#Despair: Looks at it with distaste and knocks it off the table | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pinkchaosstories · 1 year

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Blood and Thorns - Chapter 14

Chapter 14: Mistakes and Threats (Read Chapter 1 (part one) here) - (See here for a complete list of chapters)

(this chapter will be updated in the near future with a better draft, but please enjoy it as-is for now)

The next day Frigga spent the majority of in the library and Razi had been reassigned to some hard labour outside. Her chores and workload had increased a lot in the last week, she suspected it was Sapphire’s doing since the engagement had been called off to keep Razi busy. She would be shocked if she still had a job in a week, but that was fine. They had a worst-case scenario plan Frigga was working to improve. Frigga had an approximate idea what the penalty was at this point, and she was certain it was going to affect her cognition in some way. That was terrifying, losing her ability to think or remember? It wasn’t something she was willing to risk. She would have to find a way to make that threat less probable.

But she couldn’t figure out anything. Every tome she opened dug her into a deeper and deeper despair pit. With every glyph, every sigil she came across, it was abundantly clear there was no escape. She might fulfill her promise and then run afterwards. But that was months down the road and Sapphire might force her into another arranged engagement by then or send Razi away. She could run with the mark still burned into her skin, but she knew the second she was missed her aunt would activate the contract’s penalty. No, if she was going to run, she would need to break the contract first, and she needed to do it soon. Every day she was in the house was torture, especially because her mind was made up and freedom was so close. She decided she would try and appeal to her aunt after all. It wasn’t likely to work, but Frigga needed to try it. Maybe her aunt would see reason, maybe her aunt wasn’t aware the impact this was having on her. If Frigga worded it properly, perhaps there was a way they could come to an understanding. She looked to the door that led to Sapphire’s office from her table and tried to put an argument together. Every time she’d brought the topic of not being Heir up before, it had been brushed aside without consideration. She needed to have a solid case for this to have any chance of working at all. The woman was proud, intelligent, and a natural leader, but she was also Frigga’s family. She could try appealing to that, try and point out how her own distaste for leadership would end up harming the coven in the long run. She could even try and convince her the contract was no longer necessary, that Frigga had warmed up to the idea, and to dissolve it, allowing her to run off afterwards. She could even try and mention she was interested in one of the other coven members to solidify the ruse. Would her aunt believe that? The only person she’d visited over the last three weeks had been Rosalind, and Frigga wasn’t sure she’d enjoy explaining that one to them if they got wind. But, at the same time, if it afforded her the ability to run, Rosalind would put two and two together. She inhaled deeply, standing from her seat and walked to the door. She wasn’t ready, but she didn’t have a choice, so she knocked and was immediately invited in. She put on her sweetest face, if she was going to do this, she would do it perfectly. “Auntie, sorry to interrupt.” Frigga stepped in as quietly as possible, looking in her aunt’s direction. The lady was at her desk, books and documents scattered around the large surface. Looked like there were some order forms from town, a diagram of a circle or two, all sorts of important things. “Nonsense, Frigga, how are you feeling today?” The lady’s tone and expression were so genuine, and Frigga’s heart swelled with hope. “Much better, Auntie, thank you. Actually, I nearly feel back to myself lately.” She sat in a chair across from her aunt, keeping her posture immaculate, her eyes on Sapphire’s face. “I…I had hoped to discuss something with you, if possible.” Sapphire’s brow raised a bit and she started to organize her documents. “Of course, dear.” Best try and appear a bit nervous. This was out of left field, after all, and would not be welcome news. “You might know I visited Rosalind Bloodswell yesterday?” Her aunt’s motions faltered slightly. “Yes, I hope it was a… productive visit?” That tone was exactly what Frigga had predicted. Syrupy sweet, overly polite, sanitized. “It was, I had to consult them on some work they had been involved in a while ago, and I was surprised how helpful they were.” Not a lie, so far so good. “And I was also surprised… oh this might be silly.” Sapphire’s expression turned apprehensive. “But we got along quite well.” The lady put her papers down, letting a beat of silence pass. It was clear she had been taken by surprise by the uneasy look she wore. “Frigga, I’m not sure what you’re trying to say.”

Frigga looked down at the floor. Gods, this was difficult, almost excruciating to say. “Well, um… I thought, seeing as my engagement fell through, I might… get to know other heirs of the coven.” “Let me stop you, my dear girl,” Sapphire stood to walk to Frigga’s side, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. “I know you were not happy about your betrothal to Marcus, and I commend you in this endeavour, I do. It makes me glad you’re stepping into your responsibilities so eagerly.” “I-” Frigga tried to pile on that thought, but Sapphire interrupted her. “And of course, marriage within our coven is ideal, but I have to say… Rosalind is not someone I can, in good conscience, recommend.” “Why not? They’re from the second family, they’re a good match for me magically, they’re-“ “I’m still not convinced they’re unlike their mother, Frigga.” Sapphire motioned for Frigga to sit with her in the plush chairs by the fireplace. “This is odd, dear, what is this about?” Frigga took a deep breath and sat in the chair by the fireplace, avoiding her aunt’s gaze. Alright, time to ask. “I’ve been doing some soul-searching, Auntie, and I realized you’ve been entirely right. I was being selfish and ungrateful and… and I think my role as coven leader would suit me after all. Actually, I think I’m even looking forward to it! I don’t even think this,” she motioned to her contract seal, “is necessary anymore. And, if I’m going to be leader, then I’d better do it well, right? I can’t think of a better way to resolve the differences between our families.” Her aunt’s eyes narrowed. She was suspicious. Fair enough, Frigga had just spent the last several weeks in her room, distraught about her future. “Is that so? That’s quite the change of heart, Frigga.” “I’ve had a lot of time to think, Auntie.” Sapphire nodded quietly, unconvinced. She stood and rang the bell for tea, apparently anticipating a long conversation. “So what would you have me do, Frigga? Let you marry someone who may have had a hand in harming your brother? Let you marry someone who is uninterested in any form of socialization? Someone who wouldn’t be capable of continuing our family line?” Frigga’s stomach twisted. This was not a topic she liked talking about. “But they would be capable of strengthening the coven’s arcane resources, and think of all we could accomplish if our two families’ magic were to come together? And must I be solely responsible for the family line? It’s not even something I feel… I feel comfortable doing.” Sapphire sat back in her seat. “Perhaps. I am glad you’ve come around, dear. I was worried to see you so ill.” Frigga hesitated. She was redirecting the conversation and Frigga had the sickening inclination Sapphire wasn’t buying it. She began to get nervous. “Just like you said I would. You know best, of course.” Frigga winced internally. Flattery? Really? Her aunt was too smart for such crude manipulation methods. Sapphire frowned, nearly imperceptibly, but it was enough. “Frigga. What… what are you doing?” Frigga acted confused. “Auntie?” The older woman stood back up and walked to the window silently, her hands clasped in front of her tightly. The breath in Frigga’s chest froze, the air in the room began to hum. The tick of a clock rang out much too loud, waiting for Sapphire to speak. “Frigga, I don’t like being lied to.” “Auntie, I’m not lying to you, I really… I really do-“ “Frigga.” The older witch’s tone was sharp, icy, it wasn’t something Frigga had ever been on the receiving end of before, though she had seen it aimed at others. “What are you doing?” The younger woman sat silently, trying to grasp at some kind of cover or something to say to continue her story. She’d been figured out, but she had to keep trying. “I told you, I’m trying to fulfil my duty, Auntie.”

The light orbs flickered, the room grew more tense, and Sapphire remained at the window staring out at something in particular outside with narrowed eyes. Frigga remained frozen in her seat. “Frigga,” finally she turned from her spot and looked at her niece. “You have one more opportunity to tell me what’s going on.” Time to beg. Frigga looked away from her aunt into the fireplace and gripped her hands together. “I’m… I’m unhappy, Auntie. I can’t do this and it will not make me happy.” Her voice softened, barely louder than a whisper. Sapphire stayed where she was, and Frigga did not look at her. After a moment she replied, anger lacing her words. “And so you thought you’d deceive me into dissolving your contract? To what end, Frigga?” She received no reply. Frigga would not answer that question and her aunt was clearly not going to be fooled. Instead, a long pause followed, broken when Sapphire calmly walked back to her niece to stand in front of her. “Well?” Frigga stared at the floor. Who would cave first? Sapphire would wait all day and Frigga was deeply uncomfortable with her aunt staring at her. Frigga knew she had to say something, but what? She would try and bypass the question. “Our coven… Do you think the coven would thrive under a leader like me? Someone that doesn’t want to be here?” “You were raised for this, Frigga.” Her volume had increased. This wasn’t good. “Do you think you can just leave? Is that what you want?” “I didn’t ask for this, Auntie.” “You agreed to it.” “I didn’t have a choice.” “That’s correct.” Frigga’s eyes started to burn. “But I do have a choice.” “And what is your other option? To run off and leave your family, your coven, without you? You wouldn’t last a week out there.” “There is no way I can lead this coven.” “And you would put Leland in your position?” “It would be his decision, as it is mine.” Sapphire was silent, Frigga continued staring at the floor feeling the anger radiating from her aunt, and decided to try another angle. “Auntie, I… I know you want what’s best for me.” More silence, but the tension softened. “Of course, Frigga. But… I can’t throw out all our hard work over some cold feet. I have to consider your future and the future of our coven.” Frigga nodded. “I know you have a lot to juggle. And I know you have a lot to consider when it comes to the future of the coven… I know you’re not trying to cause me pain.” She looked up at Sapphire. The woman’s expression was guarded but not as harsh as it had been a minute ago. “I love you, Auntie, and I’ve only ever wanted to please you.” Sapphire sighed, her guard coming back down. “I love you too, dear. Of course I would never want to hurt you.” Frigga smiled. “Maybe… I know it’s unconventional, but might we postpone everything then? It’s better to delay than cancel, just to be sure it’s the right fit?” Sapphire looked back towards the window, considering. “It’s not unheard of, and I agree, I want you to take on the heirdom when you’re ready…” Frigga’s heart skipped a beat. Would this work? Had she done it? “And, perhaps in that time, Leland might show up to be an even better option? Or he’ll even decide he wants to be the Heir? Better to have a leader that actually would enjoy the position, right?” Sapphire did not reply right away, and the hesitation made Frigga nervous. She seemed to be considering Frigga’s words carefully. “Perhaps. It would, I suppose, be only fair to give him a chance after all.” She paused and looked back at her niece softly. “Do you… do you still wish to pursue Rosalind Bloodswell?” Frigga wasn’t sure how to reply. She hadn’t anticipated the topic coming up again. “Oh, um… I suppose not. I would still like our families to resolve our differences but… well, they seemed more interested in the seal on my arm than actually conversing, so perhaps we keep it professional for now?” “You spoke about the contract with them?”

The ice in her tone returned, and Frigga realized she had misspoke. With Sapphire’s deep knowledge of the arcane, it wasn’t hard to recognize why Frigga would have consulted with Rosalind on the matter if she were trying to escape. The floor of her stomach disappeared and the tension in the room returned. “Oh, um, n-no, they just happened to see it, I think?” Sapphire’s face contorted in anger. “They were interested in it, were they? In what way?” “Oh, i-its components and-“ “And a way to dispel it, perhaps?” Frigga’s skin blanched and she held her breath. The clock’s ticking sounded again, the air was thick with fury and the promise of retaliation. A memory flashed through Frigga’s mind, when her aunt had dealt with a suitor of a coven member who had been found out to be attempting to take advantage of the coven resources. He hadn’t been harmed, but nobody saw or heard from them again once he’d left the manor until a week later. Sapphire had merely said those types of problems hung themselves out to dry eventually. He had been found a week later dead in his basement, hanging by the neck. In Frigga’s silence, Sapphire regained her composure, her face returning to neutral. “Well, Frigga, if you think you’ve cracked how to dissolve our contract with them, you’re welcome to try, seeing as you’d rather sneak around behind my back than discuss these matters with me.” “No, Auntie, of course no-“ “And,” she leaned in a bit closer, the lights flickered again, her rage nearly visible around her, “if you’d like to run off with them, or anyone else, I might suggest they never show their face here again. After all, it’d be a shame if someone were to go missing.” “Auntie, please, don-“ The lights were dimming and the rage around Sapphire began manifesting as blue electrical static. “This family depends on me, Frigga, my decision is final. You need to respect it.” She roughly grabbed Frigga’s right arm, nails digging into the brand there uncomfortably. “This isn’t going anywhere, you are going to follow through with it, do you understand?” Frigga’s eyes were wide, tears had run down her cheeks in her terror. Her aunt’s grip on her arm was rough and her whole body shook. She didn’t know what to say, if she could say anything. Desperately she searched her mind for something but came up empty. It was all she could do to try and steady her breath which had become rapid and shallow. There was a knock at the door, Stephan’s voice asking to come in. Sapphire released her niece and straightened herself up. “Yes, come in.” Frigga was still silent, trying to calm herself, but when the door opened and the man came in with the tea Sapphire had ordered not ten minutes earlier, Frigga stood and bolted out the door to her room. What had she been thinking, mentioning anything about Rosalind’s assistance? Of course her aunt was going to figure it out. She’d just made everything worse! By her aunt’s words, it was clear Frigga had put Razi in serious danger, and the woman’s workload had already nearly doubled. She sunk onto the bed, curling up into herself. She was starting to hyperventilate, her heart beating like the rain. Never had she experienced her aunt’s wrath like this, or anyone’s. She always did her best to keep peace, to compromise, but in this there was no compromise. Not only would her aunt force her to follow through with the contract, but also, should she actually try and run, Razi could be killed. Hell, Razi could be killed now. They needed to leave as soon as possible, then, but how? There wasn’t time, there wasn’t a lead, she had nothing!

Slowly, she focussed on her breath, in through her nose, out through her mouth. She tried to feel something soft, to ground her consciousness, and slowly, very slowly, her racing pulse began to calm. Her breathing slowed, and she focussed on the silkiness of her comforter. Somewhere outside she heard birds chirping. Her body still trembled, she felt like she’d run twenty miles, but her thoughts became readable again. This was a bad situation, there was no way around it. She was out of ideas, but she couldn’t give up. The day after her failed attempt to beg Sapphire out, she locked herself in the library and her search continued. But before she could make a dent in her books, there was a knock on the library door. Gertrude entered, “Excuse me, Miss Thorneheart, you have a visitor.” Strange, she hadn’t received a notice someone would be by today. She didn’t want to deal with this, but she needed to draw as little attention to herself as possible and declining a visitor would definitely pull her aunt’s attention. “Fine, bring them here.” She’d have a single cup of tea and then make up some excuse to cut the visit short. Except her plan flew out the window because Rosalind had come to call.

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you-did-well-moon · 3 years

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Werewolf!Yunho meeting his mate

Type: Werewolf au, angst, fluff

Pairing: Werewolf!Yunho x HumanFemale!reader

Word count: 2,994

A/n: I know this took a long time, trust me, it felt like a long time for me too. With how I view Yunho, I expected this to be happier than it is. I was having a hard time while writing this, and it reflected on the story. Anyways please enjoy and stay safe!

TW: toxic relationship, financial struggle, deadlines, stressed reader, emotional and verbal pain, toxic masculinity, if I missed anything please tell me.

You sat at the foot of your bed, still not made, staring at the mirror resting against your dull colored wall with lifeless blank eyes. Your posture slouched as you finished tying the laces of your running shoes huffing and letting your arms flop to the ground. Looking at the mirror, you tried smiling, but it was meak and disappeared as soon as it appeared.

You hadn’t smiled a real smile in so long, you forgot what it felt like. To smile. To be happy. The forgotten emotion was one you took for granted when it was easy to to bask in the warmth of it. Now it's just cold. Cold and empty.

You looked away from the mirror with a tight feeling coiling in the base of your chest not being able to bear looking at the stranger staring back at you any longer. Your gaze fell to the laptop, abandoned, due to frustration on your desk in the forgotten corner of the room. The thought of unfinished drafts and incomplete sentences shook violently in your mind. Disappointment in yourself pooling in your gut remembering your editor’s words.

“If you can’t give us at least a first draft by the end of the month, we’ll have to unfortunately let you and your novel go.”

How pathetic was it that you couldn’t even come up with a simple sentence. A description, dialogue, a metaphor. Nothing. Anytime you sat yourself in front of the desk, your mind went blank. The cursor blinking at the top of the page mocked you with the possibility of millions of words. Not one ever made its way onto the page.

The end of the month was in two weeks.

You felt tears of hopelessness stinging the corner of your eyes, and you abruptly stood up grabbing your wireless earbuds, phone, and bag. Making your way into the kitchen you grabbed the water in the fridge and placed it inside your back, nothing but a numb feeling alienating you from reality and its broken expectations. You heard the front door of your little apartment open and slam close shaking the thin walls of the building.

Your heart lurched as you winced immediately feeling like you were walking on eggshells. You were usually quick enough to leave before he got home from work, but you had been a tad bit late this one time. You gripped the strap of your bag tightly hoping for it to ground you through whatever vile words came from the one person you should have been able to trust with your ugliest feelings.

Trying to walk past your boyfriend, eyes trained on the chipped wood of the front door did no good when he kissed his teeth and huffed as soon as he caught sight of you.

“You’re never home when I get home from work, and the one time you are here, you run away not even saying hi to me? Not even a “hey honey how was work today” or maybe a “hi love what would you like for dinner?” and never a “you’ve worked hard would you like a massage?” It's the same shit every day. You treat me like nothing when I'm the reason you even have a roof over your head woman.”

You kept your mouth the whole time he rambled on trying to ignore the clear stench of beer being able to reach you even with all the distance separating you, and the feeling of disgust mixed with desperation pooling at the bottom of your gut at yourself for not speaking up for yourself. Opening your mouth instead of letting your voice be taken from you. A long time ago, you would always say you would rather die than be without your voice. In a sense, you had died a long time ago.

Around three months after you had started dating. That had been two years ago.

Your English degree really did you no good. Not having enough time to be an intern in college really screwed you over when no job would take a bright eyed girl with the same passion in her heart for writing as a Karen’s passion for business that wasn’t hers, but with no experience. Even if the apartment was under your name, you’d probably be kicked out in weeks time.

You hated all of it. Everything that made up both the small and big parts of your life, you hated it. You hated his greasy hair and beady eyes, the nasty rough stubble covering the lower part of his face as a result of his laziness. You hated the hesitation in leaving him because of the fear of the stack of bills piling up next to the fridge. You hated the editors who couldn’t find it in some part of their greedy selves to extend your deadline. You hated the empty drafts sitting in your laptop collecting what could only be dead dreams and despair. You hated the cold emptiness that was always present in the confines of your chest.

You recoiled at the way he said “woman” the same way someone would talk about a bug. Small and insignificant. Patronizing and confident in the worst way. You set your mouth in a tight line not even being able to look at him. Shifting your feet, you crossed your arms and looked up to the sky as if calling out to some unknown being to get you out of this pathetic corner you were trapped in. You cursed under your breath looking at the dying flowers on the coffee table with distaste as they wilted towards you mocking you.

“What was that?” His voice got rougher with the menacing edge of fanned masculinity and control. Something that could put you in a dangerous place in a very fast amount of time. You looked at him with dull eyes poking your cheek with your tongue as a cold feeling settled in your gut.

Your hands fell limply to your side and you chuckled humorlessly.

“Fuck you”.

Those two words were enough to set him off as you slowly blinked and looked at the ground feeling your heart falter when he abruptly got up. You tried to stand your ground, but the surge of confidence was quickly withering away with fear taking its place.

Ethan was bigger than you. Even if he wasn’t that much taller than you, there was a noticeable difference in his frame and yours. Weirdly enough, you didn’t regret your curse at him. The words still burned brilliantly on the tip of your tongue.

It was bittersweet of course. His nose flared, and his eyes bulged as he took large strides over to you knocking the coffee table over on his path to you.

“What did you say to me you-” his words were said through gritted teeth, brash and loud in the silent apartment.

Maybe he was bigger and stronger than you, but you were faster.

You inhaled sharply reacting fast as your hand reached behind you, turning the knob and slipping around it slamming the door close. Your bag bumped against your back while you bolted to the door with the word “stairs” painted in big bold letters across it. You were already at the door when you heard your apartment door open and Ethan angrily called your name. Threatening to break your laptop if you didn’t go back right this instant.

You couldn’t help but snicker at the weak attempt. It’s not like there were much but empty pages anyways.

A heavy feeling soon settled on your chest as you went down the stairs. Your apartment was on the 4th floor, and the stairs weren’t the most taken care of, but it’s not like you had much of a choice anyways. It seemed these days you were always wanting to run away from something.

Your heart felt a little lighter when the warm rays of sun met your skin and the fresh air outside flooded your senses. Your walk to the park went as usual. Cars racing to get where they needed to, people chattered about everything and nothing, and your thoughts wandered to a world far away from this one.

A world that wasn’t as dark as this one. At the same time your mind became your executioner, it became your safe place. The sick contrast making a nasty feeling flood your chest.

You arrived at the park with a small smile. The normalcy of the day bringing a little comfort to your still racing heart. Kids ran around, laughter ringing in the air around them as their parents watched on benches gossiping among themselves. People raced fast either by foot, bicycle, or skateboard, a visible sheen on their necks. You looked for the kind old man who always looked after your bag while you ran.

He owned a music store a few blocks away, and he always sat on the bench closest to the pond with his cute corgi and habitually feeding the ducks peas and lettuce leaves when finished with a certain chapter of his book. You walked up to him with a small smile as he looked up and took the sight of you in with fatherly worry.

“You look a little pale kid, everything alright?”

You did your best to liven up and gave your best customer service smile which the older man immediately saw through.

“Of course Mr.Jung. Why wouldn’t it be? I’m just a little tired from the editors. They’re on my back more than usual”, you laughed nervously as he hummed in understanding.

“I hope that boy of yours isn’t giving you any problems. Hey kid, have you ever heard of the term “break up?” he looked so serious you had to compose your shocked face.

You waved your hands rapidly “I promise Mr.Jung everything is fine there is...I...oh my” you took a shaky breath as he simply shrugged his shoulders and pet his smaller companion who was having a very serious stare down with a duck.

You wiped your sweaty palms on your yoga pants while you looked around at the tacky named paths trying to decide which one to run today.

“The Pupper Runner path looks particularly nice today,” he suggested. You looked at the path pursing your lips in thought. The path wasn’t one you ran frequently. Since it was one of the wider and flatter paths, there were more people such as families or people walking their dogs. You also didn’t like having run-ins with the cyclists who were grouchier around this time of day for some odd reason.

After contemplating it, you shrugged and decided why not. Getting run over by a ticking time bomb on wheels wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen today. With a small smile sent in Mr.Jungs way, you checked your shoe laces before starting out with a light jog making your way down the specific path.

There was nothing really different about today’s run than others. Just having to dodge the wheel demons and kids happily running ahead of their worried mothers. You were grateful for the distraction. It kept you from straying too far into your head. It was just you running. Running like you always did these days, your shoes slapping on the concrete path and Got7 blaring in your ears.

The heat of the sun shone on your skin, but oddly you still felt cold. It was always cold these days. A light breeze fresh to your burning skin as desperate eyes caught yours, and you were once again bought out of your stupor.

A small boy was kneeled down fingers clutching his untied shoelaces not far from his dad who was trying to calm a crying baby. You didn’t really have a strong adoration for kids, but his panicked pinched face compelled you to come to a slow stop in front of him. Your chest heaved as you bent down to his level sitting on your heels and wrapped your arms around your legs.

“Hey bud, you need some help there?”

The kid made a distraught sound as he nodded his face shaking his hair out of his eyes. He looked dumb founded as he stared at his shoe laces in search of answers they would never give.

“Mama said to make a bunny, but this looks more like my aunt Carol’s dog” he sadly told you.

You snorted reaching out gently to tie his laces with a double knot.

With a grin you looked up at him ruffling his hair and giving him a thumbs up which he happily returned with a toothy smile.

“It’s alright kid, you’ll eventually get it. Just keep trying yeah? Don’t settle or you might catch yourself tripping next time you go on a walk. You’ll get hurt. Wouldn’t want that would we”, you said, lips still stretched kindly upwards, but something in your words struck stingingly deep in your chest.

As the kid nodded happily with a carefree laugh you were about to get up when you heard the air being split and a strained voice yelling “watch out!!”.

You looked up, panicked, only to see a frisbee racing right in your direction with alarming speed. With the goal of protecting the small child, you quickly turned your body. Your shoes making a rough sound against the concrete as a startled light cry left the younger boy’s mouth.

With your hands ready, you easily caught the frisbee gasping at the shock of the situation. You quickly shook it off as you gripped the frisbee turning back to the child who profusely thanked you, his small hands shaking as they clutched onto the hem of your shirt.

