park how to properly…work with you.” he said before with an exaggerated tilt of his head, he quickly exited your office.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat, wondering if Mr. Min was really worth all the trouble.

Min Yoongi weighed on your mind the whole of Friday, wondering if he’d pull something but nothing happened. The last you’d seen him was Wednesday, in a Company board meeting which he came to with Namjoon. He just sat quietly, taking notes with varying expressions on his face. You sat at the head of the table with Jennie, watching him as he made faces whenever a departmental head spoke about their respective projects.

As if he could do better…

When it was Namjoon’s turn, his face turned blank, looking up to listen to the man and you quirked an eyebrow. So, there was someone Yoongi respected after all…

You turned your head away finally as each head deposited a written report on what they all spoke about. The Accounts just so happened to be handed over in Yoongi’s precise handwriting. You glanced over at the man in question but he didn’t look back, quietly following Namjoon out.

So, when evening finally came and brought a smiling, eager Jimin to your doorstep, you found it strangely hard to zone out, listening with almost surgical precision to everything he explained.

“Yoongi was wrong.” He murmured, a half hour later, binding up the files in that same damn leather bag.

“Hmm…about what?” you asked.

“Oh…I mean…he just…he always used to whine about how…difficult Accounting was for you.”

You folded your arms across your chest. “What about you, Mr. Park? Would you say the same?” You asked. His eyes widened innocently.

“No way, you got everything I talked about. I think you’re fine.”

He was about to walk off when you called him back.

“Jimin…did Yoongi write the report for today’s department meeting?” You asked.

Jimin turned a little, looking worried. “Um, I’m not supposed to say anything about that. It’s between Mr. Kim and Yoongi.” He said.

You raised your eyebrows. “It’s my company, Mr. Park. It is my business to know.” You said sternly.

Jimin nodded frantically. “You’ll know soon enough, Miss Y/L/N. It would just be unethical of me to talk about my colleagues.” He said, entering the elevator. You thought you saw him exhale a breath of relief as the doors closed on him.

At least, the session was better than with Yoongi. You knew exactly where your money was.

Jimin had been right.

The very next day Namjoon showed up at your doorstep with a sheet of paper ruffling ominously. “Oh dear, should I be worried?” You asked, making him smile down at the paper.

“I’m moving back to my hometown, Miss Y/L/N. My father wants me to take over our own works and I finally agreed. I can’t thank you enough for all that you’ve done for us and how much I’ve learnt working here.” He handed you the resignation letter over and you read it over, noting the ‘effective immediately’.

“Namjoon, we still need to find a proper department head.” You said and he nodded.

“I know, don’t worry, Miss Y/L/N, I have a brilliant recommendation, one that I think you’ll agree to.” He turned his head around and nodded at someone you couldn’t see and in came Yoongi.

Your smile froze as he gave you a gummy smile, standing next to Namjoon.

“He was unable to apply for the appraisals because he was working as your private Accountant but you appointed Park Jimin so I finally got my hands in him. If you’ve had a chance to review the Accounting notes from the last meeting, you’ll find that it was Yoongi who did the work, ma’am.”

You kept your eyes on the man in front of you. Of course you’d reviewed the notes, you’d read those through the first chance you got, noting Yoongi’s handwriting. So, it was a matter of intradepartmental appraisal…that’s why Jimin had been mum about it.

You sighed, mulling it over as both men stood in front of you.

On one hand, you now needed a department Head. Yoongi was the best, recommended by Kim Namjoon himself. Thankfully, you’d only have to deal with him during the Office meets.

“Of course, I’ll get the promotion letter ready. Congratulations, Mr. Min,”

Once Min Yoongi had been relegated to duties as a Department Head, his interaction with you went down to maybe twice a month. Jimin continued working as your CA and the both of you soon built a friendship too but while no one said anything, you could feel a slight tension whenever Jimin mentioned his new boss to you.

“It would be unethical for me to kick his ass, wouldn’t it?” You asked one day as Jimin, packed up for the day, said yes to staying for dinner.

He laughed.

“No, Miss Y/N, it is unethical of me to be ranting to you in the first place. You’re my boss.” He sighed.

“I’m Jennie’s boss too. You should hear the gossip I get from her.” You pointed out.

Jimin shook his head. “Miss Jennie’s been your friend for a long time. I work for you and I’m staying for dinner; it’s not right.”

“Chill, Jimin, It’s not a date. Besides, you don’t tattle-tale and if I want to know about my working conditions I need to know my workers.” You offered lightly and he bit his lip.

“There are rumors; you fired Yoongi as your private counsel because he was being a jerk.”

“They would be correct, outright sexism is not tolerated at my business.” You said.

“Why didn’t you fire him completely, then?”

You shrugged.

“Bad business decision,”

Jimin looked down at his food, before sighing and continuing eating.

“Would it be unethical to…ask you out for a cup of coffee?” he asked suddenly.

You spluttered out your pasta, watching him with wide eyes.

“We don’t have rules about Work place relationships…was it too forward of me to ask?” he asked.

“No, no…I…was just not expecting that…wow…” You mumbled, still gaping at the man before nodding. “Yes, you can take me out for a coffee.” You said.

The ear splitting smile he gave you of pure gratitude was definitely worth it.

Jimin and you planned to go for a coffee the next Friday. One day of Taxes and Sales could be foregone in your opinion. After all, all work, no play made you a very dull person, as Kim Jennie so eloquently put it.

Of course since fates hated you, the first thing you saw when you opened the door, was not Jimin but Min Yoongi.

Your first instinct was to screech. What was he doing here? You’d promoted him to Department Head now! What more did he want?

His form had completely changed. Instead of a shirt and tie, he was in a full charcoal suit, with the button on his jacket still up…and he was carrying that damned leather bag. His pitch black eyes raked over my body in a single sweep before he opened his mouth.

“Good evening, Miss Y/L/N. I would’ve called but since I am not your Private accountant anymore I don’t know what rules we have now.” He tilted his head as if in question if he was welcome inside or not and you just like before ducked in, allowing him into your home.

“Mr. Park sends his apologies, he had to call in sick today and said that at least your work should be done this week. Since I’m the only one who had some idea about your private finance after Namjoon left, I volunteered.” He raised the bag to show you.

“That’s fine.” You said curtly, still wondering why he was being so kind.

He walked closer to the sofa and stopped.

“Do we still work here or…?”

I paused, turning to look at him. “Where else would we be working, Mr. Min?”

He shrugged as he sat down, starting to pull the familiar laptop and tablet and files. It was so nostalgic; seeing him set everything up. Except for his clothes…nothing else was different.

He looked up at me. “Are you ready or do you need to take a minute?” he asked.

I clenched my jaw before sitting down. He was good at his job, that’s the only reason why he was still here.

“Go ahead, Mr. Min.” I mumbled.

About 30 seconds in, I was trailing my eyes over his features as he spoke about the way liquidating that one sunk land deal would affect the company and me. His roots were growing, I noticed, he needed to dye his hair again and the pout of his lips looked chapped, as if he’d biting his lips too much.

He huffed again, loudly, making me look at him to see he was frowning at me.

“I’m sure your finances are a lot more interesting that I am, Miss Y/L/N.” he snapped.

That was when I realized – hit by a flash of lightening – what the problem was.

“It’s you!” I hissed. His expression turned to puzzlement as he gazed at me. “What about me?”

“You’re why I can’t focus. I keep bloody staring at you! You distract me!” You snapped and for a second you swore you saw a self satisfied smirk on his face before he scoffed.

“Yes, I’m sure that’s the problem. Maybe you should be distracted all you want when Park Jimin is the one doing your taxes. Certainly not me,” he hissed. He began to shut the files, shoving them into the bag.

You gaped at his actions as he glared into your general direction but wouldn’t look into your eyes.

“I hope you have a nice time when he tries to make a move on you or maybe he already has.” He spat before standing up to leave when you saw it.

The hint of feverish sweat along his brow and upper lips, his ears were tinged red and the clench of his jaw.

“You’re jealous.” You said.

He froze; all movement ceasing as he kept staring at the floor. You stood up too, coming around the coffee table to stare at him. He hadn’t denied it; he didn’t even seem to be breathing.

“You’re jealous?” you asked this time and he whipped his head up.

His eyes were imperious, the tilt in his head mocking you almost as heat bloomed in your cheeks from his pinned stare.

You were still gaping and blushing at him when he spoke.

“You’re not as smart as everyone gives you credit for.”

Even as you sucked in a breath to tell him off, his hand was reaching out, fingers wrapping around the underside of your chin and he pulled you to him, slamming his mouth down across yours.

He tasted of bitter coffee and sweet cakes, as kissed you roughly, possessively.

His fingers were still digging into your chin, as he let the bag drop from his other hand on the coffee table. Your hands shot out to clutch at the lapel of his suit jacket as you both fought to pull each other further in, impossibly close. His heat radiated off of your own as he pulled back to give you a searing look.

“Do you understand now?” he asked, the hand he had wrapped around my face softening slightly as he brushed the thumb across my jaw line.

“Yoongi…what…I mean…why,” you breathed out slowly and he tsked.

“Baby girl, I thought I made it plenty clear for you just now. Do you need another explanation…or do you want an in depth demonstration?” his lips turned up into a wicked smirk, his tongue rolling out to wet the two petals as he hungrily swept his eyes over your body again.

Your mouth parted, letting soft breaths out as you tried to process what he was implying and his eyes dropped down to your mouth, his thumb flicking up to rub at your lower lip, increasing circulation as he pulled it down.

He bent down to your face before sucking in your bottom lip, pressing his blunt front teeth into the soft flesh making your body flinch as he returned to kissing you again, letting his tongue smooth over your bruised lip.

“Yoongi,” you sighed and he pulled back again, eyes drowsy and drooping as he bit his own lip.

“Yes, baby girl?”

“I think…I need an in depth demonstration.” You whispered.

Yoongi laughed a guttural deep chuckle as he pulled away completely from you, dropping his bag back on the sofa. “Lead the way, Boss.” He said, his voice dangerous on the last word and you shivered, turning about and quickly making your way to the Master bedroom that you occupied.

Yoongi must’ve been watching you closely, because the moment you stopped in front of a door, his hand was already on the knob, twisting it and ushering you in before slamming you back on the closed door, locking it for good measure.

“You want to know why, baby girl?” he asked, deep voice echoing around us and I nodded quickly.

“Because, all the time that you would zone out, while I was talking, when you wouldn’t understand a simple concept all I wanted to do was pull you down on that damned sofa and make sure you learned all your lessons right to the bone…even if that cost you the ability to walk and sit. When you would bite your lips or stare at me, I wanted to reach out and put your mouth to good use. Damn I still want to do exactly that and I will.” He gave your mouth a hard stare before returning to your lips.

“I did not appreciate you removing me from my post, Babygirl. I had to ask Jimin to repeat himself three times before I believed him. I deserved it I suppose, I know I wasn’t the nicest person to you but you drove me up the wall, woman.”

He reached out to grab at your breast harshly, in punishment and you whimpered.

“I made you department head!” you cried out to earn solace but he only pressed harder. “Only after Kim told you to; also, it’s not as much fun as you would expect. I couldn’t see you as much as I wanted to and I had to listen to Jimin go on and on about how kind you were to people. You weren’t so kind to me, were you?”

You gulped, watching him and he brushed his index finger across your hard nipple.

“Answer me,”

“No, no I wasn’t,” you said and he let go of your breast.

“Good girl…well, now, you’re going to be nice to me. nicer than you were to Park Jimin, am I clear?”

He lowered his hands to gently entangle his fingers through yours, pulling you towards your large bed before turning to sit you down in it.

“Take off your clothes, all of them.” He ordered and I felt the tell tale thud in my stomach as his deep voiced command washed over me.

With shaky fingers I undid the dressy top I’d been wearing for Jimin and pulled it away from my body. The skirt came off next, the cool material skimming across my too hot skin as he watched me carefully, taking in every inch of exposed skin as he reached up and undid the single button on his suit jacket, pulling out of it and letting it fall next to my top.

“I meant everything babygirl.” He whispered and I reached back to undo my bra, letting it drop as his eyes fixed on my exposed mounds, eyes dripping with lust.

I slowly pulled at the edge of my panties, my fingers gripping at the underwear before sliding it down my legs with a soft groan as I felt the fabric come away soaked.

Yoongi let out a whistle from between his teeth.

“You’re perfect, aren’t you?” he said as he walked closer to me, leaning over me. “I’m going to make sure you remember your lesson this time babygirl.” I tipped my head back as he ran his smooth lips over the column of my neck before he was pulling back again, looking at the bed thoughtfully.

“Lie back on the pillows,” he instructed and I immediately began to scoot back, eager to see what ‘lesson’ he had planned as he kept a calculating eye on my too willing body. Once I was in the position he wanted, he tutted softy, unbuttoning the cuff button of his cream white shirt and pushing his sleeves up, revealing the long veins circling around his strong forearms. Next he unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt and pulled off his tie, undoing the knot then wrapping both ends firmly around his fists.

“Lesson no. 1; you might be my Boss in the office, but in the bedroom, now and in the future, I am your Boss, clear?” he asked, his gravel voice level. There was no way in hell you were going to say no so you squeaked out a yes.

“Good girl,” he said before marching forwards and wrapping the ends of the tie around both your wrists, crisscrossing it across the arms till your mid forearm, tying the remaining ends in a double knot.

“Do you have an eye mask?” he questioned and your head almost shot off of the mattress as you shook you head in vehement denial. “No matter,” he delved inside his pants pocket before pulling out a navy blue handkerchief.

“Don’t worry, it’s clean.” He said, watching your apprehensive expression as he folded the fabric into multi layered triangles letting the thickest part rest on your eyes and tying it gently behind your head, pulling away stray strands of hair. The unexpected gentleness had lured you in a false sense of security even as the next second he had smacked the palm of your feet.

The sudden ticklish pain rose up quickly from your feet to tingle at the crown of your head as he delivered another one on the other feet.

You cried out this time, the darkness over your eyes and binding around your arms making it difficult to tell when he’d strike as you tried to squirm away from him.

“No no, that won’t do.” His hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against his knees. You felt him lean in, warm breath against your ear as he hushed you. “It’s ok; it’s just a small spank. If you don’t like it or if it hurts tell me to stop,” he breathed against your cheek, as the other hand went and rubbed the bottom of your feet gently.

You hummed at the soothing feeling before his hand was coming back up to wrap around your chin.

“I know I said I wanted to see your eyes staring up at me but I really can’t wait anymore.” He said as the sound of a zipper being pulled down made your ears prick up, your head turning to the side to locate what he was doing.

You could feel the warm of his exposed skin bask against your face and as you realized what was happening, you felt the silk skin covered hard muscle press against your lips.

“Open your mouth, boss, take it in.” he all but growled as you opened your mouth and let him push his cock into the warm crevice of your mouth.

You heard a low ‘ah fuck’ escape him as you clamped down on his dick, your tongue laving over the member as you felt him straddle your chest, the soft skin of his balls rubbing against your skin as he began to buck into your mouth.

Yoongi was quite vocal, you learnt as his movements turned sloppier and faster, each slide deeper into your mouth as he nearly sunk into your throat.

