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oddinary4bts · 1 year

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The Forgotten Spaces | ch 3 (jjk)

☆summary: you've been dancing on the same dance crew since your teenage years, and you finally have an important role in it. It feels like life is taunting you when your rival comes back after disappearing for a year, ready to tease you every chance he gets. Will the teasing turn into more, or are you going to take him down with you?

☆pairing: photographer and dancer!Jungkook x dancer!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, there will be mature content in later chapters)

☆genre: slow (SLOW) burn enemies to lovers, college!au, slice of life!au, angst (oop), smut and fluff

☆warnings: still fighting (sorta?), a little bit of fluff, alcohol consumption, weed smoking, angst, throwing up, cursing

☆word count: 10.2k

☆series masterpost here

☆a/n: new chapter babyyy! As always, thank you to @moonleeai for her help on this fic <3 best beta reader out there

☆Read What Was Hidden here, the fic that inspired this whole story, written by @daechwitatamic, one of my fav human beings on this app <3 It follows the story of Jo and Taehyung before The Forgotten Spaces

☆☆☆☆☆

For this meeting of our end of the world

It's with you that I want to sing

On the threshold of the memories the dead of today

Them that breathe for us

The forgotten spaces

Je t'écris - Gaston Miron (rough translation by me)

☆☆☆☆☆

Saturday, May 5th

Jungkook feels anxious. He hasn’t felt anxious like that since the last time he performed on a stage. Even coming here yesterday didn’t feel as bad – maybe because you were the only one waiting for him, and he can’t bring himself to be anxious when it comes to you.

But right now, he knows the full crew is waiting for him, and it feels as if he’s getting crushed by the weight of the universe, like Atlas when he was given the heavens to hold. He wishes he could just turn around and leave, but he made a deal.

He’s not the type to betray his words. So he forces one step in front of the other, even as his leg is killing him, as if it too knows what he’s going to do.

He reckons it’s been hurting since he danced yesterday. But it felt relieving to be dancing for the first time since the accident. Even if it was with you, it felt like coming home.

Maybe because it was with you, in all truth. He knows you’ve never liked each other, but to him it’s always been that kind of relationship where you tease someone because you can. Yes, he once thought you were an entitled rich brat, but he’s known better for years now.

He still feels bad for fighting with you yesterday. But when his leg hurt, he was just taken back to the night of the car crash, and he felt far too vulnerable for his own good.

You’re the last person he wants to be vulnerable in front of.

You haven’t replied to his texts last night. He wasn’t really expecting you to, and he only texted you in the first place because Hobi asked him to do it. Something about making amends, but he didn’t really pay attention to it.

Jungkook sighs as the studio appears in front of him. He’s dreamed of this place for over a year now, and even if he came yesterday, it still feels unreal to see it. To think not all of the world has changed. Maybe he did, maybe he’s changed to the point of no return, but it’s reassuring to see that not everything has.

Like his relationship with you, for instance.

It’s warm today. The sun is about to set, painting the sky in thousands of golden hues, and he has half a thought to stop and admire, maybe snap a picture or two. To breathe for a time, and remember that whatever happens, the sun always rises and sets the next day.

But he has people waiting for him. Friends he avoided for over a year because he’s ashamed of what he’s become.

The thought sobers him up a little, until watching the sunset seems more like it’ll lead to him thinking about stuff he shouldn’t think about. So he heads straight towards the entrance, and thinks of something he could say to rile you up.

Riling you up always makes him feel better after all.

To his surprise, and perhaps even disappointment, you’re not here when he reaches the studio. The five others are, and Hobi informs him that you’re stuck at a family dinner when he notices him scanning the room for you.

Jungkook mumbles that he doesn’t care, before turning towards Heather and Jiho. Heather has a sad pitiful look on her face, and Jiho is holding in a smile. As for Jiho, he knows you probably told him about your fight last night, and Jiho’s always been like a smaller version of you. His eyes go back to Heather, and he’s pretty sure Bridget already told her what happened, and he can only hope she won’t say anything.

He doesn’t really want the crew to know about his leg. Of course, Hobi knows, but Hobi also promised not to tell anyone last year when Jungkook was forced to quit.

So, it’s without you that Jungkook starts to teach everyone the choreography you chose yesterday. He doesn’t dance as much as he did with you, and he does his best not to look at Heather whenever his steps falter. He doesn’t want to see her pity.

It’s mostly the fear of that pity that made him quit without telling anyone. That, and the fact that he doesn’t want to see you satisfied. Because he’s always thought that you would be happy to know he was hurt and couldn’t dance anymore. Something in the way you always frown or glare at him gives it away.

It’s almost ten when you finally join, cheeks flushed red from the fact you had to run from home, as you complain as soon as you arrive. Even if he thought about how to rile you up earlier, Jungkook’s brain is completely empty when you arrive.

So all he can do is nod in acknowledgment before looking away. He sees your frown in the mirror, and it almost makes him smile.

“We’ve been practicing the first part of the choreography while we were waiting for you,” he says, gauging the waters.

“I said I was going to be there at ten,” you let out, looking at Hobi.

Hobi raises his hands in defense.

It makes Jungkook chuckle. “Don’t worry, you’ll just have to stay here longer tonight.”

Your frown turns into a scowl, and your cheeks are not only red because of running now. You’re angry, and probably a little embarrassed. Exactly where he likes you to be.

“I don’t see why, I practiced with you last night,” you point out.

Everyone’s watching the conversation unfold like it’s a tennis match, turning their head from you to him whenever one of you say something. It makes an amused smirk grow on Jungkook’s lips.

“Alright then, show us what you’ve got.” It’s a challenge, and he sends it your way by finally fully facing you. Maybe he shouldn’t have, because he’s struck once again with how much you changed since last year.

Your hair frames your face differently now, and your features look sharper, as if you’ve lost the baby face he’s always known. Your eyes hold the same daggers though, and he thinks about last night.

He doesn’t remember seeing you as furious as you were last night. He’s pretty sure you were extremely close to killing him on the spot, and the thought of it calms him down a little. His relationship with you is fragile as it is, no need to rile you up in front of everyone.

He’s taken aback by his own thought – has he become more mature without even realizing it?

“Bet,” you let out, before glancing once at Jiho.

Jungkook doesn’t miss the way you roll your eyes and Jiho laughs, hiding it behind her hand. It makes him feel stupid, but it’s too late to make you back down from the challenge. If there is one thing he knows about you, it’s that you’re just as competitive as he is.

Maybe even a little more.

“Just turn the music up,” you say nonchalantly as you meet Jungkook’s gaze again.

Your eyes are shining with mischief and it makes a genuine smile grow on his lips. He’s not surprised at all when you reproduce the choreography perfectly. No, he just watches you move – he’s always liked the way your body moves. As if the space surrounding it belongs to it. As if you can’t be contained by your physical body. It’s beautiful, and he believes you are the best dancer he’s ever seen, except maybe for Hobi.

And himself, back before the accident.

But watching you leaves no place for the accident. All he can think of is that you’ve grown more beautiful while he was gone, as if his absence has given you space to grow. And maybe it has, considering that he was always gently bullying you.

He has half a thought that he should stop doing it. Bullying you, that is. But when you stop dancing and you regard him with a superior look on your face, he just wants to remind you that without him you wouldn’t have been able to dance this choreography at all. He doesn’t quite feel like insulting you though, so instead he says, “Glad you were paying attention last night”.

You look smug, and even though you’re way smaller than him you stand proud and tall. It’s cute, and he lets out a small laugh.

That small laugh is enough to shatter the confidence you are carrying yourself with. “What’s funny?” you ask.

He shrugs. “Nothing.”

You eye him suspiciously, before sighing loudly. “What’s the rest of the choreography anyway?”

That’s a question he has an easy answer to, though he thinks it’s better if you wait. Not you you, but all of the team. He wants the first part to be perfect before you dive into what comes next.

“Ah, let’s see you all dance together first,” he says.

The rest of the dance practice flies by, with Jungkook barely needing to guide you all through the choreography anymore. No, with Hobi and you leading the team, it takes little to no time until Jungkook can just sit in a corner and watch, while his mind keeps on planning what should be next. He has a couple of ideas that he’ll have to run through Hobi before telling the rest of you.

While you all dance together, Jungkook absentmindedly massages his leg. The throbbing pain is not so bad right now, but he knows it’ll be as soon as he gets up. Which might be the reason why he waits when Hobi calls dance practice off. Because he doesn’t want to get up in front of the crew, and have them look at him with the same pity Heather’s been throwing his way all night.

Unfortunately for him, Hobi, Jiho and you linger around. Surprisingly, you eventually drift towards him, leaving Hobi and Jiho to the conversation they’re having – something about their favourite restaurant, which coincidentally is the same. They both look excited, and he realizes he hasn’t seen Hobi smiling so much in a long time.

“Are you sulking in your corner?” you ask as you stop next to him.

You hover over him, and he tilts his head back to look up at your face. He wants to tell you to fuck off, only because he really doesn’t think he can get up right now without cursing like a sailor, and he knows you’ve noticed.

“You’ve got a problem against my corner?”

You cock an eyebrow, and a smile forms on your lips. “No, I was coming to tell you you should leave.”

It’s said gently. Not like you said it last night. Confusion falls on his features and he says, “Why?”

The look you throw over your shoulder to where Jiho and Hobi are standing explains everything. Jungkook’s gaze widens, and he lets out a small laugh.

“No way.”

You don’t know. You don’t know that his leg hurts, so he has no business being angry at you when you kick it. He just freezes, turning to solid ice, as he feels as if magma is dumped on his knee.

“Shut up,” you say, and the only reason you don’t realize you’ve just hurt him is because you’re still watching Jiho and Hobi. “Let’s leave them alone.”

Jungkook gulps, and he takes a deep breath to calm the pain in his leg. It doesn’t do much, and he knows he can’t stand up right now. He needs to find something to say, and quickly.

“Or we stay here and let them go together,” he suggests.

You put your fists on your hips as you look down at him. “Did you shit yourself? Is that why you don’t want to get up?”

He leans his head against the wall, tilting it to the side. “Why do you think I don’t want to get up?”

“Because you haven’t done it yet?”

He reckons he can’t wait any longer. Luckily enough, the small interlude his suggestion has given him has helped with the pain a little, so it doesn’t feel like too much of a challenge to get up.

He plants the right foot firmly on the ground, knowing damn well that if he’s to put weight on his left leg right now he’s just going to humiliate himself in front of you. And then he clenches his jaw so hard he tastes blood before pushing himself up, aiding himself with the wall next to him.

There’s a question burning on your lips. He knows it from the way your eyebrows are almost touching over your eyes. He knows by now that you’re not going to ask it – you’re suspicious about something, but he remembers you for being patient, when it comes to discovering secrets.

He’s always hated how you were able to know everything back then because you were just so patient. He’s pretty sure most of the crew confides in you out of the rest of the group, even though to him Hobi is the right choice. Who would want to confide in a gossiper when Hobi is right there anyway?

Jungkook stands with all of his weight on his right leg. You’re looking up at him now, and he likes that he towers over you: you’re not looking down when he’s standing next to you. You can’t see that he’s not risking putting any weight on his leg at the moment.

Sometimes, he knows he should walk with a cane. He knows it would help him, but to out himself as having a disability? He’s too ashamed to do it.

“Happy?” he asks instead, even as his heart is hammering against his ribcage.

You wet your lips, and his eyes flit to them. You’re smirking when he looks back at your gaze. “You’re adorable.” It’s said condescendingly though, and he wonders if you’re still angry about last night.

You don’t particularly look like you are, but he decides to apologize once more. He’s growing a little tired of all the fighting anyway.

“Hey,” he lets out. He glances over your head to where Hobi and Jiho are still talking, completely oblivious to the world around them. “I’m really sorry about last night.”

He sees you closing yourself off from him. You fold your arms on your chest, shoulders slouching forward a little, and a frown moves on your features. “It’s whatever, Jeon, I don’t care.”

“I shouldn’t have said what I said,” he insists. “It was a little disgusting.”

“You’re always a little disgusting.”

Fucking hell do you know how to rile him up too. “You can’t accept some apologies, can you? You always need to have the last word.” You’re smiling. He realizes you’re smiling, which means you were joking. It makes him shut up, and a pout forms on his lips. “You’re annoying.”

“Apologize to me when you really mean it, Jeon,” you say, and that insufferable smirk hasn’t been dislodged from your lips yet. “We’re not friends, no need to pretend that we are.”

He keeps the pout on for no other reason than the fact you’re looking down at his mouth. “You make it very hard to know what you want,” he complains. “I’m just trying to be decent.”

“Just be yourself,” you say, shrugging your shoulders, as if him being nice to you is not being himself.

He lets go of the pout to play with his piercing for a time. “M’kay then.”

You nod, a satisfied look on your face. You glance at Jiho and Hobi once more, and he follows your line of gaze. “Let’s go now.”