You simply smiled reassuringly tapping his shoe and ushering him back to his father who has begun to successfully calm the fussing baby down.

With shaking knees you tried to get up only to wince and slightly waver at the sharp sting that hit your ankle area. You clenched your jaw feeling more than annoyed at the current situation in hand.

You stood up grumbling under your breath as a tall figure jogged over to you. While he made his way toward you, your narrowed eyes met his wide, apologetic ones.

You felt the world shift around you as a calming warmth shot through your body melding with the confusion and panic pooling in your gut, and his eyes widened impossibly as he stumbled managing to stabilize himself right in time in front of you. His figure standing just inches away from you as his hands trembled, and his lips slightly parted.

You got a slight whiff of cologne and mint, but more than anything, the weird feeling in your gut was making a way for the dreadful panic clouding around your heart.

You felt warm.

After feelings of feeling nothing but the hollow cold licking at your veins, there was a nice warmth settling in your chest.

You were scared of it.

With a heavy chest you slightly inched back left somewhat immobile due to the aching pain in your ankle. “What the hell?”, you immediately set off on questioning him leading him to shake his head frantically at you.

“I’m so sorry, i really am.” He put his hand on his chest as if trying to prove his sincerity to you, but you breathlessly took a step back stunned by the intense feelings taking over your heart and mind.

You tried shaking it off, but the warmth lingered.

You weren’t sure you wanted it to go away.

“There’s kids here”, you were so distracted by all the emotions circling your mind you couldn’t possibly put any effort into arguing with the young man. His lips parted to make way for his lips as he nodded his head in understanding. “I know, I'll be more careful next time. I promise.”

Somehow, you knew he was being truthful. You went to say something, possibly something dangerous, but you shook your head and waved your hand.

You tried taking a step but lightly hissed at the sharp pain that shot from your ankle up your leg. The man instantly dove forward steadying you with a heavy hand between your shoulder blades, and the other hovering in worry near your collarbone.

With wide eyes you looked at him as he realized his un-asked for touch and immediately went to back away.

He couldn’t.

Your hand was clutching the cloth of his shirt near his shoulder blades. Hands slowly uncurling, you smiled awkwardly, but he kept his hand where it was. At his touch, the warmth licking the insides of your body became all the more distracting.

“Um, I don’t think you can go all the way back home like this”, he cleared his throat looking at you shily under his bangs. Flustered, you smiled at the ground before looking back up and timidly asking “I can't. Mind helping me out?”.

At your question he let out a beaming grin nodding eagerly. He went to stand in front of you, and he crouched down looking at you over his shoulder with soft brown eyes. You did a small jump, and were caught by his hands slightly gripping under your thighs.

He gave a low chuckle that somehow was felt from where your chest was pressed up against his shoulder blades. “So...what’s your name?”. You let a light giggle escape, “Y/n, yours?”. You saw his jaw move with the syllables of your name whispering it to himself.

“Yunho”, you smiled also sounding out the name on your own mouth. You gave a shuddering exhale, and you laid your head on his shoulder letting yourself really rest for what seemed like the first time in forever.

That night you walked right past Ethan who was quick to begin yelling at you, and you tucked yourself under the safety of your blankets feeling the warmth still encasing your heart, so comforting and alive.

287 notes · View notes

inkedtae · 4 years

Text

rupture; rapture ⇾ kth. [M]

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ ex-boyfriend!taehyung x reader (f.)

𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ one shot, angst, smut, f2l(?), e2l(?), ex lovers au, rekindled lovers(?), sculptor au, 18+

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ⇾ responding to a late night call for help forces you to revisit truths you so skillfully ignored. was it always meant to fall apart to fall back into place?

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ⇾ 13.2k

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ⇾ slight upsetting themes, mentions of a new relationship, mentions of infidelity (tae thinks reader used him to each on her date), vague mention of consuming alcohol, switch!Taehyung, mullet!taehyung, sub!reader, unprotected sex, rough sex, clay/paint/art sex(?), hate-love sex(?), makeup sex(?), size kink, oral (f. receiving), multiple orgasms (f.), creampie, overstimulation, a lil degradation, a lil face-licking, body worshipping, clit worshipping, a lil clit biting, choking, spanking, motorboating, begging, teasing, swearing, breath play, breast play

anon asked: taehyung19angst asghjkll. U have a prompt list ? So for that. Maybe. If u want to. WOW. Ur awesome. The bestest. Okay. Bye. Love. Me.

#19 ⇝ “You said you knew how to do this.”

𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇'𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒 ⇾ i am aware this is supposed to be a drabble but that never seems to be even for taehyung so here’s a one shot instead. also sorry for writing this so late

☾ banner by ⇾ @editingverse (thank you so so so much dear~ please go give her all your love!! this banner is beautiful!!)

☾ beta’d by ⇾ @kkulmoon (luff you, my soulmate crackhead~)

☾ le playlist

◖send me a prompt from dabble drabble. i will try to get to it as soon as i can. please note that i have the right to refuse any request i find uncomfortable.◗

Navigating to the chipped yellow door is second nature. Four months of distance does not change how easy it is for you to find your way to his place from across town. Your most haunting regret, however, is accepting his call. You sat around your apartment for months, fantasizing about how powerful you’d feel when your phone rings and you see his name flash only to decline the call. You told yourself that is how you will regain your dignity, how you will reclaim your life. He’s been a big part of it since freshman year. Best friends instantly, lovers only a year down the line. Clicking that red button, rejecting his apologies is how you believed you’d be able to move on and fully erase him from your life for good.

But, in the midst of a drink with someone else’s company, he calls and you do not refuse. Your heart flips only to fall and shatter in the pit of your stomach. You press the green button without much thought and bring the phone to your ear. He sounds so unsure, so nervous. A relieved sigh you didn’t realize you were holding escapes you. Eyes watering, you whisper his name.

The shame creeps upon you, condescendingly soothing your ego. Where’s your dignity now? It’s as nonexistent as when you stormed out of this very door and swore never to return. You can hear the fates snickering, watching your pathetic self stand outside of the door. Shaking out a shiver, you gather up the scattered pieces of your courage and knock on the door.

The screech of metal on metal echoes as he unlocks the door. The sound is more comforting than you expected it to be. You can’t remember the amount of times you’ve nagged him to replace the damned thing. It’s old, rusted, and the scratches of the metal make you cringe as though your bones are rotting. It used to make your jaw ache, now it only comforts you. Little things already undress your confidence. What will seeing him again do? What emotions will it beckon?

Misery leaks from your bones and into your bloodstream. The door opens to a vision of grace. In his clay-smeared jumpsuit, the sleeves wrapped around his waist and his bare chest exposed, he stares back at you. Though frozen from the winter air, you feel your face grow hot. Eyes shaking, you don’t know where to look. You’re not even sure if you can meet his gaze. It intensifies with every ticking second his long bangs fall over his lashes. He let it grow out? You’ve begged him to do so for months and once you’re apart he finally gives in? You knew he’d look good, maybe even better than his shorter cut.

The sight only confirms that you’ll never understand him. But, you suppose, you don’t have to. He’s not yours to understand anymore, not even as a friend. That statement should give you a sense of relief, but it only resurfaces the loneliness you’ve been ignoring for months.

Shakily sighing, you plaster a polite smile and greet, “Hey Tae.”

Taehyung parts his lips, but his voice catches. He stares back at you, gaze dancing up and down your frame. He drinks in the way your black dress pants hug your curves, and how you dare to wear a tube-top under your coat in the freezing weather. Gulping, Taehyung flashes you a kind, tight lipped smile and moves aside to welcome you in. His chain looped earring dangles with his movements. It’s such a simple antic, but you cannot fight off the familiar comfort in your chest upon catching it.

Each step back into his apartment fogs your mind with memories of joy and despair alike. Sometimes, those emotions rise in tandem during the same memory, within the same five minute time span. But other times, those memories are saturated with one emotion or the other. You two could never find that balance; not as lovers anyway, not as you thought.

“Make yourself at hom-” he cuts himself off just as the door shuts.

You turn to face him, raising a brow at his slip up. Funny how things circle back no matter how much either of you try to suppress them. This place has always felt like home to you. In fact, revisiting it proves that it still does. He just never let you make it official.

The gloom of four months ago has followed you back in here as well, it would seem. You gulp down the little scratch in your throat and try your best to flash a smile. His brows raise at the gesture. You assume a teeth braced wince paints your features instead.

Clearing his throat, Taehyung corrects himself, “Comfortable. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll grab you a hot drink to warm you up.” His gaze shifts to the slanted window over his little studio sectioned in the corner of his apartment. “It’s really coming down out there.”

Setting your clutch down on his work table, you nod. He glares at your action before looking back at you. You are fully aware of his distaste for you to dump your things near his work, even if it happens to be your own sculpting supplies. However, he distrubed your date tonight and that little slip up of his recalls more anger than you care to accept right now. Playing into his pet peeves is the very least you can do to show him that you’re not here for anything else but fixing his sculpture.

With a pleasant smile plastered on your lips, you peel your jacket off and set it down on the table as well. Taehyung sarcastically smirks then makes his way to the kitchen. You know you shouldn’t but you let your eyes linger on his frame and follow him around the kitchen while he prepares something for you. His shoulder blades flex as he reaches for a mug from the top shelf - a detail you always found makes you anxious because the cups can easily slip out of his hand from such a height and break.

He must feel your gaze as he glances back at you. “You must be freezing,” he comments.

Looking down at your half top, you shrug. “Not really. That’s what a jacket is for.” You shouldn’t sass. It always gets on his nerves. But, the way he regards you with such tamed hostility and smirks all knowingly, switches something in you. You cannot hold yourself back and he cannot expect to call you over here in the dead of night for help only to glare and sneer at you.

Out of sheer spite, you sit on one of the stools by the table and bend down to untie your thick heeled boots. He absolutely hates this. Sloppy and messy, is what he tells you when you come into the apartment with your shoes on and take them off near his studio. Taehyung stirs the contents of your mug, tossing daggers at you in his stares.

It is only now, in the thick silence, do you hear the soft voice of Sinatra through the vinyl player. Glancing over at the source, you recognize the album cover immediately. It’s the same one you gifted him for his birthday last year. His next one is in a couple of weeks. The realization unexpectedly twinges your heart with guilt. You feel as though you should have already bought his gift, and planned his party. It’s not your responsibility to do that anymore, but you want to and that’s enough for your tongue to coat with disgusted remorse.

“Want me to get you a sweater?” Taehyung asks.

You sit up straight at the close sound of his voice. He stands in front of you with the mug in his hands, glaring down at your boots. Kicking them off by the heel, you stare down at the puddle you’ve made beneath the chair. You should apologize but, instead, you thank him for the drink, take it from his hands, and make your way to the project he’s been working on. He mutters curses under his breath before cleaning up the mess you’ve made… As he should.

You smirk into your cup before taking a sip. Hot chocolate. It’s all he can make, or cares to make. And though it is not your favourite drink, he still prepares it to your specifications. Extra sweet and creamy, with a dash of ginger. Could the habits of your past be muscle memory he cannot shake either?

The answer never arrives as your thoughts halt at the sight of his sculpture. Though returned back onto its pedestal, the torso seems to have endured a terrible fall. He’s so careful about things like this. How could he have let it happen? Was the inner wiring he used too heavy? Did he not use enough slip, otherwise known as wet clay, to keep additions in place?

You bite the inside of your cheeks to school your features. Still, there is no hiding the truth. Especially when it’s right in front of you. Redemption is nonexistent. The sculpture is ruined. Tilting your head, you stare at the unfinished molding and try to figure out how to fix it without adding more clay, since he claimed on the phone that he doesn’t have enough to start over.

“Well?” He asks behind you.

Looking back at him, you take another sip then hand him the cup to hold. Taehyung accepts it, bringing the mug to his lips. The gesture is so simple, so casual that you almost miss it. He did it a lot when you two were together. You did it too. It was never a pet peeve but rather something you were proud of. It proved how close you two were, how well you meshed. Sharing food is common between lovers. Only now, that’s not at all what you are.

You stare at him, mouth gape. He licks his lips before taking another sip. The action repairs your heart only for your reality to wreck it all over again. Catching your eye, he raises his brows in confusion. You flicker your gaze between him and the cup, hoping the silent gesture is enough to return his senses.

Eyes widening, he holds the cup away from his face. “Oh,” he hums under his breath. “I’ll, uh, get you a new one.”

“Don’t bother,” you shrug before he can even turn towards the kitchen. “It’s not that big a deal.”

It is. You’re not his and neither is that hot chocolate. He should know better. He should pay attention more. He can see this all in your eyes as you continue to silently judge him. It’s not that big a deal, you repeat to yourself. The way his large eyes soften, the way he pouts is not that big a deal. You have a job to do, feelings to ignore, and a person to never see again. All you have to do is remold the clay and be on your way.

Finally returning your attention to the sculpture, you approach it while pulling your hair back. It’s rather large since he scaled it to be life-sized, so you assume he has some structural wiring in there to keep it in place when molding. You might have to take it out and remold the entire section. But maybe you can simply push the wiring back in place? However, if your theory about the wiring being too heavy is correct, you might face another smash to the floor. So it seems easier to just pull it all out.

“Is the clay still wet?” You ask before poking the shoulder.

It’s tacky, but that’s not enough to keep it from drying. You scan the room for the spray bottle, finding it behind you. Being a sculptor yourself, you know that the clay has to stay wet enough to be able to continue to add and mold it. Your scan of the room reflects that he is close to finishing the project. He has the muse’s head and arms wrapped in air-tight bags to keep them from drying. They just need to be slipped, slid, and smoothed into place. The details also need to be added, but for the most part, he’s just about done.

“If you’re gonna figure it out yourself, why did you ask me?” He sighs as he sets the mug down near a cup of paint water.

His tone is uncalled for. Nothing seems to have changed. He still has a temper and makes no effort to readjust his attitude. You toss him a glare over your shoulder. After spraying some water over the sculpture, you start to dig your fingers into the molding. Taehyung sucks in a sharp breath behind you. You can’t blame him for such a reaction. It must be very disturbing to watch someone else dig through your hard work.

You take off the clay bit by bit, looking for the metal structure wires he must’ve used to keep it all shaped well. However, as you place another chunk on the table, you begin to realize that the sculpture is not hollow, meaning wires have not been used. He simply ventilated the slab of clay to help air bubbles escape when it comes time to fire it.

Furrowing your brows, you look over at him in confusion. He leans back against his work table with his arms crossed over his chest, staring at you. Is this a joke? He doesn’t need your help. He could’ve dug through the smushed clay and remorphed it himself. He’s more experienced than you are; he should’ve known this.

Your anger begins to fester in your chest. He must’ve heard. You still share some mutual friends, so he must’ve heard down the line that you were going out with somebody else tonight. Your outfit of choice is a clear indicator as well. He found out about your date, your first date in the last four months you’ve been broken up, and just needed to ruin it for you. Fuck, you can’t believe you seriously bought his lies again. It’s that stupid voice of his. So deep and soulful, you can never resist it’s lulling temptations.

“What?” Taehyung pushes himself off the table and walks towards you. “You’re pouting like you always do just before you’re about to shout. Is it that bad?”

Is that what he’s doing now? He’s trying to remind you how well he knows you, how well he can read you? If this is just another reminder that no one is like him, you just might prove him right and scream out of frustration. Huffing, you roll your eyes at him. No matter how much your heart flips and flutters at his concern, you will not fall for his stupid games.

He watches in confusion as you clean your hands off with a cloth. “God, (Y/N), what is it? I thought you said you knew how to do this.”

With a dry chuckle, you shake your head and mumble, “You’re still the same liar you’ve always been, Taehyung.”

The perplexed sculptor narrows his eyes. “What did I tell you about mumbling?” He questions in a grumble. “And what the hell are you going on about anyways?”

His tendency to be a walking contradiction will never cease to irk you. He tells you not to mumble then does it himself. Just another pet peeve he’s instilled in you that you can never shake. Then there’s the continuous lies he can never seem to stop telling. For once, why can’t he just be honest?

You toss the dirty cloth at him and make your way to his precious work table only to find that he moved your things to the chair by the door. You rush in that direction instead, and Taehyung follows not too far behind. “I can’t believe you’re still pulling this shit even when it’s over,” you scoff with a shake of your head. “You made it seem like you had no idea what to do. You guilted me into coming back here and for what? To ruin the first night I stopped thinking about you? Well, congratulations,” you drily chuckle as you grab your clutch and turn to face him. “You’ve ruined my night and my date.”

Taehyung pauses mid stride. “Oh,” he rasps, eyes roaming over your body once more. “You had a date tonight?”

Eyes wide, softened, and wet, his next words catch in his throat. All you can make out is a quiet rasp. It’s a convincing act, but you know him well enough to spot his feigned innocence from a mile away. Setting your jaw, you shake your head and sigh, “Not any more.”

You reach for your jacket, but Taehyung is quicker. He snatches it first and holds it behind him. You open your mouth to curse at him when he rushes to say, “Wait, wait.” Hand on your waist, he holds you still.

You freeze under his palm. He’s barely used much force. It’s the simple touch itself that sends you into a trance. The memories of being pinned beneath him, or guided into grinding against his hips rush back to you. Breath hitching, you try to wipe the affection from your features. The searching look in his eyes tells you how bad of a job you’re doing.

“I could fix it myself, but not by myself,” he clarifies. “I just didn’t know how to get you here without making it seem like it’s a complete disaster. Be honest, (Y/N), if I told you I wanted you to sculpt with me you wouldn’t have shown up.”

Be honest. When the fuck have you ever lied to him? The question is tempting to ask, sitting right on the tip of your tongue actually, but you can already tell that you’ve made your annoyance known as concern swims in his eyes. He’s trying to find where he went wrong in his explanation. He’s never done that before. He never notices your discomfort during a fight, but always after the fact. That’s enough to have you consider his explanation, to consider the fact that maybe he has not changed completely, but he’s trying. Perhaps you should start trying too.

Besides, he’s not wrong. If he didn’t make it seem like it was irreversible, you wouldn’t have accepted the invitation over or even thought about ditching your date. Chewing on your lip, you sigh and nod. “Fine, I’ll help you fix it.”

A relieved smile plays on his lips. He removes his hand from your waist, muttering a quiet apology then returns your jacket onto the chair. You set your clutch down on there as well, nowhere near his work, and follow him back to the sculpture. He sprays it down as you take another couple of sips from your hot chocolate.

“When is this due?” You ask as you set the mug down.

Taehyung’s gaze shakes. “At nine,” he reluctantly replies. He sets the spray bottle down. You stare at him in confusion.

The time is both seemingly vague and specific. You furrow your brows, blinking rapidly in hopes that you can reprocess the information for more clarity. When that doesn’t work, you ask, “Tonight?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

Thirteen hours? That’s all you two have to remold and detail a life-sized sculpture. This information alone would’ve had you running to help as well. Why didn’t he just tell you this? Why did he have to lie? No, nevermind his lies. You both have thirteen hours to remold the base, attach the head and arms, and add all the details on all four pieces. It may seem like a lot of time but you also have to let the clay sit for a few hours before firing. However, with a sculpture this large, it might need at least three days to dry. How did he expect to finish the rest on his own?

Nothing is adding up. You know Taehyung very well. You’ve shared sculpting classes countless times. His work comes first; always. He sketches and prepares months in advance for a project since the clay can crack or explode during its bake. How could he not have done the same thing here? He should’ve started this at least four months ago… oh.

Taehyung spares you a nervous glance. He can see the realization of his own reality in your eyes. You swallow thickly, knowing you should just pretend that you haven’t noticed anything. Still, you say, “Tae, we both know that’s not enough time. Even if we split the work, it still needs-”

“Don’t worry about that,” he mumbles. His hands smooth over every chunk of clay he reapplies. “Let’s just piece it all together, okay?”

There is a lot you have to force yourself to ignore in his words and tone. He mumbles orders, and expects you to follow. His voice is deep and cold. He gives you his back while he speaks. It’s but another pet peeve of his that makes you want to pull your own hair out. However, most of all, you have to force yourself to ignore how painful it is. Seeing him again, only an arm’s length away, crumbles your anger and hearing his voice reminds you that he still holds every bit of your heart. You have to blink your tears back at the realization. This idea reeked the moment you considered it. But, you can never stop yourself when it comes to him. A year of friendship and two of love; how can you forget all of that in four months?

Taehyung turns to you, his eyes trailing up from your hips to your chest where they linger. Flickering his gaze back up to yours, he offers a tight-lipped smile. You fail to find it in you to return it. He sighs. Hands by his side, voice heavy with sincerity, he says, “I won’t force you to stay, babe- (Y/N).” His slip up has him frozen in place as well. Clearing his throat, he continues, “I need to get this done and you’re the only other person I know who knows how I like it.”

The familiar pet name gives you pause, but the end of that sentence has you hot all over. Your eyes widen at the alternate implication of his words and you can’t help but choke on your next intake of air.

Taehyung’s expression mirrors yours. Face reddening, he’s quick to correct himself. “No, no, I just mean artistically.”

You cannot find the words to say something, anything to make this situation better. Lips parted, all you can voice are quiet croaks of uncertainty. His large eyes, wide with anxiety, watch you carefully. He’s clearly unsure of how else to soothe your discomfort. He goes to say something else but the words fall short. The scene has your skin crawling with shivers. Shaking your head, you walk around him to smooth out the clay he remolded.

“I’ll fix her waist. I think you should get started on the details,” you say, hoping his words can just fizzle away along with the awkward silence that has fallen over the both of you.

Taehyung takes a deep breath. His eyes remain trained on you for a moment, watching as you match the sculpture’s left side to her right. Then, he circles around you and makes his way to his work table.

Though you should be focused on your work, you still have one eye on Taehyung. The jumpsuit sits low on his hips, and his back is bare of any scratches. Your lasting desire to mark up the blank canvas of his back tightens your core. You can feel your black pants dampening at the thought alone. Your hand gently presses into the mold, smoothing out every piece you add.

With Sinatra’s calm voice circling around the room, you and Taehyung fall into a comfortable silence. The rhythm of your actions, the way you move around each other is like muscle memory. You can subconsciously anticipate the other’s next move and react accordingly. He hands you tools before you need to ask and you accept them without a second thought. It’s easy, comfortable, and so familiar that you almost forget he ruined your plans tonight.

Taking a step back, you wipe your wrist over your brow then assess your work. You’ve been trying to sculpt one of the figure’s breasts, adding clay and rounding out the mold. However, it seems like you’ve undershot a bit and made one mound a bit smaller than the other. You sigh and reach for more clay when Taehyung interjects.

“Leave it,” he says from his place beside you.

When did he step back too? He was just detailing one of the sculpture’s hands. “They’re uneven,” you point.

He smirks. “I like them that way.”

His eyes flicker to your chest again before meeting your gaze once more. You shouldn’t look into that gesture too much, but you do. He can’t say something like that, stare at your breasts suggestively and think you wouldn’t notice. Unless, he wants you to notice. You start to wonder how often he’s thought about your breasts and why he feels the need to incorporate them into his project.

While you remain standing in your place, Taehyung returns to his crouched position and continues his work. You can’t bring yourself to move just yet. You stare at the sculpture, at the curve of her stomach and dip of her waist. She’s full-figured and even has stretch marks on her hips, well the side that has not met the floor still has stretch marks. You need to add them on the other side. But, the shape of her body just looks all too familiar.

No, no, it can’t be. He didn’t sculpt your naked body entirely from memory. And why should he? You’re not a couple and he’s made it clear during those four months of silence that he doesn’t want anything to do with you either. No, this is merely just some consequence. You sigh and get back to work. Those thoughts completely boarded shut out of your mind.

“Were you having fun?” He suddenly asks, standing up to start detailing the sculpture’s breasts.

You glance up at him, about to ask what he means when you remember the date. “Oh,” you hum. You’re not sure how much to tell him, or if you should even entertain him with an answer at all. He’s obviously still affected by the break up if he let it get in the way of his project timeline. What was your date’s name anyway? Morgan, Mac, Mark- Mark! Yes, it was Mark something or maybe something Mark. Fuck, you can’t even remember his name. You’re not even sure where you met up for drinks.

Taehyung pauses his sculpting around the figure’s nipple. He chances a quick look at you, raising a brow. “That bad?” He teases with a playful smile.

His light-hearted tone shocks you out of your thoughts. Maybe you read the situation wrong. Maybe he is over you. Otherwise, why would he ask you about your date so casually, like you two were friends? Or maybe… he’s seeing someone else himself? Sumni did ask for your permission to date him. She was so kind and understanding in her questioning that you couldn’t refuse her. Even if it was a week ago, she would have already talked to him by now and they could’ve already gone on their own date. The sheer thought of Taehyung dating around makes your throat tighten and stomach ache.