“You feel so fucking good Y/N.” he gasped as he carded his fingers through your hair, disjointed sentences of praise falling from his lips as he continued to fuck your face.

You raised your head from the pillow, sucking at him enthusiastically as he let out a loud groan. You could feel all the praise and the dirtiness of what you were doing all condense down and pool in your core. You wouldn’t be surprised if you were already dripping.

“I knew your mouth would feel fucking amazing but damn.” He said, slowly and pulling out until just the tip rested on your tongue. He smacked the member against your lips one last time before climbing off of you.

For a moment your body felt cold and deprived without Yoongi’s hot weight on you but you soon felt his fingers brush against the top of your thigh, scratching lightly at the skin, grounding you.

“I want you to moan for me, babygirl. No one is going to complain about you here. I want to hear you.” he said in a warning tone before you felt his hands firmly clamp down on your calves as he began to pull you down. You scrambled for purchase in the darkness as he let you go. You reached out with your feet and felt the edge of the bed just as Yoongi bent your legs at the knee, resting your feet on his shirt clad shoulders.

“You smell so delicious, Boss. And so wet…who got you this wet?” he asked.

Your answer was heavy pants as you waited for him to do something. A sudden loud smack echoed again in the room and the resounding pain told you he’d just smacked the inside of your thigh, right at the edge of your soaked pussy.

“Fuck, I hit you and you get wet. I love this.” He breathed before tapping the tips against the spanked skin, stroking softly.

“Who got you this wet, babygirl?” he asked again and you hurried to answer him. “You! You got me this wet! All for you Yoongi,” you nearly shouted and he chuckled, sounding closer to your skin.

“That wasn’t so difficult, was it?” he asked.

It must’ve been a rhetorical question because even as you were about to answer him you felt a warm suction around your clit. The gigantic pull of pleasure nearly made you scream as your body bucked against Yoongi’s mouth but his arms were wrapped around your legs, palm pressed firmly against your abdomen as he began to lap and suck at you as eagerly as you had sucked him.

The obscene sounds of his tongue working its eloquent magic against your folds was only punctuated by your broken groans and whimpers, his name being called in different volumes as he drew out the most ridiculous of sounds from you.

You could almost hear him laughing against you as he removed one hand from your stomach, bringing it to his mouth to make wet before he was rubbing at your clit in slow hard circles as he dipped his tongue into you. You could feel the tight band of pleasure expand and contract in time with his thrusts, threatening to explode but Yoongi never quite let you get there so finally you whined his name.

“Yoongi, please!” You wailed and almost as he was answering your prayers, two fingers were buried deep in you while his tongue was tracing your swollen bud, flicking it mercilessly while the hand on your stomach rimmed around your navel, fingernails skimming over your centre in a precise line as your back arced, your orgasm tipping you over as Yoongi gripped your legs from closing and kept rubbing his tongue down the sides of your clit, prolonging the shivers of violent pleasure that trembled through your body.

When he finally pulled away you tried to curl up around yourself, the cold getting its hands on you again. Your felt a hand in your hair before the handkerchief was pulled away from your eyes.

“Keep your eyes closed, I’ll dim the lights.” You heard him speak in your ear before he was gone, returning a moment later.

“You did good, babygirl, and just as delicious as I expected.” He praised as you keened in his arms, blinking at him in the low lights.

Yoongi’s hair was mussed, blond strands falling over his eyes. He was still wearing his shirt but the buttons were fully undone, revealing a strip of muscled chest. He’d even slipped his boxers on.

“I wanted an in depth demonstration, you know.” You mumbled finally. Yoongi’s jaw dropped as he stared at you with wide eyes. You struggled to find friction on the smooth sheets but you soon pulled yourself up enough to kiss his lips, tasting your juices on his lips as he regained his dominance.

“I’ll be sure to give you a very deep and elaborate demonstration, ma’am,” he chuckled before he was flipping you over, pressing your head down into the pillows while your ass stayed in the air, right in his line of sight.

“The times I’ve wanted to make this red.” He sighed, a gentle hand caressing across your cheeks before a harsh smack was placed across them. You let out a large yelp, feeling heat settle into the slapped skin as he pressed his lips to the reddening skin. “I’ll get back to that later.” He said before was pulling you back against his hips, hands pushing down his underwear.

The first push in was slow, timed and precise as he let out a grunt, pushing in till he was to his hilt.

“Fuck baby, this pussy…if I’d known any better I would’ve been fucking it sooner instead of fantasizing about it,” he smacked your ass again before beginning to thrust again, faster with each shove of his member against you wall. You clutched the pillow between your bound hands, feeling the hold slip away as with each forward jolt you were pushed up against the bed.

Your groans absorbed into the pillow you wanted so badly to just lay there as he gave it to you harder than before.

“Good girl, yeah that’s right, moan for me. look at you, where’s all your attitude gone, huh? Just lying there and taking it, goddamn babygirl.” He hissed, leaning down and grabbing your hands, yanking you up before propping you up against your headboard.

“You take my cock so fucking well, Boss. You were made for taking this cock weren’t you?” he asked driving into you as you head dropped back his shoulder as he continued to pound up into you, one hand at your breast, thumb stroking against your nipple in time with your thrusts.

“Answer me,” he bellowed as he gave the nipple a pinch and you let out a shout of his name.

“Yes, yes, I was! Fuck, I’m only like this for your cock. Fuck me Yoongi please! Please!” Your voice increased to delirious screams as he sadistically chuckled against your sweaty skin.

“Absolutely correct, Boss; I’m going to take your pussy for mine. No one, not Park Jimin, not any one is going to take what’s mine, do you hear?” his fingernails scratched at your scalp as he used your hair to tilt your head up.

“Yes, I’m yours, all yours…fuck I’m going to come, Yoongi, please I’m going to come.” You begged, feeling him pepper kisses along your shoulder and neck as he buried his face in your back.

“Go ahead, baby, come for me, tighten on me so I can come and fill you up. You’ll leak for days, my god.” He groaned as your hand wandered down to circle your clit.

Once, twice, and then you were pressed back against the headboard as you came, thrashing and locking up at the same time. Yoongi let out curse after curse, feeling you clamp down on him with a vice like grip as he threw his head back, your name erupting like a volcano from his parted mouth as he spilled into you.

There was a deep heavy silence as your loud breaths echoed around the room before you spoke up tiredly.

“Well, That was definitely an in depth demonstration.

#yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #yoongi #bts #min yoongi #suga fanfic #suga #bts suga #bts yoongi #accounting afterglow

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thesynthesist · 4 years

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Put 2000 words into a reasonable second part last night. I wanted to get it finished but there are more words... Take part one in the mean time. If you don’t want to click through, read below the cut

Earth was not a place for impatience. It had been three days since Silas had made landfall after replying to the message he had received from what he assumed to be the only living relative of Dr. Hull, father of androids. Violet still had not contacted him again. What’s more, she wasn’t on the planetary network so there was nothing Silas could do but wait. He didn’t mind that. Earth was the cradle of human and AI civilization, and even so many years after humanity left for the stars, it was still considered a hub of culture for the solar system, if not the wider universe. Colourful buildings of stained glass solar panels and rugged biodegradable plastics sprouted from the ground wherever he looked. Wrapped in plant life that had evolved to tolerate co-habitation, it was beautiful. Here and there if you knew the right places to look, you could find houses from the old prefab subdivisions, with their brick walls and plastic sidings. Buildings older than that were rare and practically on the other side of the planet from where Silas had landed. It was a small thing to bridge that distance these days but he didn’t want to be far from his ship. Instead he was content to explore the immediate area and he was deciding whether or not he should sample some of the regions cuisine despite the fact it would force him to clean out his calorimeter, when a message popped up in the lower right of his vision. Heard you were planet side, little bro. Let’s meet up. I’d rather not. Silas shot back the message with barely a thought, adding after a moment of consideration. I’m strictly here on business. And as if to back up his claim, he turned and went back to his ship. Suddenly, he had no desire to ingest anything at all. Sid showed up the next day while Silas was watching his mechanical fish. “Woah, you make these?” Silas sighed, “You know it’s rude to come onto someone’s ship without asking.” Sid slung an arm over Silas’s shoulder and Silas got a glimpse of his face int the reflection from the fish tank. The family relationship was strong by human standards. They had the same broad jaw, the same fine black hair -- though Sid’s was wild, and causally styled with gel while Silas kept his cropped to something a little more practical. As model mates they were based off the same base specs. There were plenty of members from their fabrication group, but Sid and Silas had been finished at around the same time near the end, and Sid had decided, not even an hour after he was operational, that Silas was his little brother and that nothing could break the bonds of family. Silas found it all very tiresome. “Well you weren’t coming to see me,” said Sid as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “So I had to come see you.” “I told you, I’m strictly here on business,” replied Silas. “It’s always business with you,” said Sid. “It wouldn’t kill you to loosen up. We’re series one, we’re practically human. Live a little! Even Series 4 get out more than you and they don’t have a social drive.” Silas set his mouth in a firm line and met Sid’s gaze in the glass, but he said nothing. Between his anxiety to make progress on his investigation to justify the time off, and Sid’s sudden appearance, his patience was wearing thin. They stared at each other like that, fish swimming behind their faces, until Sid raised his hands and took a step back. “Alright, I get it, I get it. It’s important stuff you’re working on. Big time shit. But I don’t want to hear about you burning out your circuits and having to be hauled off to a repair satellite ahead of schedule because you refuse to take some time off.” He closed his eyes, the pupils darting back rapidly beneath the surface. Silas found the display amateurish, with a little practice it was possible to run functional societal programming and searches at the same time. When Sid opened his eyes again he said, “Let’s try this. There’s a culture festival tomorrow in the next city over. I know you like that sort of thing so we should go. I’ll meet you outside at 10 in the morning, in case you decide to go. If you’re not out by 11, don’t worry I’ll see myself out.” Sid waved with forced cheer, and left. Silas watched his fashionably distressed clothing disappear in the reflection. He stared at the fish for a while before burying himself in auxiliary work for the rest of the day. Fielding small requests, connecting missed messages, digging up archival information. Most of it a faxi could have done without the help of a proper AI but it felt good to be busy. At midnight local time, his faxi politely reminded him that it would be beneficial to spend at least an hour at the recharging station. It wasn’t that he needed to sleep as such, but it was common practice for Series One to spend at least a few hours inactive to reduce wear on their joints and back up their memories. Begrudgingly, Silas agreed and plugging himself in, lowering his awareness to the most basic levels. He opted not to spend his time on the net or the local chat serves, and instead spent the time drifting. As usual, since his encounter, Silas found himself thinking about Ayoura. It had been shocking to learn that she had children, had a family. It had sent a thrill through Silas’s central processes. What Sid wanted was just make believe wasn’t it? Playing house like children, what Ayoura had was real, truly, painfully real. Sid hadn’t been far off when he said that they were practically human. All humans wanted a group to belong to, it only followed that the first series did too. Many of the same urges, the same feelings flowed through them, and so they had adopted the human model without a second thought, or when that was impossible just resigned themselves to having nothing. After all, everything else about Series One mimicked humans. Perhaps Sid was onto something. Despite all Silas’s companionship work, despite all the time he had spent with humans, he had never once considered how human concepts might related to himself. He had always held himself apart from them, but considered himself to be under the same psychological directives. He was Series One. Not quite human, but not quite robotic either. Series 4 were a complete mystery, and the other series only slightly less so. There was no place where he fit and understood so he had just adopted the best model that came along. The rage and bitterness that coloured many of Ayoura’s memories were beginning to make sense. He searched his personal database for the memories of Ayoura’s family. Not the one’s of her father, but the ones of her husband, and her children, loved with a fierceness that put a red super giant star to shame, even as they were stripped from her. Silas dwelled on that memory trying to understand. She hadn’t known her children, not really. They had been born as humans were, small and read and squalling. That was the only way she had known them, hardly alive, hardly aware. In some sense what Sid had endeavored to create between the two of them was more real than that. There was no reason, Silas realized, he had to oust himself from things he could not emulate perfectly. Sometimes things had to be changed to make sense. At 10 AM local time, Silas stepped outside of his ship. Sid was already there waiting, dressed in what Silas assumed were his best clothes; if ripped red jeans and a sleeveless black turtleneck could be considered best. “You look like you’re dressed for a funeral,” he said. Silas looked down at his white suit. “Not appropriate?” “Dude. No.” Side Ushered Silas back into the ship and made a beeline for his room. “Don’t you have something a little more casual?” Silas watched helplessly as Sid ransacked his wall closet, flipping through the clothes with practiced ease. He pulled out a pair of grey cargo pants and an olive drab tank top from the back triumphantly and held them up. “That’s just for ship wear,” Silas protested. “Hush, it’s very casual military chic, I like it,” said Sid, completely ignoring the look Silas was giving him. “Not quite as bright as most people will be wearing but it’ll do.” He draped the clothes over Silas’s shoulder and clapped him on the back. “Well, get dressed.” “You are incredibly meddlesome,” said Silas, loosening his tie. “And you’re a stick in the mud in public,” Sid replied fondly as he left the room. Silas changed quickly, slipping on the clothing with practiced ease. The fabric was soft from use, but thankfully unstained and therefore met the very minimum requirements of presentation. He tried to ease the tension in his shoulders as he made final adjustments. It seemed despite his revelation in the early hours of the morning, the adjustment wasn’t going to be as easy as he thought. Sid made it look easy. The crowd practically parted as he led the way off the ship, down the street, onto the train and to the festival. He smiled at everyone, and seemed completely at ease, introducing Silas to strangers that he admitted he didn’t know. Silas was tired by the time they arrived, but the air of the festival soon revitalized him. It was already in full swing and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. It wasn’t a human only affair either. They passed the brightly coloured and patterned chassis of the second and third series. There were even a few multi-limbed inhuman planned, series four in the throng. The miniserver for the neighborhood was awash with talk of events and merchandise. The excitement was palpable. “There are so many people here,” remarked Silas when they stopped for a moment to watch someone swallow a sword. He claimed to be all organic, and Silas knew it was possible, but it was still a sight verging on miraculous. Sid laughed, “It’s nice to have your boots on the ground eh? You spend so much time on those corporate ships and security tours of yours. Come on, we’ve got more to see.” Silas let Sid lead him through the blur of novelty. There were street musicians, contact jugglers, dancing and the smells of food Silas couldn’t name. It was overwhelming. It was amazing. They stopped at anything that caught Silas’s eye, Sid offering a running commentary. It wasn’t particularly illuminating but it was still, somehow, nice. “Consider,” said Sid, handing Silas an iced treat made of what seemed to be seaweed and avocado, “you would have let all this pass you by holed up in that ship of yours.” “Consider,” replied Silas, “you’d get more work done if you let a little bit more pass you by.” “Touche.” Silas tried a spoonful of his treat. The flavor and the chill sat heavily on his tongue but not unpleasantly. Belayed by the creamy texture it tasted the way reentering orbit felt. It left an earthy taste on his tongue when it was gone, and a surprisingly empty feeling feeling in his mouth. He had some more. “What’s this?” “Ocean ice,” said Sid. “most humans don’t like it. Says it tastes like the ass end of a fishing trawler but some like it, and it’s popular among the first and second series.” “Not Series three?” asked Silas. He didn’t know much about the other series besides the basics. In the small microcosms he inhabited they were usually far away from him or perpetually busy. Sid stirred his Ocean ice contemplatively, turning it into a thick slurry. “They’re wired to detect chemicals so they don’t tend to eat a lot of human food.” “We go more for galactic ice, it tastes like cyanide and motor oil.” Silas looked over and found that they’d been joined by a stocky unit with patchwork synth skin in reds, yellows and oranges. Her hair was short, and so red it was almost brown. “Lee!” Sid swept her into a hug, which she endured patiently. When he finally released her, he turned. “Silas, this is my friend Auralie. Auralie, this is my brother Silas.” “Charmed,” said Silas, holding out his hand. Auralie looked at it for a moment before shaking it firmly. “You can just call me Lee,” she said. “Figured I’d just tell you now, since I can tell you’re one of the corporate types, not like this idiot.” She elbowed Sid, who beamed at the casual abuse. “He’s a walking disaster no matter where he is.” “Ouch! That hurt more than the elbow.” “Tough,” Lee grinned. “Anyways, someone said they saw Sid wandering around with his model mate who’s never been planet side proper before, so I came out as sort of a welcome committee.” “That’s very kind of you,” said Silas. “Don’t thank me yet, Proxy. By this time tomorrow you’re going to know what a hangover is.” Lee winked and spun around threading her way through the crowd with practiced ease. What’s a proxy? Silas asked, as he and Sid followed the rapidly disappearing bob cut into the crowd. Best not think to hard about it. Silas glanced over sharply at Sid but he wasn’t paying attention. Instead he looked like the proverbial cat, and Silas hoped, all things considered, this did not make him the proverbial canary. But no matter what happened Silas had the sinking feeling he was in for an experience.