He braces himself for the first step, because he knows there’s nothing he can do to make you change your mind. Surprisingly enough, it doesn’t hurt as bad as he thought it would, and he’s able to follow you. You stop in front of him to wish Jiho and Hobi good night, and he waves goodbye to them before following you out of the room.

“So Jiho’s into Hobi?” he asks once you are out of earshot from them.

You glance at him, shrugging your shoulders. “She might be.”

“I’m pretty positive she has a chance with him,” Jungkook says. “But gosh, after all this time they just now realize it?”

“I mean.” Your tongue darts to wet your lips as you reach the door leading to the world outside. “Some people just take a long time before they realize they have feelings for each other.”

It makes him laugh a little, because to him it doesn’t really make sense. He’s the type who’s always believed that when he’ll meet the right person, he’ll just know.

Maybe it’s wishful thinking.

“Right,” he lets out.

You step outside, and Jungkook breathes in the night air. It’s colder than it was when he arrived, and a little more humid. His damn leg starts to throb again, though it hasn’t really stopped since you kicked it. He ignores it, looking up at the sky to see if there are any stars out. To his disappointment, a cover of clouds hides the constellations from his eyes, and he lets his gaze drop to the cement of the road, and to the orange glow of the neon lights.

He’s put away his camera for the summer, just because he needs a break from college. Visual arts being his major, taking pictures has been feeling like a chore to him lately, but he’s struck that the street is giving an eerie vibe right now, one he knows he’d be able to capture well.

“You know,” you let out, words loud enough to dim the sounds of frogs in the distance. “As much as I hate your guts, I’m glad that you’re back.”

You have a way of lacing insult to compliment that makes him reel inside. He doesn’t know how to interpret the feeling, so he just says, “Your ass needed saving, I’m glad I could provide”.

“I did not need saving,” you grumble. “Just some help.”

He cocks an eyebrow, glancing at you with a no-bullshit look on his features. “What part of the choreography did you come up with again?” he asks teasingly.

“The part where you shut the fuck up.”

He bursts out laughing, and he’s surprised when you join in too. It reminds him that he’s known you for a long time, and even if you’ve never really been friends, you do share some sort of a relationship. Enough so that you can laugh at a dumb joke together.

“Wow, my bad,” he says once he stops laughing.

You look at him, and the proud smile on your lips makes him go brain dead for a few seconds. “Nah, for real, the crew really needed you. I’m glad you came through.”

He holds your gaze, features falling serious as your smile melts into a softer one.

“I’m glad I did too.”

He really is. It feels like he’s in heaven, being able to participate in the act of dancing again. Not by doing it himself, but by having people do what he wishes he could do. It really does feel like coming home.

You walk in silence for a time, listening to the cry of the frogs. It grows louder as you near the small river where they reproduce each year. It reminds Jungkook of spring, and it strikes him how much he’s progressed since last year.

Indeed, at this time of the year last year he was still in his cast.

“Do you think you’ll want to dance again one day?” you ask.

It’s said in a small voice, and he knows you’ve gathered by now that dancing is a sensitive subject to him. He likes how you’re being gentle with it, and maybe that’s the only reason why he doesn’t get offended with the question.

“I never really wanted to stop,” he admits. “Stuff just happened and I couldn’t anymore.”

He’s speaking in the past tense, as if he can dance now. He knows damn well that’s impossible.

“You know, if you ever need to talk to someone about the stuff that happened, we’re all ears for you,” you tentatively say.

It kills the magic of the moment to him. The fact you used “we” instead of “I”. It reminds him that you truly aren’t really friends, and that you won’t ever be friends either.

“I know,” he just replies, and silence reigns around you once more.

Except for the frogs, that is.

You reach the bridge over the river, and the frogs are so loud here it doesn’t really allow for conversation anyway. But even once you’ve crossed the bridge, nearing the intersection where you’ll have to part ways, you both don’t talk.

Jungkook doesn’t think you need to. Silence with you is strangely more comfortable than a conversation. Maybe because then you’re not at each other’s throat all the time.

You near the intersection, and it’s then that you talk again. “How are you getting home?”

He motions towards the bus stop. “I’ll just take the bus.”

You nod, and he watches you as you put your hair behind your ear absentmindedly. “How long of a ride is it for you?”

He shrugs. “I’ve never really paid attention. Maybe forty-five minutes?”

“Oh,” you let out. “I can order a Lyft for you, if you want.”

Your kindness sounds suspiciously like pity, so he declines it right away. “Nah, I’m good. I’ll just listen to some music and think about the choreography. I think I can tweak some parts of the first half to make Scottie use more of his shoulders.”

You hum. “Alright then. Guess I’ll see you around?”

You’ve reached the intersection by now, so Jungkook nods. “See you.”

You hold his gaze for a few more seconds before you nod too, turning around as you start walking towards the rich neighbourhood where you live. If he was closer to you, Jungkook would offer to walk you home. It feels like it’s too much though, so he settles on watching you walk away as he sits at the bus stop.

He’s halfway home when he receives a text.

[12:34 am] You🙄: i’m sure the rest of the choreography will be great

He smiles for the rest of the way home.

Friday, May 18th

You have been watching your phone for the last hour. It’s been suspiciously silent all morning, even though your dad was supposed to call you on Facetime an hour and a half ago. You’re used to him being late – he’s one of the most renowned lawyers of a big city on the other side of the country. It keeps him very busy, but when he says he’s going to call you he usually does.

So, needless to say, you’re a little annoyed as you watch the minutes go by. You’re on your fourth episode of Attack on Titan when you receive a text, and surprisingly it’s not from your father. You pause the episode, waiting until the text disappears at the top of the screen as if it means it never existed.

You still have yet to save Jungkook’s number. You don’t really want to: you still expect him to disappear once again, and since your fight last week you’ve been a little iffy about him.

Or maybe you’re iffy because you’ve noticed he was in pain last Saturday, trying to pretend he was fine. You have a couple of hypotheses as to why he’s left now, but you’re trying not to think about it too much.

You don’t like thinking about Jungkook.

You sigh, before going to your text messages. You’ve long deactivated the ‘read’ function, so you don’t care: you immediately open his text.

[11:36 am] unsaved number: hey, any chance i could run what i’ve got through u before showing it to the crew tmrw?

You’re appalled, somehow, that he wants to run it through you when he can show Hobi instead. You’re about to tell him so when your phone starts vibrating from your dad’s incoming call. You pick up the call, and your father’s face appears.

He’s sporting his best apologetic smile, and you can see the sun painting his wall behind him. It’s earlier where your father is, and the sun is still far from its zenith, which means it hits the glass doors of your father’s balcony almost perpendicularly now.

“Sorry,” he immediately apologized. “Had a call with a client and couldn’t call you before.”

You’ve missed his voice. You haven’t talked to him in two months, and even though it’s been years of him having moved to the other side of the country, some part of you is still not used to the distance.

“No worries,” you say. “The semester is over now, I’ve just been chilling in my room since I woke up.”

“Don’t you have an internship this summer?”

You let out a small laugh at the stern look on his features. As if he has any authority over you whatsoever. “Yes, it starts at the end of May.”

He nods. “Thought so.” He looks away from the camera, and you think you hear some birds singing. He probably left the balcony doors wide open, enjoying the warmth of the Californian early morning. Last time you went he had gotten a few bird feeders, saying he loves to hear them sing in the morning. The peaceful expression on his features tells you he still does. “What are your plans until then?”

You shrug, and a little like he just did, you look away, towards your own window. It’s sunny outside for you too, though it stopped raining only half an hour ago. You hope it won’t rain again today – it’s been raining way too much lately anyway.

“Just taking it easy,” you answer. “Practicing for the auditions for nationals in July.”

He smiles. “Right. How’s that been going?”

You know there’s a high chance he doesn’t really care. He’s never shown up for any of your dance competitions growing up, and it used to make you feel horrible. Until you were old enough to realize your mother treated him poorly, and being away from her for a few days was always a reprieve to him.

It hasn’t changed now that they are divorced, even if your mother stopped coming to your competitions too.

“It’s been great,” you say. “We’re adjusting to being only six and it’s a challenge, but I think we’ll make it.”

“Haven’t you always just been six?”

He doesn’t remember. You don’t know why he would remember: you only mentioned Jungkook leaving to him once last year when the deed happened, and then did your best to forget all about Jeon Jungkook.

You chuckle. “No, we’ve always been seven. Until Jungkook left last year?”

“Jungkook?” he asks.

“Tall guy, with the sleeve of tattoos and a couple of piercings?” you provide, though you doubt it’ll ring a bell to your father. “He joined the crew at the same time as I did.”

Which almost coincides with the month your parents divorced, actually.

“I feel bad for not remembering, but that’s probably because he didn’t matter, uh?” he says it like a joke, and you roll your eyes playfully.

“He doesn’t,” you agree. Only, he does a little, especially now that he’s become the choreographer.

Especially now that he thinks he has to run the dances through you before showing them to the other members.

“Why did he leave anyway?” your father asks, and he once again glances away from the screen.

You wonder if his new wife is around. From the lack of a three-year-old’s screaming, you assume she went out to the park with their son. Is he looking outside because he’s expecting them to come back soon?

“I don’t know,” you reply. You shrug, even if your father is not looking at you right now. “He’s come back to be the choreographer now, though.”

That attracts your father’s attention again. “Wow, a choreographer. Your crew is getting big, isn’t it?”

He’s only partly listening. Because you’re not quite sure he understood what you just said, but it doesn’t matter.

He’s not really your father anyway.

“Well, we’ll see if we can win nationals.”

“Where are they held this year?” he asks, and he sounds genuine. As if he might be considering coming.

“Some place near here”, you inform him. “In Chicago two hours away.”

Chicago is the city where he used to take you when you were a kid to see the Christmas decoration. It was something you did just you two, and to this day it is still one of your favourite memories of him.

He’s not your father. Biologically, that is. But he’ll always be your dad, no matter how many miles separates you from him.

“Ah, why did I think it was in California?”

“Because you’ve been wanting them to be in California for the last three years?” you tease.

It makes him laugh, which brings a bright smile to your lips. “They’ve been on the East coast for years now, shouldn’t they come to my side of the country?”

You purse your lips, looking up as if pondering. “Maybe you should be the one coming.”

The suggestion dims the light in your father’s eyes. You know he associates this side of the country with your mother, and with a lot of bad memories. You don’t blame him – she did hide from him and you that you aren’t his biological daughter until you found out yourself through some genetic testing when you were sixteen.

“I’ll think about it,” and it’s synonym to no. You know him well enough. He’s quick to change the subject too. “Do you think you’ll be visiting this summer?”

You haven’t really planned to. Something about seeing him with his wife and son always makes you feel awful. And it makes you feel even worse that you’re jealous of his happiness, that you’re jealous your family life cannot be like that. He deserves it after everything your mother put him through.

You’re happy for him though. You can’t deny it. Even though you believed it was risky for him to have kids considering he’s a carrier of a Tay-Sachs disease gene. From what he’s told you, his son didn’t get the gene, which is a relief, but had you been him you wouldn’t have taken the risk.

“I don’t know,” you finally reply. “It depends how busy it gets with the internship and dance practice.”

He’s disappointed, but he doesn’t say anything. He knows how hard it is for you to come, so he mostly asks out of reflex. He’ll never put pressure on you to do it.

“We’re back!” a cheery woman’s voice says.

You reckon it’s risky for her to scream in the house like that when your father might have been on a call with a client, but love makes people stupid.

He greets her and their son, before resuming his attention on you. “I’ll have to go.”

You wish he wouldn’t have to, but you don’t really have anything else to tell him anyway. So you offer him your best excuse of a warm smile, and a moment later you’ve hung up.

It brings you back to the text conversation with Jungkook, and the unanswered message he sent you. You sigh, and maybe if you weren’t feeling sadly nostalgic about your father, you would have told him to run it through Hobi instead.

For some reason, Jungkook feels like a good distraction though, so you reply,

[11:58 am] You: if u can pull up at the studio some time this evening, yeah sure

He replies almost right away, as if he was waiting for you to text him.

[11:59 am] unsaved number: i’ll try to be there around 9😌

You’re annoyed that he chose such a late hour, especially considering you are supposed to meet up with Jiho for girl’s night – aka clubbing and finding some strangers to kiss the night away. Though you reckon she probably doesn’t really want to kiss anyone now that she and Hobi have started to talk.

[12:04 pm] You: depends how quick u are, i’m going out with jiho [12:05 pm] unsaved number: i promise i’ll be quick, i’ve got something tonight too

You have no idea why he suggested tonight then, but you don’t press him for an explanation. Mostly because you don’t really care, but also because you’re excited for girl’s night, especially considering you missed last week because Jiho had a family dinner.

You can just hope that Jungkook is right on time.

*****

You will kill him. You will murder Jeon Jungkook. You reckon you should have murdered him last week when you first wanted to – you would have been rid of him already.

No, you had to ask him to leave instead, and now he’s almost an hour late, and you have to meet Jiho at her house in twenty minutes. Her brother is coming with you, and he’s bringing his boyfriend, and you really want to meet the mysterious Felix.