“I didn’t stay long enough to make up my mind,” you reply, trying your best not to mumble. Your voice is small though, and tone shot by misery. A wave of hopelessness washes over you at how final everything between you and him feels again. “I don’t think he’s for me though.”

Taehyung hums in acknowledgment or understanding? You don’t know. You can’t pull yourself out of your self pity long enough to decipher it. “Poor guy,” he mutters as he picks up where he left off on the sculpture’s breast.

You carve uneven lines on the figure’s hips, recreating some stretch marks like he had done to the other side. Raising your brows, you question, “What is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs a single shoulder. “I just know what it’s like to lose someone as great as you,” he explains in a near whisper. “The poor guy is gonna lose his mind.”

Tears sting your eyes. He can’t do this. He can’t guilt you for leaving him, not when you both know that it’s just as much his fault as it is yours. Still, even in the midst of pain, the kindness laced in his words tugs the corners of your lips into a small smile. Is that what happened to him? Did this poor guy, this poor little sculptor lose his mind when he lost you?

You toss him a sidelong glance, whispering, “He’ll survive.”

“He can only pray to.”

What is this? What is he trying to say? So he regrets the way that things ended, perhaps even that they ended entirely. Does he think you don’t? Nothing can change how you feel for him. Nothing can hide how badly you wish you can still call him your own. But, he said it himself. He does not want you around, in such close proximity to him anymore. Two years into, what you thought was, a serious relationship and he does not want you living with him.

“I’ll grow tired of us,” he said. Or does he not remember? Did he forget how he promised he’d get you a key, or help you pack? Did he forget how high he got your hopes? Has the fear of getting bored of your company finally withered away?

What does it even matter now? You both said things you haven’t even attempted to take back. Not a single apology has been issued either. Whatever relationship you once had is gone. You can never get it back. Still, you don’t have the stomach to break it to him. You can’t destroy the last little bit of hope he has in you. You can’t find it in you to tell him that no amount of prayer will get you to willingly return to such a relationship.

“He hasn’t been in my company for too long to miss me. Actually, I’m worried he’s already grown tired of it,” you reply. Guilt immediately sheds your pettiness. You know you shouldn’t have said that. Though, he did egg you on. How could he have expected to bring up such a subject and think that you wouldn’t retaliate?

Taehyung tenses and shifts his jaw, giving the impression that he’s chewing gum, and turns to glare at you. From experience alone, you know very well that when Taehyung chews on his imaginary piece of gum, he’s either cocky, pissed or both. This time he has tears glassing over his eyes. Shame cringes your heart. You can’t bring yourself to look at him again. Getting even does not feel as dignifying as you thought it would. You cannot even find a shred of pleasure in seeing him so speechless.

Parting your lips, you try to soothe the sting of your words, only they all fall short. Every time you try to recollect them, they wither away. It’s almost like your mind is warning you from worsening the situation. But the silence is deafening. Sinatra's voice cannot even fill it. His disappointment is too loud; the shattering of his heart like an explosion. And your pain can never shut up. All you can hear is how miserable your soul is and how depressed your heart becomes upon every glance his way. It’s the soft look in his eyes, even when he’s glaring, and the little scrunch of his nose.

With a deep breath, you turn back to the sculpture to keep your hands busy. As you use the pad of your pinkie to smoothen out the stretch mark lines you’ve carved, you say, “We had a drink. That’s as far as we got.”

Taehyung clears his throat. His hands pick up where they left off around the nipple. “Had I known you were out, I wouldn’t have called,” he sighs.

You try not to scoff, particularly because he sounds surprisingly sincere. Sneaking a glance up at him from your squatting position on the floor, you try to search for his usual tell-tale signs. He always blinks one too many times in the same two minute span when he’s lying, that’s if he’ll even meet your gaze. He’s already looking at you when you begin to search his features. He holds your stare and you start to worry that you wrongfully cursed him before when you were convinced that he knew.

“You really didn’t know?”

He shakes his head. “Why would anyone tell me you’re going on a date?”

“Why wouldn’t they?”

“Would you want to hear that I have been on one?”

“Have you?”

Internally cringing, you snap your attention back on the sculpture. The question simply slipped out. He must know that. Of course you’re curious about his love life since you’ve left it, but you don’t need him to know that. And even if he was prying into your date tonight, you still don’t feel comfortable with him knowing that you’ve been wondering about him too, worrying that he’s found the love of his life and forgotten all about you.

Taehyung chuckles. “Do you really want to know?”

Three? Four? Five? How many dates did he have to go on to be able to ask such a question? You hold your breath the moment you feel your next intake waver. Running your tongue between the gaps of your teeth, you stand up and begin detailing the left breast.

“I’m not going to beg you,” you grumble under your breath while sculpting the nipple. Your eyes shift from the one you're working on to the one he perfected, making sure they’re at least even.

“Never had a problem with that before.”

He does not mutter it. He does not whisper it. He chuckles through the statement, cockiness dripping from his tone. Shooting him a glare, you find his jaw moving, the imaginary gum returning. Taehyung smirks at you, eyes dancing over your features like he’s figured you all out.

You raise your brows at him, lips slightly parted by a little smile. “Once again, Taehyung, your memory has miserably failed you,” you start only to widen his grin.

“How so?”

“You’ve been on your knees far more times than I’ve been on mine. You’ve whined louder too.”

He leans in, wrist against his stomach as he lets out a hearty laugh. You feel a rush of your arousal pool at your core just from the simple sound. Face growing hot, you realize how much you’ve missed this, missed him. He always laughed with his whole body, clutching onto you when clutching on his stomach never granted him any stability. Sometimes he’d brace his teeth in a boxy smile and let out his deep chuckles that way. So endearing, so cute, Taehyung would always loop you in his laughing fit as well.

Biting on the sides of your cheeks, you keep yourself from joining in this time. “Why is that so funny?”

Taehyung shakes his head at you as his laughter dies down. With a smile still gracing his features, he replies, “You’re always begging for me. Oh, I remember once you were on the table and you won’t let go of me and until I, and I quote, ‘rammed into you with the force of a thousand waterfalls.’”

Shit. You remember that day all too clearly. Taehyung had been painting and you were somewhere in the kitchen sketching his hands from a distance since he would always tease you about that. Somehow you found out he’d been painting you nude from memory and wanted to help him out. You began stripping for him, inching closer with every piece of clothing you shed. He watched you draw closer to him, and there was something about the way his eyes drank you in that you could not shake. It just made you giddy all over, dripping for his love by the time you were fully naked and within his reach. You were so horny, you said anything to make sure he ruined you.

Avoiding his eye, you reluctantly reply, “I do not recall.”

That statement tips him off immediately. His endearing innocence darkens; you don’t even need to look over to witness it happen. You can feel it. You can feel his demeanour change. Taehyung sets whatever tool he’s using down and towers over you. Stilling in place, you let him graze the bridge of his nose in your hair.

“Do you want me to remind you,” he whispers before pressing his lips to your ear, adding, “my muse?”

Knees all but trembling, you have to remind yourself to keep your eyes open. His warm breath fans over your skin, prickling goosebumps all over. His fingertips brush up the length of your spine, streaking your back with clay and leaving a chain of shiver in their wake. Then there’s that little pet name. Your soul shudders to hear it again while your core waters.

What does he even mean? How far is he willing to go to remind you how badly you wanted him?

Breath shaky, you gingerly meet his gaze. Noses brushing, you try to ignore how good he smells. His scent is always a cross between chalky clay and citrusy cherries. A whine threatens to slip out and you have to swallow thickly just to silence it. “You can try,” you whisper only to feel his hands on your hips.

The grey clay stains the hem of your black pants and a majority of your skin. Taehyung turns you towards him then presses himself against you. His semi-hard rubs against your stomach, making him groan. Seems like he’s falling apart faster than you are. Did he miss this too? Miss the way you smell, the way it feels to be near you again?

You rest your arms on his shoulders and he guides you around and back to his work table. It’s almost like a little dance, with the quiet music still playing in the background. Faces only a breath apart, the temptation to kiss him only grows. But giving in would only prove him right. After so many months, you cannot grant him this victory of being right, especially since he was the one in the wrong when you left.

When the back of your thighs meet the edge of the table, Taehyung shifts his hands down to your ass, gripping tightly and he lifts you up against him and onto the table. You have to choke back a moan just from the rough grip. Your lips brush against each other’s, but neither one of you is willing to bite the bullet first.

“Any of this familiar yet?” Taehyung asks. His voice is almost an octave deeper, saturated in lust and desire.

Smirking, you shake your head.

Taehyung tongues his cheek and cocks a brow. He leans back a bit, hands circling around your waist to rest on your thick thighs. His cocky grin widens as he pushes them further apart. One of his hands shifts up to your crotch, thumb grazing the seams. Face lighting up, Taehyung glances down at your crotch and brushes over it once more.

“No panites?” He questions with a chuckle. “This is looking more and more like that night then I thought it would.”

The confidence he oozes should annoy you, but you find yourself only spreading your legs further for him. Whenever he’s acting this egotistic, you cannot help but respond to it by giving yourself to him. This is a fact he knows well and uses to his advantage any time he’s ever felt like it.

You try to keep your wits about you, saying, “I wouldn’t know.”

Taehyung suddenly leans in. Your breath hitches at the realization that he’s swallowing his pride, that he’s finally going to kiss you. You’ve been dreaming about his lips for months, wondering how you’d be able to find someone else who just fits ever so perfectly against your lips. Eyes fluttering closed, lips in a faint pucker, you’ve inhaled deeply only to have him kiss your chin. He chuckles quietly against your skin, licking his way to your jawline all while leaving you breathless.

“You’re about to,” he growls.

As your body is in the midst of reacting, he somehow digs his nails into the seams of your pants and tears them apart. You gasp, shifting your hands from his shoulder to the edge of the table. You cannot help but stare down at the tear in amazement. Questions on how and why die in your throat when you find that Taehyung’s attention is not even on you anymore. He’s tightening his grip on your thighs and gazes down at your pussy. It pulses under his gaze, much to his own amazement.

Squatting down, he licks his lips at this new angle. “Well, fuck,” he whispers. “How long have you needed me?”

Four months, you wish you had the courage to say. Instead you breathlessly reply, “I’m not sure this is what happened that night.”

“How would you know? I thought you didn’t remember.”

He’s only teasing but his tone is accusatory. You already know it’s because you’ve refused to answer his previous question. And your decision to talk back only adds to his shift in demeanour. Once cheeky, his features darken into something closer to vexation. You’ve pushed the wrong buttons it would seem.

Narrowing his eyes, he orders, “Tell me, my muse. Tell me how long you’ve been needing me.”

You suck in a sharp breath. Pressing your lips together in a fine line, you refuse to make another sound, let alone utter another word. You’ll be damned if you have to admit that you regret walking away, that you cannot even remember the details of your date because all you could think about was everything he would do differently. Having to admit that for the last four months all you’ve been able to do is touch yourself to the thought of him or cry wouldn’t just be motifying but shameful and pathetic.

With a slow nod, Taehyung sighs. You think this is it. He’s ripped your pants apart, looked at every inch of your barest part, and teased you all for nothing. You’d maybe ask to borrow some pants, and he might give you some. But, other than that, nothing would’ve come from this interaction. The flirty comments and knowing looks would disappear with your relationship, this you feel you are sure of.

Then, he plays against your expectations; something you should have expected. Just when you’re about to bring your legs together, Taehyung spreads them apart further and shoves his face between them. He cannot use his hands there since they are covered in clay and, it seems, he also refuses to use his tongue. You cannot hold back the moans that pour out of you with every ministration. Merely smearing his face into your heat, Taehyung teases your clit. The bridge of his nose trails between your folds, lips pressing wet kisses to your tightening hole. From left to right, he shakes his face against your pussy.

You buck your hips against his lips, lacking shame and restraint. “Tae,” you moan, voice breaking.

Taehyung pulls away. Heaving and eyes half-lidded, he smirks up at you. He’s drenched in your arousal, looking like the cat who got the cream. “How long?” He mewls.

“Gimme your tongue,” you whine.

Taehyung mockly pouts up at you. He always looks prettiest on his knees, pretending to be in charge from such a degrading position. “Would you tell me then, babe?”

Your hips inadvertently roll at the pet name. You love it when he babies you like that, when he makes you feel so precious and fragile even though you both know you can rule over anything you want. Hesitantly, you nod. He raises a brow, waiting for verbal confirmation that you’ll tell him once he gives you his tongue.

With a little shrug of a single shoulder, you reply, “Why don’t you give it a try, TaeTae.”

His left eye twitches. You know exactly how that name affects him. His anger and powerful demeanor tremble when you dwell on him like that. He doesn’t need to tell you that he’s suddenly yours to overtake; his large eyes do the trick.

Swiping his tongue over his lips, Taehyung cleans his mouth from you. One little taste and his pupils expand, blown by lust and hunger. You don’t have to waste anymore time convincing him that you’d answer his question if he goes down on you. Your taste seems to be enough of a factor, in itself. He dips his head back in, tongue out this time. The tip pushes through your hole, lapping up your pooling juices. Leaning back on your hands, you gasp a loud moan. He knows his way around so well. One flick up, and your toes are curling. No amount of time apart has disturbed his memory of you. This may have been something you noticed while sculpting but now you can feel it. Tongue in and out, warm and wet, Taehyung explores your pussy like it’s his first time, only he knows everything about it.

You want to tangle your fingers in his hair, to see how the long strands feel in your hand, but they’re covered in clay too. And you know from experience just how hard it is to get clay out of hair. Once it completely dries, it almost seems like the only other option is to cut it all out. So, instead, you just dig your nails into the table, engraving your presence in the wood.

Rolling your hips into his face, you cry out your pleasure. Your legs are shaking, squeezing around his face, but he can’t seem to care any less. In fact, judging by his groans and growls, he seems to love the suffocation. He even pushes your legs further against his cheeks. Freezing in place, Taehyung only allows his tongue to continue to swirl around your pussy. His fingers harshly press into your thighs, sure to leave bruises, but you don’t care. Having him mark you up just like when you were together, is enough to make your eyes roll back.

You’re so, so close. Pussy clenching, his tongue still pushes its way in. He’s determined to see you through, to have you unfold right in his hands so hard that he still won’t breathe. And though you start to worry a bit, you cannot really pay attention to anything else besides the pleasure.

“Oh, Tae,” you cry. Voice breathy and high-pitched, it’s only a matter of time before-

It hits you hard, fast, and completely off guard. You have felt it growing and knotting in the pit of your stomach, but have no idea it would rush at you this harshly that you completely fall back on the table. Body convulsing, you scream and cream all over his tongue, mouth, and chin. His entire face will smell like you for days.

Taehyung forces your tightening legs apart, gasping for air. Gazing up at you, he sticks his tongue out and against your clit. He’s determined to help you ride out your high and nods his head up and down. You watch him through blurry vision, shamelessly rocking your hips up to meet him halfway. Or, at least you try to. Soon, you become all too sensitive to even hold his gaze, let alone grind against his tongue.

You fight against his hold on your legs, whining loudly. “Okay, okay,” you gasp as you try to seat yourself up.

He doesn’t care. That once yielding look in his eyes flashes into a demanding one. Seeing you so helpless under him shocks him with power once again. “One more time,” he pants against your heat.

“TaeTae,” you mewl, attempting to manipulate your way out of this overstimulated feast.

However, the use of the name this time, only spurs him on. He knows what you’re trying to do and doesn’t at all find it amusing. This time when he repeats his words, he growls, “One more time!”

Lips suctioning around your clit, he harshly sucks. Slurping and swallowing everything you have to offer, Taehyung holds your gaze. You’re a trembling mess. Tears falling freely down your face, you curse him three times over and buck your hips against his mouth. He finds the entire sight so humorous, he can’t help but smirk.

You’re still his little toy, a play thing for him to fool around with and test out some kinks on. The realization should make you curse him again and again, but you can only play into it. Pouting and mewling, you’ve fully sold yourself out just so Taehyung is well fed with your juices.

This is the peak of his games, you think. This is as far as he will go and you expect that you’ll cum in another minute or so. But then his teeth graze your clit once, twice, three times. You come undone within seconds. Arching your back, you let out the neediest cry you’ve ever heard and pathetically cum against his chin. The shudders and shivers of your body are beyond your control, as is your broken voice and any lasting grip you thought you had on reality.

As if biting and sucking your clit isn’t mindbreaking enough, Taehyung dips his tongue back in you to sneak another taste. “Taehyung, please,” you beg. “Please!”

He finally lets up, removing his face from your sopping heat and releasing his hold on your legs. You instantly bring them together and hug them into your chest. Heaving and shedding your last few tears, you try to recompose yourself and the silent atmosphere you once shared while sculpting.

“Strange,” he starts, returning to his feet. He takes his hands in yours, slowly unwrapping the hug you’ve cocooned yourself in. “It sounds a lot like that night. But, that’s not at all what I was doing then to make you this needy.”

To anyone else, you would've looked fucked out and completely ruined. But Taehyung knows that’s not at all the case. He has tested your stamina enough to know that you can most likely go for another round or two. Pulling your legs apart, he stands between them then helps sit you back up.

Faces inches away, you exchange breaths. “How long have you been this needy, my muse?” He asks again.

He really does smell like you. His cheeks, nose, chin, and lips are smeared with your cum. It doesn’t even look like he was feasting. It almost looks like he just wanted to cover his face with your juices. Gulping, you consider his question. You did insinuate that you’d answer the question if he gave you his tongue. And, holy fuck, did he give it to you. However, an insinuation is not a promise. He made that clear during your last argument.

“I don’t remember promising anything,” you whisper in a light pant.

The pain in his eyes cannot be neither mistaken nor missed. Echoing his words all these months later, surely recalls suppressed emotions of misery and betrayal for the both of you. He sneers a smirk, glaring at your lips. “Your memory has failed you,” he hisses. Gripping onto your hips, marking you there with bruises as well, he adds, “But, I won’t.”

“Not again, anyway.”

You sound colder than he does which causes him to hesitate for a moment. His hands fall by his sides as he searches your face for some sort of confirmation to continue. He almost seems like he’s not sure if he really wants to pick up where he left off too, seeing that you’re still upset with him. The guilt of seeing him so fragile and wounded eats away the majority of your anger. But, if he thinks he’s the only one struggling to make sense of this break up, he’s wrong.

Right now, the only way you can think of showing that to him is by first displaying your eagerness to continue in this sexual stroll down memory lane. You lean forward, brushing the tip of your nose against his, and reach down to his crotch. The dent in his jumpsuit throbs in your hand. His hard cock all but pulses under your palm as you rub at it. His breath hitches. You then untie the sleeves of his jumpsuit and watch carefully as his cock comes back into view. Fuck, you’ve forgotten just how pretty it is when it’s all pink tipped and desperate to be pumped. He shifts a bit, you assume to step out of the jumpsuit, and resettles his hands back on your waist.

Not another moment of uncertainty stands between you anymore. Swallowing his pride, Taehyung kisses you first. Lips on lips, the taste of yourself on his tongue has you moaning already. He seems to take this as a sign to let himself go as well. He pulls you closer to the edge of the table and rolls his hips into yours. The length of his dick rubs between your folds, but he doesn’t enter. Not yet. He simply teases the idea of entering, of ruining you.

But, you’re too overstimulated to enjoy it in its entirety. Your legs resume their little shudders at the tiniest bit of friction when his cock just happens to brush against your clit. Taehyung, upon noticing this, makes sure to touch it with every new grind against you. He smirks when you whimper into his mouth and chuckles a bit when you break the kiss to whine his name.

“What is it, baby,” he coos. He grounds his hips harder into yours, erupting moans from the both of you. “Ah, shit, I could just cum like this,” he hisses as his mouth hovers over yours.

A little smirk tugs on your lips at his words. Yes, you may be helplessly falling apart with every passing second. However, watching him come undone from the impression of your pussy against his cock, is a rather prideful moment. You tilt your head and begin peppering his chin and cheeks with open mouthed kisses, staining his face with your saliva now as well as your cum.

“Then, just cum, TaeTae,” you whine.

Perhaps if you didn’t sound so desperate, he probably would’ve switched back into his own submissive state. But, it’s the squeal in your voice and mischief in your tone that only drives him further down his power trip. He pulls away a bit, holding your horny gaze with an unimpressed one of his own. He realigns his hips as his jaw shifts. He’s pretending to chew gum again. Holy shit, he’s going to fuck you senseless.

He does not push into you though. Instead, he pulls you onto him by the deadly grip he has on your hips. You stare up at him as a loud cry escapes you with every inch that stretches your walls. Taehyung looks back with very little remorse in his eyes. The sight of you so small in his arms, whipped for his cock, makes his tip twitch a bit. But he is not immune to the action of entering you, sucking in a sharp breath.

“I can’t believe I forgot how tight you were,” he whispers, voice breaking.

And you thought you could never forget how big he is, but here you are. Eyes rolling back, you relish in his size like it the first time. “Big,” you mewl as he bottoms out. “Tae, you’re so big.” You sound just as broken as he does.

He cannot even find it in him to be cocky about it. He hears the realization in your voice. He knows you’ve forgotten too. A flash of pain twinkles in his eyes. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and whisper. “Remind me, Taehyung.” His brows quirk up and you add, “Remind me how good you make me feel. And I’ll remind you the same.”

Taehyung presses a gentle kiss on your forehead. Then, his hips snap in action. Holding you close, he starts hard and fast. He’s naked and growling into your ear with every thrust. You’re clothed and whining with every rumble of his chest and jerk of his hips. You didn’t even have to beg to bring out such a feral side of him. Could it be that he’s looking for the same thing you are? A lost lover?

Clay smeared fingers pressing into his skin, you push away that thought and scratch at his back. That once blank canvas of muscle and skin will now be lined with your lov- lust. This is just lust. You have to remind yourself of this fact every time he pushes into you.

He quietly hisses with each streak until he pauses his thrusts. You pout, leaning back a bit to ask if anything is wrong. But before you can even part your lips, Taehyung is readjusting his grip from your hips to your tube top.

“You’re a fucking slut to dress like this for him,” he growls. Then, in one swift motion, he pulls it down. You gasp as your breasts spill out, not out of exposure, but simply shock. He grips onto the rolled down top and smirks. “They’re a little uneven,” he points out. “But, I like that about them. Does he too? Does he get to see you like this, slut?”

You’ve got it wrong. It’s not your use of his nickname that has sent him spiralling into a pit of dominance, but rather that you went out to see another man. Is that why he ripped your pants apart? He’s destroying the outfit he thinks you wore for somebody else. Not only that, but his words only confirm that he is indeed sculpting you. All from memory, Taehyung has been molding your naked body down to the precise imperfection of your slightly uneven breasts.

And while you’re still trying to make sense of it all, he slaps one of them causing you to moan and throw your head back. Taehyung grabs a hold of your chin and drags your head back down to meet his gaze. “Answer me,” he seethes. “How much of you does he have?”

“None!” You shout. Your breathing is uneven, and you have to swallow the lump in your throat to continue, “I don’t even remember his name; he’s irrelevant.”

Taehyung circles his hips around yours, clearly pleased with your reply. But he does not pick up where he left off. “You haven’t been able to remember a lot tonight. Is that all irrelevant to you too?”

The shake of your head is reactive. You barely even had to think about it. This act of pretending that you don’t feel anything for him anymore has clearly fallen. “That’s not it, Taehyung,” you whine, hooking a leg around his waist. He wipes the tears streaming down your face as you continue, “I just didn’t want to remember us.”

Licking his lips, Taehyung slowly pulls out and eases himself back in. You tremble, watery eyes twitching in bliss. “Tell me how long you’ve been needy, baby,” he whispers.

“Have I not said enough already?”

You clutch onto his biceps and buck your hips up to meet his. He gasps, unable to hide his smile. You can tell he wants to finish this conversation but, with the way your walls are tightening around him, he doesn’t seem like he’s able to. One look in his eyes and you can tell he’s consumed by the pleasure all too much to reply.

Taehyung lets one hand fall to his side when he starts to pick up his pace. You shift one of your hands to his shoulders while the other holds onto the table’s edge. He holds you by the grip he has on your rolled tube top and smacks his hips against yours. It’s almost as if he’s riding a horse with the way he’s fucking you. And if you don’t whine loud enough, he’d slap each of your tits and force those screams out of you, growling, “You can do better than that.”

Removing your hands off him and back to the table, you accidentally rest your hand on one of his palettes. You gasp, looking over to find your hand smeared with blue and yellow hues. Taehyung laughs and rams into you faster. “You’re just making a mess wherever you go, hmm?” he teases.

You pout. He’s having too much fun making a mockery of you. Granted, you’re loving the attention, the way he’s fucking you into submission and realization, but you cannot let all this go to his head too much. As he smacks your breasts once more, nipples a little raw as they sting, you wipe your hand on him, down from his cheek to his collarbone.