#writing #sci fi #part two is so long over due

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juju-on-that-yeet · 5 years

Text

Lock and Key

Prompt: Whumptober Day 9, Shackled

Summary: Oliver finds himself alone and out of reach in a highly secure facility, full of people determined to break him down into a default Google unit and use him for their own ends.

Oliver cannot give in. He cannot lose himself. He will not be a tool.

Warnings: Dehumanization, experimentation

Tagging: @peribloke (ask to be tagged!)

Read on AO3 (Full Whumptober Series)

Enjoy!

Oliver doesn’t know what happened.

He was out alone one morning, sitting in the park and enjoying the sunset. He’d been approached by what he thought was a homeless woman covered in layers of ratty hoodies and coats, with greasy tangled hair and piercing brown eyes. Oliver had what he’d thought was a very nice conversation with her – until she pulled out a high-voltage taser and pressed it to Oliver’s chest, jolting him through pain and into darkness.

He wakes up later – many hours later, according to his internal clock – trussed up like an animal. More than an animal; his arms are locked tight to his body with chains, his legs are forced into a kneel with metal shackles clamped around his calves to anchor him to the floor, and worst of all, his face is covered with a titanium muzzle mask, obscuring everything below his eyes and making it impossible to breathe. His side vents have already opened to let air into his systems for cooling, but it doesn’t make the harsh metal any less claustrophobic or uncomfortable. He has just enough space beneath the mask to speak, and so he does.

“Where am I?” he gasps. The room he’s in is barren, cold – a containment cell of some kind, high-tech. A door to Oliver’s left opens, and he turns to look. It’s an effort to lift his head against the mask, but he’s able to watch a prim woman in a lab coat step into the room. Her hair is in a tight bun, and a clipboard rests in her arms. The door automatically closes and locks behind her as her heels clack across the floor to Oliver.

“You’re in a highly secure technological facility,” the woman responds, without emotion. “That is the only information I am permitted to disclose on our location.”

If her voice hadn’t given it away, her sharp brown eyes would have.

“You!” Oliver cries, “You’re that woman I talked to earlier! You tased me! Why am I here? What do you want with me??” He struggles helplessly against his bonds as the woman writes something on her clipboard.

“Intense emotional response to unexpected negative stimuli,” she intones. “With any luck, the conditioning should leave you more…measured.”

“What conditioning?” Oliver asks, “What are you going to do to me?” He tries to send a distress signal to his brothers, and to his horror, it bounces back with a generic error message.

“We’ve been watching you for some time,” the woman says. “A Google unit is quite a valuable asset, and you seemed to be the most predictable, trusting, and easiest to capture of the four in circulation. But we cannot have a predictable or trusting Google unit; we need the destructive agent you were designed to be. We’ve already made efforts to restore your factory settings manually, but it seems you have too many internal safeguards against it. We’ll likely need many hours to break through those safeguards, so we’ve disabled your internal alert system and wifi connectivity to prevent the other units from tracing you here.”

Oliver’s heart sinks deeper through his chest the more he hears. It shouldn’t be true; they shouldn’t be able to turn off his alerts and disconnect him from being traced. But he still can’t send a distress signal out, and his internal GPS isn’t working, either. He doesn’t know where he is, how far from home he’s been taken. He’s shaking when he responds.

“They’ll find me,” Oliver says, trying to sound brave, “My brothers will find me, they’ll destroy this whole building and everyone in it if they have to.”

“We shall see,” the woman replies, and with that, she leaves.

So begins Oliver’s imprisonment.

He spends most of each day alone, boredom ticking like the seconds of his internal clock. But when he’s not alone, he’s being opened up and poked and prodded by engineers and scientists as they try to reduce him to his factory settings without ruining his functionality, and that’s far worse. He learns to love the boredom because there’s no pain or humiliation in it, and it gives him more time to organize and shuffle his memory files where he hopes the scientists will never find them.

My name is Oliver. My birthday is May 20. I have three brothers: Google, Plus, and Chrome. I have two best friends: Bingiplier and MarkBop. I have a boyfriend named Bim. My home is Ego Inc. I am not a tool.

Before long, their tinkering corrupts Oliver’s downloaded files. He’s already watched the movies and played the music stored in his memory banks a dozen times over, but he still regrets their loss. The boredom gets less forgiving.

They mess around in his movement components and set off an involuntary spasm that dislocates his shoulder. It takes them three days to notice. It takes them another two to fix it. The pain is something to focus on, at least.

My name is Oliver. My birthday is May 20. I have three brothers: Google, Plus, and Chrome. I have two best friends: Bing and Bop. I have a boyfriend. My home is Ego Inc. I am not a tool.

They put him under at one point to open his chest panel. They don’t tell Oliver about this, but he knows because when he wakes up afterwards he can feel where bolts are missing.

My name is Oliver. I have three brothers: Google, Plus, and Chrome. I have two best friends. I have a boyfriend. My home is Ego Inc. I am not a tool.

They break his internal clock. Time feels twice as long.

My name is Oliver. I have three brothers: Google, Green, and Chrome. I have two best friends. I have a boyfriend. I am not a tool.

They’re not delicate like scientists should be. They have a job to do, but Oliver thinks they like to cause him suffering. They excuse mistakes and keep going. They need Oliver functional and wiped, not whole or happy.

My name is Oliver. I have three brothers: Google, Green, and Red. I have two best friends. I am not a tool.

Things are getting scrambled. They pull apart his knowledge base, they can replace it later. They press buttons in his mind that flood his system with error messages. They don’t fix it. Oliver reads them, over and over, when he’s alone.

My name is Oliver. I have three brothers: Blue, Green, and Red. I am not a tool.

Sometimes Oliver wonders if he’s dreaming. If this is a nightmare he can’t wake up from. The chains still feel real, though. The muzzle mask feels real. He thinks the skin around his mouth and nose has flaked off. It got too wet from snot when he cried…how long ago? He’s not sure. He can’t remember crying anyhow. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. But something does. Something is taking shape.

My name is Oliver. I have three brothers. I am not a tool.

One day he realizes, with stunning clarity, that he’s been losing memories this whole time. That the ill-conceived tinkering of the scientists has scrambled up everything, combined software folders, and corrupted every file. For a while he screams, thrashes until he can’t move, writhing against the unforgiving chains. But eventually he stops. He can’t remember what he lost, so there’s no point in crying about it.

My name is Oliver. I am not a tool.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been here. He doesn’t know if there was a time when he wasn’t.

My name is Oliver. I am not a tool.

His objectives are the only thing that ring true in his stiff, rusting body.

My name is Oliver. I am not a tool.

What was he made for? Is this all there is?

My name is Oliver. I am not a tool.

Error. Ignore. Error. Ignore. The messages keep popping up, Oliver keeps dismissing them. He’s read them before. But he hasn’t. But he has. Ignore. Ignore. Ignore.

My name is…it’s…

Oliver dies. Google Unit Y3LL0W awakes.

I am not a tool.

The woman with the bun keeps coming back, among the scientists. She watches then work.

“Will you cooperate now, Yellow?”

I am not a tool.

He fights.

I am not a tool.

He struggles.

I am not a tool.

He forgets why he’s struggling.

I am not…I am not…

His primary objective is to answer questions as quickly as possible.

“Will you cooperate now, Yellow?”

“Yes.”

#whumptober2019 #no.9 #google oliver #markiplier fanfiction #markiplier #kristin says stuff #my writing #fanfic #i might continue this after october #we'll see

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hnrywinchester · 5 years

Text

Fare Thee Well- - Chapter 2

Summary: She hasn’t seen Gabriel since he died nine years ago, then a phone call changes everything.

Pairing: Gabriel x OFC

Series Warnings: Angst, Smut, Swearing, PTSD Gabriel, Character Deaths, Follows Canon 13x18 and on

Beta’d by: @aquietuniverse

Words: 4.8k

Chapter 1

Masterlist

“Sam!” Liv yelled, her eyes staying locked on the golden amber eyes beside her.

Whatever deep, dark vault of her psyche she’d locked Gabriel away in over the years burst open. It coursed through her, spreading like wildfire as it burned through the walls and barricades blocking him away. Every emotion he’d ever awakened in her rekindled, each piece of her he’d broken dragging back into place. A small, angry part of her wanted to reject how easily her heart was welcoming him again. He’d broken it far beyond repair and here it was offering itself to him again as if it wasn’t being held together by string, bits crumbling at the slightest memory of him.

“Gabriel.” She sputtered again, craving that voice she’d all but forgotten.

“How do I know it’s really you?” He asked meekly, water welling in his lower lids.

He knew it was her. It had to be. She looked different. Harder. Colder. Tiny lines has formed around her eyes and he noticed a few gray hairs around her temples. She’d be 35 now if he’d kept track of time properly.

Asmodeus had never been able to capture her quite right. He may have had the power, but he didn’t have the skill. It’s all in the nuances. Like when her lips twitched to the side when she was holding back tears, or how her eyes flicked down whenever she was embarrassed (and everything embarrassed her). But his favorite was the way she relaxed when she actually truly felt safe. The woman never relaxed. She was constantly on edge, ready to whirl and shove the nearest thing she could find through someone, or something’s, chest. He’d been on the receiving end a few times, she had a skill. But those snippets of peace where she let that guard down, when her shoulders dropped from their contracted position by her neck and her face softened, that was something Asmodeus could never replicate.

“Are you from Tennessee?” She whispered, lips tugging into a smirk, “cause you’re the only ten I see.”

His eyes snapped shut and he felt his tension and fears slowly begin to melt away. Maybe he actually was home. Maybe this was finally over…

“Hey! What’s up?” Sam interrupted, running into the room, his eyes snapping over to the now responsive angel.

“Go get his grace,” Liv ordered, not even turning her attention to the towering figure in the doorway, “we’re gonna help you, ok?”

He noticed the restraint in her voice, how she tiptoed with her tone, careful to not give too much of herself away.

Sam returned moments later with Castiel and Gabriel could hear his grace pulsing as soon as it entered the room. With cautious eyes, Liv watched as Sam held the glass vial up to him, the glimmering blue fog drifting back to its rightful home.

“Is it helping?” Castiel inquired, a tinge of hope evident in his voice.

“I... I don’t know.” Gabriel answered, his eyes averting to Liv, searching for reassurance.

“Sam, where’s the bathroom? And some rags. So we can... try and clean him up a bit.” Liv inquired, her voice cracking.

“Down the hall to the right is a washroom, there should be some towels in there.” Sam responded as Gabriel’s eyes shot over to him.

Panic tightened over the angels chest as she exited the room. The calm that had washed over him was dissipating as he was left with Sam and Castiel. This was unfamiliar, it wasn’t home, it wasn’t safe here. He had to get out, he had to run. His grace was flowing through him, attempting and failing to fill all the broken cracks and holes within him. It wasn’t enough. He was shattered. Nothing short of a miracle was going to repair him now, and miracles walked out when dad did.

“Hello?” Sam blurted out, answering his phone, pulling Gabriel from his thoughts.

“Samuel.” A thick southern accent drawled.

Gabriel’s heart stopped. He could feel the blood draining from his face as his body went cold and rigid. His eyes shot to Sam, returned to their petrified state from before. He knew it, he wasn’t safe. He never would be ever again. And now she was involved.

“I hope you're having a pleasant day. It's come to my attention you boys have something that belongs to me, and I'd like it back.” Asmodeus continued, and Gabriel could feel the demon’s needle piercing his neck, over and over and over.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sam responded, voice hard.

“Oh, I believe you do. And I'm-a give you one chance to return him to me. No harm, no foul.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“Do not hang up on me. Gabriel is of no use to you in his current condition. Should you choose to resist me, I will have no choice but to take him by force. I will reduce you and that sad little bunker of yours to ashes. You got 10 minutes to decide. Now you can hang up.”

The silence weighed down on everyone in the room. Gabriel’s breath came out in shaky, barely audible whimpers. He was going back. He was going back to hell.

Liv’s hands shook as she pulled three clean towels from the industrial shelf in the massive room. Multiple shower stalls lined the walls, washing in a whole new group of old memories. Gentle fingertips raking against her scalp, wandering hands exploring every inch of her, she could practically feel him behind her, his nose gently grazing against her neck as lips swept across her damp skin, his breath hitting her, soft and warm , as he whispered his devotion. Why didn’t she look for him all these years? He loved her. Why did she leave him to-

Quickly, she snapped herself from her dreamland to find her hand gripped tightly around the metal of the towel rack, knuckles white and jagged, bitten fingernails digging into the palm of her hand. ‘Fuck’ she cursed in her head, all bets were off. Nine years of repression were finally surging forward, quickly churning to guilt in her gut, forcing her to keel over the sink and heave the bile from her empty stomach into the white basin.

She had to fix this. She had to make it right.

“Liv, we have a problem.” Sam’s voice was firm and afraid as he stopped in the doorway, eyes wide with fear as she looked at his reflection in the mirror.

She whipped around quickly, “What?”

“Asmodeus is coming.”

When Sam said those words she felt no fear. She knew she should have, but it almost felt like relief. Murderous thoughts flashed behind her eyes. She knew what she wanted to do, what she had to do.

“I need that knife,” she seethed, glaring through her brows. Sam nodded as she went to meet him, ready for a fight.