Jeon Jungkook can go to hell.

You texted him when he was only ten minutes late. You know it takes him a long time to get here, so you just gave him the benefit of the doubt at first. But now it’s getting far too late for it to just be the bus, and your blood is positively boiling, enough so that you text Jiho.

[9:49 pm] You: what if we change plan tonight to murder jk😤 [9:50 pm] Jiho❣️: omg i was gonna text u [9:50 pm] Jiho ❣️ hobi sent me this

She forwards a video to you. You furrow your eyebrows before clicking on the video, and loud music blasts out of your phone. You quickly turn the volume down, even if you’re alone in your small studio, and you focus on the screen. It looks like a living room, though the light bulbs have been changed to red. The video starts by showing off Hobi’s face as he’s smiling, and then he starts laughing and turns the camera around.

Jeon Jungkook is shotgunning a beer in the middle of the living room, not caring that half of it spills on the floor. You don’t watch the rest of the video, immediately going back to texting Jiho.

[9:51 pm] You: is he at a FKG PARTY????? [9:52 pm] Jiho❣️: seems like it🙄 [9:52 pm] Jiho❣️: Hobi invited us and sent the vid [9:52 pm] Jiho❣️: i don’t think he knows jk was supposed to go to the studio [9:52 pm] You: HOLD ON?!😳 [9:53 pm] You: hobi invited us??? or invited u😏

Jiho sends a bunch of shy emojis, before adding:

[9:53 pm] Jiho❣️: he knows we’re going out tonight, so us [9:54 pm] Jiho❣️: he might have said he wants to see me tho☺️🫣

You shriek. Loud and clear, and you almost forget how angry you are at Jeon Jungkook. No, if you go to that party, it’s to make sure Jiho and Hobi get together. Jungkook can go fuck himself.

[9:55 pm] You: BITCH HE SAID WHAT [9:55 pm] You: I SHIP THIS SO HARD😍 [9:56 pm] You: is he cool with sungie and his bf coming too?🤔

Jiho takes a moment before replying, long enough that you decide to leave the studio. It’s clear that Jungkook is not going to come anyway, and you’d rather shriek with Jiho than at your phone. Whatever you did last week probably worked if Hobi wants to see her now.

You’ve never been so happy for your best friend in your whole life.

You walk quickly, happy that you chose platform boots for tonight. Jiho’s platform boots, to be precise. You’ve paired them with knee-high socks, a black skirt and a pink corset that hugs your body perfectly. For now, it’s hidden under an oversized gray sweater, and you walk with your head hung low.

It occurs to you as you near the bridge that you should have taken a Lyft to go home, because it’s late and you’re a woman. Luckily though, you don’t see anyone until you get to your neighbourhood, and then you just see a couple walking hand in hand. They offer you a smile that you reciprocate awkwardly, and a few minutes later you finally arrive at Jiho’s house.

Jiho, Jisung and an unknown blond-haired guy are sitting on the porch, and Jiho jumps to her feet as soon as she sees you.

“Bitch?” you say as a way of greeting, right as she jumps in your arm. “He wants to see you?”

She’s nodding happily, but she remains silent.

“She hasn’t shut up about it in the last twenty minutes,” Jisung puts in. “I think I’ll kill her before we even reach that lame ass frat party.”

“The only thing lame here is your attitude,” Jiho throws at her brother as she pulls away from the hug. “That, and Jeon Jungkook,” she adds, looking at you now.

You roll your eyes, but you’re not going to let the mention of him ruin your night. Not when Hobi and Jiho are on the line.

You reckon you don’t even care that Jungkook is at the party. You don’t care that he stood you up, but you’re still going to give him shit for it, aren’t you?

“Let’s not think about this asshole,” you say. And then you move closer to where Jisung and Felix are standing, and you wave to the latter. “Hi, I’m Y/n.”

He smiles and he replies with the deepest voice you’ve heard in your entire life. “Nice to meet you. These two had lots of stuff to say about you.”

You eye Jisung and Jiho suspiciously. “Good things, I hope?”

They look sheepish, and Jisung says, “I might have mentioned the vodka incident”.

“Sung-ie!” you yelp. “It was one time, like eight years ago! Did you tell him about that time we found you naked in a snowbank? You could have died.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Felix lets out, and Jisung charges towards you, probably with the goal of killing you.

It makes you scream as you run away, but he grabs you before you’ve reached the end of the driveway. He picks you up, arms wrapped around your middle, and you kick the air in front of you as you laugh loudly, something between snorting and shrieking. It’s a disgustingly childish sound, and it’s probably way too loud for the peaceful neighbourhood.

Jisung puts you down, even though he probably considered throwing you first, and you spin around with the intention to shove him, but he’s already moved away.

“Do you know the amount of embarrassing stories I can tell about you?” you say, just to be a little brat.

He’s flushed red, and he says through gritted teeth, “Please, not in front of…” he trails off, motioning towards Felix with his head.

“I’m sure Felix wants to know all the embarrassing stories, do you?” you ask towards the guy, and Jisung is running towards you again.

You dodge this time, and he almost falls before you both burst out laughing as Felix just watches with a soft smile on his lips.

“Are they always like this?” he asks Jiho.

She nods. “You put two idiots together and it’s bound to happen.”

“I’m sorry what!” you burst out in time with Jisung, and the group all laughs.

It’s in this childish atmosphere that you all filter into the Lyft Jiho ordered once you arrived, and you talk and laugh together. Turns out that Felix is Australian, and you all tease him for his accent. It’s probably something that Jiho and Jisung have been doing a lot, because he looks at you for salvation until you repeat “naur” in your best Australian accent imitation.

You feel sixteen again, and it’s healing, somehow. For what, you don’t know. Maybe because talking to your father this morning felt nostalgic, and Jiho and Jisung are reminding you that you do have your own family.

The Lyft drops you in front of a house. It’s not on campus, so it’s probably not a frat house. It feels like one though, considering the booming music you can hear even though the windows are closed. You think of the video Hobi sent, and of Jungkook shotgunning a beer.

If there is a frat thing to do, shotgunning a beer seems like it’s at the top of the list. Especially when it’s not done well because, truth be told, you don’t think frat bros are good when it comes to drinking alcohol. They just tend to overdo it all the time, until they’ve made a fool out of themselves. It seems Jeon Jungkook is not an exception.

“So, are we going in?” Felix asks, and a chorus of “saur” answers him.

He’s the kind of person that has an easy laugh though, because he just bursts out laughing in time with you all. You all move towards the house still, and you figure you don’t need to knock to open the door.

As soon as the door opens, the music volume goes up, and you wince as you glance at Jiho. “Never took Hobi for a frat bro.”

She rolls her eyes, laughing a shy laugh. “You know he’s not a frat bro.”

“This is a frat party,” you say, loudly because you’ve moved inside and you don’t think she’ll be able to hear you.

“This is a house party,” she replies. “It’s not the same thing.”

You roll your eyes at her, and then the living room comes into view. It’s not as full as you thought it would be, but there’s still a small crowd gathered around the room. You recognize some of the people because you’ve seen them last week. Bridget and Jo are there, along with Hobi and Jungkook’s friends. There are a few people you’ve never seen before – and you see a couple disappearing downstairs, closing the door behind them.

It makes you laugh, right as Jo and Bridget notice you. Jo waves you over, and you link your arm with Jiho to pull her towards the girl. For now, Hobi and Jungkook are out of sight, so you figure greeting Jo and her friends is the most important thing to do.

You’ll kill Jeon Jungkook later, after you’ve made sure Jiho is all set with Hobi.

“Hey girls!” Jo greets you when you stop next to her. She giggles drunkenly, and you reckon she’s probably a couple of shots in already.

Taehyung is nearby, so you’re not worried about her.

“What’s up?” you ask as you loosely hug her and Bridget.

You’re pulling away from Bridget’s hug when Heather appears. Her cheeks are flushed red with alcohol, and she wraps an arm around your neck and Jiho’s neck to pull you into a tight group hug, shrieking something incoherent.

She’s clearly indulged in alcohol a lot already.

Bridget pulls her off you two, and you all laugh as Heather mumbles an apology.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” she says with her slurred speech.

Bridget winces, before looking at Jo. “You need to stop making everyone drink so much.”

“The semester is over, let us have fun.”

Bridget laughs, shaking her head. “You’ve been dating Tae for what, two weeks? And you’re already changing into a party girl. Kiko is never going to talk to you again.”

Jo pouts. “Kiko loves me, I’m all good.”

You have no idea who Kiko is, so you glance at Jiho. She’s moved to let her brother and Felix into the circle, and she starts introducing them both to everyone. It seems it’s an opportunity for shots, because Jo links her arm with yours to bring you into the kitchen, claiming she’ll need help with the shots. You follow because you like her, and partying with her again sounds like a good time indeed.

You’re halfway done pouring shots for everyone when the door leading to the backyard opens, and Jimin, Hobi and Jungkook come in. They’ve got bloodshot eyes, and it’s easy to figure out what they were doing out there.

You stop pouring as Jimin sees you first, and his mouth falls open in surprise, before moving into a warm grin. He says your name, and he moves towards you.

“How are you?” he asks you, and he lets out a small laugh as if that was the most clever thing he’s said in his life.

Yeah, he definitely is high.

You haven’t talked to him a lot, since you saw him at the bar two weeks ago. He dmed you on Instagram, like he had said he’d do, but the conversation had just naturally died. It had been a friendly conversation though, and you’re happy to see him tonight.

“Clearly not as baked as you, but I’m good,” you reply, and you resume pouring the shots as Hobi and Jungkook just watch you.

They start laughing, which you reckon makes you laugh a little too. It’s awkward, and Jo just surveys the scene with a small knowing smile on her lips.

You’re forced to pour three more shots for the boys – even Jungkook, and you only do it because Jo glares at you when you frown as she motions at him. Jungkook is still just standing in the spot he stopped when he saw you, and he’s got a dumb smile on his lips.

You don’t know if you like the smile. But it’s sort of cute, and better than the infuriating smirk he’s mastered when he’s around you.

When all the shots are ready, you carry them all on a tray back to the living room. Jo helps you in handing them out to everyone, and a moment later everyone downs their shot. You wince at the taste of tequila, and you feel a pair of eyes on you that make your blood curdle inside.

It’s Jungkook, and even though you didn’t mind him in the kitchen, you’re suddenly reminded that he stood you up tonight. You’re going to need a lot more alcohol if you’re to confront him, so you pull Jisung and Felix behind you to the kitchen so you can mix yourself a drink. You settle on gin and tonic while Jisung makes two rum and coke for him and his boyfriend, and then you’re on your way back to the living room when Jungkook appears in front of you. You stop, which makes Jisung bump into you, which makes you spill your drink a little on Jungkook.

He looks down at the wet spot on his shirt, and then up at your face. Even in the red light of the living room, you can still see his blown-wide pupils, and they search your features for a few seconds before going to your drink.

“If you wanted me to take off my shirt you could have just asked,” he says.

“What the fuck?” Jisung lets out. “Isn’t that the dude that ghosted the dance crew?”

You turn toward Jisung, eyes widened in warning. He takes the cue, and he grabs Felix by the arm to guide him around Jungkook and towards the living room.

“That was an accident,” you say once Jisung and Felix are gone. “The last thing I want to see is you with your shirt off.”

He laughs. It sounds more like a giggle – it’s not a sound that a tall guy with piercings and a sleeve of tattoos should make. You’ve heard it plenty of times before though, and tonight it rings differently.

Instead of getting on your nerves, you find it a little cute. Which disgusts you so bad you scowl.

“Damn, all this working out for nothing,” he jokes. He looks down at your glass once more, before finding your gaze. “What are you having?”

You’re sick of the conversation. You’re sick of your little brain thinking Jungkook was cute a second ago, so you say, “Why did you stand me up?”

He has the decency to look apologetic. “My plans started earlier. I texted you, no?”

“You didn’t?”

He seems really confused, with a pout moving on his lips as he grabs his phone in a pocket of his black cargo pants. He looks down at the device, blinking a few times as if to bring his screen into focus. And then he bursts out laughing and he shows you his phone.

“I’m so fucking dumb,” he says in between two sets of laughter. “I forgot to press send.”

Somehow, that is such a Jungkook thing to do that you can’t really bring yourself to be angry at him. No, you really have the proof under your eyes, so all you are is a little annoyed, but you’re not furious like you were back at the studio.

“Gosh,” you let out. “I waited for you for an hour.”

His face falls as he pouts again, big eyes turning apologetic. “I’m so sorry. I can show you the choreography here, though.” He says that looking around, scanning the living room as if he’s making sure there’s enough room. He then seems to reconsider, shaking his head a little. “Well, maybe not in front of everyone.”

“It can wait,” you tell him, and you sip your gin and tonic as you notice Jiho and Hobi talking behind him.

“No.”

Jungkook’s little objection brings your attention back to him. “What do you mean, no?”

“We can go upstairs and I can show you in my room.”