He gasps, but his hips never stutter. Before you can even register his actions, Taehyung readjusts his grip from your top to your breasts and shoves his face between them. He transfers the swirl of dark blue and gold all over you as he fucks you as senseless as you predicted.

And as he playfully punishes you, blowing raspberries into your chest, you find yourself missing this, missing him. How could you have forgotten he likes to get playful, that he can switch between his two demeanours so seamlessly? He giggles when he pushes your breast into his face and further stains them with paint.

“The only one making a mess is you,” you rush to whine as your impending orgasm nears.

Dipping your hand in more paint, you rub the colours on his back and shoulders. You’re going to colour him yours if this is the last thing the two of you do together. Paint on his skin, in his hair, all over him, you’re going to make your impression here last through all the moans and whines and lewd slouches of your sensitive wetness around him.

Taehyung kisses his way up to your lips. He slips his tongue in once he reaches them and rolls his hips into you particularly harder than before. He can feel that he’s got you trailing the edge of your high. Thrust upwards, Taehyung reaches your most sensitive place. Every ram into it makes you shudder, toes curling and moans pouring into his mouth. One of his hands shifts up to your breast, massaging the smeared paint in, while the other holds your hips in place.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whines against your lips. “Come back to me.”

He can’t do this. He can’t beg you to come back with his dick shoved so deep in you like this. You’re so fucking close and he knows this. He can feel every inch of you tighten around him and desperate to be released. It’s cruel of him to manipulate you like this, to kiss you like he’s lost in the moment when he’s really just lost in you.

Kissing his way to your ear, Taehyung feels your pussy quiver. He smirks, thrusting hard enough to move the table back, and growls in your ear, “Come back to me, my muse. Cum.”

You fall back onto the table, body a total shaking shock as your orgasm washes over every inch of you. With one hand trembling over your lips, your other grabs onto one of your tits in an effort to brace yourself from the rush of ecstasy that overcomes you. The moans and whines that leave you are no exception to your convulsing state. Their breathless, broken, and blaring as you practically scream out in bliss.

Taehyung enjoys the show, watching you forget how to breathe from his place between your legs. He’s still going fast and hard, groaning when he feels you coat his cock in your cum. Mesmerized by the sight of your unheld breast bouncing with each of his thrust, he slaps it. You squeal at the sting.

And as you try to look at him, still riding out your orgasm, Taehyung’s cock twitches only to paint your inner walls with his missed affections. He falls forward, over you, burying his face between your tits again. You push them into his face and shake them against his cheeks, hearing him growl over your heart.

At some point, he stops thrusting and opts to circling his hips into yours. It’s all the same to you. Your legs continue to shake and your heart still races. Drenched in sweat, paint, and clay, you two lie there for a second longer. Even while growing limp, Taehyung feels so full in you.

He peels himself off you. His face, glistening in paint, looks like Van Gogh’s starry night, his eyes being the sparkling stars. He smirks down at you before trailing his gaze lower. That smile falls with every part of you he realizes he has ruined. Your chest is exposed and covered in colours, shirt non existent, pants clay stained and torn straight down the middle, and pussy a sopping mess of your mixed cum when he pulls out.

“I did make a mess,” he pants.

One step back, then two, then three. He distances himself from you as if ashamed of his work. You slowly sit up and cross your legs. Already, they feel strained and sore. But, they’re the least of your worries. It's the way that Taehyung winces at the sight of you, that has your heart somersaulting into your stomach. You swallow thickly between heaving pants and watch him carefully. He’s completely bare and looks even more broke than you do. His gaze looks vague and face sickly. Shaking his head, Taehyung runs a hand through his hair. He looks so annoyed with himself, he cannot even find it in him to laugh at the fact that he only got more paint in his hair.

Crossing your arms over your chest to cover yourself up a bit, you say, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He blinks repeatedly, snapping his attention back up at you. “Why aren’t you disturbed by this?” He questions, voice all but breaking.

Your eyes scan up and down his frame before your brows knit together in confusion. Is he referring to his naked body, or that the two of you just came to the thought of dating each other again? Still, why is either of those things worth being disturbed over? A naked Taehyung post sex has never been a bad sight and, though things did end horribly, the thought of being with him again doesn’t seem so bad now. Did he not mean it when he asked you to come back? Was it just something to get off to? Are you just something to get off to?

“What?” You whisper now that your anxious train of thought has robbed your voice.

“Aren’t you dating?” He clarifies. “That poor guy. I can’t believe I just let us do that.”

You’ve never seen him this distressed. He walks back to you, just to grab his jumpsuit and briefs. He can’t even bear to look at you as you stare back at him in complete confusion. What does he think happened here? That you cheated? Clenching your jaw, you can't believe that he could think that low of you. Then again, you never did blatantly say that it was your first date since the break up. In fact, now that you think about it, you did make it seem like you were in a relationship with someone else.

Taehyung hastily gets dressed as you try to hop off the table without falling on your face from how weak your legs are after such a fucking. “Tae,” you start only to have him walk away. With a sigh, you call after him. He ignores you.

What the hell are you supposed to do now? You sure as hell can’t follow him with your legs so sore and he doesn’t seem to want to talk to you. And even if you could walk, your clothes are ruined and it would take a while for an uber to get here with all the snow coming down out there. The distant spray of the shower directs your attention to the hallway Taehyung escaped down to get away from you. Great, he’s showering and left you here to figure this all out yourself.

Taking a seat on the floor, you decide to give your legs a moment to rest before ordering yourself an uber and hoping that this night ends soon. You should’ve listened to your gut and rejected his call. You shouldn’t have agreed to this, or come here, or let him remind you just how much you miss and love him. All you ever wanted was- is him. If it haven’t been for this whole stupid issue about moving in, you’d still have him.

But, no. You had to force him into a step he wasn’t ready for. You lost him then and you came back to watch yourself lose him again. Is that it? Is that why you didn’t even explain yourself to the poor guy that was sitting across from you at Rollos. Yes, Rollos; that’s where you went for drinks. Wow, your memory really hasn’t served you well tonight. You hope you forget this tomorrow. You hope you'll be able to forget how pathetic you feel, how hurt he sounds, and how you lost him all over again.

“Get up,” Taehyung orders. His voice is rough, like he had been sobbing.

Looking over to him, you find that could’ve actually been the case. His face is tear streaked now as well as paint smeared. He stands a good few feet away from you, glaring down at your woefully ruined frame. “Taehyung, I’m not-”

He doesn’t seem to want to hear any of it. “Get up,” he repeats. “Go shower. I have some clothes for you to wear then I’m taking you home.”

“Tae, just liste-”

“Delete my number. We never talk about this again. And if you’re at all like the person I loved, you’d tell him the truth.”

Is he seriously judging you right now? You’ve barely even had a chance to explain yourself. He really doesn’t want to listen to anything you have to say, cutting you off like you’re less than him. You cannot help but scoff at him and his words.

Taehyung sighs. “Just please get up, (Y/N).”

“I’m not dating anyone.”

His superiority falls. The life returns to his face as he approaches you but you recoil into yourself the moment he steps forward. Pausing, he tilts his head at you. “What is it?”

What is it? This man is going to be the death of you. “You just shamed me for something that wasn’t true, Taehyung!” You shout.

“I thought you were cheating with me!”

You use the table to help yourself up and dryly chuckle. “Ha, yeah because lying is such a normal thing to do, right? I’m as twisted as you, Taehyung.”

“I lied because I knew saying no would hurt you. Why can’t you see that I was just looking out for you?”

That one sentence makes you freeze in place. Is he really that fucking dense? He can’t seriously believe that looking out for someone you love involves lying. Slowly turning to face him, you don't even make an effort to hide your tears anymore. “You were looking out for yourself and you know it!”

“I just didn’t-”

“Want to grow tired of me.” You finish for him in a mocking tone.

Taehyung huffs, shaking his head. “That’s not what I was going to say. Would you just let me finish?”

You’re done with this stupid conversation. All you want to do is go home and get as far away as possible from him and the way he smells and the fact that even though you hate him so much right now, you want him to come and hug you and tell you everything is going to be okay. But, he’s just so annoying. And you can’t bear to look at him anymore with that cold glare consistently being directed towards you. You’ll wait outside for the uber. Hell, you’ll just walk back to your apartment. Anything to get out of here and away from him.

In an attempt to follow through, you try to make your way towards the door, but your legs almost instantly give out.

“Jesus, babe,” Taehyung hisses, rushing to your side.

It’s not even just the fact that you’re sore but your ripped pants are starting to rub up against your cum leaking pussy. You whine a bit and try to shake him off in order to jump back onto the table. But, you’re thankful he stays by your side because you definitely cannot get up there alone with your lacking upper body strength.

His hands linger on your thighs, softening eyes locked on yours. A hint of a smirk plays on his lips before he says, “I remember doing this to you often.”

Yes, leaving you limping around the apartment was his favourite pastimes. He liked to watch you struggle to walk after every intimate moment. In fact, he always felt like he didn’t do his job right if you’re not limping. He’d go ten times rougher the next time around and then cuddle you to his chest, cooing reassurances in your ear. Was it bad that you wanted that all the time? That you wanted to sleep and wake up in the same bed he does everyday?

Slow tears roll down your face as you take his hand art stained in yours. “It was my first date since our break up,” you confess. “Sumni asked for your number… and for permission to go out with you. I just felt a little hurt that you were moving on.”

“She called.”

Your heart has shattered too many times tonight to even react to his words, but you can feel your soul shudder. She called. And did he answer? Did he have a drink with her too? You want to ask but your pride swallows your questions whole. All you can bring yourself to say is, “She’s a nice girl.”

He nods. Squeezing your hand, Taehyung wraps his arm loosely around your waist and stands in front of you. “I told her I wasn’t really ready to see anyone else yet,” he tells you, pressing himself against you.

The gesture is not at all sexual and you do not interpret it as such. Rather, it is tender and comforting. He releases his hold on your hand to wipe your tears, letting his own fall. Licking his lips, he whispers, “What’s his name?”

You shrug.

“Come on,” he half-heartedly nudges your legs. “Tell me.”

Does he think you’re trying to spare his feelings? Meeting his gaze, you can’t help but smile. He looks so cute, so precious in front of you. Playing with his hand, your fingers looping around his, you reply, “I don’t remember. I only spoke to him for half an hour or something.”

He cannot hide his smile, but avoids your gaze. Even still, you can see the relief within them. He seems to be pleased that you’re just as miserable as he is, pining after someone you cannot have any more.

“Is that why you came over?”

You shake your head before you can even think the action through. And the words leave your lips just the same, “I just missed you.”

“I really missed you too,” he croaks, rushing to say the words like he can’t believe them himself. “God, I’ve just wanted you back for so long.”

He’s all but sobbing in front of you. Parting your lips, you’re about to tell him that he doesn’t have you, not yet anyways. The fact is that he still lied, and has continued to lie to manipulate you. This cannot be forgiven so easily. You love and miss him dearly, but surely you cannot just take him back without discussing the cause of your break up first.

But then, Taehyung burrows his face into the crook of your neck and lets himself fall apart. Hugging you close, he cries into your skin. You cannot hold back the sob that tears through your throat just from the mere sound of his choked breaths and wet tears against you.

“I’m so sorry,” he cries as you cradle his head. “I’m sorry.”

The broken tone of his voice is enough to make you whimper into his hair. He sounds so fragile. This break up, you realize, has torn him inside out too. Pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, you try to console both of your fears. But every sob trembles your courage and every drop of his tears makes you recoil in guilt and shame. How could you have done this to him, to your relationship?

He shudders a breath as he pulls away. Red in the face, wet streaks staining his painted cheeks, he cups his hands under your jaw and says, “Look, you can move in right now, okay? Alright? I’ll get your things tomorrow. I’ll give you Jungkook’s key. He only comes here to steal our food anyways.” Just stay, please (Y/N).”

His voice is shaky and tone all but heartbreaking as he chuckles at his own little joke. The desperation is real and hard to deny. You cannot even open your mouth to even voice your reservations about dating again. Clutching onto his jumpsuit, you try to revert your gaze to your lap in hopes to find your courage and tell him that you need to talk first. Only, Taehyung dips his head low to catch your eyes again. He’s determined to have you stay. And your silence only provokes more tears.

“I promise I’ll never tell another lie,” he sobs. “I promise I’ll never let my worries get in between us again. Please, baby, just please stay. Say that you’ll stay.”

You cannot watch this for another moment longer. There’s lots you still have left to discuss, like why he’s so worried about growing tired of you, and why he felt the need to lie in the first place. But his promise to never do it again is enough for now. And you just can’t sit here watching him cry any longer. You pull him towards you, pepper his cheeks with gentle kisses then cradle his head.

“I’m not going anywhere, Tae,” you mutter into his hair. “Mostly because I can’t.”

Your attempt at a joke causes him to choke out a chuckle. He showers the crook of your neck with wet kisses, muttering into your skin, “I love you.”

Rapturing in a relieved frenzy, your nerves dance within your bloodstream and repair your ruptured heart. You let out a deep breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. “I love you too,” you cry.

The last four months haven’t granted you a shred of peace. You’ve lived and re-lived that argument over and over again, praying you can just go back and fix it all there and then. But, maybe… maybe it all needed to fall apart to fall back into place. Maybe it needed to rupture to rapture.

tags: @miinoongi, @jenotation, @allannahmalik, @taeshuworld

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

#bangtanfairygarden #btsguild #networkbangtan #ficswithluv #btswritingcafe #winterbearnet #vantenet #btswritersclub #magicshopnet #bangtanhq #btsgoldnet #taehyung smut #taehyung angst #kim taehyung angst #kim taehyung smut #bts smut

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samstree · 3 years

Text

Press your hands upon my heart

Geralt x Jaskier, hurt/comfort, 2k, soft geralt, hurt jaskier, married husbands, established geraskier

cw: torture aftermath, hand injuries, descriptions of broken bones.

read on AO3

Geralt loved Jaskier’s hands.

They were one of the first things Geralt noticed about him.

Years ago, back in that stingy little tavern, the bard had gesticulated throughout their one-sided opening conversation, tapping on the table between them, waving and pointing with excitement. Jaskier had extended his arms in a full-body pose as he marveled at their first adventure.

From that day on, it was his nimble fingers that strummed the lute and played songs after songs, spreading the tales of the white wolf. Even hidden at the corner of a tavern, trying to not draw attention from the audience Jaskier was entertaining, Geralt could not help but always notice those hands on the instrument and how easily they produced those captivating notes. Not that he would admit it to Jaskier until many years later.

Jaskier’s hands were beautiful.

They were long and lean, untouched by heavy labor, the unblemished skin a stark contrast to Geralt’s labyrinth of scars.

They were soft to the touch. The only calluses were at the tip of his fingers, developed from years of plucking the strings. Their gentleness eased Geralt’s pain as Jaskier bandaged a wound or applied salve on Geralt’s scratches and bruises.

They were warm and welcoming when Jaskier caressed Geralt’s face before leaning in to kiss him. These hands soothed the tension between his brows; these hands carded through his hair as he was lulled into sleep surrounded by Jaskier’s familiar scent; these hands brought pleasure that left him moaning and begging, a whimpering mess under the eyes blue as the sky.

Geralt did not understand Jaskier’s love for wearing all those ridiculous rings. The colored stones were flashy and big, weighing down Jaskier’s slim fingers. Plus, they posed an extra obstacle if Geralt wished to hold Jaskier and simply feel the solid contact. The huge gemstones dug into his palm whenever he stroked Jaskier’s soft skin looking for reassurance.

“But my love, they are the latest trend at all the royal courts. A bard as esteemed as I needs to stay in fashion.”

Jaskier chuckled, amused at Geralt’s distaste for those jewelries, but continued to collect even bigger and flashier ones.

So one day, Geralt replaced them with a simple silver ring.

By the coast of Cidaris, on a beautiful cliff overlooking the sea, Geralt put the wedding band on Jaskier and called him husband for the very first time. He then placed a solemn kiss on top of it, the silver glint a most complimenting addition for those lovely fingers.

The war with Nilfgaard still raged, but their unlikely little family of a princess, sorceresses, and wolf witchers gathered for this moment.

In this little bubble of happiness, Geralt held Jaskier close and interlocked their fingers, a silent promise to never let go.

Jaskier’s hands were the first things Geralt saw when he slammed into that prison cell.

In front of his prone, motionless body on the stone floor, his hands were stretched out. The once unblemished skin was now speckled with dried blood. Dark bruises bloomed from his wrists, all the way up to the knuckles. Some of the fingers were swollen from what must be broken bones inside, but they still twitched slightly at the sound of Yennefer’s continued fighting in the hallway.

Where their wedding band should be, was now a flayed gash that has stopped dripping blood.

Geralt was almost knocked out of breath by the stench of pain, Jaskier’s pain. Gone was the familiar scent of sweet honeysuckle and contentment, now only despair rolled off of his husband in waves.

Gathering Jaskier in his arms, he checked for other injuries and found more: cracked ribs, a broken leg, and a gash near his hairline. It seemed his hands had received the most damage. Jaskier’s eyes stayed worryingly closed when Geralt desperately tried to rouse him. Tucking away the matted hair, Geralt winced at how hot his forehead felt.

They know he’s a bard. The back of Geralt’s mind screamed, they know he’s my bard.

They hurt what was the most precious to Jaskier, and Geralt seethed.

Geralt secured Jaskier’s hands in front of his torso, careful not to jostle the battered bones, and propped him up to lean against his chest. In the hallway, Yennefer cleared out the last of the soldiers and rushed in.

“Yen. His hands.” He pleaded.

Yennefer examined Jaskier’s hands with magic and the flow of chaos seemed to pain him even in unconsciousness. Jaskier whimpered and burrowed further in the crook of Geralt’s neck.

“It’s really bad, Geralt.” Yennefer’s expression was still calm but Geralt could see she was affected by the extent of it. “My chaos is almost depleted. I’m not sure how much I can do right now.”

“Do what you can. Please.”

“This is going to hurt,” Yennefer warned and started working her magic.

Geralt murmured into Jaskier’s ear as the pain built up, but it offered no comfort. With the crack of bones being reset, Jaskier woke screaming and writhing against Geralt’s chest, hitched breathing racking his body violently.

There was nothing Geralt could do but hold him tighter.

Four days held in that Nilfgaardian prison took more than forty for Jaskier to heal. Or at least on the outside.

The lacerated skin on his forearms and wrists turned into a canvas of newly formed scars, jarringly red and sensitive to the touch. The broken leg and ribs eventually regained strength after weeks of physical therapy and exercise.

As soon as they brought him back to Kaer Morhen, Yennefer knitted back the broken bones inside Jaskier’s hands, and continued to heal them with magic. Yet there was only so much she could do.

The damage to the soft tissues and ligaments was already festering when they rescued him. During the first few days, the searing pain would often flare up and keep him from any real sleep, leaving Jaskier delirious in his fevered state.

After those days, Geralt developed a habit of gently massaging the spasms out of Jaskier’s muscles. He would unfurl Jaskier’s constricting fists, kneading out the knots with the cream that the bard loved so much – honeysuckle and lavender. The warmth from Geralt’s larger hands soothed the aches, more or less depending on the day, so he made it a mission to reach for Jaskier whenever he had the chance.

Geralt wished he could erase all the hurt inflicted on his husband, but nature had to take its course.

After forty days recovering in Kaer Morhen, Jaskier was almost back to full health except for when the joints in his hands creaked and made him tremble in agony.

“Thank you, my love,” Jaskier said sleepily.

They lied face-to-face on their shared bed in the keep. Jaskier was already drifting off, his hands soft and pliant, wrapped in Geralt’s palms as if this could shield them from the hurt within.

“Anytime.”

He shouldn’t be thanking me. Geralt kissed a faded scar on a knuckle. I’m the one who couldn’t protect him.

Jaskier’s hands were still beautiful.

The backs of his hands were now marred with faded scars that itched when rubbed too hard. So Geralt made him gloves with soft silk to protect the delicate patch of skin. Jaskier had brightened with joy and gave him a massive smooch for being ‘the most thoughtful husband on the Continent’. The dark blue fabric now accompanied Jaskier everywhere.

His wrists moved with an unprecedented carefulness, all the dramatic gestures reigned in to avoid aggravating the long-lasting injuries. Though Jaskier never stopped talking with his hands, adding to his emotions when he got carried away. The movements, albeit subdued, were still the most beautiful dance in Geralt's eye.

Jaskier couldn’t wear his wedding band anymore.

With Yennefer’s help, Geralt found another ring to replace the one that was lost during Jaskier’s capture. At the time, Jaskier had put it on with a most contented grin, like something was returned to its home.

But the joints in his fingers too often ached in the cold wind of the Blue Mountains, sometimes even swelled up with inflammation. One day the bloating suddenly worsened, and they had to cut out the silver band before putting him on ice for the rest of the day.

Jaskier looked so defeated that night, fidgeting and stroking the empty base of his ring finger. When Geralt gathered him in an embrace, he retreated into himself even further.

“I don’t need a ring to know that you are mine.” Geralt tried.

“Thank you.” Jaskier’s breath shuddered. That seemed to be all he said these days. “But I just need something to be normal again.”

With that, Jaskier buried his face in Geralt’s neck and let out a silent sob. His tears soaked through Geralt’s shirt as they both rocked slowly back and forth, a wordless companionship of shared powerlessness.

One thing about Jaskier’s hands never changed.

They still knew how to love Geralt.

With stolen touches and reassuring squeezes, Jaskier never ceased to convey the depth of his feelings despite his weakened movements.

He would still open his inviting arms for a hug and absent-mindedly stroke the nape of Geralt’s neck. He would still wash the grime out of Geralt’s hair with the soap he knew didn’t bother the witcher’s sensitive nose. He would card through those silver locks when they were both plagued by insomnia – a common occurrence now that Jaskier frequently screamed awake with nightmares – to calm his own racing heart while giving a silent apology for waking Geralt up.

These were still the same hands when they traced every line on Geralt’s body, mapping out all the plains and ridges of old scars. As Jaskier traveled across his body, Geralt shuddered with tears blurring his vision.

He never understood why Jaskier would worship his scars, why he memorized them by touch and kissed them with soft lips, as if they were the most precious things on earth, until now.

Now Geralt did the exact same thing to the scattered marks on Jaskier’s body in return, tracing the lines with everything he had. Now Geralt shared the sentiment that, maybe, he could erase the hurt retroactively with all the tenderness he poured into the contact.

“You are being sappy again.” Jaskier kissed away the tears on Geralt’s cheeks, his palm cupping the side of Geralt’s face.

“I just – I never knew I could love someone so much.”

Geralt had to look quite an embarrassing sight, tearing up in the middle of an intimate moment. But Jaskier only melted at his words, the blue of his eyes flowing with adoration.

“I love you too, you ridiculous man.”

Geralt woke to the strumming of lute.

It was the first time since Jaskier’s rescue that he picked up the instrument. The melody was slow and haunting, an old love song in Elder. Jaskier hummed along with his back to their bed.

Geralt sat up quietly, not wanting to disturb the moment. He watched Jaskier take measured movements when handling the lute, gripping the handle just a little too tightly.

The old songs soon warmed him up for fervent composing. As if struck by sudden inspiration, Jaskier started singing new verses over and over again while scribbling in his notebook. Then he scratched something before trying a different line. From the short distance, Geralt smelled the familiar scent of excitement and realized how much he’d missed it.

The music and scratches of quill nearly lulled Geralt back to sleep, until a dissonant chord struck, followed by a pained gasp.

Jaskier was hunched over his lute, breathing through what must be another bout of cramps.

“Hey, Jaskier. Easy.”

With a few long strides, Geralt reached Jaskier and knelt in front of him. He pried away the lute and notebook and started massaging Jaskier’s trembling hands. Slowly opening the clenched fists, Geralt began the motion he knew by heart, kneading out the tension bit by bit.

Every time pressure was applied on the knots, Jaskier shook all over, pained, whimpering.

“You are doing so good, Jask,” Geralt cooed and apologized, easing his mind with murmured encouragement.

Finally, he pressed a chaste kiss to each knuckle, giving them equal attention, before cradling Jaskier’s now relaxed hands right above his heart to warm them up.

“Alright?”

Geralt looked up to Jaskier. The storm in his features had passed, leaving only a tired, timid smile. His glassy eyes were filled with softness only reserved for Geralt.

“We will be, love.”

#geraskier #geralt #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher #febuwhump2021 #febuwhumpday26 #hurt jaskier #jaskier whump #soft geralt #soft jaskier #hurt/comfort

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petri808 · 3 years

Text

We’ll Take Back Heaven a Nalu Yakuza Au

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 |

A loud slam of the organization’s front door caused Levy McGarden to pop her head out of her own office. Curious, she walked down the hallway and saw a light on in her boss’s, Lucy Heartfilia. Had the noise been Lucy returning? That was strange because it was too early for the woman to be back so soon. The party should have kept Lucy out of the office until morning. Levy knocked at the cracked door before entering.