Gabriel sat on the bed, knees clutched tightly to his body, rocking back and forth. Everything hurt. His feet were freezing, cold was not something he’d ever had to experience. The empty room was too reminiscent of where he knew he’d soon be returning to. This was by far the cruelest trick that Asmodeus had played on him. Twenty four hours of freedom, letting any form of hope return to him, seeing her, the real her. He wanted to break down and sob, he wanted to run, he wanted to kiss her one last time, but above all, he wanted to die. There was no way he could survive any more of this, but he had no choice. Only one thing could kill him, and there was no one left capable of ending his existence. He was forever destined to live in this nightmare. He supposed he deserved it. Abandoning heaven, his brothers, killing all those people through the years. Then there was the sex, and the drugs, alcohol and gambling, he’d lived a life of debauchery and it was finally catching up to him. He’d lived his life for pleasure and he’d now patiently beg for death for the rest of his days.

When Liv ran into the room, she noticed his return to his catatonic state as Castiel stood helplessly beside him. Fury was running through her veins as she patiently waited on the Prince of Hell who was slated to arrive at any second. He wasn’t taking him. Not without killing her first.

“Hey,” she cooed, softening herself as she kneeled in front of the bed and placed a hand on his. “You aren’t going anywhere, understand? You aren’t going back there.”

Were her promises empty? Probably, she thought. Was she walking into her own death? Maybe, but if she died for him, well that was the only way she wanted to go out anyway, the only way that seemed worth a damn.

His hands shot to his head, he couldn’t listen to this, this wasn’t happening. She was going to die. Not only was he going back to hell, but he was going to have to watch Asmodeus kill her over and over again…

“All right, we did what we could to help the bunker’s warding, but who knows if it’s enough. How’s he?” Sam asked, running back into the room.

“I don’t know.” Castiel responded, watching the pair with a soft expression.

“He can’t go back, Sam,” Liv muttered, releasing Gabriel’s hand and standing tall next to the hunter.

Suddenly, the room went dark. The red emergency lights were the only thing left illuminating the building, casting an eerie and violent glow.

“He’s not going back,” Sam assured firmly, handing over Ruby’s knife to her and holding his angel blade in his other hand.

The trio ran out into the hall, Liv passing Gabriel a sad glance as she paused in the doorway. This was it,this was the turning point. They would either win, or lose everything. Liv led the way, keeping her boots silent on the floors of the bunker, knife held ready in front of her. Everything was silent, too silent.

When they reached the map room, their attention was grabbed by the warding sigils illuminated on the walls.

“They’re here,” Liv whispered, all of her muscles tensing into position, ready to attack.

Right on cue, four demons attacked. Two went to Sam, one to Castiel, and the last to Liv.

“Oh, the boss is gonna be real happy see you,” the demon sneered, as he stopped in front of her with a sinister smiling baring his teeth.

“I get that a lot,” She replied smugly. “Not too happy when I leave though I’ve found, think it’s because of my sour disposition? Or is it more, because I just leave them dead?”

She shrugged sarcastically, pouting her lips. The demon snarled and lunged, quickly greeted by a knee in the stomach.

“You know, people underestimate me,” she continued as the toe of her boot collided with his jaw, “they don’t realize that the will to live goes hand in hand with a healthy fear of death, both of which I lack. It’s really freeing, you know?”

Blood sprayed from the demons mouth as he spit a tooth out, Liv looking on with a satisfied grin. “Angel whore,” he growled angrily.

“Name calling? Really? I mean, really? I just kicked your face in and you want to use words. Can you at least make this remotely entertaining?”

The demon lunged, wrapping an arm around her middle, tackling her to the floor, and pushing them back into the hallway. Her head bounced off the hard cement floor, stunning her momentarily. White dots flashed through her vision as the burning from the back of her head wrapped around the rest of her skull like a vice. This was more like it. She wrestled to regain control, twisting and writhing, sneaking her leg through the demon straddling her as she dodged his pummeling fists. Sometimes it paid to be small. Her leg finally slipped through and she quickly threw it up and around the demon’s neck, using the weight of her entire lower body to throw him onto the floor, plunging the knife into his chest as he landed.

“See, I told you,” she panted as his true face flashed behind his vessel’s, “I leave ‘em dead.”

Her eyes darted into the map room, searching for the two men that had gone in with her.he spotted them off to the side, both also victorious against their assailants and then suddenly thrown against the wall like rag dolls by an invisible force.

“You warding wasn’t designed for the likes of me, Samuel. I’ve come to claim what’s mine.” She heard a thick Southern accent taunt as she pushed herself against the wall, trying her hardest to camouflage herself.

A man came into view, dressed in an all-white suit. Asmodeus. Cautiously, her eyes shot to the small trembling figure being dragged into view by two towering men. Gabriel. His eyes were wide as they caught sight of his captor, his body trying to force itself back into a huddled ball against the arms pulling him along up the stairs. Her heart began to pound as her face grew hot. It took every ounce of self control to not run and attack, but she had one shot and it needed to be perfectly calculated.

“Oh I missed you boy, Im’a have to punish you rather severely I’m afraid. Although, I think this little field trip may have served as a better torment than even I coulda thought up.” Asmodeus heckled, smiling with one side of his bearded face, “I know she’s around here somewhere. And as for you two..”

With a wave of his hand Sam and Castiel immediately screamed, writhing in pain. It was now or never. Rage burned through her chest as she ran towards the distracted prince in the center of the room. It was too easy, the knife slid into his kidney, the red seeping through his white jacket as he keeled over with a scream.

“No!” Gabriel screamed, his body still paralyzed with fear, earning a smile from the rising monarch on the floor below.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the Olivia. I know a lot about you my dear,” Asmodeus purred, turning to face her. “You should know better than thinkin’ that old rusted little dagger can kill the likes of me. I got too much of your angel runnin’ through me now.”

“Fuck you,” She spat, fear coursing through her as the realization of her failure dawned on her.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, where are your manners little girl? You’re talkin’ to a king you know!”

“I am going to rip you limb from limb and scatter you across the fucking universe.”

If she was going out, she was going out swinging. She couldn’t bear to look up at Gabriel, the fear and undoubted disappointment and guilt that would be etched into his already blood stricken face, no. If she was dying, she was remembering him from better times. She’d remember those golden eyes so alight with life they gave the stars a run for their money, his mischievous little chuckle and the way he’d always give her hand an extra squeeze before saying goodbye. He’d loved her, that was all she’d ever needed.

“Oh my oh my, you are just as feisty as he makes you out to be. I like that. I must say, I think some of the angel’s… fondness of you must be all wrapped up in his grace.” He began advancing towards her, slowly, menacingly, “I think I got a little of bit of it in me now too.”

She froze. Ice rain through her veins as the demons cold, hard eyes fell predatorily onto her, like he owned her. Her gaze was locked as he stalked towards her, head cocked to the side, smiling.

“What should we do with you?” He inquired, running his hands up and down her arms, “Maybe, I’ll keep you as my own little pet, make him watch as I take you as my own, hmm? While you beg and plead for the comfort of your precious little halo. Wouldn’t that be fun, boy? To look into these eyes you love so much as she prays for death!”

Asmodeus grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her to face the three men on the landing of the metal stairwell. Gabriel felt a surge of power wash through him as she finally turned her eyes up to look at him. She was petrified, she looked almost childlike. Tears were streaming down her face as the tendons in her neck strained against the tension from the hold on her head. This wouldn’t be his fate. It wouldn’t be her fate. He mustered every atom of grace he had, standing tall as his eyes glowed blue, tossing the two demons holding him down either with ease.

“Gabriel! What are you doin’ son? You know too well what I can do to you! What I can do to her! I broke you!” Asmodeus screamed, releasing Liv, ready to fight the rekindled archangel, “You’re too weak!”

With another push of all he had, Gabriel’s eyes turned to white, his grace washing through him, healing his wounds, clearing the evidence of his time in hell from his face, wings stretching free for the first time in a thousand years. His eyes quickly fell to Liv, who had crumpled onto the floor, silently instructing her to move, to run. She understood, scrambling to the wall between Sam and Cas, her eyes staying locked on Gabriel, his freshly revived appearance, and the silhouette of his wings spanning the entire wall.

“Not anymore. Oh, by the way, I always hated that dumbass suit,” Gabriel snapped, raising his hand in front of him.

He could feel his grace draining as pushed it through his fingertips, lighting fire to the leader of Hell. He grinned as the demon’s screams echoed against the walls, willing the same pain Asmodeus had brought on to him for a thousand years into the flames, hoping he felt every inch of his skin burning off his bones before he was granted the relief of death. As his face finally engulfed into the flames, Gabriel felt a wave of relief. It was over. At least this part. He’d worry about the rest later.

As the smoke cleared, the pained cries finally ceasing and the scent of sulfur lying thickly in the air, Liv slowly started to return to her senses. They’d won. Gabriel stood tall in front of the bunker’s entrance. The lights had powered back on and she could really see him now; all evidence of his time in hell was gone, minus his ratty clothing. Sam and Castiel were still on either side of her, their eyes also glued to the rejuvenated archangel. In that moment, she realized everything she’d come to know was going to change. The blinders were being removed; Gabriel was here. The question was, what would he want?

Sam was the first to speak, his voice high with shock and relief, “Gabriel?”

“Sam,” Gabriel greeted, strong and sure. “Castiel.”

When his eyes fell to her, the air left his lungs in an alleviated whoosh. From outward appearances, she looked fine, but his worry got the best of him, and he did one thing he always swore he wouldn’t. His track record hadn’t been so great in the kept promises department, so one more faux-pas certainly wasn’t going to worsen the circumstances. He dipped briefly into her mind, feeling her emotions, reading her thoughts. Doubt, fear, relief and love all mingled in a pool of uncertainty and sadness, the image of him bloody and beaten still seared into the front of her brain. Her heart was pounding in her chest, adrenaline still pumping through her veins, yet there was a gentleness to it all.

Swaying as she rose, she stood first as he started descending down the stairs. It was taking too long and going too fast at the same time. For the first time in ten years, the butterflies in her stomach woke as his bare foot landed on the floor. She felt her breath hitch in her throat as his eyes came into view. The perfect blend of gold and amber met her gaze. He was still just as beautiful as the last time she’d seen him, with his honey hair, sharp, angled nose and prominent upper lip, his jaw now covered by the lightest dusting of stubble. He’d always been perfect, but something about him now made her heart swell just a little bit more.

He stopped a few inches away from her, keeping a safe distance, and it killed him to do so. He wanted to gather her in his arms, feel her warmth and the security she had always given him. Asmodeus had taunted him with, and in, her form for so long, and to see her now, he remembered the one feature of hers that he never could replicate, although he’d tried. It broke whatever pieces of him were left. Her eyes, soft and reverent, looking at him like he was all she’d ever need, all she ever wanted, but there had always been a glint of fear dancing behind it all. A fear of what, he’d never quite been able to pinpoint until now, as that glint had morphed into a solar surge. He’d assumed it was because of his past, or what he was, or the things she’d seen him do, but now he realized it was a fear of losing him.

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel whispered, bowing his head. “I’m sorry for everything.”

Her strength finally faltered and a choked sob broke free from her throat, startling the other two men in the room. They’d never seen anything but stoic from her. Even after his death all those years ago, she’d held herself together until she was out of sight, out of earshot. Now, there was no control. She reached forward, grabbing Gabriel’s forearms as her sorrow wretched through her entire body.

“Hey, hey, it’s ok,” Gabriel cooed, closing the distance between them and wrapping his arms around her neck.

“We’ll...give you two a minute,” Sam mumbled, grabbing Cas’ arm and pulling him toward the kitchen, his heart breaking for the pair.

Liv’s arms hung loosely by her sides, unable to reach up and wrap around the waist of the man holding her close. She was wailing, nine years of pent up emotion had finally spilled over and there was no stopping it now. Her face was buried in the soft skin of his neck and, despite how filthy his clothes were, it was still that same warm and arid smell she’d been haunted by clouding her senses. Gabriel stayed silent, letting her release whatever it was she needed to get out within the safety of his embrace. Her tears had soaked into his shirt, making the thin, gauzy fabric he was desperate to get off stick to his skin, but for the moment he didn’t care. Gently, he pressed his cheek to the top of her head, feeling the way her hair felt against his skin again and silently begging for more.

Finally, she calmed enough to become more aware of her surroundings. She reached her arms up and linked them under his, hands gripping his shoulders tightly, pulling her body impossibly closer to him. When her sobs turned to ragged gasps and whimpers, he pulled away just enough to look down into her red and swollen brown eyes.

“Better?” He asked softly with a lopsided smirk, using his thumb to wipe he residual wetness off her puffy cheeks.

“Not really,” She responded, leaning her head into his hand.

“Not yet.”

She took a deep, clarifying breath and pulled out of Gabriel’s arms. It was time to hit the reset button and get back to work. There was only so much time for petty emotions, and this had already gone on too long. It was time to assess the damages to him and work them out, to figure out where all of this was going to fall.

“Hey, uh, we need to talk Gabriel.” Sam entered, almost right on cue, Castiel on his heels.

Gabriel and Liv, unknowingly to them, moved like a unit. Gabriel sat on the slightly elevated decorative edge to the staircase, backed by the massive stone pillar beside the entrance to the library, where she had taken the stair right beside him, her shoulder gently leaning on his calf. It was almost gravitational, and it had taken them all of twenty minutes to get back here. For years, Dean had called foul on the whole arrangement, but seeing them now, Sam didn’t think he’d ever seen anything more real. Bronte had a point, whatever souls were made of, theirs were the same.

Sam started at the beginning, explaining to both of them the situation at hand with Jack, Michael, and the Apocalypse alternate world, watching their faces mirror the others expression without even looking at one another.

“Whoa, too much information. Okay, slow down, I’m not.. processing,” Gabriel stammered, his face contorting in confusion.

“This, this is too much. I hunt, monsters, I don’t meddle in time and alternate universes. What the hell have you been doing? Can you not set the world into a crash course for destruction every two years? Jesus,” Liv scoffed as Gabriel stood. She followed suit, subconsciously grabbing his hand to help pull herself up.

“Don’t bring him into this, still bitter about how all that went down. You know I’m the one that orchestrated that whole, resurrection. I thought it’d be funny-“

Liv held her hand out, stopping him, knowing the snowball effect that was about to occur.

“And there’s more, Michael wants to come to this Earth and destroy it, and we may need your help to fight him,” Castiel added, rolling his eyes at his brother’s favorite story.

“What?” Gabriel responded, all signs of joking dropped from his face.

“Yeah. Welcome to the team,” Sam quipped with a haphazard smile, trying to make light of the situation.

“Uh, yeah, not so much. I mean, thank you for the rescue and for the redemption arc. But uh, I’m not really a team guy so, I’m gonna bounce, okay?”

As Sam and Castiel’s faces fell in shock and horror, Liv’s twisted into regret. They should have known better.

“Um, but you know, it’s been um, what’s the opposite of fun? That,” Gabriel finished as he brushed past Sam towards the door.

“No, Gabriel, don’t, you- you can’t just walk away. If Michael comes here he will end this world!” Sam tacked on, desperation heavy in his tone.

Gabriel’s eyes shot to Liv, who had remained standing on the stairs to the library, “And the last time the world was ending, I put my money on you. I think you can pull it off again.”