You let out a disbelieved laugh. “You live here?”

“Yes,” he says as he nods enthusiastically. “With Jin, Jimin and Taehyung.”

You don’t know the first guy, but you still purse your lips. “Interesting”.

There’s a small silence as you once again sip on your gin and tonic. Jungkook is watching you carefully, as if he’s growing impatient with the silence, and you cock an eyebrow at him.

“So?”

“So what?” you ask.

“Can we go upstairs so I can show you?”

Another disbelieved laugh falls from your lips. “I’m not going upstairs to your room with you.”

He pouts again, like he’s a child and not a grown-ass man. It contrasts deeply with the piercing on his lips, and it makes you feel weird inside. You don’t like it, and you chase the feeling away with a long sip this time.

“Please?” he asks. “I’ve really wanted to show you.”

You roll your eyes. “Just do it here,” you suggest. “Or outside, I don’t care.”

“But you spilled your drink on my t-shirt!” he insists. “You owe that to me, don’t you think?”

You clench your jaw. He is annoying, far too annoying. But he doesn’t seem like there’s any chance you’ll let it go, and if he really wants to show you, then what’s wrong with going up to his room?

You ask yourself that question at least a thousand times by the time it takes to go from the hallway leading to the kitchen and up to his room. You look back once as you walk up, mostly because you’re afraid someone will see you. You’re relieved when you see no one looking, and you quickly follow Jungkook until you’re out of sight.

You let out a sigh of relief, until Jungkook stops in front of you and you bump into him, spilling even more of the gin and tonic on him.

It takes a few seconds for you to realize he stopped because Jo is in front of him, and the moment she sees you her mouth falls open and she lets out a loud laugh.

“Wow,” she lets out.

“It’s not what you think,” you immediately defend yourself, though you reckon it makes it look a lot more suspicious.

“I just need to show her something,” Jungkook mumbles, with that same pout he’s been using for a while now.

Jo hums. “Right.” She looks at you, before walking around Jungkook. She’s starting to walk down the stairs when she says, “Have fun”.

You take it back. You’re not sure you like her anymore.

You reluctantly follow Jungkook to his room, and you only realize then how warm you’ve been. Because his room is blissfully cool, and the purple LED lights you’ve seen when he called you on Facetime the other day make for a good reprieve for your eyes.

You’re surprised to see his bed is neatly made, and there’s not a single piece of clothing on the floor. For some reason, you’ve always thought he’d be a messy person, but no, his room is pristine. He has a gaming set-up in one corner, and the RGB lights move from purple to light blue in a hypnotizing wave.

And then, you almost drop your red solo cup as Jungkook pulls his shirt off while taking a few steps towards a dresser. The muscles of his back work under his skin as he rummages in a drawer to find a new shirt after having put the wet one in a hamper. He holds a t-shirt up triumphantly, and he turns towards you with the biggest smile on his face.

The front of his body looks just as good as the back, but your eyes stop on a gash on his stomach. A scar, with jagged edges that almost look painful to the touch. It starts on his side and goes down until it disappears in his pants, almost following the V-line shaped muscle to the millimeter.

He doesn’t notice your look. Or if he does he doesn’t care, because he just puts the shirt on, until his skin disappears from you.

That scar didn’t use to be there. There’s no chance in hell it would have gone unnoticed.

“So, I might be a little too drunk and high to perform well,” Jungkook says, as if you’re not looking at him with a horrified gaze, “but I think we could…” He furrows his brows. “Is something wrong?”

You don’t know what to say. You just shake your head no, before mumbling, “Sorry, go on”.

He doesn’t seem like he wants to let it go, but then he shrugs. “You know how the rhythm of the song slowly changes? I think we could use that to make a cool bridge.”

He pulls out his phone, before moving to a small speaker on his night table. He turns the speaker on, and a few seconds later the song starts to play. He starts dancing but stops way before he reaches the part he mentioned in the song.

“This is awkward,” he says, and he laughs. He pushes his hair back, eyes still boring through yours. “You’re right, I shouldn’t be showing you this here.”

“Jeon, I’ve seen you dance a thousand times before, you’re all good,” you say, encouraging him to continue.

“I don’t dance like I used to though,” he points out.

He’s right, but now that you’ve seen the scar you’re afraid the worst scenarios you’ve thought up might be true after all.

“If you’d rather wait until tomorrow then that’s okay too,” you suggest, offering him salvation.

He seems to ponder, and a disappointed look takes over his features. And then they just turn dark, filled with ghosts and demons. The same ones he was fighting last week a moment before your argument.

He sighs loudly, before sitting on the side of his bed. You still haven’t moved from your spot next to the door, and your red solo cup will soon be empty. You need to figure out something else to occupy yourself when the air turns awkward, because it sure does turn awkward now.

Jungkook clears his throat, and then he lets out a small bitter chuckle. “You saw the scar, uh?”

You can’t lie, so you just offer him a small, “Yeah”.

“That one is not even the worst one,” he admits. “I’ve got a big one on my leg, and a smaller one from the two surgeries to reconstruct my knee.”

Your heart is beating uncomfortably in your chest. You’re not sure Jungkook wants to be telling you this, and his defeated form makes you ache. You wish you could take the pain away, but all you can do is stand where you are and listen to him as he keeps on talking.

“We were in a car accident last year? I’m the one that got it the worst. It fucked up my leg. And I almost lost a kidney. The kidney is fine now but uh…” He runs a hand through his hair, and only then does he look at you. You wish he didn’t, because the pure look of despair in his eyes makes your throat constrict as a lump forms at the bottom of it. “That’s why I can’t dance anymore. I even had to relearn how to walk.”

He falls silent. The song is still playing, probably because Jungkook put it on repeat, but you reckon you haven’t paid attention to it since he started talking. You hold his gaze, and you can’t for the life of yourself find any hatred for him in you. Because you don’t know what you would do if dancing was taken away from you.

You would be devastated, that’s for sure.

“I…” you start, but you don’t find anything to say. “Wow, Jungkook.”

He looks down at the floor, and he massages his leg mindlessly. You noticed him doing it last week, but now you know why.

“A funny thing, though, is that I have some metal in my leg now? If I do an MRI it’s going to legit rip from my skin.”

There is absolutely nothing funny in that statement, and you just look at him blankly. “Jungkook…”

He scoffs now, and he sounds like a wounded animal. He is a wounded animal. “See, that’s why I didn’t want you all to know.”

“Why?” you ask.

“Because you think I’m pathetic,” he snaps. “You look at me with that pitiful look on your face and I fucking hate it. It’s already hard enough to deal with the consequences of it all by myself, but having people pity me? It feels like shit.”

He’s getting worked up, and you don’t have time to say anything before he continues, “Like okay, my dream was taken away from me! But who fucking cares, you’re probably just happy because you’ve always hated me, and now you don’t have to deal with me anymore.” He hits his forehead with the side of his clenched fist, as if he needs to knock some sense into himself. “And Bridget told Heather and Heather’s been treating me like I’m a fucking child. Just because my leg is hurt doesn’t mean I’m a fucking child, you know.”

He glares at you, while you just watch with a widened gaze, your mouth a little open from the surprise of his outburst.

“And the worst part is, it hurts. All. The. Fucking. Time. I can’t even walk without it hurting, it hurts so bad some days I can’t even get out of bed. It’s been hurting more since I danced last week as if to say, ‘bro, don’t even dare doing something that you love’. It’s exhausting.”

There’s a small silence, and he’s breathing heavily. He’s really worked up now, and you’re still just watching without knowing what to do or say. Your red solo cup is entirely forgotten in your hand. You don’t think you’ve blinked since he started talking, and the horror of it all has not even fully hit you yet.

“I just want it to stop,” he continues. There’s an edge to his voice, and you realize he might just burst out crying then and there. “And I’m going to be sick.”

He’s barely finished saying the sentence that he bends over, throwing up right in front of his feet on the floor. That shakes you out of your trance, and you gag at the sounds he makes while he’s sick. You turn your head away from him, and you quickly fish your phone out of your sweater’s pocket. All you can think to do is text Jimin, and Jungkook is wiping tears on his cheeks when you glance back at him.

“Fuck,” he curses. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, but you know you’ve gone white. You’re not good with people being sick, and if you stay in this room just a moment longer you’ll be sick too. “It’s okay, Jungkook, you’re all okay.”

“I’m not though,” he says, and he hides his face in his hands.

You don’t like seeing Jeon Jungkook like this. You much rather prefer when he’s being a pain in the ass, as if his only purpose in this world is to be a prick to you. Now he just looks like a broken man, and nothing you’ve learned in your whole life has ever prepared you to deal you with such a situation, especially not one happening with him, the man you’ve always hated.

You’re lucky enough though. Someone knocks at the door, and you quickly pull it open. It’s Jimin, and he’s got a concerned look on his features. It just gets worse when he sees Jungkook, and his eyes dip to the puddle on the floor.

“Shit,” he curses. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” is all you can think to say.

“Can you go get Taehyung?” Jimin asks gently as he steps into the room.

You nod, because you really need to get away before you get sick too. Some part of you feels horrible to leave Jungkook behind but, for your own good, you need to go.

Call it preservation or something.

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☆☆☆☆☆

Oooooof poor Jungkook🥺☹️ I wish I could give him a good hug bc gosh he deserves it Sooo what did we think this week? Did we like it? Let me know!✨

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peachy-panic · 9 months

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Family Line - Chapter 1

Remember a couple of days ago when I put out a poll asking if anyone would be interested in a whumpy wlw/sapphic story? Well, here is this thing.

Tagging a couple of people that expressed some interest - but let me know if you want to be on an actual tag list (assuming this story goes somewhere :)) @hold-him-down @thecyrulik

WARNINGS: BBU/BBU-Adjacent, predatory men, death in the family, fucked up family dynamics, rich people shit

Against her better judgment, Dallas Radley stepped into the elevator. Watching the metal doors slide shut grated on every survival instinct in her body, but taking twenty-seven flights of stairs was out of the question—not that she hadn’t briefly considered it—and the longer she drew this out, the more time she put between herself and a flight home. So she took a breath and did her best to ignore the hair-raising prickle on the back of her neck.

She just wanted to get this over with. More than that, she wanted to have never been involved in the first place. But of course, even in death, her brother succeeded in dragging her down with him.

“This place is a shit hole.”

She didn’t need to turn around to sense the sneer in her stepfather’s expression. Dallas flicked her eyes to the side, though, just enough to catch the line of him in her periphery. She rolled her neck, hard enough that a ripple of cracks were audible in the small space, but she didn’t grace him with a response.

One hell of a shit hole, she thought. The luxury apartment building was a glittering circle jerk of sterile-sleek decor, a doorman in a suit worth more than Dallas’s entire wardrobe, and amenities that no one ever used. And she had only just seen the lobby. But of course, in his eyes, it was beneath her brother’s name, and therefore a disparaging mark on the whole family.

Dallas had no doubt her mother would have agreed. The two of them were probably duking it out in hell about it that very moment. Really, Jared, they’re going to mention that godforsaken embarrassment of a place in the obituary. What will people think?

Never one for reading the room—or for giving a fuck what the room had to say—Charlie continued. “He could have taken over any one of our properties. I told him a hundred times.”

The problem with the penthouse being on the twenty-eighth floor was that this elevator ride took for-fucking-ever, and she was increasingly doubtful they would both make it out alive.

“Have you considered,” she said as flatly as she could manage, “that his distance was intentional?”

His answering silence was somehow worse than his speaking. It was the kind of quiet you felt like the tip of a blade at the back of your neck. Still, she resisted the urge to turn around.

“You haven’t changed a bit, have you?”

She was sure it was just in her head, the way his voice sounded closer. There had been no shuffle of dress shoes on the tiled floor, no warmth at her back, but she could feel it anyway.

Don’t turn around. Don’t give him that.

The elevator bell broke whatever seal that had vacuumed the air from her lungs. She pulled in a breath, forcing her legs into unrushed, even strides through the open door. The clinking of metal on her boots followed her down the short hallway, making it easier to ignore the soft pad of dress shoes trailing behind her.

Jared’s apartment was hard to miss; it was the only entrance on the floor. Dallas reached into the pocket of her leather jacket, fingers closing around the key card the building manager had given her. Despite the rush to get this done, she couldn’t help but pause. She had never seen Jared’s home. She hadn’t spoken to her brother in years, and it was even longer since she’d seen him in person. She didn’t let thoughts of her family bother her anymore—at least that’s what she told herself—but there was a haunted feeling in seeing the place he lived for the first time once he was already dead.

No point in stalling, though. Before Charlie could come to a stop behind her, Dallas swiped the key in front of the sensor and pushed inside.

Jared’s apartment was, unsurprisingly, massive. Floor-to-ceiling windows made up three out of the four walls, with a spiral staircase near the center leading up to a lofted space. The only real blessing was the bare-bones approach to minimalist decor. The place looked barely lived in, like the museum of a home rather than someone’s actual apartment, but that would prove helpful in the unloading process. The less time she had to spend in the same room with Jared’s father, going through her dead brother’s shit, the better.