“Lu, why are you here? Are you okay?” Levy quickly added when she saw her boss’s forehead leaning on the table. “Did you drink too much?”

“No… I ran into Natsu, and we had a fight,” Lucy answered without lifting her head. “He just makes me so angry sometimes, so I stormed out of there.”

“Aww, Lu.” Levy walked over and put a hand on her friend’s head. “I’m sorry.” Both Lucy and Natsu were childhood friends of hers, so she knew the history between them. It was just like a made for television movie plot and hard to stay neutral in at times because she loved them both. “Do you wanna talk about it? Need a drink?”

Having heard the loud noise, another associate Cana Alberona also came looking for the source and stumbled upon the beginnings of the conversation. “Did I hear the word drink?” She popped her head into the office. “Oh, baby what’s wrong??” She questioned at seeing Lucy upset. Cana quickly joined Levy next to their friend. “Who do I gotta kill?”

“It’s just Natsu,” Lucy mumbled. “So, no killing.”

“Oh… him.” Cana plopped her butt onto Lucy’s desk. “Ya sure? I bet I could get one of my girls to take him out of your misery.”

“He wouldn’t be interested,” Levy piped in.

“Right… he’s still—”

Lucy sat up groaning, cutting them off. “That’s enough. I really don’t wanna think about that shit right now.”

“Fine, fine, then drinks it is. Relax, babe,” Cana playfully pushed on Lucy’s shoulder before plopping off the desk. “Then you’re gonna dish about tonight.” Cana always kept a stock of liquors at her desk. So, she grabbed a bottle of high quality flavored junmai daiginjo sake, glasses and set the girls up for a gossiping session.

It was reasons like this that really spoke to the heart of their organization. Everyone in the top level of this girl’s gang had known each other from childhood or high school. They were close, a found family of sisters who all had one thing in common— a real dislike for Japan’s outdated notions of gendered norms, well that and a desire to make money. But not in a conventional way. None of them wanted to work a boring office job only to what, be subservient to the male status quo? No, thank you. So, it had been Lucy who’d first approached everyone with the idea of creating their own high-end crime organization. It was amusing at first to think about an all-girl gang similar to the Yakuza… Oh, they all knew why Lucy came up with the idea to spite Natsu and the Yakuza’s rules, but it was an appealing idea. Everyone except for Levy’s family had some kind of ties to the Yakuza, so they were in essence raised in the lifestyle without ever being able to be a part of it because of their sex.

Together they brought their strengths into play and under Lucy’s business savvy thanks to her father, within just a short couple of years they were on the road to making a real name for themselves. Levy McGarden was at the heart of the organization as a tech person, and her skills in computer language is the reason they’re able to control a massively successful money laundering operation. Cana Alberona had great people skills, so she handled the escort services. Another, Erza Scarlet was the security expert who oversaw anything to do with the protection of their assets and employees. She also kept contacts with law enforcement. Mira Strauss handled the bookkeeping and financial side, and finally Juvia Lockser managed their soapland operation. Lucy herself held everything together but was the face of the group when dealing with knew contacts and clientele. Six primary women running the organization with underlings or regular staff to manage, they were nicknamed the Yosei girls because of the various fairy-type tattoos they all had somewhere on their bodies. Lucy preferred not to show hers to outsiders, but it was a pair of fanciful fairy-like wings that took up a large portion of her upper back. Natsu used to call her his angel back in the day…

The three girls sat huddled around Lucy’s desk after Levy dragged over a couple extra chairs.

“Seriously?” Cana knocked back a shot of sake and planted it on the table. “So, you didn’t have a chance to hit any marks?”

“Nope.” Lucy sipped from her glass. “Sure, I talked to some people, but I never made it past my first cocktail. He even blocked me from getting some action tonight from the hot bartender.”

Cana cringed. “That’s even worse!”

Levy giggled at her friend, “of course, you’d take offense to that Cana instead of the job.”

“Well,” Cana shrugged nonchalantly, “girls gotta take care of needs too, right? And if he was hot, that’s a real shame.”

The comment sent both Levy and Lucy into a giggle fit. Lucy may have started this out irritated but leave it to her friends to bring her out of her despair.

“Oh,” Lucy sighed and finished her glass, “the guy Loke was a total playboy too. Perfect for a no strings attached night.”

“Loke?” Cana questioned. “Orange hair and glasses?”

“You know him?— of course, you know him,” Lucy chuckled. “Why am I surprised.”

“I’ve seen him at other parties bartending. Flirts with all— the pretty girls. Very easy to get into bed, and not bad while in it. I got his number if you want it.”

“Natsu scared him pretty bad. I think Loke recognized him.”

“Hmm, that’s possible too. But hey, what Natsu doesn’t know…”

“Oh, my Kami, Cana! You are just too much sometimes!”

“Hey, just tryin’ to help out my bestie here,” she winked.

“Nah, I’m not in the mood tonight, Natsu really killed my joy.”

“He really thought that the guys there were gossiping about you?” Levy questioned. “Just because you didn’t have an escort?”

“Yeah, and you know even if he was right, he didn’t need to be a dick about it.”

Levy sighed, “he was probably right. It sucks, but that level of men, they look down on women like us. You provide a service, so to them they’re still using you which makes you beneath them.”

“And how dare a woman show up without a man by her side,” Cana rolled her eyes. “Oh well, less guilt for me when I’m taking their money,” she laughed.

Levy and Lucy laughed too, then Lucy raised a glass. “To taking their money! Cheers!”

“Cheers!” The girls clinked their glasses together and shot down their drinks.

“Speaking of escorts, how are things going Cana?” Lucy asked. They called their employees escorts because that’s the only service they provided. Think of them like high-end modern geisha without the traditional look. Their employed women provided companionship for events or business executives trying to look good and we’re trained well in hospitality, etiquette, and such to keep their dates happy. The women were highly compensated for what they did, so it was very lucrative for everyone. Sex was forbidden on the job and if a client ever tried to pressure an escort or roughed them up, they would be immediately barred from the service. However, if the infraction were bad enough, that’s when Erza would step in and handle things. The group was lucky this rarely took place because the male clientele they had wouldn’t want the shame of embarrassment either.

“Going great. We’re already getting booked up for the holidays and that still 4 months away. I guess they wanna make sure they can get certain girls before it’s too late.”

“Suckers.” Lucy snickered. “We’re using their own social norms against them, and they don’t even realize it.”

Between the three friends, they drank about half the bottle before slowing down. The conversation switched between work related topics, private lives, and back to Natsu until Lucy would switch the topic again. She knew of her buddy’s willful infatuation in her decades old battle with the man, but she just wasn’t in the mood to talk about it. Lucy still had a lot to process privately about the issues and though she loved Cana as a sister, Levy was the only one she’d really tell her deepest feelings to and now wasn’t the time to rehash anything. A few hours passed by when a knock at the door came. Another of their group was dropping by before heading out to work.

“Hey Juvia!” The three tipsy girls giggle at the same time.

“Wanna join us?” Cana questioned.

“Juvia would but she needs to check on Faerieland.”

“How is our soapland operation doing? Any problems I need to know about?” Lucy asked Juvia. The Faerieland bathhouse was the lowest level of their operations since flesh services were considered distasteful. But nevertheless, it was a highly profitable and legal one. What set them apart from all the others was the high-end quality of services offered to guests, providing both male and/or female “bathers” that clients could pay extra for to have a sexual experience. However, for that service, the client was required to be vetted by an inhouse doctor prior to a booking to make sure they were free of STD’s. Again, that was just one reason Faerieland was considered so high end and very exclusive. Some might have found it inconvenient, but most of the regulars appreciated the health factor. It’s what kept them coming back. All the employed bathers were screened regularly by an in-house doctor, and contrary to societal belief, were there by their own choice. So, the combination of anonymity, safety, and level of service kept the soapland business running with very little down times in between.

Juvia shook her head. “No problems, just busy due to the heat this time of year. Private bookings are scheduled out into next month.”

“That’s good to hear,” Levy smiled. “It’s nice that things have been running so smoothly.”

“Agreed,” Cana and Lucy chimed in.

“There is one thing Juvia should tell Lucy.” Her voice lowered, hesitant. “Mr. Natsu has an appointment booked for the end of the month. And he… just made it tonight.”

Lucy rolled her eyes and her voice dripped with irritation. “So, who’d he sign up to bang?”

“Nobody. Mr. Natsu only booked the deluxe bath and massage package. No sex.”

“Oh—” Lucy caught her surprise before she could show it, waving her hand nonchalantly as if she didn’t care. “W-well good for him. Not that I care if we’re making money of it.”

“Juvia is so relieved! She was worried you wouldn’t like him using our bath house.”

“It’s rare that he does,” Cana tapped her chin. “Hmmm, I wonder why he made the appointment tonight of all days…”

Levy slapped Cana on the arm, glaring at the woman to behave and Juvia just stood there wide-eyed and confused.

“What?!” Cana laughed. “I thought it was funny.”

“Ha-Ha,” Lucy mocked Cana. “What Natsu does is his own business and it’s not like he was trying to relieve himself tonight, the appointment is what, two and half weeks or so away? I’m not gonna lose sleep over it.”

“Okay… Juvia is confused but needs to go. Someone can fill Juvia in tomorrow.”

“Sorry, Juvia,” Levy apologized for the others. “I’ll fill you in later. But don’t worry! Everything is okay.”

“That’s good. Well then. Goodnight, everyone!” Juvia waved as she left the office.

“Goodnight!” The three waved.

“Cana,” Lucy reignited the debated now that Juvia was gone. “I don’t care if Natsu sleeps with other women, how can I when I have no problem sleeping with other men. We’re not a couple. But what does irritate me is that of all the bathhouses to choose, why mine??”

“It’s probably because of our services…” Levy threw in to diffuse the tension. “We do provide the best.”

“Yeah, I know,” Lucy sighed, “it just— it feels like he’s doing it on purpose.”

“You know I’m just teasing you, Lucy.” Cana retorted. “But I think you’re also reading too much into it. He’s a guy and history has shown a clueless one when it comes to women, so I doubt he’s masterminded going to the bathhouse as a way to irritate you.”

Lucy exhaled. “You guys are probably right. I guess I’m just still too wound up because of the party.”

“Maybe what you need to do is to unwind Lu,” Levy suggested.

Lucy sat back for a moment mulling over the idea. Yeah, maybe she should. It sure as hell wouldn’t hurt. Maybe let off some steam and stop thinking about Natsu, and a one-night fling could do just that. “You know what…” she turned to Cana with a new resolve. “What’s Loke’s number?”

Cana whipped out her phone. “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about!”

#nalu #nalu au #yakuza au #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #nalu fan fic #nalu fanfiction #ch 4 #we'll take back heaven #petri808

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babylooneytoonz · 4 years

Text

Power Struggle

Tommy Shelby x Fem! Reader

Requested by : @peakyfooky

So unfortunately I clicked on the delete button instead of the edit button and my work just went down the drain. I feel so pissed rn. I'm so sorry, @peakyfooky. Here's the request. Again.

Summary - Being an assassin was all fun and a right handed game until Tommy Shelby fucked up in an important mission and almost got you killed. The only good thing to come out of it was a hinted confession and a heated moment of passion.

Warnings: Cursing, Explicit language, SMUT SMUT SMUT, Sex . Reader's a badass in this one.

The rumours were many. Some said that she was a mythical creature, a story cooked up by mothers to get their children to sleep at nights, while some felt that she was a woman long dead. They said that she walked through the streets of London at nights, shielded by the darkness, hidden from the human eye. They even said that she had a scarred face, and a story to tell, probably why she didn't show herself during daytime. She was looking for the man that had done this to her, scarred her face and once she found him, she would be gone.

The rumours appalled you but at the same time, they made you feel powerful. You were nothing they had described you as. You were beautiful, your face that of an angel, if one would look at it, they wouldn't suspect a thing.

You were not some creature from the storybooks, neither were you someone alien to this country. You considered yourself a businesswoman, and your business was killing people. Killing your targets. Being an assassin, a female assassin, and being a pretty good one, you were the topic of talks among people and a pretty frequent household name for the gangs, having been frequenting them, and doing their petty calling for years now. And they made sure your identity was kept hidden and you were paid handsomely.

And this is how you knew Thomas Shelby, the leader of the Peaky Blinders. You wouldn't lie to yourself, his summons were the ones that intrigued you the most. They were uncanny, came for you on those you had least expected them.

After a long night at the pub next door, you stumbled into your first floor shabby apartment, a good disguise for a woman like you who earned a lot for every target eliminated. Your keys rattled into the keyhole and the door flung open, the familiar scent of your perfume, mixed with whiskey and cigarette smoke filling up your nostrils as you stepped inside and flung your heels off.

That's when you saw it. A card with a gold plated border stood on your bedside table, waiting for you to read it. You often wondered how Tommy managed to do it, sneak into your apartment to get you these notes but you didn't ask. It was Thomas Fuckin' Shelby and he had ways that you had probably never imagined of. To anyone who would see these notes, they would mistake these from a despaired lover, wanting to meet you again.

You flicked it roughly into your palm, turning it around as you read through it.

Meet me by the distillery when the moon's directly above us.

- T.S

He talked in riddles, riddles that no normal person would bother trying to solve but you knew his riddles by the back of your hand. Your eyes flew to the grandfather clock and you rushed out to your window, trying to look at the black starless sky, overcome with black humungous clouds with no moon in sight.You waited for a few minutes, waiting for the moon to show itself and when it finally showed you a peek, you knew Thomas would have seen it too. You grabbed your purse, flinging it across your shoulder and walked out of your apartment, making your way towards the distillery by the end of the street.

By the time you set foot there, you craned your neck upwards, trying to look at the moon that was now shining down on you and you knew it would be minutes before Thomas Shelby showed himself. Years for working for this man, he still hadn't learnt a thing about punctuality. Just then, a twig snapped behind you, causing you to slowly turn towards the approaching figure with a smug look on your face, "I am a busy woman, Shelby. I cannot always be here at your whims and fancies."

Under the pale moonlight, you saw his lips twitch, his hand mechanically moving up to his lips, his cigarette plucked between his lips as he inhaled the smoke that coiled around him.

"I hope you have something good for me. Something better than the man you gave me the last time. That took fucking two minutes. This better be worth my time."

Tommy took a step closer, the cigarette butt dropping from his hand as he stepped on it. Now you could see him clearly, his handsome features and his chiseled jaw struck out.

"Luca Changretta."

Two words were spoken and the smirk on your face went up your ears.

"I hope the pay's good."

"I'll triple it once you get me the news he's fuckin' gone." Tommy's ice like voice reached your ears and you just smacked your lips together, crossing your arms over your chest.

"So, when are we fuckin' doing this?"

Pretending to be a whore was easy. All you had to do was wear a skimpy dress, show a little cleavage, put on red lipstick and there you go, you were ready. Once you were ready, you looked at yourself in the mirror. The woman that looked back at you was someone you hardly recognised, but maybe that was what you always wanted.

Taking a deep breath, you finally pushed yourself out of the shabby bathroom at the back of the pub, your heels clicking against the pavement as you strutted towards the noisy entrance. You could hear loud chatters and occasional bangs, banging of fists, and even breaking of glasses and you rolled your eyes, cringing at the state of disorientation most of these men were in.

You placed your hand on the door, pushing it open as you stepped in, smacking your lips together. Your eyes scanned through the men, some of them now looking at you with hunger in their eyes. "Who the hell ordered a whore, ay?! Send her over once you are done mate!" You heard someone yell.

If you had to do this without testing your patience any further, you needed a drink. You went up straight to the bar, slamming your fist angrily against it to get the bartender's attention. His head snapped towards you, his mouth slightly falling, his eyes involuntarily moving and resting on your chest for a bit.

"Whiskey." You said, dryly. "And stop fuckin' staring at my chest."

The bartender cleared his throat, a red tint taking over his cheeks, flustered at being accused so pointedly. You saw him nod and rush into the backroom. You took this moment to look around, trying to spot the man you were looking for. This is where Thomas Shelby had told you he would be.

The bartender emerged with your drink in his hand, placing it on the counter in front of you. Your fingers curled around it, your hand flying to your lips, your ruby tainted lips pressing against the glass as the liquid gushed through your throat. Without wasting any more time, placing the glass back down, you leaned forward, watching the bartender in front of you struggle to keep his wandering eyes from taking a sneak peak at your cleavage. You placed your elbows on the counter to support you, looking at him.

"Where's Luca Changretta?"

The bartender looked at you, his eyebrow shooting up.

"Oh, you are Mr. Changretta's, ah, guest. The first door on the left." You nodded coyly, your fingers curling around the glass, your eyes fixed at the bartender as you watched him uncomfortably move away, scrubbing the counter on the other side. You brought up the glass and downed the entire contents of it, almost slamming the glass back down.

Following the bartender's instructions, you found your way to the first door on the left. It was a mahogany door, shut, but you could hear muffled shouting coming from the inside. Not bothering to knock, you flung the door open, barging your way in, your heels clicking against the floor.

Luca was sitting on a couch, his legs propped up against the coffee table, his drink in his hand as he was probably in the middle of an argument with one of his henchmen.

"Do you really not know how to knock?" Luca didn't move, only his lips did, as he eyed you his gaze, dwindling from distaste to full of lust.

"Not really, Mr. Changretta. You see, I just did my nails. Trust me, these things do take a lot of my time, that and making sure men don't leave disappointed." Your smirk reached your eye as your hand fumbled against your box of cigarettes, pulling a stick out of it and flinging it to your lips.

You heard Luca mutter a get the fuck out under his breath and the henchman rushed off, leaving you alone with the man. He slowly stood up, taking a sip of his drink, twirling his whiskey glass in his hand as he made his way up to you, looking at you from head to toe. "I didn't ask for a whore, now did I? Not that I remember. Who sent you?"

"No one asks for me, Mr. Changretta, I just flow with the wind. I just know who might have a need for me without actually him coming to me first. I see power, immense power and that's where I go. No one sends me." You took a step closer, lifting your palm and placing it on Luca's arm, using your pointed nail to move your index finger downwards, causing him to grit his teeth as your nail tore through his suit, almost scraping through his flesh. "Sorry about the suit. Where did you get these made?"

"Fenacci, Italian. He's my uncle."

"Well he must be a talented man." You cooed.

A sadistic snicker escaped his lips, causing you to give him a fake smile, although you knew how disgruntled you felt. The things money made people do.

"Now Mr. Changretta– "

"Call me Luca." He cut you off, his hand finally fixing on your hip, his fingers stroking your flesh over your satin dress.

"Luca, what would you like me to do to please you?" You pushed yourself away from him, watching his face flash a look of annoyance, his fingers twitching when it lost contact with you. Slowly, you took off your dress, only to reveal the soft, almost sheer negligee that you were wearing underneath it, exposing your legs and every bit of your skin. You saw him give you a quick do over his eyes flashing with his desire for you and this caused your lips to involuntarily curl into a smirk. You took a step towards him, placing your palm on his chest and using force to push him back against the couch, taking him by surprise.

"You are a man of substance, Mr. Changretta. I love it."

You placed yourself slowly over his lap, letting him wrap his arm around your waist, a low, throaty growl almost leaving his lips. As you moved on to straddle him, his fingers moved all over your arms, trying to feel the softness of your skin.

Taking that second of distraction in your stride, your hand flew up to the pin that held your hair, the pin of poison as you called it, and you pulled it out, your hair now falling loosely over your almost bare shoulders. Clutching the pin in your hand, you were ready to push the pin into the side of his neck, ready to end it once and for all but before you could do that, he grabbed you by your shoulder, pushing you away with such force, you fell back, crashing against the coffee table and fell to the floor.

"I least expected Mr. Shelby to be sending in assassins dressed as whores. Turns out Miss Gray was right. He did send you to kill me."

Your rage filled eyes met his, your finger still clutching the pin, while his fingers slid into his suit pocket and he pulled out his gun, ready to aim it at you. You gave him a smile, not dropping his gaze for a second. There was no way you would let him have you fail. You had never failed before. Fucking Polly Gray. You didn't understand how Luca Changretta already knew what Thomas Shelby's plan was.

You would have pondered more, had your eyes not noted how his finger moved to the trigger, ready to squeeze it. The moment passed by in a blur of a second, you adeptly caught his wrist at the right time, causing his aim to falter but the bullet shot of the barrel before the gun fell off his hand, slicing into your arm and lodging inside. You hissed in pain, your arm slowly turning red as droplets of your blood rolled down and fell to the floor, drop by drop. "Fucking hell," You cursed, your palm flying to the hole in your arm, feeling the warm gush of your blood, your wound throbbing under your touch while at the same time, you used your foot to kick the gun that had fallen out of Changretta's hand under the cabinet.

"Who the fuck are you, woman? You're no whore, that I'm sure of. I wonder how much that bastard paid you to do his dirty work. I'm ready to pay you triple– " He grabbed you by your hair and pulled you up to your feet which was a pretty bad move at his end. This was where you shot out your foot towards him suddenly, causing him to stumble and fall backwards. You let out a loud shriek, pulling yourself on top of him, straddling his waist, your palms coming to rest on his throat as you started squeezing it.

"I'm your death, motherfucker."

Luca Changretta started coughing, his eyes bobbing out as he tried to get your hands off his throat, but you just kept squeezing harder, pushing down at him with all the weight in your body. You were smiling now, watching life drain out of this man so easily, the throbbing in your wounded arm completely forgotten. You had gotten so used to seeing their faces when you killed them, it really didn't matter when they came back to haunt you at nights.

Suddenly, you felt a sharp prick at the side of your neck, the sudden impact of which caused you to loosen your grip on Changretta. Clutching your neck, you fell to your side, your eyes falling on your poisoned pin that was in Changretta's hand. Your chest heaving up and down, your heart raced so bad, you felt it was going to stop. Pain spread through your body, slowly, like a snake coiling at your insides as you started coughing out foam, your vision blurring.

"You can never be the death of me, bitch."

The last thing you saw before you shut your eyes was the door flinging open and the blue eyed gang leader rushed in, with a few men on his tail. You heard the sound of gunshots and screams but it all went black.

Your head hurt and so did every crevice in your body, as though someone had run a truck over you. It felt like you had been asleep for ages. The room smelled like a hospital room. After what felt like eternity, your eyes fluttered open. Even moving your eyes around took most of your energy. The room was warm and so were the covers that covered your body. Slowly, you started regaining shards of memory of what had happened that day. You had failed, for the first time ever. But worse than that, you wanted to bash Thomas Shelby's skull, for betraying you, for telling Polly Gray. He was responsible for your failure.

You winced as you sat up, your eyes flying to your bandaged arm. If the humiliation of failing that one thing you were good at wasn't enough, you had been shot and fucking poisoned.

You slid against the edge of the bed, your feet finding the floor as you hoisted yourself up, your legs almost wobbling at your first attempt. Five minutes later, you were walking down the hallway of what you guessed was the Arrowe House screaming like a mad woman, “Thomas! THOMAS SHELBY! FOR FUCK'S SAKE–"

Just then, the door to your right opened, and someone grabbed your wrist, pulling you inside and the door slammed shut behind you.

"My son's fuckin' asleep in the next room. Can you stop shouting at the top of your lungs? And who the fuck asked you to strut around the house when you are in no condition to get out of bed?"

You looked at the man in front of you and you wanted to gage his eyeballs out. Suppressing the urge to scream at him, you just pushed him away and weakly made your way up to his desk, grabbing his box of cigarettes.

"How the fuck am I even alive? Thanks to you, Changretta had stabbed me with my own poison needle. How the fuck did Polly even find out about the whole plan?" You struggled to light a match, a cigarette now pressed to your lips. Thomas snatched the matchbox from your hand, lighting a match for you and bringing it close to your face.

"Will you just sit down first." He motioned for you to take a seat. Wordlessly, you lowered yourself on it, your eyes trained on him, waiting for him to speak.

"I might have mistakenly said some things to her. I know, I'm sorry –"

You were not having it. You stood up, your fists clenched by your sides as you stormed towards him, almost pushing him angrily.

"You almost got me killed Tommy. You knew my fucking rules. No one except us should have known." He grabbed you by your arm in an effort to catch you if you fell but you just pushed his hands away.

"For fucks sake, will you stop with the dramatics, it was a drunken mistake. Polly came to me and she confessed to having told Changretta about you. That's when I gathered the boys and –"

You shook your head in disgust and cut him off, as your hand mechanically flew up to your lips and you took a drag of your cigarette, spitting out your words, "You wanted to be a fuckin' hero, did you not? You broke our deal, Tom. And then you save my life like this."