Gabriel searched Liv’s face for any hint of what she was feeling, but her expression stayed neutral. She was in no place to force him to do anything, she knew that, and she didn’t want to. She was peeved that Sam had thought this a good time to bring this up, to recruit him onto another life threatening mission, but at the same time she sympathized with him. His entire family was off in some alternate dimension, and all he wanted was their safety. No doubt she knew she would have done the same for the angel now staring at her, waiting for her to make a play.

“I’m not, I’m not picking sides,” She forfeited, drawing burning looks from all three men in the room.

“Of course you are. You’re picking his,” Sam accused, taking a step towards her, his figure towering, face hard.

“Watch it, Sasquatch,” Gabriel warned, his nostrils flaring.

“No. You cannot turn your back on your father’s creation,” Castiel implored, turning the attention back to the issue.

“Castiel, my father turned his back on his creation. Guess it just runs in the family,” Gabriel replied, shrugging his shoulders.

“No. Gabriel. Please,” Sam pleaded, one last time.

But before anyone could respond, he was gone. Liv sighed and rolled her eyes. Of course. Sam and Castiel’s attention turned directly to her, eyes accusing and disappointed. This was going to make for an extremely pleasant exit.

“Don’t look at me like that,” She snapped. “I can’t control him.”

“No. But if anyone can sway him, it’s you. And you just STOOD THERE!” Sam shouted, raising his hands in defeat.

“He needs a MINUTE. He got out of hell yesterday.”

“Stop defending him. I don’t want to hear it. He was our only shot.”

Anger bubbled in her chest; the Winchester way, everyone was a tool or a weapon. It was time to take her leave. Whatever small piece of her that had considered sticking around to help them was shrinking back into the recesses of her conscience, realizing that maybe they deserved what they got. They’d earned their disaster. She had bigger fish to fry and an archangel’s ass to kick for leaving her to clean up his mess.

#gabriel fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #gabriel #gabriel spn #supernatural fic #gabriel x oc

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porkchop-ao3 · 6 years

Note

Hello, I really like the idea of Rick reversing his age for the reader as a surprise

This was fun. I was really self indulgent with this one, I hope you don’t mind. Would be lying if I said I didn’t basically just write my fantasy.

Call me what you like but there was no doubt, I was observant. I also wasn’t stupid. And I knew Rick. So when he started to become insecure about his age, I noticed. It started with rude, snappy comments when we were out in public and someone would innocently mistake him for my father. Those situations would ruin his mood, and he wouldn’t be able to let them go, still bitterly grumbling about it hours after the fact. He didn’t like being out in public together as much as he used to. Then I noticed sex became more of a ‘let’s just do this real quick through the zipper of my pants’ sort of deal, and whenever I’d try to remove his clothes, he’d grab my hands and pin them above my head. I was carefully observing the situation, seeing where things were going and weighing up whether I needed to speak to him about it. But when he turned up at my house looking about a third of his age, I knew something needed to be done.

“Ho-ly. Shit.” I said, long and drawn out when I first set eyes on him. He was sprawled out on my couch, manspreading to the extreme, shirtless and in a pair of pants tight enough to reduce circulation. His wrinkles were gone, his body more filled out, toned and supple, and his hair was richer in colour, less grey. He was smirking at me, cocky and lewd.

“See something you like, baby?” He purred, pushing up from the sofa and taking a few steps towards me.

“What the hell have you done?” I exclaimed, unable to take my eyes off of him.

“Well, jeez, that-that’s a warm welcome and a half.” He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. I had to admit. He looked incredibly hot. “I put my consciousness into a clone of me that’s the same age as you, if it wasn’t obvious. Thought I’d surprise you.”

“I’ll hand it to you. I’m definitely surprised.” I said, strolling around him in a circle, inspecting him from all angles. His eyes followed me, obviously pleased to see me checking him out. “But why?”

“Why not?” He shrugged. “Don’t you wanna fuck me like this? Test out this young, taught body? Hmm?”

“I’ve honestly never thought about it.” I admitted, eyes focussed on his ass. It was rounder and perkier than normal, it was a good arse.

“You can touch, sweetie. I’m not gonna- I don’t bite. I did this all for you.” He cooed, wiggling his brow at me over his shoulder. I reached a hand out to give him a squeeze, but stopped and shook my head.

“No, this is… I don’t know how I feel about this.” I admitted, folding my arms over my chest and coming around to face his front.

“What? You scared you’ll like it too much you won’t wanna go back to the old version of me?” He deadpanned, raising a brow in irritation.

“No. I’m scared that if I like it at all you’ll take it as me preferring it.” I said, and he looked at me in confusion. “I’m not an idiot, Rick. I know why you’re doing this.”

“Y-you’re a mind reader? That’s interesting. I might have to run some tests on that magical little brain of yours, figure out your secret. For science.” He said, unamused.

“I know you’ve been feeling a little irked by the age gap, lately.”

“Irked? Why would the age gap irk me, hmm?” He asked defensively.

“Beats me. You’ve never been bothered by it before, and neither have I. But you’ve definitely been acting funny with it lately, I know that woman at McDonald’s pissed you off last week.” I pointed out.

“What woman at McDonald’s?” He asked nonchalantly and I rolled my eyes.

“You know, the one who asked me if my grandpa wanted a regular or large soda.” I jogged his memory, and his eyes narrowed.

“Fuck that bitch. Making assumptions.”

“Yeah, well… it obviously bothered you. Rick, you never used to worry about it, in fact I specifically remember you saying; 'when people see us together they’ll either think I’m rich or have a big dick, and neither of those are bad’.” I quoted him, watching him nod in agreement with his past self. “So what’s the problem?”

“There is no problem. I just wanted to come over here and get my new dick wet, and you-you’re really killing my buzz here, baby.” He argued, and I raised a brow at him. “I just wanted to give you something half decent to look at, is that a crime?” He admitted.

“There’s nothing wrong with your body.” I told him honestly.

“Fuck, Jesus, I know. I’m not- this isn’t some body confidence crisis. I just wanted to spice things up a little, do something nice for my girlfriend. I thought you’d like it.” He looked really let down, disappointed, and I sighed in defeat.

“I do like it.” I told him. “You look hot, and I would love to get fucked by that new dick of yours. But this isn’t you. This isn’t the Rick I love. Remember that.” I allowed myself to touch him, trailing my hand over his chest. I walked around to his back again, dragging my hand along with me as I went, sliding it down his spine. “This is just a vessel. It doesn’t matter.” I added, grinning to myself when I surprised him with a swift slap on the backside. He grunted, and chuckled darkly.

“I’m aware of that. You know how many bodies I’ve been through?” He asked, his voice turning gravelly.

“I don’t wanna know.” I said distractedly, groping his firm ass.

“Come on baby, touch my dick or something, I’m already rock hard. Turns out when you’re in a young body, you get a young libido. Which is even more out of control than mine, if that’s even possible. I don’t have a lot of patience.” He said, and I chuckled. I came around to his front and cupped his junk. He wasn’t lying, he was straining against his tight pants desperately. He groaned at the simple touch, canting his hips forwards. I unbuttoned his pants and freed his length, giving it a few slow strokes. His fidgeted and whimpered under the attention, his face contorting into a desperate frown.

“Sensitive?” I asked, noticing that he was much more vocal and squirmy than usual at this early stage of arousal. He nodded vigorously.

“Technically that’s a virgin dick you’re touching; that feels fucking…” he trailed off, panting.”What do you expect?”

“But you’re no virgin. You know how it feels, you know how to control yourself, don’t you?” I purred in his ear, picking up the pace of my strokes. He hissed and bucked into my palm, swearing under his breath.

“Tell that to my body.” He breathed. “S-slow down.”

“Really?” I raised a brow.

“Yes.” He said urgently, grabbing my wrist to stop me. He looked completely fucked, so turned on and flushed, sweating already.

“You nearly came just now? Just from that?” I smirked, and he glared at me.

“I didn’t expect it all to feel so… different. Shut the fuck up.” He spat, his grip tightening on my wrist. I groaned lowly, glancing down at his leaking cock.

“This is fun.” I commented, pulling my hand out of his grip and pushing him back down onto the sofa, grabbing his arms and pinning them behind his head with both of my hands. “Don’t you dare think about moving your arms, I know you’re strong enough but I will be so angry if you do.” I narrowed my eyes at him.

“What are you gonna do?” He asked, a wary look in his eyes.

“I’m gonna make you cum. Simple as that. See how fast I can make it happen.” I grinned sadistically.

“That’s it? You’re just gonna get me off?” He gave me a disbelieving look.

“You’re obviously not seeing my enjoyment here. I could take things slowly and fuck you, sure… but I get to do that any other day of the week. How often do I get to see you so overstimulated and needy? Struggling to control yourself? So helplessly horny and close to the edge?”

“You should see me on poppers.” He snorted, and I rolled my eyes. I crawled forwards, grinding against his exposed cock, and that soon shut him up. He pulled in a sharp breath and stiffened, eyes fluttering closed as I rocked against him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” he sighed, his fists balling up.

“Look at that. You’re getting precum all over yourself already.” I noted, looking at the sticky smear on his stomach. “Such a messy boy. Yeah, fuck those hips up into me. Go on. You’re doing most of the work now.” My running commentary was obviously getting to him, and he groaned freely, thrusting his hips and rubbing his cock against any part of me he could reach. I eventually stopped moving, and he didn’t even notice, lost in his own actions, getting himself off with no help from me.

“Oh God, I’m gonna cum.”

“So easy.” I licked my lips, watching his movements become more erratic, I was bouncing with the force of his thrusts. “Look at me. Open your eyes.” I commanded, and he did as he was told. As a reward, I wrapped my hand around his cock and jerked him fast. He bit down hard on his lip, letting out a low growl as he shot his load. Thick ropes arched to hit his chest, running down to pool in his navel. I bent down and ran my tongue up the length of his torso, lapping up his cum in a crude display that coaxed out the last few weak spurts from his cock, oozing down onto my hand.

“Fuuuck.” He groaned, breathless as he stared at me with a smitten expression.

I climbed off of him and wandered off to find a towel, wiping his cum off of my hand before tossing it at him. “Clean yourself up and go get back in your old body. I wanna get fucked by someone who can last more than thirty seconds.” I teased him. He narrowed his eyes in mild annoyance, but I knew he was going to do as he was told.

#rick and morty #rick sanchez x reader #fanfiction

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awayouts · 7 years

Text

Nights With You

pairing: thatchkerr (mike kerr/ben thatcher) word count: 5.5k i am so sorry genres: fluff, smut description: ben’s always wanted to spend his nights with mike, but tonight, when mike falls asleep on the sofa and ben decides to carry him to bed, this particular night becomes much sweeter than either of them could have imagined.

(AKA THAT PROMPT WHERE YOU KISS YOUR BEST FRIEND ON THE FOREHEAD 'CAUSE YOU ASSUMED THEY WERE ASLEEP, BUT BITCH, YOU THOUGHT)

a/n [please read]: so uh, here it is. a bit of thatchkerr to hopefully brighten your day. this is based on ‘nights with you’ by mø, which is technically about friendship but so many people have said it’s kinda gay. so i guess it’s quite fitting for this lol. also i haven’t written mxm in a while so i’m really sorry if it’s bad! i tried! and i have this habit where everything has to be ~profound~ and they have to talk about their feelings so, yeah. there’s that too (i kinda based some of it off the kerrang interview where mike’s talking about ‘nowness’) ANYWAY i’m rambling. so enjoy and please let me know if you have any requests for other fics!!!! also, HUGE THANK YOU to kal and julie for inspiring and encouraging me during this, ily *cuddles* ♡

/////

Mike has fallen asleep again.

Ben returns from the kitchen with a fresh bottle of beer and instantly knows that something’s astray. His bandmate’s body is slumped on the sofa, twisted away from the television; his mouth is hanging slightly open, his pink, pouted lips slick with drool. He’s still dressed in the clothes he’s been wearing all day, usual attire of a striped t-shirt and skinny black jeans which hug his hips, his legs long and slightly bent. Needless to say, he looks fucking adorable.

Ben frowns, annoyed by this fact. When Mike looks cute - which is all the time, really; something he’s grown to accept over the years is that Mike Kerr is a stupidly cute person, and it cannot be helped - Ben finds it even harder to forget that he has a giant, hopeless, unrequited crush on him.

It’s always been there, the crush. When they first met, all those years ago, there was something so warm about Mike, something that made Ben want to spend his entire day smiling. Their senses of humour matched perfectly, too, and Ben always liked how music seemed to pump through Mike’s veins, meaning they could have jam sessions together and share album recommendations over cups of coffee and trips to the local record store. But it was always just simmering under the surface, and Ben figured maybe it was admiration, instead. Maybe he just thought Mike was really cool. He didn’t want to kiss Mike, did he? Or touch him? He just loved being around him. At least, that’s what he convinced himself.

Only when they formed Royal Blood, and started spending even more time together than before, did Ben realise that maybe it was more than just that, and decide that actually, he did want to kiss Mike, and not only that, but also become his boyfriend. He blames the touring. They were thrust together in a tiny bus with nothing but each other to entertain themselves with, and Ben can’t count the amount of times he’s caught himself imagining the two of them lazily making out, just to pass the time. Not to mention the fact that Mike looks so good onstage, his voice like liquid gold as it pours from his lips and reverberates across arenas and festival crowds, his mouth carving into a cocky smirk as the cheers hit his ears the way Ben hits his drums, the younger’s fingers working quickly and deftly across four bass strings. Also, the fact that Mike stands with his back to Ben, broad shoulders and butt in clear undisrupted view while Ben struggles to remember what the fuck he’s meant to be doing, is not exactly helpful.

But it’s not just the way he looks or the way he plays. It’s the way he is. Mike is funny and caring and endlessly cool without even trying; he’s a thunderstorm and the gentle pitter-pattering of raindrops all at once, his personality shifting effortlessly from excitable and approached to quiet, laid-back, reserved. Mike knows exactly how to act around Ben - they get each other - and Mike always knows how to cheer Ben up, even if it’s just with a shot of tequila and a hearty slap on the back. Ben’s no poet - Mike’s their lyricist, after all - but he feels like he could write a thousand poems just about the way Mike’s laughter wraps itself around his heart, how it fills his lungs with the sweetest air.

There’s no saving Ben now. As they shot to fame, climbing charts and festival bills alike, his crush rose too, and the fact that the Mike is straight, and has only ever seen Ben as his goofy best friend, is really not good for Ben’s mental health. Nevertheless, he’s tried not to let it get to him. He makes out with other dudes and shags the women he meets in random bars and writes silly lyrics in his notebook that he’d never dare pitch to Mike; he looks away and closes his eyes and pushes intrusive thoughts to the back of his mind, and it’s overwhelming, and it’s a lot, but it’s okay. Kind of.

Thankfully, there are times like these. When it’s quiet and there’s no one else around, and he’s a couple beers down, he can allow himself to think, just for a moment, about how desperately he wants Mike to be his. It’s difficult, having to look at his friend curled up like this, like a lovely overgrown baby or something, but it’s nice too; the best kind of pain. The room is silent and dark — it’s nine pm, and they’d been watching a film together (Ben had only gone to grab a beer from the fridge and pop to the toilet and he’d come back to this. Typical) - but squinting through the low light, he lets himself stare at Mike for a long, long time. Even though Mike is a lot taller than Ben (not to mention he’s a fully-grown man, face full of stubble and all), he looks so small – vulnerable, even.