Charlie wasn’t even supposed to be a part of this. The only reason Dallas bothered flying home in the first place was because she was almost certain that Charlie wouldn’t. He had been overseas on a business trip when the hospital called him, and had so graciously passed along Dallas’s contact information. (She still didn’t know how he got it in the first place, but she made a mental note to change her number the second she landed in Vancouver). Jared was dead before Dallas even got to the airport, and Charlie had surprised her by showing up at the funeral.

Sure, in a perfect world, it wouldn’t be surprising for a father to show up to his only child’s funeral. But the world was a far stretch from perfect, and her family was even further.

And now, despite not helping with any of the arrangements—the cremation, the ceremony cost or the planning—he insisted on helping manage Jared’s estate. Dallas shouldn’t have been surprised.

“It shouldn’t take long,” Charlie commented with the air of someone who knew what the fuck they were talking about. “I can have Miguel arrange the transport of the large furniture pieces tomorrow morning. We’ll take it to the upstate property. It can go in the guest house.”

“What about the furniture that’s already there?” she asked, running her fingertips over a cashmere throw blanket on the back of the couch.

Charlie shrugged. “We’ll throw it out. It’s a few years old, anyway.”

It really should have been none of her business. She shouldn’t waste her time engaging in conversation that wasn’t entirely necessary, but she couldn’t help herself.

“There’s a donation center twenty minutes away. They do their own pickup.”

He wrinkled his nose in a way she really should have seen coming. “So a twenty-five thousand dollar sectional can go to a secondhand store? Seems a bit of a waste.”

She didn’t bother pointing out the hypocrisy. Instead, she rolled her eyes and made her way toward the spiral staircase to check out the bedroom. As she stepped off the last stair, her feet skidded to a halt beneath her, nearly knocking her back down. She grabbed onto the railing to balance herself.

“Holy shit,” she yelped. Because there was a person curled up in the center of Jared’s king size bed. The woman had her back to the doorway, long, red hair strewn behind her like a flood of fire. Her form was still and silent, the only indication of life in the steady rise and fall of her ribs.

“What is it?” Charlie trailed up behind her a few seconds later, more curious than concerned. He came to a stop by her side, taking in the discovery for himself. “Oh.”

Dallas blinked, calling on a distant memory. A piece of mail. A wedding invitation. A flash of bright red hair in a photo with her brother, looking up at her from the trash can before the lid dropped shut.

“Jessica?” she said.

“No,” Charlie said. “Jessica died. Three years ago. I’m glad to see that the therapy I paid for went to good use. He clearly found some… uncreative coping mechanisms.” With more force than necessary, he tapped the leg of the bed with his shoe, jolting the girl. “Alright, sweetheart. Time to get up. Free stay is over.”

The girl startled awake, the line of tension in her back pulling taut like a puppet in strings. She scrambled up and onto her knees, and when she turned to face them, a stunned silence fell over the room. Dallas’s eyes narrowed in on the thin, metal band around her neck.

This girl in her dead brother’s bed was a Companion.

His Companion.

“Jesus, Jared.” The breathy sound Charlie made could only be described as bemused, and it set Dallas’s blood on fire. “That makes more sense, I suppose.”

The girl didn’t say a word, but the panic emanated from her like heat from a furnace. Her eyes—a preternatural green behind copper lashes—were wide and terrified, rimmed in red and puffy from crying. She was wearing one of Jared’s oversized Cornell tees, which draped to the tops of her thighs.

“It’s okay,” Dallas said without really knowing why. She supposed she just wanted to say something—anything—that might take some of the fear out of her expression. “You’re okay. We’re not going to hurt you.”

The girl’s eyes snapped to her when she spoke, but they retreated back to Charlie as she parted her lips, opening and closing them twice before pressing them tightly together.

“Hey,” Dallas said, pulling her focus back to her. It made her stomach turn to say the words, but this was far from the first time Dallas interacted with someone in the system. Unfortunately, she knew how this worked. “It’s alright,” she said. “You can say whatever you want to say.”

She hesitated another couple of seconds before she softly cleared her throat. “You… Jared? You know Jared?” Her voice had a rough, raw edge to it, as if she hadn’t spoken in days.

“He’s my brother.” Dallas caught herself, grinding her teeth. Was my brother, she corrected internally.

“He…” The girl blinked, dazed. “He didn’t come home. He hasn’t… he didn’t…”

“You didn’t call the police?” Charlie snapped. “Or anyone?”

The girl shrank back from his tone. “I’m sorry,” she said. “He doesn’t allow—I… I don’t have a phone. I’m not allowed to leave without him.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Dallas said quickly, stepping between her and Charlie. She shot him a glare he didn’t seem to notice. “But there is something I need to tell you. About Jared.”

****

Dallas sat on the couch across from the red-haired stranger, the quiet heavy between them. The only sound was the faint carry of Charlie’s voice from the loft as he spoke with whatever fucking WRU representative he had on speed dial.

He hadn’t seemed surprised, exactly, to discover an enslaved woman in Jared’s apartment, but he didn’t clearly hadn’t known about it in advance. In all likelihood, he was probably a little bit proud. And Dallas… Well, it was hard to be disappointed in someone for whom your expectations were already below ground level, but some part of her had wanted to hope for more from her brother. They had grown up around Companion workers—in their home, in their parents’ company—and they knew how fucked up the system was. Even if he never admitted as much out loud.

Dallas had been involved in the anti-contract system as a teenager. Never as much as she wanted; a protest here or there, a few letters to congressmen and reposts on social media. She had tried to get a little more into it in college. But since graduating, work kept her busy. And, as ashamed as she was to admit it, moving to Canada had been something of a mute switch for her. The system had been outlawed there for more than a decade, and it was easy to become complacent in a place like that. To pretend it wasn’t happening at all just because it was no longer happening in your own backyard.

This… made her reevaluate that inaction.

The girl was curled into herself, her arms wrapped around her legs in the corner of the sofa. Dallas had found a pair of joggers in Jared’s closet and shed her own leather jacket for her to wear. That particular pairing looked a little strange, but it was better than having her sit half-naked in the living room. In front of Charlie.

“Are you hungry?” Dallas asked, unsure of how to fill the silence. It had been years since she was in the same room as a contracted Companion, but it filled her bloodstream with the same uneasy buzz as she remembered.

She looked up at her, blinking her red, puffy eyes. The answer was apparent in her silence.

“Have you eaten?” Dallas tried carefully. “Since Jared’s been away?”

Her pale fingers tightened in the fabric around her knees. “No, Miss Radley.”

“Dallas, please,” she corrected gently. “Or Dal. Let’s find you something to eat, yeah?”

The girl unfolded herself and trailed softly behind her to the kitchen. She swayed on her feet, leaning one hip subtly against the counter as Dallas scoured the pantry for something more than olive oil and seasoning. She could see her brother never quite got over his tendency to order out for every meal, but at least she was able to scrounge up some bread and peanut butter for a sandwich.

“Am I going to be taken back to the facility?” The question from behind her was so meek, Dallas almost didn’t hear it.

She set the butterknife she had found slowly down on the counter, turning to face her. “I…” She swallowed. “I’m not sure what the plan is right now.”

At that moment, Charlie’s footfalls descended on the stairs. The girl’s posture went rigid.

“Well,” he said, walking over to join them in the open kitchen. “This certainly makes things more interesting.” He spared a glance to the girl, then turned his attention back to Dallas as if she wasn’t in the room at all. “Apparently he has been contracting this girl on a rolling basis for the past two-and-a-half years. They’re only three months into the current six month term.”

The girl’s eyes had found a spot on the countertop and hadn’t deviated since Charlie entered the kitchen. Dallas eyed her dubiously, the sense of dread crawling higher in her throat.

“What is their policy for this kind of circumstance?” Dallas asked.

“They have a couple of options. The first is a mortality clause, where fifty percent of the remaining contract fee can be recouped to the Keeper’s family upon early termination. The second is a transfer of title on her contract for the remaining duration. It only applies to legal or blood relatives and spouses, unless someone else is named in the initial contract. In Jared’s case, there was not.”

And there was the peak of the dread.

Their options were to return this girl to the nearest WRU facility to be abused and assaulted and repurposed for a new sick fuck to take her home, or for one of them to claim her for themselves like a piece of expensive art in someone’s will.

Charlie leveled his charming grin in Dallas’s direction. “I don’t suppose there’s any purpose in asking if your views on the system have changed since last we spoke?”

“Fat fucking chance,” she said. He laughed like she’d said something funny, then trailed his gaze back to the girl, who curled even further into herself.

“What’s your designation, sweetheart?”

Dallas tensed at the prospect of him speaking to her directly, but the girl answered smoothly and immediately.

“Domestic, sir.”

“And how old are you?”

“Twenty-three.”

That may or may not have been bullshit. WRU was known for not being entirely truthful when it came to the matter of age—in either direction, depending on the type of Keeper they were trying to appeal to.

“Have you been in the system a long time?”

There was the slightest pause before she answered this time. “Since I was nineteen,” she said quietly. Dallas’s fingers squeezed down around the handle of the butter knife.

“Hm.” Charlie pushed back from the counter, nodding decisively. “That could work out. Molly’s contract is up in a month, and I wasn’t planning to renew anyway.” He was no longer addressing her directly. “Some overlap could be good. She could show her the ropes. Okay. Yeah. I’ll have Miguel handle the paperwork.”

What happened next was never the plan. Was never even the realm of possibility until she suddenly felt her mouth moving without her permission and heard the words in her voice as if spoken by a stranger.

“I’ll take over her contract.”

Both sets of eyes turned to her, one full of apprehension, the other full of delighted surprise.

“Oh, will you, now?” Charlie lifted an eyebrow, and Dallas swallowed back the urge to fling the butter knife into his jugular.

Instead, she fixed her eyes on his, refusing to back down. “Are you going to fight me on it?”

He held her gaze for a few long seconds, and she was prepared for the likelihood that the answer was yes. It wouldn’t be a hard-won fight, and they both knew it. He was a wealthy, respected regular customer of WRU’s services, and she was an outspoken protestor who lived outside of the legal zone.

But then he broke with a chuckle. “Of course not,” he said. “I’ll even help you with the logistics, if you want. It can be a bit of a headache the first time around.”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“If you insist.” He raised his hands, backing off. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

Let me know if you need any help jumping off a fucking cliff, asshole.

As Charlie walked toward the staircase again, Dallas turned to the woman who would soon become her legal—if temporary—property, desperate to explain herself. But before she could, Charlie called out to her from across the room.

“Dal?” He smiled, his white teeth showing in a viscous smile. “Your mother would be proud.”

#bbu #like bbu adjacent?#Family Line: Dallas & Dylan #whump #whump writing #lady whump #wlw writing #wlw story #sapphic story

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under-and-over-the-moon · 2 years

Text

Debt I | Jisung

Minors DNI/DNF/Do not read!

pairing: Jisung x Reader

word count: 5.1k

genre: friends-to-lovers, fake marriage!au, canal city!au, fluff, angst, (eventual) smut

warnings: some angst, socioeconomic inequality, implied classism and discrimination, awkward social interactions, a brief mention of alcohol, Jisung is kind of perving out but is refusing to acknowledge it, worry, not really much in this chapter

A/N: Welp I guess this is now a series because writing it as a oneshot got too overwhelming

~~~

Jisung stood in front of the altar, fidgeting nervously as he looked past the pews full of faces, their expressions ranging from flat to disdainful, to the heavy wooden doors where you would enter. There was a quiet buzz in the room, covert whispers accompanied by less covert glances, that echoed in the massive space. The story of his own secrets bounced against the countless others already baked into the chapel’s ancient walls.

He was in the oldest and most ornate church in the city, with soaring beams striped in brick red and deep teal, joining together like fingers to hold up the midnight blue ceiling. The colors were mostly muted except for the gold paint that was swiped here and there – gold stars on the ceiling, a lamp, the organ in the corner – but it was restrained, tasteful. A sign of wealth abundant enough that is could be hidden and still felt.

To Jisung, the space felt odd for a ceremony like this. It was more dignified than sacred – almost like an old library, not like the hallowed place where two souls would be tied. There was no intimacy, just the performance of sacrament. But maybe, in this case, that made more sense.

He finally heard a creak, and then he saw a swish of light fabric as you stepped through the doors, your mother and father to your left and right. You were wearing a simple white dress, edged in lace piping that drew lines across your bust and waist. It was the wedding dress typical of people of his circle, not yours, but you hadn’t protested when Jisung had asked you if you would be okay with wearing it. You knew how important it was that you costume was correct for this particular performance. You could return to who you had been before when the spotlight had been turned off.

He couldn’t help but notice, too, as his breath caught in his throat, the way the neckline just skimmed the top of your bust, the soft plain of skin below your collarbones that now glowed in the candlelight.

You adjusted your skirt, and then you glanced up at his for the first time, giving him a small, almost sheepish, smile before you began to step forward. And even from across the room, the lighting insufficient in the way it always was in places like this, regardless of their riches, he clearly read the message in your expression.

Thank you.

And so he smiled back, giving you the smallest of nods.

You’re welcome.