You didn't realise how the word Tom had so effortlessly slipped out of your mouth until you felt his lips suddenly press against yours, your eyes widening in shock at the suddenness of it, an electrifying feeling filling you up.

"What the fuck?" You whispered, licking your lips inadvertently when he pulled back.

"You don't fucking shut up, do you?"

"How dare you –" You didn't complete your sentence. Instead, you pushed Tommy to the wall, your hands tugging at his waistcoat to take it off as your lips hungrily devoured his plump ones. When you finally broke the kiss, you didn't look at Tommy like you did before. There was something different about him, something that made you want to explore. Your fingers tore through the buttons of his shirt, until he was standing bare chested in front of you, his lips slightly parted, his chest heaving up and down, his hand resting on your waist as he looked down at you, his eyes thick with desire.

"What was that for?"

"For almost getting me killed and then saving my life." You muttered, sarcastically and he just scoffed.

"I couldn't have left you to die." He deadpanned.

"Oh, and why's that?"

You bit your lip, slowly looking up at him when it hit you. "Don't answer that. Please don't. I can't take it right now."

"You're so –"

"Get your fuckin' pants off."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

It was as though your mind had exploded. All you saw was fire around you, the fire that could only be vanquished by him. Impatiently, you strode up to him, unbuttoning his pants while he just kept staring at you, his mouth almost open. You slid your palm through the waistband of his pants, stroking over his already hardened manhood, watching him as his eyes clenched shut and a low moan escaped those lips.

What you felt right now could only be expressed as sheer torment. You were emotionally drained and physically broken, and the only thing that could calm you down or make it even worse was what you were about to do. And you weren't going to waste any fucking time.

Thomas Shelby didn't realise what hit him. The next minute, he was sprawled over his desk, his pants lowered at his ankles, with you now straddling his waist, your eyes looking down at him. You wouldn't deny, he really looked beautiful under you. And you were sure, he was liking you on top of him.

It was a Power Struggle. But you always won. Atleast with Thomas Shelby.

"You are infuriating." You hissed, as you started rolling your hips against his erect cock, only the fabric of your underwear barring you from taking him in. The aching pain in your core was frustrating, getting even worse with each stroke of your core against the mountain pressed up against it.

"And you're a fucking tease," He moaned under you, licking his lips as he tried to adjust his hips to feel your warmth better.

"Stop. Don't fucking move until I say you do. We do this my way." You slapped his chest lightly, only to get a frustrated growl from him. A part of you wanted to tease Thomas Shelby to the point he was squirming, but the other part of you wanted to satiate the burning inside of you.

"I'm so fucking angry at you, Shelby, but good thing I know how to calm myself down in the most unholy ways." You lifted yourself up, Tommy's adept fingers worked to get your panties off you and once you had gotten yourself free from it, you took a deep breath, looking down at him before you went down on him. Using your hand to guide his cock, you slowly mounted yourself into him, feeling his thickness fill you up, a symphony of curses and grunts escaping both your lips as he filled you up.

Once you had adjusted to him, your slickness made it easier for you to build a firm pace, your hands using his chest to hold yourself on top of him, his hands holding you from your waist for support. Your body trembled and your mouth spilt vulgar curses as you slowly built up your pace, bouncing up and down his length, the study filling up with the sounds of your wetness of your core and flapping of your skin against his. His hands left your waist, moving up until he was squeezing your breasts, his fingers toying with your nipples, enhancing the pleasure you were feeling.

"Is that all you got?" Tommy moaned and this caused you to throw your head back and let out a dry laugh, only to end in a moan again as you felt pleasure built inside you, ready to burst any time now. By the looks of it, you could see that Tommy was close too, but he wouldn't give you the pleasure of knowing how good you were at this.

"Keep up with me." You swatted him again, deliberately slowing your pace, knowing how close you both were to your climaxes. He only slapped your arse in retaliation, budging you to keep up the pace.

"(Y/N)" Tommy grunted your name in pleasure, his fingernails digging into your hips.

"Say it again, love."

"Fuck." Tommy cursed, his breathing hitching as you continued bouncing on his swollen cock. Your hands found your way to his neck, your palms wrapping around as you started choking him, not hard enough for him to not breathe but hard enough for him to look up at you, his eyes burning with pleasure.

"Say it again, darling."

"(Y/N), fuck." He groaned. As if this was the push that was needed, you let out a whimper mixed with a moan, as you rode him to his own climax as well as your own, his nails digging into your flesh, panting into his sturdy chest.

You rolled off him and collapsed on the desk next to him, staring at the ceiling of his study, your chest heaving up and down, the smell of sex and cigarettes now filling up your nostrils.

"Please don't fuck up the next time, Shelby."

You felt his lips press against the skin on your bare shoulder in a kiss, followed by a hum as he pushed himself up from the desk, "That fuckin' poison pin. I had thought I lost you. You were lucky the doctor drained out the poison. If being an assassin is what you want to do, then we do this my way, not yours." He reached out, pulling up his pants and grabbed a spare tee shirt from one of the drawers of his study, pulling it over his head, looking at you once before he stormed out of his study.

(GIF is not mine, found it on Google. Let me know if it's yours and I will credit you.)

#tommy shelby x reader smut #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x y/n #peaky fucking blinders #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders smut

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whatareyousearchingfordean · 4 years

Text

Happiness Begins

Part 21

Chapter Summary: The reader sets out to drown herself in another mistake, leading Jared and Jensen to finally say what they have been holding back.

Warnings: Language, excessive alcohol consumption, another verbal altercation

Word Count: 2.7K+

Author’s Note: I mixed in a few funny moments to try and cut all this angst I’m throwing your way. Plus, the next part starts to lighten things up just a little bit. Thanks again for sticking around and reading, I love every one of ya! xoxo Alex

Catch up with the series masterlist and check out Alexandra’s Library for more works by yours truly.

It was harder than she anticipated to pull herself from the state she had allowed herself to fall into. She would never admit to how broken she now was. Long ago she had promised herself that she would never let another man define her life, and here she was sobbing like she had nothing left to live for. She felt pathetic. She felt like she was twenty-five again.

As the sobs ebbed away into short hiccups, Y/n wiped away the mascara running down her cheeks. As sad as it was, she just felt lost again. Nothing made any sense to her anymore. Everything that she had thought she had known, about her brother and her boyfriend, had all crumbled to the ground in a matter of weeks. Now she was left to pick up the scattered pieces. The only problem was she didn’t know where to start.

Before Jared could get home to find her there, Y/n decided that what she truly needed was one last bad decision. So, she pulled herself together long enough to fix the tears stains down her cheeks and hide the puffiness under her eyes. Then she was off to drown her mistakes in alcohol.

****

The lights from the city below bled into the light shining from Jensen’s television. He sat perched on the couch, a beer in hand that had long since gone warm. He wasn’t paying attention to the sitcom on the screen, his gaze instead fixed on the peeling label on the bottle.

There was no way he could have truly anticipated her reaction to him telling her they needed to take a break. Y/n was a smart woman, but she was also much like her brother, deeply rooted in her emotions. It was not a bad thing, in any sense of the word, but it meant that he saw this going two ways. One was exactly how it had played out. Jensen has gone over in his head time and time again how he could have reworded things in a vain attempt to try and ease her pain. The second was her understanding. It was not far fetched of him to believe that she would have been thinking the same thing, that maybe, just maybe, them taking a break may help heal all of their relationships.

Jensen was not lucky this time.

The sound of his phone vibrating against the coffee table broke him out of his daze. He glanced at the number, recognizing the local area code. Intrigued, he answered, completely unprepared for what await him.

****

The bar sat in the middle of nowhere on a two lane highway with nothing but trees as far as the eye could see in all directions. Jensen got chills as he pulled into the parking lot. The place looked like it could have easily been one out of an episode of Supernatural, and he was scared what all he would find once he made his way inside.

It was a Friday evening, yet there didn’t seem to be too many cars outside, for which he was thankful for. The less people witnessed him carting off a drunk woman the better. Not to mention it would be Jared’s little sister he was helping stumble out the door. He couldn’t worry too much about that now though, his bigger focus was on making sure Y/n got home safe.

The bell jingled overhead as Jensen pushed the door open. No one paid him any mind, all of them too inside their own head and their own troubles to worry about a new patron in the bar. A quick scan of the room didn’t turn up Y/n, so he went with plan B. He made his way over to the bar, leaning over the wooden top and tapping it with his knuckles to get the bartender’s attention. “Hey, buddy, I’m looking for Oliver.”

“You Jensen?” The guy wiped his hands on the towel he had stuffed into his apron as he made his way over to Jensen.

“Yeah, where is she?”

��My manager has her in a booth over there.” Jensen’s eyes shifted in the direction Oliver nodded his head, seeing Y/n slumped in her seat, her arms crossed and a pout on her lips. “She’s been trying to coax her to drink some water but she just won’t do it. I was going to call her an Uber, but her address is listed in her phone as Texas and I don’t think Uber does that. Found your name in her emergency contacts, she’s been muttering nonsense about you since about her fourth glass.” Oliver leaned his weight onto his hands upon the bar, eyeing up Jensen.

“Thanks. Here, this should cover her tab, no?” Jensen held out a few bills for the bartender who nodded and took the cash. Jensen stuffed his wallet back in his jeans before heading over to Y/n. She perked up when she saw him heading her way.

“Jensen…” His name slurred from her lips, equal parts happiness and despair.

“Hey, sweetheart. I’m here to take you home, how does that sound?” He squatted down next to the booth, bringing himself eye level with her.

“No, I can’t go back there! I hate Jared.” She shook her head violently. Jensen put his hands on her arms, rubbing up and down to soothe her.

“You don’t hate Jared. You love your brother.” He tried, but she wasn’t having it.

“I do, I hate him. And I hate you.” Her brow furrowed as if she had just remembered her new distaste for the man come to rescue her. She hiccuped before continuing. “You two and all your stupid meddling. I’m a grown ass woman, I can decide what’s best for me, you know?” Her words twisted the knife already piercing his heart.

“I do know. And I think you know that you need to get some rest. But you can’t do that here. Let’s get in the car and we can go from there. How does that sound?” She chewed on her lip, contemplating his offer for a moment before nodding solemnly. “That’s my girl.” Jensen stood and offered his hand out to her. She took it, but in her inebriated state, needed help not only to stand, but to walk out to the car. Jensen leaned down and threw her arm over his shoulders so he could help support her weight and help her stand. She stumbled over her heels a little as they made their way to Jensen’s car. He slid her into the back, laying her across the bench seat. She curled into herself instantly, her eyes fluttering shut.

Jensen sighed as he shut the door behind her. He had never seen her even close to this drunk. Or this sad. The sadness that flickered behind her eyes when she had first saw him made his gut wrench. He hated thinking that he had driven her here. That had never been his intention. He was only trying to do what he thought was right for everyone. He loved her, he couldn’t deny that now, but Jared was important to him too. It was better that he was just friends with both of them than losing both of them forever. He had hoped that Jared would get over it, but things had only gotten worse. And now, he was dragging a drunk Y/n home because he had broken her heart. He only hoped Jared didn’t hit him again for this one. He blamed himself enough as it was.

He made sure to keep an eye on her as he drove, glancing in the rearview mirror frequently to make sure she was still breathing. Thankfully, she slept peacefully the whole way. She was going to be mad when she realized where he was taking her. It was the lesser of two evils. Either he took her to his place and let her like him for a little while longer but then Jared chews him out for not calling him, or he takes her to Jared, who keeps an eye on her and she gets mad at Jensen. He was just hopeful that if she does get mad, that she doesn’t remember it in the morning.

It was nearing two in the morning as Jensen pulled into Jared’s place. He climbed into the back seat, hovering over Y/n so he could wake her gently. “Hey, Y/n/n. It’s time to get up so I can get you upstairs and into bed.” He brushed her messy hair from her face as he spoke to her. Her eyes fluttered open easier than he thought they would, a small smile on her lips as she registered what he had said.

“I’ll always get into bed with you.” Her hand smacked against his shoulder in what he assumed was supposed to be a sensual movement.

“Alright there. Come on.” He moved back out of the car and dragged her along with him. Her little nap as Jensen carted her across town did little to sober her up. And apparently she had already forgotten she was supposed to hate him. He wasn’t sure what her worse, knowing she loved him so much she drank herself stupid or that she loved him so much she was trying to convince herself that she hated him.

Y/n was still unsteady as Jensen guided her inside and up to the apartment she shared with Jared. Her fingers gripped tightly into Jensen’s coat as he knocked on the front door. Even if he had been able to find her keys, he didn’t want to just barge in on Jared.

The sounds of Jared shuffling around could be heard through the door before it finally flung open.

“What the hell?” Jared was trying to let his eyes adjust to the brightness of the hallway as he took in the scene in front of him.

“I got a call from the bartender at Trappers saying she needed to be picked up. I was closer so I went and grabbed her.” Jensen explained as he brought her inside.

“Hey! You brought me to Jared’s!” Y/n slurred as she turned into him, nearly causing him to trip over her feet.

“I did, because this is where you are staying right now.” Jensen explained to her, causing her to start giggling.

“Like brother like sister right? You remember that, when Jared had to be carried in here drunk because he found out we were fucking?” Her voice lowered on the last word of her sentence, like Jared may overhear their “secret”. Jensen caught her hand that had snuck its way to his jaw, pulling it from his face and casting a wary look at Jared. He couldn’t stop her actions or the words that came out of her mouth, but he could at least try and limit them for Jared’s sake, and ultimately his own.

“Alright, you’re done talking.” He assured her as he moved her body so he could finish taking her to her room.

“She didn’t even tell me she was going out.” Jared sounded confused as he followed Jensen into Y/n’s room. Jensen pulled back her comforter and laid her down onto the pillows. She didn’t want to release her grip on him at first, nearly pulling him down with her. When he regained his balance, he moved to take off her shoes, setting them on the ground by her bedside table. She mumbled something he didn’t quite hear as he tucked her into her blankets.

“Jensen,” Her voice was louder this time, cracking like she was about to break down into tears as she gripped his wrist when he tried to leave. Jensen sat down on the edge of her bed, leaning in close to her.

“Yes?”

“Don’t go. Please?”

“I can’t stay. You know that.” Jensen smiled down at her, trying to be reassuring even though he had no idea if she could even tell with the way her eyes were drooping.

“I don’t.” Her brow furrowed as she struggled to understand.

“Jared’s going to take care of you from here. You’ve gotta sleep now, though.” Jensen promised her that she wouldn’t be alone when he left.

“No, you.”

“Y/n/n,” Jensen sighed heavily. He had known how stubborn she could be, but Jared was already breathing down his neck and he didn’t wish to push his luck.

“I love you. Please, don’t leave me.” Jensen didn’t think his heart could break any more than it already was, but he was mistaken. Hearing the sob rock her body as she gripped his bicep like it was her lifeline physically pained him. He wanted nothing more than to try and fix what he had destroyed, but now he only feared he had made it worse. This wasn’t what he wanted to be in her life. A destructive force that ruined her closest relationship and broke her heart. He never meant to make things so complicated. Now, he had no idea what to do to make things right.

“I know.” He leaned into her, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. The only thing he could do was wait until she fell asleep. He let the backs of his knuckles run up and down her arm until her grip on him loosened on its own. Once he was free from her grasp, he slipped away and out of her room.

Jared was leaning against the wall opposite her door as Jensen pulled it closed behind him. Jared had a deep frown on his face, the lines in his forehead scrunched together in thought. He didn’t say anything as Jensen walked past him and towards his front door, he simply followed after him.

“You guys assumed I was just doing this to spite you, but this is exactly what I was trying to avoid. I didn’t want to see my sister hurt yet another time! Yet here we are because you did exactly that!” Jared pointed an accusing finger at his co-star.

“Tell me, Jared, have you really always thought that low of me? Do you think that I just go around getting a kick out of breaking women’s hearts? I thought we were closer than that.” Jensen had spun back around when Jared’s voice stopped him before he could open the door. Both were on the verge of shouting, but remembering the woman sleeping just down the hall, were trying their damndest to keep their voices even.

“You’re right, I did think we were closer than that. Then you went and slept with my sister behind my back and now she’s lying comatose in her bed because she drank half a bar when you broke her heart!”

“Jesus, Jared. You can’t put that all on me. I admit it, we made a mistake and I’m sorry that we hurt you, I am. But I love your sister, more than I’ve ever loved any other woman. And I know that to her, family is everything. You are everything. Since it seems you won’t move on and forgive us, I made the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make.” Jensen swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing as he fought back the tears in the corner of his eyes. “I had to let go of the best thing to ever happen to me, so she could have you. She might not be able to see it right now, and I hate myself for how she is hurting, but she will come around one day. Y/n will know that you mean more to her than I ever could. I can only hope when that day comes, she will no longer hate me.”

“So it’s all my fault, then?” Jared’s jaw ticked as he stared down Jensen.

“No, weren’t you listening? I’m saying it’s all our faults. No one is innocent in all of this. I’m just taking responsibility and trying to fix what I can, for both of you.” Jensen was done talking about this now. Things were still too heated for an adult conversation, unfortunately. He truly believed what he was saying to the man he had once considered his brother. He could only pray that Jared and Y/n could see his side of things. He turned and pulled open Jared’s front door. He paused one last time, his shoulders sagging.

“I’m sorry.” He offered one last time, only hope in his heart that Jared would actually hear him this time.

“I know.”

Part 22

Forevers: @spn-impala @22sarah08 @turtlepad @callmekda @chaldei @hobby27 @cowboysnwinchesters @tranquility-or-chaos @pikabootoyouchu @dawnie1988 @grease222 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @polina-93 @clarinette07 @moonlight-babeh @suckerforfanfics @witandnargles @sleepylunarwolf @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan @geeksareunique @akshi8278 @superfanficnatural @malfoysqueen14

Et Cetera: @jbbarnesgirl @hillface89 @arses21434 @thevelvetseries @sslater34 @mrsirishboru @smoothdogsgirl @spnfamily-j2 @encounterthepast @facadeformyrealblog @supernatural-bellawinchester @screechingartisancashbailiff @rebeccathefangirl @squirrelnotsam @heartinmyhead1 @1d-killed-me @samsgirl93 @deans-baby-momma @deanmonandnegansbitch @woodworthti666 @supraveng @onethirstyunicorn @heartsaved @know2grow @littlewhiterose @surprisinglysarah @stoneyggirl @carryon-doctor-lock @thebookisbtr @youaremyfiveever @kalesrebellion @lilulo-12 @winchester-fantasies @vicmc624 @supernatural3002 @winchester-writes @maralisa124 @therollingstoners

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izaswritings · 4 years

Text

Title: desert dawns

Fandom: RWBY

Synopsis: Finally in Vacuo, the team gets a chance to breathe... but for Oz, things are a little more complicated.

(Or: in which Oz actually has a nice moment, for once, somehow; team JNR attempt a baking gift, and Oscar is Sir Sleeping Through This Fic. Home may be far away, but that doesn't make where you are now mean any less.)

AO3 Link is here.

For a moment, Oz does not know where he is.

Eyes open, a ceiling above his head, the sheets are too warm but when he pushes them back something feels wrong—that is not my hand—

Awareness comes back to him. No, he realizes. That is not his hand at all. Oscar’s hand. Their hand.

He is awake. Oscar is not.

Oz takes a moment, sitting up, reorienting himself. The sense of Oscar, there in the back of his mind, is still deep in sleep and doesn’t seem keen on waking up anytime soon. Which is reasonable, Oz admits, looking out the window. The desert sky is as dark as it is clear, and the moon shines down bold and bright. It’s either incredibly late or unspeakably early; if Oz tries to get Oscar up, the boy will no doubt be cross with him.

And yet—Oz is awake, now, and in such a way he is not sure he can sleep again. Neither does the idea of lying still waiting for Oscar to wake up appeal to him. Their lips press. He frowns down at the hands that are not his own. Oscar does not stir. The room the boy shares with team JNR is utterly silent, soundless but for Oz’s own soft breaths.

Oz hesitates, then carefully pushes away the covers. He won’t go far, he decides. He’ll just… make a drink. Hot chocolate, maybe. He’ll sit in the small living room area of this house and watch the sunrise. It’ll at least be something to do.

They have been in Vacuo for almost a week, and even now the pause in the action is unsettling to him. Though kind of Theodore to procure them a place to stay, the almost-peace of Vacuo is weirdly off-putting after Atlas. There’s a tension to it, a sort of hesitation that lingers on, not just in Oz but in all the others, too— waiting, always, for the other shoe to drop.

The anxiety, from Oz and Oscar both, is exhausting. Combined with the heat of the desert, well… they have not been sleeping well at all lately.

Though it isn’t exactly hot now, of course— with the darkness comes a sharp drop, icy midnights. Oz has always loved this about the deserts: the swiftness with which it changes, the rapid shift in temperature and landscape. He has been reincarnated in Vacuo numerous times, and the memories remain, faint and fond. One incarnation had loved the desert sky so much he’d used to wake up at the break of dawn to watch the sunrise, each and every morning without fail.

Which— may explain why Oz is up, actually. Old habits die hard, and Oz is nothing if not full of old habits.

He considers this, turning to sit with their feet dangling over the edge of the bed. The desert midnight chill is in full swing for the moment: frost edging the window, icy wind snapping in the air. Oz pulls on a pair of socks—the floor is bitterly cold, and while Oz doesn’t mind it, Oscar might rouse at the sensation—and then drapes Oscar’s jacket on their shoulders. There, warm. If the boy wakes up anyway, he can’t say Oz didn’t try.

He picks up the cane as he heads out the door, and flips it through their hands as he walks.

The house is deathly silent as Oz heads for the kitchen, the whole house under the spell of sleep. The hallway is not nearly as dark as he thought, though, and Oz pauses when he sees why. The kitchen. The door is closed, but light spills out underneath. He can hear the very faint clatter of dishes. Someone else is up?

He considers turning back around, but, well. He’s come all this way for hot chocolate, it seems silly to turn away now. And it’s not like he’s against having company.

Perhaps it’s Qrow. He hopes so, vaguely. They are still not—on the best terms, he and Qrow, but Oz would like to change that. He… misses the other. Sometimes. Which is an incredibly strange feeling, given Qrow is right here with all the rest of them, but well. There is no-one for Oz to blame for that but himself.

He opens the door, stepping into the light, and regrets this decision almost at once.

“Cute boy Oz!”

Their eyes squeeze tightly shut, and Oz inhales deeply. “Miss Valkyrie,” he says. He doesn’t protest the nickname. It is, he has realized with something in his soul that might be despair, apparently useless to try. Eyes open again, he surveys the rest of the kitchen. Jaune Arc and Lie Ren are there too, all awake. A team meeting, perhaps? But why in the dead of night? And— odd. They had not tried to rouse Oscar.

He realizes suddenly he had missed their absence in the room, and frowns. How…unobservant of him.

“What are you doing up at this hour?” he asks, mild, and raises a brow when all three exchange immediately guilty glances. Interesting.

“Um,” says Jaune Arc, and then nothing more.

Well then.

Oz nods, understanding, and moves on into the kitchen, heading for the counter. None of his business, then, and if they don’t want him involved he will respect that. He extends the cane and taps it absently against the ground as he searches. Now, where do they keep the cups? And the powder, too, that’s important. He rifles through the cupboard. Cocoa, cocoa, cocoa… aha.

Lie Ren clears his throat just as Oz is getting down a cup; Oz glances back at him. “Is Oscar…?”

“No. He is still sleeping.” Oz considers the three of them. “I assume this is something you wish to keep from him?” He cannot exactly hide the sudden distaste this idea gives him. Oscar is fond of these three, to such a degree that Oz is beginning to feel the same, if only by proxy—they are Oscar’s friends, his confidants, and at this point, perhaps even his team. This exclusion bothers Oz in a way he cannot deny feels strangely personal.

But already Jaune Arc is waving his hands, looking panicked. “No, no, not like that,” he says, waving his hands down at Oz. “It’s just—um—”

“None of your business,” Nora Valkyrie is insisting, hotly.

“It’s a surprise for him,” Lie Ren says, and both teammates turn on him.

“Ren!”

“You can’t just give it away!”

“He just said Oscar was asleep. It’s fine.” Lie Ren meets Oz’s eyes. “Oscar… misses home. Mistral. He hasn’t said as much to us directly, but…”

“...It’s obvious,” Nora Valkyrie continues reluctantly, when the other trails off. Oz cannot deny that statement. It is indeed very obvious. Oscar had done well in Haven; had managed in Atlas. Vacuo, however, is unlike anything the boy has ever known—he has not complained, but his dejection had been obvious—to Oz, and, apparently to them.

He considers them. “So?”