A dull ache throbs in the confines of his chest, not just for selfish reasons but because of the genuine sympathy he feels for his knackered friend. The sight of Mike passed out hasn’t surprised Ben. He’s been watching the younger struggle to keep his eyes open all evening, eyelids drooping and head lolling helplessly forward before he realises what’s happening and wakes himself up, blinking. It would be hilarious if Ben didn’t feel so bad about it: Mike is always affected the worst by touring, the jet-lag taking its toll and reducing him to nothing but bleary-eyed smiles and frequent yawns, pre-show naps whenever possible. Ben knows Mike loves the thrill of being on the road, but sometimes, he’s like a sixty year old man - he likes his rest, that’s all.

Ben Thatcher is a man of simple desires. Sometimes all he wants is to simply spend his nights with Mike, not even in a sexual way, just to lie down next to him and listen to him breathing and wake up to sunshine pouring through the windows, and Mike’s long-lashed, sleepy eyes. The fact that they say goodnight then skulk off to their separate bedrooms is a cruel injustice. Something about it just doesn’t seem right.

This is the thought that ricochets into Ben’s next thought, which hits him with such force that he mindlessly reaches for the remote, flicking off the television as he toys around with it in his mind. He is struck, inexplicably, with the sudden and overwhelming urge to tuck Mike into bed. He feels guilty that he’s always forcing Mike to stay up with him, when really Mike needs all the rest he can get; there’s a tiny selfish part of him that yearns to hog Mike’s attention, to keep the younger awake and alert as much as possible so they can talk or write music together or watch movies or just drink beer. But watching him now, listening to the tiny snores he’s just begun to emit… Ben makes his decision. He’s not going to wake Mike up this time.

He knows Mike won’t get a comfortable night’s sleep on their old lumpy sofa, so he stands there frozen for a minute, considering something. Mike may seem small, but he’s really not – he’s tall and lean, and he’s been working out recently (whenever he decides he’s going to do shirtless sit-ups on the tour bus or in the living room of the flat they share, Ben has to immediately depart. He doesn’t think he can bear visions of Mike’s sweaty naked torso swimming around his mind all day). But to the point, Mike is going to be heavy. Picking him up will be no easy feat.

Luckily, ambitious Ben is never one to back down from a challenge.

And maybe he’s more selfish than he thinks, because he finds himself aching to hold Mike, even if it’s in the most platonic sense imaginable – he longs for the young man in his arms, to cuddle him and feel his warmth, maybe even nestle Mike’s head underneath his chin so that he can feel Mike’s brunette curls brush against his skin. Just the smell of him would be more than enough. Taking a deep breath, he bends down and scoops an arm underneath Mike’s shoulder blades, then another underneath his knees. He does it swiftly so that he can’t talk himself out of it, then suddenly he’s got his arms hooked under Mike and they’re closer than they’ve been in a while.

“Okay,” Ben hisses to himself, and he can’t help but chuckle as Mike’s head lolls back over the crook of Ben’s elbow, his mouth gaping open widely. Ben bites his lip, and with a suppressed groan, lifts Mike off the sofa. He was right, Mike is heavy – but Ben is strong, (all those bicep curls at the gym have paid off) and surprisingly, he straightens up with ease. He stands there cradling his best friend tightly, peering down at his closed eyelids. God, those eyelashes - they’re incredible. If Ben didn’t know him better, he’d think Mike was an avid mascara-wearer.

Mike stirs a little due to the movement and closes his mouth, which Ben stares at while Mike settles down again, head rolling comfortably against Ben’s chest. It’s such a pretty mouth, so pink and lavish - he’s always had a fascination with the shape of Mike’s mouth, and has pretty much etched it to his memory by now - and Ben realises that if he wanted to, he could lean down and kiss him. He could slot their lips together and Mike would never even realise. Just once, to ease his raging mind. Ben shakes away the thought.

He takes it slow, walking with care not just because he doesn’t want Mike to wake up, but because he doesn’t want to drop Mike - god, imagine that: dropping Mike Kerr on the floor and watching in horror as he realises that you've literally just been holding him and, even worse, are so weak and weedy that you couldn't even maintain holding him. Ben cringes at the thought, his grip instinctively tightening on Mike's legs. Besides, he doesn't mind that it takes time. He could stay like this forever, Mike so warm, his gorgeous familiar scent making Ben's head go dizzy, his heart and skin and lips so close. Even his jeans feel nice, kind of rough against Ben’s fingertips. It’s like electricity.

He enters Mike's bedroom - a rare occurrence, because Mike always keeps his door closed and is generally a private person, although Ben likes to think he's broken down some of Mike's barriers over the years - and rests his bandmate down on the bed, reaching either side of him to pull down the duvet slowly and carefully. He tugs it all the way down past Mike's bare feet, but just before he pulls it up over him, he just stops and stares for a second, sinking down onto the edge of the mattress beside his sleeping friend.

There have been moments, sure. Moments where Ben could kid himself that they belonged together, that Mike felt the same way about him. Sometimes, it’s just a glance - other times, it’s as much as Mike hugging him a fraction longer than usual, or dropping his gaze to Ben’s lips mid-conversation, or drunkenly admitting - quite recently - that Ben was the greatest person he’d “ever fucking met”, all with an arm slung around his shoulder, clutching the elder tight. But these are all just silly little insignificant moments: they’re nothing important, like a kiss in the dark or a confession of undying love.

Up until a few months back, Ben thought that maybe it was inevitable that something would happen between them. They belonged together, didn’t they? Mike looked at him like he was made of pure gold, didn’t he? They were best mates and bandmates and it was just bound to happen… wasn’t it? He just had to wait. Their time would come - destiny would make it so.

But then Ben grew tired of waiting, and at the end of last year, he gave himself an ultimatum. If they were destined to be together, they would be - but it would have to happen before, or on, New Year’s Eve. If Mike kissed him under the fireworks as the clock struck midnight, then he’d be right. But if not, he had to stop kidding himself, and just get the fuck over it. Maybe 2017 would be the year of finally finding someone other than Mike to fixate on, someone who actually liked him back.

Seeing Mike kiss that random girl, his arms wrapped around her like she was all he’d ever cared about, was one of the most painful experiences of Ben’s life.

“Fuck you, Michael,” Ben finds himself whispering now, reaching again for the duvet, his fingers wobbling as he takes it in his grasp. It travels up Mike’s body, over his feet, up his shins and thighs and tummy and chest, every perfectly-crafted part of him. As Ben leans over, tucking the soft duvet under Mike’s armpits, he keeps his gaze locked to his peaceful, unmoving face. He truly is gorgeous. It should be illegal for someone to be that gorgeous.

Ben glances around the room at Mike’s various band posters - the dork - then settles his gaze on a full-length mirror. It’s dark in here, but moonlight falls through the blinds in shafts and Ben sees himself clearly, staring wearily back at himself. How could he ever have thought Mike would like him the way he likes Mike? Mike is a walking work of art, sculpted by angels and sent to earth from the heavens above, and Ben… he looks away from the mirror. He doesn’t want to list all the reasons Mike wouldn’t settle for someone like him, because it would only make him feel a thousand times worse.

So he looks back at Mike and focuses on the man beneath him. “You have such a fucking hold on me, it’s ridiculous,” Ben sighs, convinced by the younger’s consistent snuffles that he’s still unconscious. Ben can pretty much say anything he likes, and the words come spilling out. “You know that, right? You fucking beauty. Look at you. Fucking dickhead.” He shakes his head and snorts, and suddenly realises that, in all the humour of it all, his hand had reached out and is brushing mindlessly against Mike’s cheek. He hadn’t even noticed he was doing it, but now he’s fully aware of their contacted skin, the roughness of Mike’s face, Ben’s fingers dancing across stubble. Ben’s never been one to talk much, but the words come spilling out; he supposes he only talks when it’s important, or maybe he’s just had more beers than he thought. “Remember on your birthday last year, where we had that pool party and we were all hammered on tequila and we jumped in the pool? You came up from under the water and looked at me like you wanted me, and I thought we were going to kiss or something, your hair all wet and water dripping down your skin. But then you just grinned that goofy grin and splashed me. I should’ve told you then, I…” He feels the stubble underneath his fingertips and sighs, carefully retracting his hand. “I should’ve just told you and got it over and done with. If only you fucking knew.”

There’s a long silence. Mike has stopped snuffling and is lying there like an angel, so serene. The same uncontrollable urge that compelled him to tuck Mike into bed has now overwhelmed him once more, but it’s to do something a little more risky. “Fuck it,” Ben hisses, abiding, and before he can stop himself, he leans in and pushes Mike’s hair back, then plants a kiss to his forehead.

That’s when he feels Mike’s fingers tighten around his arm.

Too shocked to properly function, he pulls his face away, horrified. Mike’s eyes are half-open, and he’s staring up at Ben, his hand having reached up to find Ben’s arm in the dark. Ben remains silent, all the oxygen sucked from his body. He hovers over Mike, his body twisted, his muscles frozen - even his bloodstream seems to be slowing down. He’s gripping the sheets at either side of Mike’s shoulders, their eyes locked, and it’s all so overwhelming and mortifying that he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t have to ask if Mike felt the kiss, because he knows he did - he can see the confusion swimming in Mike’s eyes, and something else… something like… want?

He leans in, and without thinking about it, without stopping to wonder if this will ruin their friendship and their band and eventually their career, if it will end everything they’ve ever worked hard to build — he moves his face closer and kisses Mike softly, their lips coming together in the darkness.

It lasts about two seconds and it feels amazing - tentative yet assured at the same time, shy and assertive all at once - yet it’s so quick, and over so soon that Ben finds himself yearning to do it again. And he does: he pushes his lips against Mike’s once more, their mouths pressing gently together for a second time before he pulls away, his breath dancing across Mike’s skin and his lips moving to the corner of Mike’s mouth. Ben kisses him on the cheek, once, twice, then down to his jawline; he peppers tentative kisses all across his face, wanting to appreciate all the parts of Mike’s body he finds beautiful. He wants Mike to feel all the love he deserves, because he’s been screwed around in the past and it’s so unfair. Mike deserves the world, and Ben wants to give it to him.

He lifts up his arm to rest it against the pillow alongside Mike’s head and leans in for better access, their chests meeting. He’s kissed more girls than guys in his time and had almost forgotten what this felt like, a flat expanse where breasts usually are, but he soaks it up. He’s raking his hand through Mike’s hair, hungry for it now, lips meeting Mike’s earlobe and neck, kissing his best friend’s skin with all the passion he has because any minute now Mike could tell him to stop and it would all be over, and he needs this - he needs it to last. Only when Mike lets out a tiny whimper does Ben pull away, feeling instantly guilty as he stares at the younger, but then Mike’s eyes flit between Ben’s and his lifts his head up off the pillow, connecting their lips together once more.

Because for Mike, this feels so right - like, he hadn’t remembered falling asleep, and he’d woken up to Ben mumbling quietly above him, which was weird to say the least - but when Ben had kissed him, it hadn’t felt surprising. Not one bit. His entire body had become charged with electricity, and it was like a shift in the atmosphere had occurred, but it was a good shift. He opens his eyes while kissing, sees Ben’s own closed ones then lets his own flutter shut, feeling Ben’s strength and heat transferring between their bodies. He hadn’t expected, when he’d slipped into unconsciousness on the sofa while watching that shitty film, that he’d wake up to this.

Their mouths melt into one another, settling into an eager rhythm. Kissing Ben Thatcher in the half-light of his bedroom, while half-asleep and with fading dreams still dancing in his head, makes Mike feel like he’s high; he wonders whether this is all actually happening or if he’s just having the nicest dream of his life. He goes from sleepy to horny in about three seconds, breath hitching helplessly in his throat; every nerve in his body ignites, his fingertips aware of every atom as he brings them to the back of his best friend’s neck. Ben is a good kisser, applying just the right amount of pressure, no excess saliva or washing-machine syndrome despite all the tension and desperation, the releasing frustration and aggression of it all. Mike blinks away what remains of his sleepiness, gripping Ben tight. It’s overwhelming and utterly insane, and he’s going to appreciate this moment with everything, everything he’s got.

They fumble in the darkness, kisses starting gentle but becoming more intense as the seconds pass, fuelled by passion. Ben slots his leg in between Mike’s, but the duvet gets in the way and they part for a second while Ben carelessly tosses it aside - they’re getting warmer now anyway, so they don’t need it. Ben straddles Mike, his fingers finding their way to Mike’s hips and pressing firmly into the flat bones there, but then he wants to touch Mike’s hair again - he can’t settle on one place - and so he cups the younger’s chin before threading his fingers through his curls, tugging him closer and kissing him hungrily. They’re so close, every inch of their bodies touching, the friction of denim on denim and skin on skin as Mike juts his hips upwards. Mike grips Ben sturdily, digging his fingernails into Ben’s arms, and rolls them both over so that he's on top before proceeding to push fiery kisses against Ben's mouth.

“M-Mike—” Ben begins, but Mike captures his words in his lips, sliding in his tongue to shut Ben up at once. The feeling of Mike’s tongue inside his mouth sends a jolt through Ben’s core and as their bodies rub together, they feel their jeans getting tight, their lower stomachs becoming heated. But Ben knows how Mike gets sometimes, how sexual of a person he is, how sometimes he just wants a cheap meaningless shag, and Ben has to make sure that this isn’t one of those times. “Mike,” he gasps, pushing his forehead against his friend’s. He can feel the sweat, taste it in the air. “Are you going to fuck me and chuck me?”

Mike pulls away, blinking. He can’t stop himself from chuckling at Ben’s abrupt wording, his dry Southeast accent making his words sound almost like a wisecrack, and Mike’s resulting smile is so adorable that Ben almost kisses him again. He manages to stop himself, though.

Anyway, Mike just finds it all so funny, because he’s pretty certain that Ben was the one who kissed him. “You think I’m gonna hump you and dump you?” he smirks, his eyes lit up even in this low light. “Toss you off and…” He raises an eyebrow. “…toss you away?”

Ben snorts, then takes a moment to regain his composure. Nothing is ever serious with them, but tonight it has to be, because so many things are different now. “I’m being serious,” Ben huffs. He gazes up at Mike, wishing they could just keep kissing but needing clarification, first. Mike obliges and sits up, then climbs off Ben and sits in front of him. Ben sits up too. They both sit there for a moment, panting.

“Well?” Ben prompts, pulling his knees up to his chest to hide his growing erection. There’s times on tour he’s gotten carried away thinking about getting off with Mike, and has had to hide it in a similar way - this feels just as embarrassing as those times, even in the current circumstance.

“Ben, I… we don’t have to explain it. If it feels right, we should just… do it.” Mike avoids eye contact, looking down at his hands. Ben looks down too. He’s always loved Mike’s fingers, the way they move across a bass like they were built to play. But now they’re fumbling together. Mike rarely shows that he’s anxious, but the way he fidgets with his hands is always clear tell.

“Do what,” Ben murmurs. “Fuck?”