~~~

The reception that followed was dignified, but predictably muted given the circumstances. It was held in his family’s grand blue house on the river, a family heirloom, that would, at some point, be passed down to him. The house was ornate, full of priceless antiques and finely carved oak furniture upholstered with velvet and patterned silks, having been handed down over the generations since the first of his ancestors had moved here centuries ago to trade. The food was rich and delicious, the decorations beautiful, but pointedly minimal. There were vases of tulip on each table, but he couldn’t help but think of the way his mother had flown in thousands, at great cost, in the darkest months of winter for his sister’s wedding. Here, they were a nod to the concept of the celebration, but devoid of all festivity.

Jisung could not wait to leave.

“I have to say, Jisung,” said the man in front of him, his bearded face ruddy with drink, “I was surprised when your mother told me about your marriage…But I suppose love does conquer all.”

He said the last phrase with eyebrows raised, half cheer of support, half mockery. Jisung tried to swallow it back, especially with you here next to him. The sting of it had lessened as the evening had gone on – he had expected this kind of reaction, but it didn’t make it any less pleasant when he had to nod politely, time and time again, as the sentiment was rephrased in one-thousand different ways.

I never thought a family like yours would end up like this but…we can’t control feelings, right?

I was glad to see the ceremony was as I expected, with…everything. Although I’m sure your mother wouldn’t stand for anything else.

How…progressive of you! But perhaps we must change with the times.

Still, he had walked from group to small group, with you beside him, your hand in his, thanking each and every person for their attendance, their support, even as they grimaced, only half-trying to hide it. He always smiled back at you when he said this, trying to convince each person there that this was real, that this truly was a marriage brought in by a tide he couldn’t fight and couldn’t control. And to his dismay, he felt, in how easily his lips spread each time he looked at you, in how the corners didn’t hurt even after hours of smiling at you, that it wasn’t fully a performance.

This time, too, he turned to you, and at your soft smile he again felt the warmth spread from his chest across his cheeks before it cooled, sinking to the bottom of his stomach. He took a swig of his mulled wine, hoping to drown some of his thoughts in the pleasant blur of the alcohol.

“Perhaps it is good, to have more marriages like…this,” continued the man, “I mean maybe not for my own family, but I commend your…originality Jisung. You’ll have children who know both worlds, I suppose.”

Jisung choked on his drink, and you moved your hand to his back, patting swiftly until his breathing returned to normal.

The man in front of you laughed.

“Perhaps too soon to think about that!” he guffawed, “…Although perhaps not. She is older than you, is she not?”

Jisung internally grimaced at the quip, but he was too busy floundering, struggling to find the right thing to say, and the right thing to feel. Of course they would ask about things like this. Babies in this circle were always premium gossip, and the outcomes of this marriage, in particular, would be of interest. He cursed himself for not being more prepared for it.

“She is, but there’s no rush,” he finally said, avoiding your eyes, “We weren’t…planning on children for a couple more years. We just want to…spend time together first, just us.”

His hand was sweaty in yours as he awaited the man’s response, and he felt trapped, embarrassed, which only made the clamminess worse. The pressure to keep your hands together, the performance of your greetings, the importance of the people around you – touching you like this for the first time – it was too much for his frayed nerves, and he found his anxiety seeping out from him. He had always been awkward in these kind of situations, and he knew it. But usually, that didn’t affect anyone except him. His discomfort today had many shades, and he had to make sure only certain ones were visible.

“Fair enough,” said the man, a mischievous glint in his eye, clearly pleased at having thrown you. “Cheers to the happy couple!” he continued, raising his own glass, “I will let you start on that alone time then.”

And with a horrifying wink, he turned, bowing his head slightly before sauntering away. Jisung stood for a second, wanting to evaporate, when your voice pulled him back to reality, back to his body, to your hand in his.

“Can we take a break?” you asked, as soon as the man was out of sight, “I am tired.”

“Of course,” said Jisung, before dropping his voice to a whisper, “Want to go to the balcony? If we go there alone…people will only think that we’re having a moment…and that wouldn’t be the worst.”

You nodded, letting him pull you up the stairs, to the second floor, and then to the balcony.

As soon as you stepped out into the cool evening air, you dropped his hand, waving yours in the air to dry it, before gripping the bannister.

“Sorry…” muttered Jisung, glad that the darkness covered his blush, “I was nervous.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” you replied, turning back to him for a moment to smile at him before facing again towards where the canal emptied into the harbor. Directly across from you were line of houses in every shade, each façade different, some roofs pointed, others sloped. But there were something coordinated in their chaos, like the quaint cottages of story books. The lights from their windows danced in the water, reflecting off the little boats that floated lazily by. It was so pretty and peaceful, but you could still see a grand gray building casting its shadow on the pretty houses surrounding it. A reminder.

You moved your fingers to the corners of your mouth, massaging the muscles.

“God, my face hurts from all that smiling,” you said.

“Mine too,” lied Jisung.

~~~

A little after midnight, the last of the guests left, and Jisung was finally able to breathe. He pulled you to the couch that faced the bay windows, slumping down against the fabric and covertly dropping your hand. His mother, seated across from him, look up from adjusting a vase of tulips on the table in front of her.

“You should get going,” she said, lips tight. The light that had illuminated her expression the whole night was now fully extinguished – she had been putting on a show of her own.

It hurt Jisung a little bit - he had hoped that, beneath her initial protests, she would sink into this new reality, but it seemed she still needed more time. Perhaps it ultimately wouldn’t matter, though, if she grew accustomed to the marriage or not - it did, after all, have an expiration date.

Pushing that thought aside, Jisung just nodded at his mother’s suggestion, and looked to you. You tilted your head slightly, showing that you understood, before turning to Jisung’s mother.

“Thank you, Mrs. Han, for the beautiful reception. It made for a beautiful wedding,” you said.

Not looking away from the tulips, Mrs. Han nodded. With the pleasantries all over, knowing there was nothing warm he could pull from his mother this night, he again clasped your hand, pulling you up from the couch and out the front door, onto the cold street.

~~~

A few minutes later, Jisung stepped out of a cab, once again in the city’s main plaza. It was expansive and ancient, paved will cobblestones around a massive fountain, and ringed with dozens of colorful houses in various shades all smashed together. He looked over to you as you stepped out of the other side of the cab, pulling your coat around you as the wind blew through your flimsy wedding dress. Once you had made eye contact, both of you started walking towards the side of the plaza that backed up against the river. To what now would be your marital home.

It was tall and painted a friendly yellow, piped in white with a curving roof. Another investment property of Jisung’s family. You had been here once before, a few months ago, before you had any idea that it would soon be your home.

Jisung pushed open the heavy wooden door and then led you up to the top floor, his heartbeat picking up as he climbed the steps, his hands just starting to shake. He fumbled with the keys, but if you noticed, you didn’t say anything. As he pushed the door open, he looked back at you expectantly, searching desperately for approval in your face.

“Wow Ji this looks…different,” you gasped.

“Do you like it?” he asked, breathless, watching as you stepped across the threshold.

“Yeah Ji, I…really like it. You did a great job, wow,” you responded.

The warmth rose up from his heart, spreading across his face.

“Oh good, “ he said, “I wanted it to be…comfortable. Or, as comfortable as possible for you.”

As you surveyed the room, Jisung couldn’t help but beam, glad that you were facing away from him so that his joy and relief that you appreciated his efforts could seep out freely.

~~~

As soon as his engagement had been set, Jisung had called his older sister Hyori, figuring she would be the most accepting in your family, the easiest way for him to ease into the announcement. Like everyone else, she was a bit confused by his choice, and the following weeks were filled with discussions on why exactly Jisung wanted to marry you.

At the end of the day, Hyori just wanted him to be happy. So when he had insisted, over and over, that you were the one, and that no one else had ever, or could ever, make him feel as comfortable or as at-home as you did, she had simply sighed, saying, “I’m glad you found that, Ji. Really. But I hope you’re ready to handle not just the pushback from our family, but the differences in your marriage itself. You grew up very differently – she may make you feel at home, but can you make her feel at home?”

In the moment he immediately protested, insisting that of course he knew how to make you comfortable. You were to be his wife, after all. But after his sister left and afternoon softened into evening, the question weighed on him, his confidence fraying at the edges of the lies that he and you had woven together. He mulled over possible solutions for hours after the moon rose, tossing in the sheets that felt too hot despite the chill of night. Finally coming to a solution, he texted his sister just as the sun was rising the following morning, the night never having given him respite from his worries.

A few hours later, following a cold shower to wake himself up, Jisung found himself downtown with his sister, in one of the boutiques that his family frequented to furnish their many city homes and country estates. It was relatively small and filled with only a few items, but each piece of furniture for sale was exquisitely handcrafted and displayed artfully, a half-dozen eager shop attendants at the ready to jump at any question, at any request.

“Mr. Han, Ms. Lee, welcome back!” said a young woman as Jisung stepped forward, inspecting an oak table, “What can I help you find today?”

Jisung turned quickly towards the display, eyes darting from a handcrafted table of petrified wood to a silver angular chair. Everything in the store was simultaneously simple and refined, nothing remotely flashy. Those kind of items – the richly colored rugs, silk throws, intricate woodwork, and priceless art that filled his family’s homes – could not simply be bought. They had to be inherited, or they would be viewed as tacky imitations or desperate grabs at an undeserved antiquity. So stores like these only sold the kind of minimal, artisan goods that would highlight the generational wealth that families already owned, allowing it to shine.

The issue was, though, that this simplicity certainly was not what Jisung was looking for. None of these angular tables or cold stone benches would make you feel safe in your new home, none of it capturing any of the warmth that he knew you would have procured in your own space, not needing to turn your own home into a museum to exalt your own history. So he turned back from display, looking into the expectant, eager eyes of the shop assistant and gently asked:

“I was looking for something maybe a bit…softer? Warmer? Perhaps a bit less…” he gestured towards a steel stool, cold with spindly legs.

“Oh!” said the shopkeeper, and he could almost see the realization dawn on her face, before she nodded, knowing. So, word of his marriage had spread.

“I think, perhaps, if you are looking for those kind of products, there should be a store a few blocks from here, in the basement below one of the markets. Here -”

She grabbed a pen and notepad from the desk next to her, scribbling quickly before tearing off a sheet and handing it to Jisung.

“-is the address,” she said, and then sheepishly added, “It’s where I shop, actually.”

~~~

When he arrived at the address and descended the worn concrete steps into the basement, he could immediately see the poorly hidden distaste on his sister’s face.

The room itself was dingy and dim, lacking any windows to cast light on the gray concrete of the walls. In front of them were rows and rows of beige metal shelves, filled to the brim with every imaginable home good smashed together, like chaotic skyscrapers of rainbow fabric and chipped pottery. Rooster shaped cutting boards were smashed between garish checked quilts, and sequined pillows in every color stuffed in every available space, toppling over onto the floor. There were garden gnomes and plaques for walls all jumbled together, tucked under desk chairs with broken legs. It was filled to the brim with mountains of items made overly whimsical to bring some warmth to the dim, cramped apartments that they would likely inhabit - the complete opposite of the airy, bright, uncluttered space that they had left minutes before.

“You sure this is where you want to shop, Ji?” his sister asked, her eyebrow raised.

His sister was trying to be helpful, and had tried to express her support as much as she could, but he could still hear her true question fluttering just under her words, the truth of her thoughts leaking out.

You sure this is who you want to marry?

He knew where she was coming from - the Hans were one of the oldest and most well regarded families in the city, and so it was expected that he would marry someone who, like him, was born into high society. His sister had done just that, marrying the eldest son of one of the wealthiest family from one of the Southern canal cities. And so things were easy for her – she glided from city to city, but always on the same plane.

In every town, from the northernmost one that he called home, to the those in the balmy south, there were two distinct segments of the population – those whose ancestors had ordered the building of the canals that had raised civilization from the marshes, and those whose ancestors had actually toiled away to build them. And while roles had softened somewhat with modernity, with more opportunities available for those born into the working class, there were still too distinct levels on which people lived. They might meet in the middle during the work day, or for casual acquaintanceships, but the invisible line that divided the two had never crossed with marriage – until Jisung had offered that option to you.

Still though, even with all the messiness built on top of what was functionally a lie, he was sure of his decision. For all you’d done for him, he owed you that. He wanted to give you that.

“I’m sure there are some diamonds in there somewhere,” Jisung said pointedly, “Just might take some…looking.”

Her face softened, and she chuckled, stating, “I know it was just a figure of speech, but I can assure you there is nothing close to a diamond in here.”

She then sighed, placing her hand on his shoulder, and said, half with joy and half with resignation, “You must really love her.”

He gave a quick nod, turning away before his sister could catch anything in his expression. He supposed she was right though - he did love you, in a way.