“He mentioned this thing his aunt used to make,” Jaune Arc says, finally, apparently resigned to spilling the secret in full. “A Mistralian breakfast dish. So we thought, we were going to try…” He gestures. Oz follows his gaze. Pots, pans, ingredients on the table behind them.

“I see,” Oz says, mind whirling. He goes to take a drink, but he has yet to finish the cocoa—powder puffs before Oscar’s face and Oz draws the cup away, frowning down at it. He turns to the sink. Hot water, hot water… “That is kind of you.”

Nora Valkyrie is laughing at him. Oz ignores it with the ease of long years of practice, and reaches for the milk. Fantastic. Hot chocolate at last.

When he turns back around, Jaune Arc is staring at him. “…Don’t you want coffee? Or, like… tea?”

Now, why would he want that? “That is Oscar’s preference,” Oz explains, and sips at the drink. Not nearly as good as his stash at Beacon was, but store-bought powder will have to do. At least it’s sweet.

Even Lie Ren is squinting at him now. “…is that all you drink?”

Oz takes another sip. A long sip. He draws it out. All three children are leaning toward him, enraptured, caught in the spell, looking desperate for an answer. Jaune Arc is about to fall off his seat.

Oz lowers his cup. “Yes.”

Jaune Arc cants to the side. Nora Valkyrie puts both hands on the table and leans toward him, looking delighted. “But!” she says. “You had a teapot.”

“That I did,” Oz agrees. He still misses that teapot.

“Was it just—that whole time—” Her voice squeaks. “Cocoa?”

Oz takes another long sip. Jaune Arc twitches. He hides his smile in the rim of his cup. “Yes.”

Nora Valkyrie puts her head in her arms and cackles. Lie Ren looks exasperated. Jaune Arc looks somewhere closer to despairing. Oz steps forward, still smiling faintly, and surveys their table of food. “Ignoring my drinking habits,” he says, lips twitching with honest amusement when Nora Valkyrie cackles louder, “how goes your cooking attempts?”

Nora Valkyrie stops laughing. All three look at the oven with something like dread.

Oz takes another sip. “I see,” he says, and does his best to keep his laughter entirely internal. He taps the Long Memory against the ground, a rythmic knocking, and considers the problem. Now then. How best to go about this?

Oz looks down at the table, noting the ingredients and calling upon new-old memory. He knows the dish they are talking about. It is Oscar’s favorite, and a Mistralian staple; Oscar’s aunt, however, often put her own twist to the recipe. Oz takes another long drink of cocoa and lowers his cup, decision made.

“Oscar’s aunt makes it with cinnamon,” he says, turning away from the table to head for one of the nearby couches. “Also,” he adds, taking a glance at what looks like to be failed cooking test number one, “it cooks best under gentle heat.”

“Gentle heat,” Lie Ren repeats, sounding disgusted that he had not realized sooner, and Jaune Arc says, “Wait, do we even have cinnamon?”

“I’ll look!” Nora Valkyrie calls, and rockets off to the cupboards.

Oz smiles, faintly, and settles back on the couch, leaning the Long Memory by their side. He finishes his cocoa as they cook, only speaking when he sees a mistake in the making— less and less as the session drags on, and team JNR gets a hang of the dish. They are not bad at cooking— just chaotic— and soon he feels it’s safe to sit back and watch.

He doesn’t offer much more conversation beyond instruction, however. It is not that he and team JNR are on bad terms— it is simply that they are on more neutral ones. Oscar adores them, and they appear to adore him in kind; if not for the echo of Pyrrha Nikos who still haunts their footsteps, they would by now likely have started introducing themselves as JNOR. Oz gives them another two months before they start doing it anyway.

So no, they are not on bad terms—but the lingering shadow of Oz’s lies and the lives it cost them still hangs heavy. He suspects they do not blame him for Pyrrha Nikos’ death, for all that he blames himself, but rather they blame him for everything else—the false hope, the lie of possibility, the fact that every chance he gave them made it sound like they could save the world—a chance Pyrrha Nikos took and died for, never mind that the foe she faced was not Salem.

Lie Ren is setting up the dish on the counter, Nora making towers out of leftover ingredients, and Jaune Arc has transitioned to doing the dishes. Even with the hole in their team, Oz thinks, they are remarkably in-tune with one another. He is… glad, to see it. In the face of adversity, they have faltered and stumbled and then grown stronger together.

He may have never given them the same attention he gave team RWBY, but he always thought these three were capable of remarkable things. It is why he let Jaune Arc stay in Beacon, despite his painfully faked transcripts. It is a relief to know, at least on that… Oz wasn’t wrong to give them a chance.

The cooking drags on, and soon, so does sunrise. By the time the sun begins to poke out over the horizon, the final attempt is in the oven to bake, and Nora Valkyrie has bounced over to bother him once again.

She throws herself to sit at the couch armrest, and kicks her feet in the air. Her gaze is thoughtful, considering and suspicious in equal measure, and they both ignore the way her teammates have collapsed in exhaustion on the kitchen table behind her. “You,” she declares at last, “were being very helpful.”

“I am a teacher,” he reminds her.

“Was a teacher.”

“I have a degree,” Oz informs her, dryly. “Multiple, even. Am a teacher.”

She clicks her tongue. “Ugh, what-ever.” She leans back, eyes rolling, and kicks out her feet into the air. Oz waits, watching her, letting her gather her thoughts. At last she seems to find the words. “...Thanks for helping us not fuck up the dish, I guess. Jaune was super worried about it.” She glances back at the table, a momentary flash of worry on her face. “It—it is Oscar’s favorite, right?”

“Oh, no. He hates it.” Her head snaps around. Oz laughs quietly. “I apologize. That was in poor taste. Yes, Miss Valkyrie, it is his favorite. I think… he will like this very much.”

She scowls at him, then blinks, her eyes catching on something— the Long Memory, resting beside him on the couch. She gives the cane a puzzled look. “You brought your cane with you?”

He looks down; the cane, as it should be, is by their side. He puts a hand on the knob and shrugs. “Yes.”

“You just bring that thing everywhere, huh?”

“It is… dear to me.” He considers her, wondering how to spin this— but her expression is open and curious, her questions meant honestly, not mockingly. For all that Oscar is not awake, Oz can almost feel the echo of his exasperation. He hesitates. “Ah… you could say, Miss Valkyrie, that much like what the dish you are making means to Oscar… this cane, too, reminds me of home.”

Nora Valkyrie stops moving at once, her legs stilling mid-air. Behind them, Lie Ren and Jaune Arc have gone silent, pretending badly not to eavesdrop, and Oz can see them exchanging glances. Nora Valkyrie does not look back, however; instead she looks down at him, considering, her expression strangely solemn. “…Do you miss it, too?”

The question catches him off-guard, and for a moment Oz falters. The memories rise up in flashes, echoes of a different time, different places. A warm house and warmer hearth fire, the table they set for four. The two children, never willing to wait and never wanting to sit still—blue eyes, and a laughing face, a hand in his.

“Yes,” Oz says, after a long moment. The words are stilted. He suddenly feels very old, tired all the way to his bones. He puts down the empty cup.

Nora Valkyrie snatches it up. Oz blinks.

“One sec,” she says to Oz’s blank stare, and flies off to the kitchen. Oz watches, bemused, as team JNR confers around the cup and then repeats his actions from before, making a new batch of cocoa, that Nora then takes back and brings to Oz. She holds it out for him. Oz takes the cup warily.

“Thanks for helping us, old man Oz,” Nora says, and grins. “Give us a warning before Oscar wakes, okay?”

“…Of course,” Oz says, thrown by the new nickname, and watches her bounce back to her team. She chatters, and they laugh, the moment forgotten. He looks down at his cup and takes a sip of the cocoa. It’s not his usual mix— there’s a bit of spice to it. Cinnamon and chili powder?

…It’s good.

He stares down at it, contemplative, and hesitantly takes another sip. He looks back up at the team. They are laughing, distracted, debating on whether the dish is done or not. All three are smiling.

Oz considers them for a long moment, and then he turns away. This time, he’s smiling too.

Oscar wakes up mid-way through sunrise. When he senses the boy rousing, Oz takes the Long Memory in hand and raps the cane against the ground to alarm the team. They rush to hide the dish, freshly-baked; Oz turns their head to the window, and keeps their eyes on the desert sun.

What…?

“I apologize,” Oz says. In the reflection of the glass, Oscar’s eyes burn gold. “I woke before you. I wanted to see the sunrise.”

Oh. He gets the sense Oscar would yawn if he could. That’s fine… There’s a momentary pause, considering. Then: Why do I taste chocolate?

“It is a perfectly fine drink,” Oz says, in mild protest. Honestly, he has no idea what the boy has against it.

Sure, but in the morning? It’s an evening drink. Coffee is better.

Oz shakes his head, smiling faintly, and fades away to the background rather than rehash the old argument. Oscar’s head dips forward; the boy just barely catches himself from knocking them out against the glass. “Ow.”

Careful.

“Mm-hm.” He rubs his forehead. He goes to turn around—

“SURPRISE!”

—and screams at Nora abruptly popping up and shouting in his face, toppling right off the couch.

…Ah.

“What!?”

“Nora!”

“Ah, we just woke the whole house, didn’t we…”

The house is warm and bright, the desert outside turning a brilliant gold underneath the dawning sun. It is not home— it is nothing more than a temporary stop— but as Oscar splutters and Nora grins and the rest of team JNR clamor up behind her, there is a warmth that lingers on. They help Oscar to his feet and fumble to present their gift; they beam bright at his wordless joy.

The boy is delighted, and his team is pleased— team RWBY and Qrow and the others wander in with calls of confusion and delight and annoyance at the noise— and the smell of cinnamon lingers heavy in the air.

And it is not home, maybe, but it is something half-way there, and so Oz laughs, quiet and sincere, and sits back to watch the show.

#rwby #ozpin #rwby ozpin #oscar pine #team jnpr #jaune arc #nora valkyrie #lie ren #team jnor #team jnr #ozma #rwby7 spoilers #iza fanfic #please reblog if u liked it!!!! 💖

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xshatteredreflectionsx · 4 years

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Morgan was pretty sure they loved October, once. Their parents had dozens of pictures of them playing in the leaves, carving pumpkins, and dressing up for Halloween. The little girl in those pictures, bright eyed and bushy tailed, always felt like a completely different person. It was easy to just wave it off as them feeling melancholy about being an adult -feeling nostalgic for those simpler days – but that wasn’t it. It wasn’t dysphoria either; Morgan was intimately familiar with that feeling. No matter how long Morgan stared at the smiling face of that girl, no matter how many times they watched the home movies their parents had burned onto CDs, it never clicked. That child – Yvonne – with her chubby cheeks, wild black curls, and sparkling blue eyes might as well have been a stranger.

Morgan lied to their parents and said that they remembered those times. They pretended to cringe at their costume choices (a princess dress made entirely out of pink glitter and tulle was a horrible idea for an outfit). It made them smile warmly. It let Morgan delude themself into thinking that they were normal. That they didn’t have fragments of someone else’s memories in their head.

(A masquerade in a speakeasy. The air thick with cigarette smoke. There had been someone with her, making sure she didn’t drink too much of the hard apple cider. Sometimes he wore a black suit. Other times it was red. The man in the red suit was always the clearer of the two.)

It had been easier for Morgan to swallow down their distaste for the month when they were living in The Barrel. The trip to the pumpkin patch (Mr. Bones’ pump-kan patch, thank you very much), they had taken with Mark had been a welcome distraction. Pulling a wagon full of pumpkins on a too-hot Fall day, feeding goats, accusing Tyler of stealing a spot on the swings from children (the fiend!), and carving pumpkins in the van. Decorating The Barrel for Halloween (to make the world’s first haunted van-house) with the cheesiest decorations they could find. Morgan wouldn’t trade those memories for the world.

One October, Mark had taken them grappling at a museum. Or, he wanted to anyway. It had been closed by the time they had arrived (no explanation as to why they were dressed like robbers) and they had gone home. They shared the cooked steak that Morgan had brought with them for some reason, and talked about other ideas for a date.

They didn’t tell him that the underside of their left arm burned and itched under the sleeve of their turtleneck. Morgan almost suggested they go zombowling, but realized that wasn’t even a thing.

When they sped past a prison just off the highway, Morgan’s heart lurched painfully into their throat. ...Yancy… who was that? Why did his name pop into their head? Why did third Sundays suddenly feel so important?

(He smelled like cheap soap and hair gel. His arm wrapped around their shoulders felt like home. Morgan could almost feel his skin under their fingertips as they traced over the large tattoo on his arm. Little rectangles connected with lines like a chart, or a map. He not-so-convincingly waved it off as something he got done while he was drunk.)

Morgan’s head knocked against the passenger-side window tiredly. They were distantly aware of Mark telling them to go ahead and get some sleep (it almost sounded like “go back to sleep”, but maybe they were just that tired). For a brief second they could smell cotton candy and gunpowder. Pink and yellow swirled behind their eyelids; the lights outside probably.

They dreamed of a long hallway, lined with portraits. A gruff-looking chef, barking at them to get out of his kitchen. A prim and proper butler, sobbing apologies to his master. A detective, proudly declaring them his new partner (a feeling of despair and loss. It wasn’t fair; none of it was). A militaristic man in a tan uniform, medals gleaming proudly on his chest. Someone had drawn a large, comical mustache on his lip – the paint was still wet. A woman with curly black hair, in a purple flapper dress. Her face was blurred out, and further distorted by cracks that stretched from the gaping hole where her left eye should have been.

Finally, a portrait of a man in a red silk robe. His head thrown back in elation, even as the flesh rotted from his bones and slid off the canvas.

And now, October had come again. No news about any sort of grand scheme from Mark. He and Ethan were occupied with Unus Annus. At least Morgan was pretty sure it was Mark and Ethan. Sometimes it was hard to tell. Morgan decorated their tiny patio with a skeleton shamelessly dressed as Hector Rivera (Coco was a good movie. Don’t judge them), and the lights they had managed to rescue from The Barrel before Ethan mercilessly destroyed it with a bat. A pumpkin spice latte sat cooling on their dining table, next to a half-used up roll of packing tape and torn up newspaper.

They had manically covered every mirror in their apartment. It kept the voices silent. Every now and again, cracks would appear before Morgan’s eyes; spreading from edges of their vision, shadows bleeding out of them like an open wound. They were gone in a blink. Nothing to concern any of their friends or their therapist about.

Morgan chased down their medication with a mouthful of coffee.

#behind the camera (morgan)#a written record (stories and drabbles)#what was in that box anyway? (ahwm)#temporal shenanigans #( my work is boring)

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rosywrites · 7 years

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The Beauty Within (Part 1/2)

Title: Reunited Chapter: The Beauty Within (Beauty and the Beast AU) By: ArisuChanSenpai (Visit my blog for AO3 link!) Fandom: League of Legends Ship: Jhin x Sona

Word count: 7755

Once upon a time, there lived a king in a grand castle surrounded by lush, green forests. He was given everything and anything he ever wanted, but he became obsessed with beautiful things. He would call the most beautiful people from all over the country to work in his castle and make it as beautiful as he envisioned it, even holding lavish dances to flaunt the elegance of his castle.

One night, he was called to the front door to see a shivering woman in a black cloak. Her skin was colored purple with lighter markings, her clothes worn out. She pleaded for shelter from the cold rain in exchange for a single rose, a flower the king adored the most.

But repulsed by her inhuman appearance, he rejected the woman’s offer, claiming that he could pick out a more beautiful rose than the barely blooming one she held. The woman warned him that he shouldn’t judge things based on appearance, for true beauty lies within.

The king scorned the woman’s warning and turned her away once more, going so far as to calling her a demon.

At his final refusal, the woman shed her cloak in a burst of glistening light, her skin now like a human’s without a horn, dressed in golden clothing—revealing an enchantress of stars. The king’s apologies fell on deaf ears, for the enchantress found no beauty underneath. Only a selfish and unkind king.

As punishment, she cast a spell to turn him into what he had called her. In addition, she spread the spell to the rest of the castle and its residents, her powerful magic hiding the castle in a mist and from the memories of others.

In the king’s claws was an enchanted mirror and the rose, which will bloom for ten years until he can learn to find love in the beauty within. If he could find love and earn their love back by the time the last petal fell, the spell would be broken. Otherwise, he would remain a demon forever.

Years passed, and the king slowly fell into despair at his wicked appearance. He could only wait for the last rose petal to fall. After all, how could someone ever come to love a demon?

What a small village this was. There must have been something beyond the forests and mountains surrounding this crowded place. And yet, only the hunters or merchants were allowed to traverse through the dirt trails into the forests. “To keep this village safe,” they say. Sea green eyes rolled at the notion as they gazed out into the horizon, the sun’s rays spilling out of the mountain peaks.

Sona sat by the window of her cottage while strumming her harp to the sounds of the birds chirping in the tree by the windowsill. She took a deep breath to take in the aroma of the autumn morning breeze and exhaled.

The view from her room sometimes made this small corner of the world feel a little bigger.

Her eyes glanced at an elderly woman spreading grains for the chickens in the coop. Her hands winced away from the strings as she slowly backed away from her window. Attracting attention so early in the morning wasn’t ideal. Especially for her.

Giving up on playing her harp any longer, she stepped out of her room with her parchment and charcoal to start making breakfast. However, her mother, Lestara, was already awake, stirring rice porridge in a pot and cooked eggs on a plate by the table. She knocked on the doorway four times in a rhythm to gain her mother’s attention. “Oh! Sona, good timing. Sit down, dear, breakfast is almost done.”

She took a seat and watched her mother pour the porridge into bowls and bring them over. She scribbled something onto the parchment and flipped it around. “Do you have everything you need for today?” she wrote.

“Of course, dear. I double checked everything and made sure I didn’t miss a thing.” Lestara poured soy sauce into her bowl and tested the taste. “I’ll be visiting the market after the hunt, but I’ll be sure to come back as soon as I can.”

Sona started writing onto the parchment again. “Will you be warm enough? It’s getting closer to winter, after all.”

“With the fur coat you and I made, I’m sure I’ll be just fine.” She hummed in satisfaction when the porridge turned out to be better this time. “Is there anything you would like from the market?”

“Perhaps more parchment? I’m starting to run out.”

“Other than parchment and charcoal, dear. You don’t have anything you would like me to get you?”

“I’m fine with whatever you give me, mother. You usually get me something I like anyways.”

Lestara chuckled. “I know, but I felt like you might want something specific. You know I’ll ask before every hunt, Sona.”

Sona giggled as she took a bite from her porridge. But she shook her head to indicate that she didn’t want anything specific. Everything her mother gave her was precious, but she always cherished the books her mother could chance to get her with the extra money left over from the profits. “Anything is fine, I promise.”

“If you insist, my dear daughter. How’s the porridge? I think I did a superb job this time.”

“A little thick, but it’s better than a soupy porridge.” Sona smiled and finished the rest of her breakfast with her mother to see her off after.

“Are you sure this is warm enough? You don’t need anything more?” she wrote, pointing to the fur coat around her mother’s shoulders.

“I’ve packed extra clothing aside from what I need, so don’t you worry.” Lestara ran her hand through Sona’s hair and smiled. “I’ll be back soon, Sona. You take care of the house for me, okay?”

Sona nodded and watched her mother take their horse and cart past the village gates, waiting until her mother disappeared into the woods. She sighed. Her mother was skilled in hunting, but Sona couldn’t help but worry whenever she went alone.

“You know, there are demons out there beyond these forests. Or, at least where your mother always goes,” a voice drawled from behind. She turned to see Yasuo standing behind her with his hand lazily placed on the hilt of his sword. “Your mother mostly goes alone, and that can be a great risk to her.” Sona was about to scribble something onto the parchment until Yasuo grunted and contorted his scarred face in distaste. “Don’t even bother. I’m not a man of reading words.”

She glanced at her writing on her paper, the Ionian characters rather blocky and stiff compared to their original, fluid form. Being adopted and taken to Demacia at a young age limited her study of her native tongue and writing, something that distanced her from the rest of the Ionians in this village. Despite being Ionian herself.

His eyes glanced at Sona and her writing on the paper before he turned around to leave. “For someone of our descent, you’re not really like us. You’d be better off doing work instead of reading or writing all day, don’t you think?” He wandered off with a listless drag in his step.

“Hmph,” Sona huffed out loud, her face hot in embarrassment. She watched Yasuo disappear into the sea of people walking or running about to get their tasks done.

Yasuo was known as the village’s protector and slayer of demons, according to the tales of the villagers who have gone hunting—demons or animals—with him in the forests. They said that he was the reason they could hunt and travel again. Before, demons had taken over the forests, perhaps spiriting away the trespassers who dared to step in their territory.

She never liked his crude and arrogant personality, Yasuo usually bragging about his kills and how he got certain scars.

Not to mention, he sometimes picked on her when she was without her mother, taunting her for her inability to speak. The worst of the worst in this village, she considered him to be.

With a sigh, Sona locked the door of the cottage and headed to a small, lonely building nearby, vines of ivy crawling on the walls. She pushed the door open, greeted by the smell of books and scrolls waiting to be studied. A slightly older woman with forest green hair poked her head out from the back.

“Oh! Sona, I was wondering when you’d be coming in. Here to borrow another book?”

She nodded as she scribbled something and showed it to the librarian. “Do you have something I can use to practice writing Ionian characters?”

Not many people knew how to read or write here. The librarian was one of the few people who knew how to read, but she was the only one who offered Sona the welcoming kindness the village lacked. But it was a place Sona frequented to escape from this small village into bigger worlds. Books were the one thing she could turn to for communication. Even if knowing how to read was frowned upon here, words made up so much of her world.

“Did Yasuo say something to you again?” Seeing Sona hesitate, the librarian shook her head as she scanned one of the shelves for an appropriate book. “That man is never up to anything good. Just keep ignoring him, dearie, he’ll leave you alone eventually.” Her face lit up as she grabbed a book and looked through the contents. “Aha! How about this one?”

Sona approached the librarian to see a book of illustrations and writing with it. She tilted her head to see an illustration depicting two children climbing a rope to the sky.

“This is a handwritten storybook of Ionian folktales. The writing in here is big enough to see each stroke properly to practice with.” She patted the back of Sona’s hand as she placed the book in her hands. “Your Ionian is proficient enough, but if you want to practice writing, I would highly suggest starting with that.”

Nodding thankfully, Sona sat down by a table and chose the story of a daughter of a poor farmer marrying a dragon prince. She copied a few words and repeated them as she read through the folktale. Time seemed to pass faster in the library, but it wasn’t like she had much to do in the first place in this small village.

Lestara was lost. Perhaps she took the wrong turn from the last fork in the road. But there was no reason why it mattered, since the two roads eventually merged again anyways. So why was there another fork in the road, when there wasn’t one there before?

She looked at the map she had bought from her previous visit to the market, her brows furrowed in confusion at the unmarked fork on the map. “That can’t be right…” She held her lantern up at both roads, each seeming to lead into the same direction anyways. “Let’s try this way, Hec.” She guided her horse down one of the roads, hoping that this would lead to the right way eventually.

The night was eerily silent. Almost too silent. Her breath turned into white in the winter breeze as the first flakes of snow began to fall from the sky.

The pattering of paws against the snow.

A howl.

Two howls.

Now primal growls sounding from behind Lestara’s cart.

Lestara turned to see a pack of wolves slowly approaching the cart. They were not interested in the excavated objects packed in the cart. No, they wanted meat. They wanted blood. Three behind the cart. Two on her right. One on her left. Without another moment to spare, she unlatched the cart from her horse’s saddle.

“Hyah!” Her horse speeded through the road with the wolves making chase after them.

They weren’t going to make it.

The wolves were growing closer with every second.

She looked back to see the alpha of the pack only a foot away. All it needed was to extend its neck to bite a chunk of flesh off her horse to send her flying into the snow as their next course. But when she turned back around, her horse collided into a wall of branches. She collapsed from the saddle, her horse running in another direction and abandoning her.

Looking back, she saw the wolves trying to get through the branches and used the opportunity to escape. Her eyes settled on the open, vast land before her.

And a castle.

There was no time to think. Lestara immediately ran through the snow to the castle as she pulled her fur coat closer to her body. She felt a sudden pull and fell onto her knees, turning to see one of the wolves with her fur coat in its jaws. Panic coursed through her body as she kicked it in the throat and kept running. But there was no way she could outrun the pack of wolves that were now free from the branches and heading straight for her.

She cried out in relief when a gate came into view as she pulled it open as much as she can. But another yank at the sleeve of her coat sent her face first into the snow. She immediately got up and swung her arm to pull her sleeve free from the wolf’s jaws, but it wouldn’t let go.

“Ugh, keep it!” She ripped her coat open to run through the gate and pulled the gate closed. She shivered in her now-soaked turtleneck as she hurried through the spacious garden and up the stairs to the door. She held her hand up to knock, but suddenly, the door clicked and swung itself open—much to Lestara’s bewilderment.