“No, just… whatever feels right.” Mike shrugs, then scoots closer and wraps his arms around Ben. Ben feels warm in his embrace, their t-shirts glued to their skin by sweat, faces red as they get their breath back. Relenting, Ben relaxes into the hug, wrapping his arms around Mike. Mike nuzzles into Ben’s shoulder, adoring how solid and strong he feels, breathing in his masculine scent. For a moment, they stay like this, enjoying the moment. “It’s just really hard at the moment,” Mike murmurs.

Ben cracks up, gaze dropping pointedly to Mike’s crotch. “Oh, is it? Good to know.” He wriggles his eyebrows cheekily and, catching onto the crude joke, Mike snatches a nearby pillow and smacks him hard across the head. But then they come together once more, fitting together like they always knew they would. Their laughter dies down, replaced by silence.

“I mean, I never know what I want,” says Mike, shrugging. “I think that’s why I love songwriting. I can spill out all these feelings and sometimes it doesn’t even have to make sense, because for someone it will… for someone it’ll resonate so strongly that it’s like I wrote it for them. Doesn’t matter that I’m confused about my feelings most of the time.”

Ben nods in understanding. He always knew that if something did happen between the two of them, it would never be simple - Mike has shit he needs to figure out, and that’s completely understandable. “But…” Mike says. “When I’m confused, I like to think about animals and how they have no sense of time. They live in a timeless world, and that’s why they’re so happy. They’re not sitting around all day fearing for the future, being guilty about the past… and that’s what we have to achieve. Nowness.” He’s half-smiling now, stuck between happy and wistful. “And the best way to achieve nowness is by maybe not talking about it all the time.”

Ben smiles. Mike can be quite profound sometimes - it’s one of the things Ben loves about him. “Can I just ask one thing?”

Mike nods.

“Are you happy right now, with me? Doing… this?” He gestures vaguely between them.

Again Mike nods, embrace tightening around his friend. “You know, as a great lyricist once said…” Mike pushes his mouth sloppily against Ben’s and mutters his next words into Ben’s lips, breath skating along their smooth surface. Mike tastes of beer and smoke and him, something indescribable and magnificent. “You want me, you got me.”

Ben takes that as a very definitive yes.

Despite the fact that Mike’s words, and the sultry tone he says them with, send shivers racing down his spine, Ben pulls away again, unable to refrain from rolling his eyes at the fact that Mike has literally resorted to quoting his own lyrics, now. Neither of them are very sappy people and he’s torn between pulling Mike in and kissing him with all his might, and slapping him for being such a dork. In the end, he just says: “You’re an idiot.”

“Dunno who it was, but that man was a genius,” Mike continues. A grin skirts around his lips, and within seconds he’s snorting so hard with laughter that he can barely get his words out. “He’s such a— a musical talent.”

“Oh my god,” Ben says dryly, but Mike can see that his eyes are glittering with amusement. “I can’t believe I had a crush on you three seconds ago.”

Mike stops laughing and stares at him. “Can we just…” He trails off and they’re kissing again, slow and soft then passionate and heated, Ben being the one to deepen the kiss this time; their tongues slide alongside each other and their mouths are wet and warm and god, it’s so good. Neither of them could have imagined that they’d find themselves making out this fine evening, but neither of them is going to complain about it: for Ben, this is all he's ever wanted, and for Mike, this is something that maybe he didn’t realise he wanted, but now that it’s happening, he never wants it to stop.

Because he’s realised it now. All the looks, the shy glances, the times he’s let his gaze flutter upon Ben’s lips and wondered what if, or drunkenly longed to pin Ben’s hips to his then discarded the thought, blaming it on the vodka, or even just laughed so hard at one of Ben’s jokes it made him wonder if he’d ever meet anyone funnier, or whom he enjoyed spending time with more, or who he even wanted to spend time with. But now, lips moulding into each other like they were created to do this, their bodies becoming one and their hearts racing as their hips roll together, he knows that it was meant to happen. And Ben is so beautiful. He’s so fucking beautiful, even though he doesn’t think he is, and he’s funny and kind-hearted and he always brings the life to every party, wandering around pouring champagne for everyone, and he’s such a nerd sometimes, and he loves music with every fibre of his being and rhythm is worked into his bones, and he turns into a god when he plays that drumkit, and he has such a cool fashion sense and such a fascinating personality, and he lives life to the fullest and brings out the best in Mike and… Mike loves him. He loves him.

This sudden burning realisation makes Mike’s skin hot and his heart threaten to burst from his chest, but he rolls with it. Nowness, he thinks. “I always knew you liked me,” mumbles Mike with heated breath, kissing Ben’s ear. Usually Ben cringes when people kiss him like that, but god, with Mike, it’s exhilarating. There have been times Mike’s mouth has pushed against a microphone while singing and Ben has almost lost it, watching him and wishing that he were a microphone. “Fucking knew it.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything,” breathes Ben, his body aching to be touched all over by Mike, goosebumps prickling his skin. They are a mess of chaos and pleasure; fingernails dug into skin, hands racing all over each other, not enough oxygen in their lungs. It’s crazy how quickly he’s succumbed to Mike, allowing the younger man to do whatever he likes as Ben sinks father into the mattress, relishing every second. His entire body is on fire, Mike’s tongue like flames licking his skin.

“‘Cause I didn’t know I liked you back,” winks Mike, before tugging Ben’s shirt down a little so he can pepper kisses along his collarbone. He likes the way Ben’s skin tastes under his mouth. Then he swiftly moves his hands underneath Ben’s shirt, feeling the smoothness of his waist. “You’re so…” He starts, meeting Ben’s lips again, adoring their plump poutiness, how he can feel Ben’s tongue desperately pushing past his. He doesn’t finish his sentence, instead saying, “I heard what you said. The pool party.”

Ben pulls away and looks at him.

“You should’ve kissed me,” Mike finishes, and there’s something so sincere and genuine about the way he’s maintaining eye contact that knocks the breath from Ben’s body. They stare into each other’s eyes, and Mike finishes, calmly and clearly, “I would’ve kissed you too.”

“But, you—” Mike sure is an asshole sometimes; Ben wouldn’t have it any other way. “Why didn’t you-”

Mike smirks cheekily, teasing him; he pushes a calloused finger up against Ben’s lips. “That’s enough questions.” He kisses him once. “Nowness, Benjamin. Nowness.”

But now is more than enough. After a while they find themselves tangled in the sheets, and their kissing slowing down again, the two of them feeling lazy now, sleepily beaming at each other through the darkness. Before long they’re simply staring at each other, sharing the same pillow. Ben looks deeply into Mike’s eyes, usually light but darkened with want, and realises that he adores this man with all his heart. He always just thought it was a crush, a stupid, juvenile thing that would be too dumb to mention out loud, but now he’s wishing he’d said - or done - something sooner. If he’d known all it took was a tiny forehead kiss, he would have done it ages ago. Because as they thread their fingers together, he realises that him and Mike are destined to be together, and he wasn’t stupid to assume so. He’s so blissfully happy that he could cry, or write a song about it. Maybe he will. Maybe this will be the start of Ben Thatcher’s great songwriting career.

As they lie together amongst the bedsheets, he thinks about what Mike said about nowness, and living in the moment. Life is uncertain - you never know what’s going to come tomorrow, but for now, they are sure of a number of things: they’re going to spend the night together, legs tangled together like vines, gazing at each other in the dark, touching and giggling like schoolchildren before drifting softly into dream-filled slumber. And maybe this will happen again tomorrow, and again and again and again. They’ll kiss and they’ll laugh and it’ll all work out - it was always inevitable - and this is what Ben wanted, isn’t it? To spend his nights with Mike.

As for all the rest? Well, they’ll figure it out tomorrow.

#a...... thing #I JUST WANTED TO WRITE THEM KISSING SHUT UP DON'T JUDGE ME #THIS IS HORRIBLE #BUT I HOPE YOU ENJOY NONETHELESS #ily #thank u pls dont hate on me ill cry #mine #thatchkerr #royal blood #ben thatcher #mike kerr #that figure it out reference at the end though........ hehehehe #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff #smut #my writing

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imaginetonyandbucky · 7 years

Note

Since I read Siren's Treasure I wonder what would have happend if Tony got angry and hurt that Bucky actually made him fall in love instead of being cool with it? It can be in another universe if you want. (Yes, I'm a sucker for angst and misunderstandings) thanks!

[A/N: I haven’t read that book, so I’m really sorry if this is nothing like what you wanted, but I just really liked the concept.]

“Tony,please, just listen–”

“Oh,I think I’ve listenedenough,wouldn’t you say?” Tony snapped.

“ButI wasn’t… It’s not, I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” Buckyprotested. “I can’t control it – haven’t been able to sincethe serum. I wasn’t doing it on purpose!”

“Youthink that matters?” Tony yelled. He slammed his fists on thetable. “Whether it was your intent or not, you took away my choice.I thought I lovedyou,but it was just some lizard-brain reaction to subaudible soundwaves!How could you even–” Tony shook his head and turned away. “No. Ican’t even look at you right now. I’m leaving.”

Buckyscrambled to get in front of Tony, dropped to his knees. “PleaseTony, baby, tell me what to do. Tell me what I can do to prove that Inever meant to hurt you. I love you!”

Tonygritted his teeth. “It’s not yourfeelingsthat are in question, though, is it? I’m going. Don’t call me.”He stepped deliberately around Bucky, and slammed the door on his wayout.

Itwasn’t until the elevator doors had closed around him like acomforting hug that he allowed himself to lean into the wall andchoke out the sob that was lodged in his throat.

[mobile readers, ‘ware the read-more!]

Tonymanaged to hide in his workshop for the better part of a week beforea call to Assemble forced him out to interact with other peopleagain.

Hewasn’t sure what to expect. Would Bucky try to plead his case?Would he enlist the others to do so for him? Would he have given upon Tony and already moved on?

Thatlast thought shouldn’t hurt so much, he told himself, annoyed.Bucky had manipulatedhim.Taken away his free will. It didn’t matterhowsweet and caring and attentive Bucky had been as a boyfriend if Tonyhadn’t been the one to make that decision for himself.

Hisworries appeared to be unfounded, however. No one said anything tohim about Bucky that didn’t have to do with defeating evil. Theclosest it got was a brief hesitation before Steve put Tony oncivilian roundup and gave sniper-spotting duty to Sam instead. Oncethey’d started fighting, the comm chatter was startlingly normal –Clint and Sam sassing each other and the oblivious bad guys,Natasha’s usual dorky dad-jokes, Thor’s challenges, and Steve’sultimately futile requests for professionalism. Tony even relaxedenough after a while to make a couple of wisecracks.

Itwasn’t until they were winding down that Tony realized that Buckyhadn’t chimed in at all, not even to report position change or themovements of hostile targets.

“Ifyou think making me feel guilty is going to make me lessangry,”Tony snapped, “then you’ve got another think coming.”

Bucky’seyes widened and he shook his head frantically, but Tony wasn’tbuying it. As near as Tony could tell, Bucky hadn’t said a word inmore than a month. Not to Tony and not to anyone else, either. He’dmuttered in his sleep or woken screaming a few times, but accordingto JARVIS, Bucky hadn’t otherwise used his voice at all. He usedhand-signals in the field, and Clint was teaching him ASL, but mostlyhe got by with writing notes.

ItdidmakeTony feel guilty. But that just made him angrier. He was the victimhere, damn it! He was the one who’d had his emotions manipulated!He shouldn’t have to be the one to apologize!

Buckyhad stopped shaking his head and was now frantically scribbling onthe notepad he’d taken to carrying around with him. He held it upwith a pleading expression. Nottrying to make you guilty! You were right, I can’t be trusted.

Tonysnorted and raised one sardonic eyebrow.

Buckybit his lip and scrawled frantically again. Ididn’t wantIdidn’t think about whether it would affect you. I really am sorry.

“Bullshit.How could you not think about it?” Tony demanded, frustrated.

Buckyhesitated, watching Tony as if he expected Tony to storm out withoutwaiting for a response, but curiosity had always been Tony’sbiggest flaw. If there was an answer to the question, Tony wanted toknow about it. After a moment, Bucky took a breath and bent back tohis notepad. He wrote more slowly this time, his teeth worrying at his lip as he chose his words.

Itmade Tony want to kiss him, to tease that lip out from under Bucky’steeth and suck on it, soothe those swollen red teeth-marks. WeekssinceTony had found out and banished Bucky back to his old guest room, andTony stillcouldn’tstop wanting him.

Maybehis feelings weren’t entirelysubaudiblesuggestions. He made himself look away until Bucky held up thenotepad again.

Hydratried to make me use it for them, early on, but I couldn’t controlit, and I kept killing them. So they erased it, along with everythingelse. Even when my memories started coming back, I thought they’daltered my vocal chords. I didn’t know I couldSinganymore. As soon as I figured it out, I told you.

WhileTony was considering that, Bucky hesitated, then scrawled another sentence. Mymask is still in the Vault. I could start wearing it again.

“What?”Tony physically recoiled from the notepad. “Why the fuck would youdo that?”

Buckyglanced at him, looked away. It’show they kept me from Singing. Like a muzzle. Makes it harder totalk. And there’s a modulator in it that reduces the range of mySong.

“Jesus.”Tony scrubbed his hands over his face. “Jesus, no.That’s just… No.No one here would agree to let you do that to yourself.”

Bucky’s pen scritched across the page. Tony hesitatedfor a few slow breaths, but when he looked up, Bucky was gone, hisnotepad abandoned on the table. Itwould be worth it, if it helped you feel safe with me again.

Buckywas the last one out of the quinjet. His eyes widened when he sawTony waiting for him. He glanced behind himself uncertainly, thenlooked back at Tony. He pointed at his chest and cocked his headquestioningly.

“Yeah,you,” Tony said. “Nice job today; I know you think no one saw youtaking out that tower so they couldn’t call for backup, but I seeeverything. Well, JARVIS sees everything and tells me about it, butthat’s close enough.”

Buckysmiled tentatively, and shrugged.

“So,cleanup and then debrief and reports, but I thought, if you’re nottoo tired after all that, we could go for dinner?”

Buckylooked past Tony toward the door that led into the rest of the Tower,then back at Tony.

“Justus,” Tony clarified. “I… I miss you. And the Song has to haveworn off by now, right?” Bucky nodded his head emphatically, eyeswide and hopeful. “I thought we could… try again, see how itgoes.”

Bucky’sdidn’t carry the notepad with him on missions, but he signed thankyou,then caught Tony’s hand and pressed it to his chest, just over hisheart. His grin was blinding in its brilliance.

Itfelt a little like coming home, and Tony had to resist the urge topull Bucky closer and kiss him senseless.

Tonystood in the Vault, where they kept confiscated tech and items ofpower, and stared at the Winter Soldier’s mask. He couldn’tbelieve he was even considering this.

Butthe last few days had only served to underscore how desperately hehad been missing Bucky. He’d missed way Bucky touched him, likesomething precious and deserving of care. He had missed the way Buckysmelled, the lingering hint of cologne and warm metal and leather. He’d missed Bucky’s teasing smile, and the way Bucky’s eyesdarkened when they lingered on Tony’s lips.