“Well,” she continued, grabbing at a beat up cart that had been left unceremoniously in the middle of the aisle, the red plastic of the handle dinged and peeling, “Shall we start then?”

~~~

The search for hidden treasure turned out to be exhausting, but not fruitless.

They spent hours together under the flickering fluorescent lights, digging through the shelves and teetering piles like moles, occasionally coming up for air with some random item to ask:

“This?”

“How about this?”

“This one?”

And, after they had made their way through every aisle, no jumbled pile of pots left unturned, they finally succeeded in finding what they wanted – soft knitted blankets in cream and blush, thick quilted pillows, and, to his sister’s dismay, a bright orange fuzzy blanket – just to cover all the bases, Jisung had explained. There were also candles of eucalyptus and evergreen, and sturdy ceramic mugs in various colorful glazes.

Once home, his sister had helped him artfully place his new finds. She nestled the squat mugs next to the crystal wine glasses, the candles next to the antique vases from the 17th century, cream throws draped on his expensive white couch he had bought less than a year ago, barely touching the opulent, ancient rug beneath.

~~~

So to see you now – after your wedding, tentatively step into the space that now reflected you as much as him, a perfect mix of the plush and the restrained, the old and the new – it made him feel a little spark of something. Hope, he assumed.

You reached out your hand allow your fingertips to glide over the heavy gauge of the cream blanket that was folded neatly on the back of his couch.

“Is this new?” you asked, turning back to him with a smile, “I don’t remember any of this stuff. Or did you just have it in some sort of massive, rich person storage unit for when you got married?”

“It’s new,” he confirmed smiling, “I did some shopping with my sister before our wedding. Thought it might be a bit…cozier. I know how weird this is for you, so I wanted to make it feel a little more homey.”

“It’s lovely,” you said, taking a few steps towards him and pulling him into an embrace. You gently squeezed him, whispering in his ear a quiet, genuine, “Thank you,” before stepping back.

You both paused for a moment, letting the silence settle between you. Now that you were alone, you both acutely felt the weight of each of your next moves - your choices during the early hours of your marriage would form the scaffolding of how your next few years would look. You had always been comfortable with one another, but this arrangement had tipped your axis just slightly, forcing you to tread lightly as you readjusted. Careful not to slip.

“Do you mind if I get ready for bed?” you said, taking off your coat and gently draping it on the arm of the couch, “It’s been…a long day.”

As your full figure came into view, casually draped in the wedding dress that you had worn to marry him, his brain temporarily jammed. He had been preparing for this day for months, having discussed the logistics at length with you, and then with his family, and preparing himself for any bump or question. But somehow he was still finding himself tripped up by this simple sheath of white, his brain not quite fully able to grasp at its weight in his life.

“Oh, go ahead,” he said, centering himself again, “I’m sure you want to get some good rest after today.”

“Yeah I can’t wait to be in bed…” you admitted, before continuing, “Can I use your bedroom to change?”

He nodded, eager to make you feel comfortable, to allow you to have your own time after such a long day.

“Yes, I’ll stay in here while you change,” he replied, plunking himself down on the couch, “Your suitcases should already be in there, feel free to unload anything you want into the drawers.”

“Make yourself at home,” he added sheepishly, and you smiled at his earnestness, the edges of your lips turning downwards only slightly at the corniness and strangeness of it all. But still, he caught it, and it stung. But he understood.

“Thanks, Ji,” you said, before turning, gently closing the white doors behind you.

~~~

“I didn’t know you actually used your fireplace, Ji.”

Jisung was hunched over, gently coaxing the fire into being, when he heard your voice. He had found himself restless when you had exited the room, and he was hit with a sudden urge to light a fire. It wasn’t something he usually did, but – he liked the idea of you being welcomed back by a rumbling flames, warming you as they cast the room in a soft glow. Homey, he hoped.

“Oh I uh…yeah sometimes I use it,” he mumbled.

And then when he turned around, he saw -

You were wearing just a typical nightdress, made of gauzy white fabric and trimmed with ribbon. He shouldn’t have been surprised – he knew she had been changing into pajamas – but still he found himself gripping at ground below him for support. He couldn’t help but notice the way the fabric just floated over the curves, barely concealing anything, the fabric made just slightly diaphanous by the flames…

“You good, Ji?” you asked, head slightly cocked to the side, interrupting his thoughts. His palms were sweaty, and he felt a little queasy.

“Yeah it’s just…weird,” he managed to choke out, “Seeing you in pajamas. I’ve only seen you in work or street clothes.”

“Mm,” you said, nodding, settling yourself in the couch “It will certainly take some getting used to. It’ll be weird for me too, if it makes you feel any better.”

He felt his stomach drop just a little. Bad…weird? Or just…weird because it was new?

“…On that note,” he started, composing himself, “You can take the bed. The couch is good for me.”

When your eyebrows immediately knit together with worry, he quickly added, “I sleep like a rock. The couch is perfectly comfortable enough for me, don’t worry.”

But you just slowly shook your head.

“No,” you responded, “We should sleep in the same bed. The more we actually live as if we were a true couple, the less likely it is that we’ll make mistakes. What if your mother comes by and she sees a pillow on the couch? Or only one side of the bed slept in because we were rushed and forgot to cover our tracks? There’s enough eyes on us already, enough doubt.”

Jisung’s heart tumbled a little at the image that flashed through his head at your suggestion. He had never expected that you would suggest that.

“Are you…sure? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, I can really – “

“I won’t be uncomfortable,” you responded definitively, “I trust you, Ji.”

He felt the core of himself warm, and he responded, smiling, “Okay. But only if you’re sure. And you can kick me out at any point, okay?”

You rolled your eyes, but, smiling wide, you beckoned him into the bedroom, “Our wedding night awaits us, husband.”

~~~

In. Out. In. Out.

Your breathing as you slept was like a clock, counting the seconds into his new life.

He had been trying to sleep for hours since you had crawled into bed. While you had fallen asleep almost as quickly as your head hit the pillow, he found himself staring at the ceiling, listening to the gentle sound of water slapping at the sides of the canal and the wind against the glass panes. There was a restlessness in him that he couldn’t calm, his blood feeling like it was pumping twice as fast through his body.

He was probably still keyed up from the day, he told himself. So much performance and stress, feeling like he could expose himself at any moment. The hours and hours of intrusive questions and snide remarks, and then his anxiety about your reaction to your new home. Of course that would make it hard to sleep. Perfectly natural.

But then there it was, flickering at the back of his mind, a discomfort that always popped out in quiet moments like this. An itch almost solid enough to form itself into a question, if he had ever let it. And while before he had never dared to allow that to happen…. with your body next to him, the heat radiating from your skin to his beneath the blanket, the vague discomfort was turning itself into something acute, spiny, digging into his skin. The question forcing itself to be asked.

When he gave you this offer, he had done so as a friend. Simply lending a hand to a dear friend who had helped him so much. Giving you an option that no one else could. It made sense.

But what if…that wasn’t all it was for him?

What if there was something else he was wanting, that at this point, especially with this arrangement, he could never ask for?

In your friendship, you had always been the one that had called the shots – you were older, always direct with him, and he was happy to go along with what you wanted. Easygoing, eager to please.

But things were different now. He wasn’t so naïve as to deny that – even if he hadn’t meant to, he had cast a blanket over you, its weight unknown to him. He knew it changed things. The balance of things wasn’t as it once was.

And then, the tiniest of thoughts popped into his mind, but also the one that pricked the hardest.

What if he hoped, in some twisted corner of himself, that this set-up would change things for you? What if, in some deep, dark part of his being, this wasn’t really for you after all? What if this was just some twisted fantasy that, stuck together for years…that you would see him differently?

He squeezed his eyes together, pulling his hands to his face. No. No. He wouldn’t do that. He would never let himself think like that, be like that. It was just the exhaustion of the day, nothing more. It had to be. His brain was just messing with him.

But, whatever his sins, he knew – from the pounding in his head, the tightening of his heart, the fire in his skin – that he was already being punished for them.

~~~

* Part II Now Available Here *