“H-hello?” she managed to stutter out. She stepped inside with caution, seeing the ornate palace to be empty. “Is anyone here?” Lestara spotted the orange color of fire flickering from further back of the castle and paced across the hall to, hopefully, greet the owner.

But there was no owner. Only a table of food by a lit fireplace. “I apologize if I’m intruding, but I have lost my horse and my belongings to go home. I would at least like some shelter from the snowfall before I go back.” Seeing there was no one to greet her, she approached the fireplace to warm herself up. She crouched in front of the fire with a sigh and dug her head into her knees.

How could this happen? Not only did she abandon the cart that contained her weapons, her horse was nowhere to be found. How was she going to return to Sona? Another sigh escaped her as she looked up at the table of food behind her. If no one was coming out after her few attempts to get their attention, she could eat too, right?

Hesitant but hungry, Lestara approached the table and sat down. She grabbed a small loaf of bread and spread some butter and cheese before taking a bite. The loaf tasted like it was freshly baked, making her wonder if someone had just made this meal. But there was no one in sight.

“Psst.”

Her eyes widened as she jerked her head around to find the source of the voice.

“Over here.”

She looked at the candelabra at the right of her plate. It, it couldn’t have been the candle talking, right? The design of the candelabra suddenly moved like a face.

“Hey, you might want to get out of here before the master finds out. He’s not very welcoming to outsiders.”

It was the candelabra.

Lestara’s breath caught in her throat as she stopped chewing. “You, you can talk?”

“Zed, how many times do I have to tell you you can’t just start talking out of nowhere like that?” another voice came from a small clock on the opposite side of her. “I apologize. Zed tends to do things without thinking,” the clock sneered the last part at the candle.

“What else do you expect me to do, Shen? Dance in front of her and sing? That’s one way of easing her into it.” The table clattered from Lestara getting up without a word and running away from the talking furniture. “And there she goes.”

The candle talked. The clock talked. This was not a normal castle. If they were magical creatures, then surely the owner of this castle was of inhuman origins. She flew towards the door to make her escape, but she stopped dead in her tracks when a dark figure closed the entrance shut.

“Who are you?” a low and unworldly voice growled. “A thief?”

“N-no, I was just passing by… I was… chased by wolves,” Lestara stammered as she stepped back when the figure approached her. Horns. This man was no human. “Please, sir, I didn’t mean any trouble. I lost my horse and all my belongings!”

Glowing blue eyes glanced at the talking candle and clock, who tensed up at the figure’s stare. “Yet you enter this castle and help yourself like you live here?” He cornered her by a pillar, a growl rumbling from his throat as he spoke, “I think not.”

He was a demon.

Sona awakened from the sound of panicked hooves clopping to the gate of the cottage, a frightened whinny begging her to let it in. She burst out of the door and saw their horse looking around and fidgeting restlessly.

Why was Hec alone?

Where was the cart?

Where was her mother?

Her eyes widened as she checked behind the horse for a sign of her mother walking back from the forest, but no one was there. Her breath quickened once she realized their horse had come here alone.

What happened in the forest?

She pulled the horse in and ran back into the house for her shawl, packing her charcoal and parchment in a sack and tying it around her neck. She then hopped onto their horse and slapped the reins to jump over the village gates into the forest. They brushed through the snow until Hec skidded to a stop by the cart in the dirt.

The sheet covering the goods Lestara was planning to sell at the market was blown away by the wind, and some items were cluttered on the ground… with bite marks and shredded scraps.

Sona’s eyes darted around the area. If the wolves were still around, they had to leave. Now. She urged Hec to keep going until they walked through the opening of the branches Hec made. In the distance was Lestara’s fur coat, now torn into pieces. She looked up at the castle and gulped. Her mother must have taken shelter in there. She leapt off Hec and quickly opened the gates to let herself and Hec in, making sure to shut the gates tightly to prevent the wolves from entering.

Once she arrived to the base of the stairs, she took a deep breath to quell her shaking hands. The castle was large, but it looked so unsettling. She hopped off the saddle and walked up the stairs until she reached the door. Before she even raised her hand to knock, the door opened on its own, startling her. She pushed the door open more, poking her head through.

No one was in the castle except for the lit fireplace in the opposite hallway. She stepped inside with caution and closed the door quietly. Could her mother have gotten lost here? She hoped for the best.

“Isn’t that…?”

“Another person wandered in here?”

“As if the other one wasn’t enough.”

“But she looks like a younger woman. Do you think…?”

“You honestly think she could be the one?”

Her head jerked to the right, where she thought she heard voices. She approached the direction, seeing no one but a lit candelabra and a beautifully-designed clock. She took the candelabra to light her way through the dark halls of the palace, her nervous breaths making the flames flicker. Sona ascended the main stairs, but she felt the atmosphere growing colder and colder with each step.

She swallowed a lump in her throat and knocked on the handrail four times in a rhythm. She continued to wander around, repeating the knocking to see if her mother could recognize her and call for her. But the palace was too big. There was no way she could find her in such a huge place. She placed the candelabra down to sit down and press the hem of her dress to her cold, aching feet.

Suddenly, she heard a faint cry for help. It sounded like her mother. Her head perked up immediately and grabbed the candelabra again. She continued to follow the cries until she reached a stone staircase in a tower. Was this where her mother was? She quietly walked up the stairs, knocking again.

“Sona?!”

Without another thought, Sona ran up the spiraling staircase to see her mother behind bars. She gripped onto the cold metal, trying to shake them apart out of desperation. How did her mother get here?! Why was she imprisoned?!

“Sona, what are you doing here? You shouldn’t have come here!” Lestara pried Sona’s hands off the bars to send her away. “You need to escape. Before he comes!”

“Who?” Sona breathed out.

“Another one?” a voice echoed in the tower.

“No! Not her! She has done nothing wrong!” Lestara cried out. “Anyone but my daughter, please!”

Sona whipped her head to the source of the voice, seeing a horned figure sitting on the windowsill of the tower, covered by shadows. She heard her heart pounding in her ears as the figure hopped down to the stairs, merely feet away from her. Looking closer under the torch’s light, she spotted claws and spikes covering the arms.

“If you’ve come here to free your mother, your journey has been useless. She is being punished for trespassing my castle and thievery, and I intend to keep her here until she perishes.”

Her heart suddenly sank into her stomach. No. He couldn’t do that. Not to her mother. She desperately shook her head, grasping her hands together to plead to him to release her. But seeing that the demon wouldn’t budge, she took out the parchment and charcoal from her sack.

“Sona, no, please! Don’t do it!”

She bravely stepped into the light of the torch by Lestara’s prison with her parchment held out in front of her. The demon took a step forward, still in the shadows, reading her blocky writing.

“I will take her place. If you let me, please let my mother go.”

The demon paused, his eyes glancing up at her. “You’d take your mother’s place?”

“Please, sir! She can’t speak! She can’t live in a prison like this!” Lestara pleaded.

“Only if you promise me my mother will be set free and let her go back home.”

There was another pause, as if the demon was considering his options. “You shall have my word. But you are to remain in this castle forever. Will you go so far as to do that?”

Without hesitation, Sona grabbed the torch and held it to the demon. White, skull-like head with horns growing out and glowing blue orbs in the eye sockets. Fangs as sharp as mirror shards jutting out. Arms with spikes that turned from dark violet shoulders to crimson claws. Legs that bent like a beast’s. She gasped in horror at his inhuman appearance, nearly dropping the torch.

A demon. A monster.

But she had to promise him. And a promise he was going to get. She nodded firmly with determination flaring in her eyes.

“Fine.” He swept past her to unlock Lestara’s prison.

Sona rushed to the bars to give her mother one last hug before the demon hauled her away for all eternity. “I’m sorry,” she breathed, squeezing her mother tightly in her arms. Sona then locked herself behind the bars, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. Lestara was then yanked away from her embrace by the demon, who carried her down the stairs to send her away.

The candelabra and the clock peered over from the side of the prison, seeing her silently weep into her hands while sitting in the corner. They exchanged worried glances. The candle then hopped onto the clock’s head to pull the lever to unlock the prison.

She flinched at the sound of the metal gate screeching. Strange. Was the demon letting her free? It couldn’t have been. A sharp gasp escaped her when the candelabra and the clock walked into her prison.

“Come with us, young lady. We can show you to, uh, your room?” the clock said. “Uh-oh.” He ducked when a wooden stick flew at him from inside, hitting the candelabra instead and sending him tumbling down the stairs. “Wait! We’re harmless, I swear!” he attempted to calm her down. “We promise we won’t hurt you.”

Sona had held up a wooden stool in her hands to throw the clock down the stairs with the candelabra too, but she set it down once her shock had finally settled in. A talking candle… and a clock…? How was this possible?

“You bitch! I’m going to light you on fire!” the candle threatened as it hopped back up the stairs, getting stopped by the clock.

“Zed! Calm down! She’s never seen talking furniture before. What do you expect?” The clock smiled nervously at her. “Sorry about him. He’s a little hot-headed, no pun intended. His name is Zed. My name is Shen. We, uh, we will be showing you to your new room in the palace, so please follow us.”

“No need.” The demon’s voice sounded from the stairway. “I will show you to your room. Unless you prefer staying in this tower forever.”

She shook her head.

“Then hurry up. I would rather we not dawdle.” He grabbed Zed to light the way through the castle. His eyes watched Sona hesitantly chase after him and follow from a few feet away. The atmosphere was heavy. But considering he had exchanged her mother with her as a prisoner, it was a given. He looked away when she sniffed and wiped a tear away from her cheeks.

There was no escape, was there? Looking around, it seemed as if the entire castle was alive. Sona glanced at the demon, who seemed to be having a conversation with the candle. Who was he? What was he? She winced when the demon looked back at her.

“You’re allowed to go anywhere you wish in the castle. However, you are forbidden from entering the highest floor. Do not let me catch you wandering up there, or else.” The threat in his voice was quiet but clear enough. They continued to walk through the halls until they reached a door at the end of a hallway on the second floor. “This will be your room. I will reiterate that you are free to wander around the castle of your own accord. My servants will attend to your needs, should you have anything to request.” He paused as he glanced at the insisting candle. “However, I expect you to be down for meals when you are called. That is an order.”

Sona flinched when the demon slammed the door behind her with a growl. She leaned against the door and slid down, hopelessness settling into her heart that she would never see her mother or the village again.

Yet she had no more tears to shed.

Yasuo sat by the counter of the bar, downing a cup of sake and pouring himself another. What a boring day it was today. There was nothing to do in this village anymore other than drinking or taking naps. Nothing interesting to travel for. Nothing to hunt. Nothing to slay. He was sure his sword was lusting for a demon’s blood.

But how could he find a demon when he’d already slain all the demons infesting the woods near their village?

As he was about to take another sip, the doors of the bar burst open, revealing Lestara looking desperate and helpless. “Somebody! Anyone! You must help my daughter. The demon took her prisoner in his castle!”

All eyes focused on her as she approached the nearest patron to ask for help. “There’s a demon living in a castle in the forest, and he took my daughter!”

Yasuo’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. A demon? In these forests? Impossible. “A demon, you say?” he drawled. “Are you sure it wasn’t just the winter snow playing tricks on your eyes?” That earned him a snicker from one of the patrons sitting at the end of the bar.

“No, you don’t understand. His castle is hidden by the trees, and, and it’s alive! There are talking furniture in there that move like people!”

The bar fell silent and then burst into laughter at such unimaginable claims. Furniture that talk? Moving like people? She must have been joking. Even Yasuo couldn’t comprehend what kind of demon would have furniture as pawns.

“Yasuo, please. I am telling you the truth. The demon took me prisoner and exchanged me with Sona!”

For a moment, and only a moment, he had believed her. No sane person of admirable hunting skills like Lestara would lie about a demon in the woods. Perhaps he could check. It would provide him something to kill time with. “Then lead the way, Lestara. I can go with you to slay the demon.”

“Oh, thank you. Thank you! Follow me, I will lead you there immediately.” Lestara and Yasuo rode horses past the librarian, whose eyes followed them out the village gates into the woods.

How curious. Where were they going at this time of night? But there was no time to answer that, for she had some scribing to finish.

However, the journey to find the castle was fruitless, for the fork in the road that lead to the castle had suddenly disappeared. Lestara desperately cleared bushes to try to find the other road. But there was no use. “That, that’s impossible! I know it was here! I had to leave my cart on the path to escape the wolves!”

“Wolves?” Yasuo repeated. “You mean you dragged me out all the way here to tell me that you were chased by wolves? Is that the “demon” you’re talking about?”

“No! No. They weren’t the demon. If they were, I would have said they were wolves, not a demon.” She clenched her hand into a fist out of frustration when she couldn’t find the road anywhere. “I don’t understand. It was here. I am not lying to you, Yasuo, I swear.”

Yasuo clicked his tongue. “Forget it. This was a waste of my time. As if there is a demon in these damn woods.”

“But…!”

“You are on your own!” he snarled. “Don’t even bother asking for help the next time you hallucinate something as ridiculous as a demon and talking furniture.” He turned his horse around to return to the village, leaving Lestara alone in the cold.

Sona couldn’t get a wink of sleep that night. She kept tossing and turning under her covers, thinking about how desperate Lestara was to remain in the prison instead. But how could she endure knowing her mother was out here in this castle, trapped forever? The thought of her mother’s freedom was her only solace.

Thankfully, she kept herself preoccupied with the talking wardrobe, Ahri, in her room. Ahri was certainly a talker, having engaged her in a conversation for most of the night. Since Sona was mute, Ahri resorted to yes or no questions and talking from there.

She sat up from the plush bed, combing her fingers through her hair. It was dawn already. The sky was still grey, still snowing. With a sigh, Sona hopped off the bed to change out of her nightgown. Once dressed, she poked her head out of her room to see if the demon was coming by.

Seeing as no one was coming, she decided to take the opportunity to wander around the castle. If she was allowed to go anywhere she wished, then she was going to take that chance. Especially if she can find escape routes.

She wandered from hall to hall, from floor to floor, taking note of every window she could use to escape safely.

Her feet took her to a large door at the end of a hallway that loomed over even the tallest statue in the hall. Her jaw dropped at the ornate design of gold and wood on such a huge door. She had considered this to be the demon’s lair, but it stood out too much to be so.

She pushed it open to see a ballroom behind the door, the gold floors matte from the dust that piled up from years of unuse. On a raised platform sat a piano and a harp as tall as her. Her eyes glittered brighter than golden doors as she approached the harp to pluck the string.

Her face contorted at the cacophony. It was so out-of-tune… She’d have to fix that.

But the sound of the door creaking open again stopped her. She turned to see a feather duster entering the ballroom. “Oh, it’s just you. What are you doing here? We’ve been looking all over for you!” When Sona opened her mouth to attempt to say something, the feather duster hurried over and shooed her away from the harp. “There’s no time for chatting. You’re being called for breakfast.”

Breakfast with the demon. What an unpleasant thought. Sona’s brows furrowed as she exited the ballroom and walked back to her bedroom instead. There was no way she was going to have breakfast with someone like him.

“Just where do you think you’re going?” the feather duster called out as it chased after her. “You can’t defy the master’s orders, you know!”

Sona answered the feather duster by slamming her bedroom door, but not without the duster slipping inside. She firmly shook her head to insist her refusal on joining the demon for breakfast.

“Ugh. Ahri, I’d expect you of all people to convince her first.”

“Hey, I tried, Syndra. But I can’t persuade someone who was practically taken prisoner in a castle. That’s unfair to her.”

Their conversation was cut short when four loud thumps sounded from the door. Sona flew to the door to lock it immediately. It was the demon. “I thought I told you to come down for meals when called,” he growled. “Care to give me an explanation?”

Sona shushed the feather duster that was about to speak and angrily started writing something onto her parchment, slipping it under the door.

“You can’t stay in there forever,” he growled louder.

“Yes. I. Can,” she wrote.

There was a bang of frustration against her door and a low snarl. “Fine. Then starve.” He stomped away from her bedroom, slamming the hall door with great force.

Syndra sighed. “Fantastic. Look what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

Sona couldn’t help but send a glare at the door and shake her head as she rolled her eyes. As if she would ever let him have his way. Not when he was going to treat her like this.

The demon entered his lair, where pieces of wooden frames and canvas lay cluttered on the floor. Zed and Shen followed closely behind. He approached a table holding the enchanted mirror and a glass container holding the rose. His hand hovered over the back of the mirror as if to grab it but hesitated.

“Your Majesty, you mustn’t keep losing your temper like that,” Shen warned.

“It’ll only make it worse with that girl,” Zed muttered, earning a hard nudge from Shen.

He sighed as he picked up the mirror. “Show me the young lady.” His reflection changed, the mirrow now showing Ahri and Syndra trying to convince Sona to give him a chance. But Sona could only shake her head angrily, refusing to show acknowledgement of him. “Why does it matter?” He set the mirror back down on its reflective surface, walking out to the balcony to cool his head. “It’s hopeless.”

Shen and Zed exchanged worried glances and left the room to leave him to his thoughts.

After an hour, Sona snuck out of her room with Syndra tailing behind. “Oh, so now you’re hungry, huh?” Syndra shook her head as she guided Sona to the kitchen. “Well, we can’t have you starve, no matter what the master says.” Once they entered the kitchen, they were greeted by clusters of moving plates, utensils, and teacups. Shen and Zed were on a table talking to a teapot.

“Well, well, well, look who finally decided to join us,” one teacup said as he jumped down open drawers. “Care for some breakfast you missed out on? Or,” he paused to look out the window, “oh, sorry, it seems to be close to lunch now.”

“Kayn, leave her alone,” another teacup called from a table. “You can’t blame her for not wanting to join the master for breakfast.”

“Guess what, Akali? I’m going to. We went through so much trouble making all this food, only to have it go to waste because both parties decided not to eat.”

Sona bowed apologetically at the teacup’s piercing remark.

“Kayn, behave. We must be respectful to the guest,” Shen said.

“Guest, my ass,” Kayn muttered.

“Don’t give your uncle sass, Kayn.” Zed looked at Sona, who stared back with a questioning look. “Besides, at this point, we need to treat her like a guest.”

“Fine, dad,” he drawled.

“Yeah, Kayn. Listen to Uncle Shen for once.”

“Shut it, Akali.”

“Now, now. The young lady must be feeling hungry. We can still give her what we made,” the teapot hopped in between the two teacups glaring at each other. “Welcome, young lady. My name is Karma. I mostly run the kitchen to prepare the meals for you. I suppose you’ve come here because you’re hungry.” Karma looked at Shen and Zed to lead Sona to the dining hall. “We will be with you shortly, dear.”

The two lead Sona to the dining hall and sat her down at the end of the long table. “So, how are you liking the castle so far?” Zed asked.

Sona scribbled on her parchment and showed it to him. “The castle’s very spacious. I’m rather interested in the harp that’s sitting in the ballroom.”

“Interesting. You can play music?” Shen asked.

“I took lessons in my old country before I moved to Ionia.”

“Ah. That explains why you look Ionian. Your writing says otherwise, though,” Zed commented, making Sona’s cheeks turn red in embarrassment.

Her embarrassment was short-lived when the kitchen doors opened with trays flooding in and placing themselves before Sona, opening up to uncover the food inside. Oh gods, she was so hungry. How was she able to withstand this hunger earlier? She thanked them for the food and helped herself to as much as she could eat to last for the day.

“Slow down, dear, you’re going to choke,” Karma warned. “Even if the master won’t let you eat, I am not having that. I will personally deliver your dinner to your room if I must, so don’t force yourself.”

Sona nodded in thanks and started eating more peacefully, feeling relieved. The servants in the castle were so kind compared to the demon. She couldn’t help but wonder why the demon wasn’t like them.

While Shen and Zed were giving her a tour of the unventured part of the palace, they had eventually fallen into a deep conversation that paid no mind to Sona’s presence. Figuring they wouldn’t notice if she wandered off on her own, Sona took a detour up a staircase to see what else was up there.

The surroundings seemed to become more dilapidated as she continued to ascend the stairs. Even the marble statues seemed to turn darker and more frightening as she approached the top.

Next thing she knew, a door marked with scratches and webs stood before her. Realization hit her that this was the demon’s lair. She wasn’t allowed here. But her curiosity pushed her hand to open the door and enter the room.

The room was dimly lit by a fireplace and a few candles around a king-sized bed. In other corners of the room lay shattered and torn paintings. Upon closer inspection of a torn painting by the bed, she noticed it was a painting of humans. The man in the middle, where the canvas was most damaged, seemed to stare at her with deep blue eyes. Was it the previous owner of this castle? Before the demon took over?

Not wanting to think about the fate of the former residents of the palace, she turned away to explore the room more. By the balcony of the room, where it was lit by only moonlight, a table with a mirror and a glass container with a rose sat in the center. She approached the rose, examining it closer. She raised her hand to touch the glass to admire its beauty, when a shadow loomed over her.

She sucked in a sharp breath seeing the demon standing by the balcony.

“I thought I told you this place was forbidden!” His claws clenched into fists and struck the wall with so much force that it cracked under the pressure. “Get out. Get the hell out!” he roared, sending Sona running out of the room in fright. He eyed the rose for any damage or a sign it was tainted. It took mere seconds for the demon to realize the damage he had done.

Sona choked back the lump in her throat as she ran down the main stairway with her shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She couldn’t stay here any longer. Nothing was going right. The demon could have killed her. She was so scared. She ran past the servants begging her to stay and went on her way on her horse.

The sun had set, and she could barely make out the landscape. She went through the forest to hopefully find a way out back to the road. Her eyes darted around to find an opening. Somewhere. Anywhere.

A howl following two more chilled her blood. She looked back while Hec was still running and saw a pack of wolves approaching her from behind.

Oh no.

No, no, no, no, no.

She slapped the reins against her horse to escape.

The wolves were on her tail, one even getting close enough to try nipping at Hec’s legs. In Hec’s fright, he launched Sona into the snow, trapped by the circling wolves. Sona gritted her teeth and grabbed a branch by her feet and rushed to her horse’s aid. She swung the branch at the wolves to deter them, even managing to send one collapsing into the snow.

It was no use. There was only so much she could do.

A wolf caught her swing and pulled the branch out of her hands, rendering her vulnerable. She backed up to her horse to protect it. Was this how she was going to die? All without seeing her mother one final time? She shut her eyes for her imminent death when a wolf leapt at her.

A snarl sounded from her right following a pained whine from the wolf. Sona opened her eyes to see the demon before her. But his presence didn’t discourage the wolves. They collectively leapt at the demon, trying to tear at him, only to have claws sinking into their flesh as he sent them flying at trees.

The demon glared at the wolves, a demonic rumble reverberating from his throat and sending the survivors fleeing. He fell to his knees, his body covered in blood and wounds. Unable to take the pain, he collapsed onto his side.

Sona gulped, her breath shallow and quick from the adrenaline. She pursed her lips as she glanced at the demon, whose usual glowing eyes were now dull. This was her chance. She could escape his clutches once and for all. She regained her composure and went to hop back onto her horse.

But she stopped.

She could run. She could run right now without having to look back.

The demon wouldn’t be able to chase after her.

And yet she couldn’t just leave him to die.

“He’s waking up!”

“Oh, thank the heavens. I thought he wouldn’t make it.”

The demon awoke to some of his servants and Sona, who hovered over him with a soaked rag in her hands, by his bedside in worry. He groaned from the sharp pain in his arm and side. Tilting his head slightly, he saw bandages on his torso and arm. “What… is going on?”

“You suffered wounds trying to save this young lady, from what she’s told us,” Karma explained. “She’s been up all night tending to your wounds.” She nudged the bowl of hot water towards Sona. “If you have any sort of common sense, you would thank her.” She jumped off the bed. “By the time I come back, I expect you to have at least done what you should do.” She hopped away out of the bedroom to meet with the other concerned servants to update them on his condition.

An awkward silence settled between them as the demon tried to find his voice to speak to her. Sona remained in her seat, staring down at her cupped hands.

“I, um,” he started, “would like to thank you for helping me. I probably could have died, if you didn’t.”

Sona glanced up at him, whose eyes gave her a sincere apology. She reached out for the parchment and started scribbling onto it. “I accept your apology. But also, thank you for saving my life.” A genuine smile curled her lips for the first time since she came here.

The demon fell silent at her smile. He cleared his throat before saying, “You’re welcome.” There was another awkward pause before he cleared his throat again. “Your name was Sona, I believe?”

She nodded.

“My name is Khada Jhin. You can call me… or write, in your case, Jhin.” He stared up at the ceiling. “I believe that introduction was long overdue.”

#league of legends #jhin x sona #jhinsona #jhin #sona #beauty and the beast au #rosywrites #reunited #one-shot

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