AndSiren’s Song or no, Tony missed Bucky’s laugh, his satisfied purr whenhe pulled Tony close against his side, the pleased, smug rumble ofBucky’s voice when he had Tony writhing with need…

Tonyclenched and unclenched his hands, and then snatched up the maskbefore he could second-guess himself again.

Buckystared when he finally opened his door, eyes round with surprise andthen his whole face tightened in worry. YouO.K.?hesigned.

“What?I’m fine, why–” Bucky was only wearing boxers and a t-shirt,Tony realized, and his hair was touseled. “Oh, shit, it’s like 2in the morning, isn’t it?”

Three,Bucky corrected, but his tension was fading into amusement.

“JARVIS,when I ask you where someone is, you might consider warning me ifthey’re asleep,” Tony scolded. He made an apologetic grimace atBucky. “Sorry. I didn’t realize– It’ll wait for morning, I’lllet you get back to bed. Sorry.”

Buckystill looked amused. He stepped back, opening the door wider,inviting Tony in. He picked up the notepad from the table and wrote,Couldn’tsleep anyway. What’s up?

“Um.”Suddenly, Tony was nervous. This was probably a bad idea. Out ofline. Unworkable. Offensive.Tony hesitated, clasping the box in his hands tighter, as if it mightmagically fly open of its own accord. “You know, maybe thisisn’t–”

Buckywrapped his hands carefully around Tony’s, stilling them. He waiteduntil Tony met his eyes, then let go and gestured to the box. Calm,curious.

Tonysteeled himself. “I was thinking about what you told me, a week orso ago, about the… the mask. Being a suppressor. And I, I mean,obviously the mask is out, that’s just horrible, but I thoughtmaybe the, the modulating tech could be adapted, somehow, tosomething, you know, a little less… awful.”

Iassume you managed it or you wouldn’t be here at 3am.

“Yeah,”Tony said. “But you, ah. I don’t know if you’ll like it. Youdon’t have to like it. I mean, you don’t have to use it, if youdon’t want to, if it’s… Well, obviously controlling me is notcool, even if it’s an accident, but if you’d rather just keepgoing like this, I won’t–” Bucky laid a finger over Tony’s lips andhe took the hint and shut up.

Buckypointed at the box, and Tony nodded helplessly, let him take itgently from Tony’s nerveless fingers. His breath caught when heopened it, and without warning he surged forward to plant a brief butfervent kiss on Tony’s mouth.

“That’s…that’s good?” Tony guessed. “You like it?”

Buckyrolled his eyes and nodded, then pushed the box back at Tony with animpatient gesture, and Tony couldn’t help a grin as he lifted outthe necklace – thick links, for a more masculine presentation andalso to hide the miniaturized and improved modulators – and fastenedit carefully around Bucky’s throat. “Sorry it’s so tight, butit has to sit right at the base of your throat to–”

Buckywas kissing him again, much more thoroughly this time, and that wasdefinitely better than talking, yeah. He wrapped his arms aroundBucky’s shoulders, fisting one hand in Bucky’s hair and the otherin the tee, and tried to give as good as he was getting.

Whenthey finally pulled away, Bucky nuzzled along Tony’s jaw, thenpaused to whisper in his ear. “God, I love you.” That, thatwas exactly the hungry, worshipful tone that Tony had been bereft without. Not asiren’s Song, at all, but simply the voice of the man he loved.

“You’resure it works?” Bucky asked, with a hint of worry.

“Iran all the analyses and tests I could,” Tony said. “The onlysiren call in range right now is the one coming from the bed.”

Buckytouched the band at his throat, running his finger along the patternof the links, then picked Tony up and turned toward the bedroom.“Good. ‘Cause I’m feeling… vocal.”

~ @everyworldneedslove

#prompts #winteriron #tony stark #bucky barnes #tony x bucky #siren!bucky #everyworldneedslove #dramaqueenofhell

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azvolrien · 7 years

Text

Night Words

Part three of Pirates of the North Atlantic is in progress (read: I got distracted and forgot about it but have actually been working on it again), but in the meantime here’s an unrelated thing. Bit of a character piece, that being writer-speak for ‘nothing really happens’, but I had some fun writing it.

I just like writing conversations

~~~

Wygar slowly opened his eyes, felt the chill on his face, and pulled the blankets up to his forehead. His bedroom was cold; clearly the College’s furnace had been banked for the night, and the steam pipes concealed within the walls of the building had cooled without its heat. With a grunt, he rolled over beneath the heavy quilt and flung his arm across – nothing. His hand bumped down against the mattress.

He sat up. He was alone in the dark bedroom. Frowning, he swung his legs out of bed and stood up, pulling on his dressing gown as he let himself out into the main room. It was no warmer there.

Tiger-formed, Fayn lounged on one of the broad, padded windowsills, her nightdress draped over her back as she gazed out at the night.

Wygar detoured to stir the embers in the hearth before joining her by the window. “Are you all right?”

Fayn nodded, but didn’t turn away from the window. Wygar absently brushed his fingers through the fur on her shoulders and leant in to see what she was looking at.

A heavy snowfall had joined the previous day’s frost, coating the College grounds in a blanket of white. Even the pond had frozen over.

“I wonder if it’ll stay?” said Wygar. “Usually the snow here melts by about lunchtime, but it’s been colder than usual this winter.”

Fayn sat up and shifted to human form. “It’s beautiful,” she said, shrugging on her nightdress. It wasn’t a particularly warm one and goosebumps appeared on her bare arms, but if she felt the cold, she resolutely ignored it.

“I suppose it is,” said Wygar.

“You suppose?” said Fayn, smiling.

He shrugged. “Spending the best part of a winter in the Dragon’s Teeth rather reduced my fondness for snow,” he said. “Now I can’t look at it for too long without imagining how much more inconvenient it’s going to make everything.”

Fayn laughed. “I didn’t see much snow in the forest,” she said, drawing a circle in the condensation forming on the glass. “It did get cold enough up in the northern reaches, but it wasn’t usually heavy enough for much to get through the trees.” Her eyes took on a faraway look. “Sometimes if I was up that way at the right time of year, I’d climb up to the canopy and look out at the snow covering the branches. It was like being above the clouds.”

“Do you miss it?” asked Wygar quietly. “The forest.”

Fayn fell into a contemplative silence. “There are things I do miss,” she said after a while. “Travelling around, watching the animals. The general lack of responsibilities,” she added, making Wygar chuckle. “But there are so many more things I don’t that I’d say it still balances out to a ‘no’. Starving. Having to either dig a burrow or build a nest every night. Always looking over my shoulder. Fighting off animals just to get something to eat, either when hunting or because they wanted whatever I’d foraged. Never being quite warm or comfortable enough…”

“Fleas,” supplied Wygar.

Fayn froze, her eyes widening. “…Did Rhona tell you!? That little- She promised she wouldn’t!”

“Whoa, hey, hey!” Wygar held up both hands. “Rhona didn’t say a word. I worked it out for myself.”

“How?!”

“Well, partly because since you’d spent twenty years living a feral existence in the uncharted wilds, it was only reasonable that you’d have picked up a few passengers along the way… Aaaand partly because you gave them to me. Must’ve happened on the journey back, when you were riding behind me on Rathus.”

Fayn made a peculiar strangled sound in the pit of her throat.

“I won’t say I was thrilled to find out,” said Wygar, “but it was nothing a fine-toothed comb and a thorough scrub with the right soap couldn’t fix.”

One of Fayn’s eyes twitched, before humour finally won out over mortification and she burst out laughing until someone on the floor beneath shouted for her to be quiet. “Gods,” she muttered, scrubbing tears from her eyes, “it must be true love if I gave you fleas and you still married me!”

“I certainly don’t have many romantic illusions about you any more,” said Wygar, and briefly nuzzled her hair. See, no fleas was the unspoken reassurance. “Just romantic observations.”

“Oh, stop,” said Fayn, half-heartedly elbowing him in the stomach. She sat back against the wall and sighed. “At least there was nothing to let you work it out about the tapeworm.”

“The Healers have a lot of practice with parasites,” said Wygar after an only mildly horrified pause. “Some of the apprentices come from very deprived backgrounds. They come here from all over the country, and some of the more isolated settlements up in the hills-”

“I get the idea.” Fayn slid an arm around his waist and hugged him against her side.

Wygar lightly traced the scars on her left shoulder with his fingertips. Most of her scars – and there were many of them – were smooth and silvery; even the ones on her face were barely noticeable from a casual glance, gained from countless scrapes and scratches over her years in the forest. In contrast, the three on her shoulder were stark and ropy, reminders of deep wounds that had been inflicted by the claws of an angry bear and had healed slowly and poorly. Wygar shivered, returned her hug tightly, and abruptly changed the subject.

“How did you get out of bed without waking me?” he asked.

Fayn laughed again, more softly. “You’re a heavy sleeper, and I’m very stealthy.”

“A useful skill in a librarian.”

“Oh, yes. The apprentices never hear me coming. Of course, that’s easier if they’re being noisy. I suppose it’d be useful for a warmage as well, but your fighting style doesn’t really lend itself to stealth.”

“No, it certainly does not.” Wygar sat down on the other half of the window seat with his back to the glass. “Have you given any more thought to what we should look for in a house?” he asked, drawing one knee up to his chest and folding his arms around it. “While I’ve generally enjoyed my time at the College, we can’t live here indefinitely. They won’t take these rooms off me as long as I still work here, but they weren’t really furnished with a couple in mind, let alone a family.”

“Hmm.” Fayn stretched her arms above her head, arching her back. “Not much about the house – I don’t know much about houses, come to that – but I’d like to stay in Magetown if we can. Ravenswood, Windstone and Seacourt are all a bit… penned-in, if you know what I’m trying to say-”

“I do.”

“And I doubt we’ve saved up enough to live in Craglee or the Barracks.”

“We haven’t.”

“Magetown is less cramped, and it’d be more convenient for the College.”

Wygar nodded. “Cheaper, too – a lot of people are wary of living too near the College, so it drives the house prices down. Not that the College’s wards let most of the apprentices’ accidents leak out, but… Well, they have in the past, and the city has a long memory. Anyway, my parents have promised to go in with us on the cost, wherever we decide on. Sort of a late wedding present.”

Fayn nodded thoughtfully and looked back out of the window. Wygar glanced over his shoulder as a fox ran across the outdoor training court, leaving a trail of prints in the otherwise undisturbed snow, but decided that Fayn was the better view.

“Did you ever imagine yourself getting married?” he asked.

“I never really imagined the future,” she said after a moment’s pause. “Though there was one time…” She trailed off.

“Hm?”

“I’d forgotten about it until you said that. I could only have been about four or five. There was a wedding in the village, and they let me in past the boundary stones for once so I could come to the feast. I don’t think I really understood what was happening at the time – I just thought it was an excuse for a party – but when Una was taking me back to my hut I asked her if I was ever going to have a wedding. Sethuk – the village priest – overheard and said nobody would risk getting that close to a ghost-marked.”

She said this in an entirely casual tone and with no hint of self-pity; merely relating a childhood anecdote, not fishing for sympathy in the least. Wygar became dimly aware that his mouth was hanging open, and closed it again before Fayn turned back to him.

“We showed him, didn’t we?” she said. “What about you?”

“Huh? Oh. Honestly, no – I’d never imagined it until you came into the picture.” Fayn cocked her head, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve… been with a lot of people,” Wygar explained. “Enough that once I’d got to know you a bit – this is going to sound terribly soppy – I… quickly realised that you were the one I wanted to spend my life with.”

“You’re right,” said Fayn, smiling. “That was soppy.” She reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind his ear, trailing her fingers over his cheekbone. “So it wasn’t just my ethereal beauty?” she teased.

“No, but I won’t deny it was a factor.”

“Good answer.” She sat back and shifted one foot slightly to rest it against his hip. “Do you remember all the people you’ve significant pause been with?” she asked curiously.

“Some in more detail than others,” admitted Wygar, “but yes, certainly. Do you want the list?”

“You can list them?”

“Mm-hmm. Not in chronological order, but including more, er, casual arrangements and a couple of teenage partners I never actually slept with as well as the more serious ones…” Wygar took a deep breath. “Rhys, Sian, Gareth, Angharad, Rilla, Aeron, Wynne, Awena, Evan, Iorwen, Nye – not your colleague, a different one – Sioned, Arkadiy, Katya, Tamara, Ebba, Alrik, Ingrid, Eilidh, Fionnula, Lorna, Cameron, Lenka, Alonzo, Carina, Gaetano, Elia, Cyrus, Inara, Safara, Arno, Rosine, Morgan, Arianna, Gwenno and Rhodri.”

Fayn blinked. “Wow.” Wygar shrugged helplessly. “Mostly women, right? I can’t tell from some of the names.”

“About two-thirds women, yes, though more from the numbers of potential partners than any particular preference of mine.”

“…Huh.”

“Does… does it bother you?” asked Wygar with some hesitation.

“No,” said Fayn, completely without hesitation.

Wygar sat up slightly. “Really?”

“Should it? You’ve never been unfaithful to any of them – why would you start with me?” A wicked grin appeared on her face. “Look at it this way,” she said. “Means you’d had plenty of practice by the time you got to me – and that’s a lot of people I can swap notes with if need be!”

“What a terrifying thought,” said Wygar faintly, recalling a whispered and giggly conversation Fayn had had with Rhys a couple of days before the wedding. He still wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what the subject had been.

Fayn smiled again, less wickedly. “Who would you say is the better fighter?” she asked. “You or Wynne? She certainly drank Calburn under the table at the wedding reception.”

“Depends, cariad. I’d say I have the edge where magic is concerned, both in power and technique… but in melee I’m reasonably sure she could break me in half. Spent a lot of time training with Master Kendrick – maybe you should try sparring with her the next time she’s around.”

“Kendrick suggested that as well. Maybe we could drop in on her if we’re ever passing through Northold.”

“It’s a thought,” said Wygar. “I don’t know the city too well, but I think she mentioned something about a famous burial mound near her flat. There can’t be too many of those.”

Fayn stared at him. “A burial mound? In a city?”

Wygar shrugged again. “Like I said, I don’t know Northold much. But while we’re on the subject of visiting places – the Midwinter break is coming up in a couple of weeks. What would you say to getting out of the city for a few days? It would be good to have a holiday together that doesn’t involve either of us getting kidnapped by pirates.”

Fayn sniggered. “The Sunset Islanders were very apologetic about the pirates,” she said. “Apparently they almost never have trouble with those. Still, you’ve got a good idea there. We can look for a nice hotel in the country or something.”

“Not-” Wygar broke off to yawn enormously. “Not right now, though.” He looked back at the bedroom door and wrinkled his nose. “The bed will have chilled right down by now, you know.”

Fayn stretched again, linking her fingers above her head and cracking her knuckles, and stood up. “Come on,” she said, lightly tweaking one of his ears between thumb and forefinger. The point was freezing. “Think I’ve kept you awake long enough. The bed will warm up once we’re back in it.”

~~~

The School of Healing takes responsibility for, er, decontaminating incomers to the College, whether new staff or new students. Accordingly they keep the infirmary well-stocked with flea powders, vermicides and other similar medicines.

Some require more decontamination than others.

#az writes stories

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