~~~

Photo by Zoe Schaeffer on Unsplash

~~~

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wheredafandomat · 3 years

Text

Safeword ⛓ P2 ⛓ The Party

Previous chapter

Loki knew what he wanted. Who he wanted. So did she.

After hearing the announcement of the party, the team resumed their usual routines. Grabbing a bottle of water, y/n heard a voice behind her as she felt a hand on the small of her back gently touching her as the person moved passed her.

“I’ll have one too”.

“Please? Loki where are your manners?” Y/n replied jokingly turning around to give him the water.

“Please may I have a bottle of water, I’m feeling rather parched and the sight of the lady in front of me is not helping”.

“Yes” y/n laughed pushing the bottle into Loki’s hand.

Looking up at Loki, y/n felt herself feeling faint. To say that Loki was handsome was an insult. Loki wasn’t just good looking or striking or attractive, he was captivating. His eyes told stories of the centuries he’d seen, the love he had given, lost, the battles he’d fought, the tears he had shed, the devastation he’d caused, the books he had read, the realms he’d seen, the bad places he had been, the good times he’d had and the times where he felt overwhelmingly mad. Y/n knew Loki had a past where he was never understood and how infuriating it must have felt living in Thor’s shadow, but Loki and y/n had an understanding of each other. He’d remind her every time one of them were injured and the other was next to them in the medical wing. He’d stroke her hair and tell her stories. He’d tell her how no one had ever understood him like she had and how no one ever really took the time out to get to know him, Loki, not the God of Mischief or Thor’s brother, Loki, the man who loved reading books, the man who liked to watch the sun set, the man who’d spend hours staring up at the stars connecting the constellations, the man who craved intimacy, to feel appreciated, loved. No one understood him. Not like y/n did.

Tearing her eyes from his, she looked down to see that she was still holding the bottle of water and that his hand was encasing hers. It didn’t feel wrong. It felt right so so right. It felt like fire. Ice. The feeling of his hand over hers made her feel protected, safe. Looking back up at him, her breath hitched seeing his eyes already tearing into hers. She could feel his breath lightly stroking her face as they stared at each other for longer and longer. They were lost in the endless pool of each others eyes. They were trapped in the infinite maze of each others souls and neither of them wanted to escape. They both wanted to be deeper. Further, lost in each other. They wanted to be closer.

Ending the staring, Loki’s eyes flew to her lips before looking back into her eyes. She noticed the break in eye contact and did the same. Leaning closer, their lips were inches apart. So close yet so so far.

CRASH

A loud noise startled the pair as they quickly turned away from each other to the source of the noise. Clearly Sam and Bucky were the culprits as they both speedily walked down the hallway, eyes firmly on the ground. Loki took this opportunity to walk away from y/n, creating some space between the two whilst a flustered y/n tried her hardest to not meet Loki’s gaze.

“Sooo… a party on Saturday” Loki said scratching his head trying to break the silence.

“Yes. One of Starks infamous parties AKA the opportunity to get completely black out drunk and kiss a rich stranger you’ll never see again” y/n replied trying to sound in a jokey mood.

“Do you know what you’ll wear?”

“No idea. You?”

“Well, I heard midgardian men usually wear a suit to events such as these”

“Formal” y/n giggled

“Quite. But considering that the guests will probably be of Starks calibre, I hardly think I’ll be the only man in a suit”

“I look forward to the sight”

“Hmm”

And with that, the two went their separate ways exiting the kitchen.

Finally, Saturday was here!

All week Loki had been asking y/n what she was going to wear to the party. He would watch her like a hawk whenever he’d see her taking a package up to her room. Whenever she’d tie her hair up during training he’d ask her how she was going to do it for the party. Whenever she’d apply lip balm, he’d ask her if she was going to wear makeup. Every time he asked her a question, y/n would reply with the same silencing hand gesture and a it’s a surprise.

Looking into the mirror, y/n was greeted by her gorgeous appearance. Y/N didn’t usually dress up so when she did she’d always outdo herself. She also knew that she had someone in particular she wanted to impress tonight. She wanted to make Loki stop in his tracks and have his eyes scan over her form like she was the only woman at the party. Like she was the only woman he’d ever known. She wanted Loki to not be able to keep his hands off her her. She wanted to feel him kiss her as they swayed on the dance floor . She wanted to feel him.

Stepping into the party, Loki instantly began searching the crowd for her. He was excited. Generally excited. His eyes wondered over the crowd until they stopped at her. She looked utterly breathtaking. Her hair was out but slicked back completely revealing the entirety of her face. Her cheekbones, her eyes, her lips. Setting his gaze lower, he saw her dress. She wore a deep neck mermaid dress adorned in red lace. Her heels matched the colour of the dress and they made her legs look never ending. Sexy yes. Beautiful yes. Gorgeous of course.

Walking towards her, Loki took her hand in his. After kissing each of her knuckles he looked her up and down again and spoke.

“You look heavenly”

“You don’t look half bad yourself trickster god” y/n laughed giving Loki a twirl. That’s when he noticed that her dress was also backless. What he would give to have her bare skin against his right now.

“Oh this old thing, just a suit I save for special occasions” Loki sarcastically huffed actually trying to calm himself down.

“A Gucci suit being referred to a ‘this old thing’ well that’s new, never heard that before” she replied smiling whilst smoothing her hands over his sides.

Looking back up at him, they both found themselves back in the same situation they were in the other day in the kitchen. Eyes not wanting to leave each other’s. Heart rates increasing. Space between them getting smaller. Sparks. Until they were interrupted by a clearly drunk Tony Stark making an announcement.

“Y/n, y/n, this next songs for you. I remember that day we were doing karaoke and your face lit up as soon as you heard the first 7 seconds of this song. Without further ado, let’s bless the rains down in Africa”

With that cue, the song started playing.

Breaking the eye contact with Loki, y/n immediately broke out with a grin as she hummed along with the initial beat of the song.

“This song Loki. THIS SONG IS MY SONG” she said excitedly as she grabbed his arm to take him to the main dance floor.

I hear the drums echoing tonight, but she hears only whispers of some quiet conversation

“Loki come on sway with me” she shouted over the music taking Loki’s hands in hers and placing them on her hips.

She's coming in, 12:30 flight. The moonlit wings reflect the stars that guide me towards salvation

As soon as his hands were on her hips, Loki felt at ease.

I stopped an old man along the way, hoping to find some old forgotten words or ancient melodies

Watching y/n sing happily to the song as they swayed together, Loki felt a smile tugging at his lips.

He turned to me as if to say

Watching Loki smiling as he held her and swayed, y/n felt compelled to completely scream the next line.

“Hurry boy, it’s waiting there for you”

And with that, Loki’s lips were on y/n’s.

A/N: Did we like? Do we want another part? Did we like the use of the song? Lmk what your thoughts are thank thank youuuu for readingggg 🖤🖤🖤

BLACK SUIT LOKI FOR THE WIN

#tom hiddleston #hiddlestoners #tom hiddelston loki #loki x reader smut #loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki layfeyson imagine #loki #loki (marvel)#loki odinson #loki lafeyson #loki fluff #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #mcu loki

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ddarker-dreams · 3 years

Text

Contractual Obligations II. Yan Childe x Reader

Warnings: Unwanted physical contact, general yandere themes. Word count: 2.2k. →Part I.

The sound of heavy, wooden doors shutting behind you feels like a premonition of what is to come.

Fiddling with your skirt, your eyes dart around, taking in Liyue’s signature rich architecture. Fatui building or not, they still must abide by Liyue’s aesthetic. You thought being surrounded by your home’s design would bring solace. Warm shades of mahogany with gold motifs are illuminated by paper lanterns, giving a glow that would be otherwise pleasant, if not for the circumstances.

You had anticipated a long wait. Ekaterina, upon hearing your name, informed that you would be seen without delay. The others in the lobby of Northland Bank grumbled at this, much to your embarrassment. It’s no secret that getting appointments here is a time-consuming endeavor. Sailors, business owners, and Qixing’s personal assistants alike had to wait.

For whatever reason, you were allowed to skip ahead of the queue. The glaring special treatment is bound to spread rumors. Now, here you stand, unable to quell your nerves. This is no different than strolling into a ravenous lion’s den. The vulnerability you feel now makes you wish you were facing a carnivorous beast, at least then you might have hope to defend yourself.

Even with the unexpected privilege of not waiting in the lobby, you’ve been standing here in this private room for a while now. Thirty minutes is your guess, impatience creeping up on you. Your shoulders slump, a sigh leaving your lips. There’s lots of work to be done when you’re done here, time a precious resource. Wasting it to get answers from the blight on your life is infuriating.

Figures, the one time you need to speak with Childe, he’s nowhere to be seen. Every other time he’d show up at the least opportune moments. He has a habit of appearing uninvited and ruining what would’ve been a pleasant day. Lost in thought, you consider all that must be done when you return to your parent’s shop, too occupied with your thoughts to notice a looming figure. Two hands go out to cover your eyes, the world suddenly going dark. Heart pounding against your chest, the touch is too unexpected, heat rising in your body as protection.

“Guess who?” Childe hums into your ear with a singsong tone. His scent reminds you of the ocean, fresh and light.

You frown, noticing how close he is to you, his chest pressed against your back. Does Childe not know what personal space is? “The source of my problems.”

He lets out a scandalized gasp and slinks in front of you. Childe boasts a lighthearted demeanor, mirth dancing in his eyes, and a tight-lipped smile on his face. Inauthentic as ever, you note. You’ve seen what lays dormant behind the thin veil of boyish charm. The infinite darkness that you never wish to see again. He’s still closer to your person than you’d prefer, but pointing it out won’t do any good, so you decide to overlook it. Picking your battles wisely is vital when speaking with Childe.

“Is that the greeting I get, after rushing all the way here?” Childe sighs. Before you could respond, you notice a new scent in the air, unmistakably leather. It takes you a moment to identify the source. A thin, wispy trail of smoke rises from Childe’s leather gloves that had been touching you just prior. Does that not hurt? Childe catches you staring and laughs.

“So you didn’t notice,” Childe sounds amused, lifting his hands to inspect them. Raising his hands to his mouth, he bites the tip of his gloves and pulls them off. “Looks like I caught you.”

He nods to your necklace which is tucked beneath your blouse, scarlet light shining through the fabric. Instinctually, you cover it with your hand, the jewel warm to the touch. Childe’s abrupt physical touch had activated your Vision. It’s only when you take a few deep breaths that the telling glow fades away, but the damage is already done. Did he plan this on purpose? Whatever the case may be, Childe is the last person you want having this information.

Sensing your apprehension, he speaks up. “Relax, I already assumed as much, but my interest is undeniably piqued. Why hide your Vision? This isn’t Inazuma, I was under the impression Visions were revered in Liyue.”

You don’t owe Childe an explanation, but your intuition tells you he’s not going to let this go anytime soon. This isn’t what you came here for, you remind yourself. Don’t let him distract you.

“It’s a long story,” comes your dismissive answer, glancing around to see if anyone else had seen, even though it’s only you two in here. “Can I talk about what I came here for, please?”

Childe closes his eyes, humming while considering your proposition. Instead of walking behind the desk in the room, he sits on a bench against the wall, motioning for you to come over. At your blatant hesitation, he decides to pester you, which doesn’t come as a shock.

“What’s up with that look? There’s plenty of room,” Childe pats the spot next to him for extra emphasis. A dangerous twinkle shines in his eyes with a mischievous smile to match it. “Though, I wouldn’t complain should you come to sit on my lap instead.”

Your cheeks flush brightly, a weak glare being sent his way which he laughs at. “I would never…”

“Sure, sure. Come over already, it’s the least you could do, considering you just scorched a pair of my favorite gloves.” Childe’s carefree tone doesn’t match his scolding words, stretching out his arm on the back of where you were supposed to sit. Gingerly stepping over the smoking gloves on the floor, you wonder if it’s somehow a fire hazard, but assume Childe’s Hydro Vision could put it out if need be. You stop just short of sitting down, gnawing on your bottom lip at this new internal dilemma. Glaring daggers at his outstretched arm doesn’t seem to faze him.

“The offer still stands.” He teases, leading you to huff and take your seat by him. You try to ignore the close physical proximity, but it’s rather difficult, as your thighs are touching. Is this a common theme for Snezhnayans? Why is Childe so needlessly touchy? Maybe you don’t want to know. Childe drums his fingers, staring at you with dangerous intent.

You’ve wasted enough time here. Hoping to move on to the pressing issue, your lips part without further delay. “So, as I was--”

Childe places a finger to your lips, in an act that leaves you speechless. What is his problem? Furrowing your eyebrows together, you have half a mind to scorch the finger in front of you, but dismiss the thought when remembering his strength. Damn him for getting you riled up with such ease.

“Uh uh uh,” Childe chastises with a shake of his head. “Not yet. Business can come later. First, you’re going to tell me about that.”

You don’t need to look down to see he’s pointing at your hidden necklace. “It’s... personal. I have no reason to tell you.”

“Oh, sweet [First]. I wasn’t asking. You did just burn my gloves, didn’t you? Instead of charging you Mora, which -- no offense -- you don’t have enough of to replace it, I want an explanation. I think that’s a fair deal.”

So he is going to hold that mishap over you. Messing around with a debt collector and money seems counterintuitive, giving a quick explanation the plausible option. Whatever it takes to get him to drop the sensitive topic. Childe must have a semblance of tact to have made it this far in life after all.

“Fine, fine. It’s not really that remarkable a reason. I have a younger sister, Chunghua. We used to be inseparable as kids. More than anything, I just wanted her to be happy. You’d do anything to accomplish that, y’know? It was… all my fault, really. She wanted a Vision like mine more than anything -- hair accessories, Mora, pretty outfits -- she never cared for that.

I had no idea why I was given a Vision and not her. She was the one who prayed to every Archon at night for it, the one who burnt incense and gave offerings, not me. I could see her gradually losing hope every day that she woke up without one, like a piece of her was breaking off. At meals, she’d just… stare, silently, at the Vision around my neck. I don’t blame her for starting to hate me. I didn’t notice until it was too late.”

Taking a deep breath, your eyes fall to your lap. “I only wanted to cheer her up. To see her smile like she used to. When I first got my Vision, Chunghua would ask me to do these little tricks. Forming animals or whatever, stuff kids like. Anyways… I tried doing it again one morning. Needless to say, it didn’t go well, she practically screeched at me. I had no idea that was how she felt. But, yeah. That’s why I hide my Vision. See, not that interesting, right?”

Childe’s expression feels impossible to read. You’re not sure why you even shared so much, especially with him, but his lack of interruption made you keep going. Maybe you weren’t expecting him to sit perfectly still and listen to every word. Whatever the case, you clear your throat, desperate to clear the gloomy atmosphere.

“She would’ve reacted the same eventually,” Childe says after a moment of deliberation. You tilt your head, the serious answer was unexpected. “That’s what I think, though only older siblings could understand.”

There’s a brief tenderness in his words that leaves you speechless. If he’s acting, you have to commend his abilities, because right now it almost feels like he’s being genuine. Playing with a strand of your hair, you look past him and clear your throat.

“Yes, well, I suppose you’re right.”

Childe’s somber appearance twists into a more impish visage. “Why don’t I give Chunghua a talking to? It’s a shame seeing your cute face so sullen.”

Mortified, you shake your head. “There’s no need for that.”

“Hmm… a shame. I could really take care of everything if you just let me.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” you shrug with a frown. “What you could help me with is this ridiculous situation at the shop! Why are there Fatui guards outside the front doors? It’s scaring away customers.”

“Oh, that’s what this is about?”

Unbelievable. Childe continues to test your patience at every turn. After your previous conversation outside Liyue, which you’re still hoping was a bad joke, you’d noticed an increased presence of Fatui around the shopping district. That was bad enough for business. Now that they’re stationed right outside your parent’s shop, it’s far worse. Rumors have begun to circulate that you’re somehow involved with the Fatui. This has Childe’s doing written all over it.

“Why else would I be here?”

He smiles and you immediately regret the rhetorical question. “Because you missed me, of course.”

“I missed when there weren’t Fatui around the shop. Please, I don’t know what you did, but it’s going to be harder to get money for...” you gulp as if saying it cements the reality of your situation, but power through. “Paying off the loan with this drop in revenue.”

“Tempting as that is, I’m already happy with the results. I got you to come to me and learned more about you. From my position, this is a sizeable gain.”

Everything from your head to your toes feels hot as if molten lava is stirring inside. He’s not taking you seriously, like the time at the stream and all the times before that. Memories flash in your mind. Your father hunched over letters containing bills, frowning, hair going greyer by the day. Your mother, sneaking out when she thinks you and your sister are asleep to pawn off her old jewelry. Even Chunghua, who offered to take time away from her education to help at the shop. It hits you like a pile of bricks, heart twisting painfully and tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

“What do I have to do,” Your voice is so low that Childe has to careen his head to hear it. He blinks, incredulous, waiting for further clarification. Each breath you take feels like a losing battle, your composure threatening to shatter. “For you to stop… whatever this is. I’ll do anything. Give anything. Please, just leave my family out of it.”

Childe crosses his legs and leans in closer to you, arm secured tight around your shoulder.

“Didn’t I tell you already?”

His breath is warm against you, lips ghosting over the skin of your neck. He presses his lips softly against your pulse. Smiling, he notices how it quickens underneath his touch, all too pleased with your physical reactions.

“That what I want to take is you.”

#childe #childe x reader #yandere childe x reader #yandere x reader #yandere #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact imagine #childe genshin impact #tartaglia #tartaglia x reader #my stuff

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jangofctts · 3 years

Text

Bloodsport (din djarin x fem!reader) (part one)

rated: 18+

word count: 5.4k

warnings: smut, knife kink (no blood is drawn and consent is clearly given), blowjobs, vaginal fingering, din is sorta a virg duDE, alcohol, mentions of violence (reader punches someone in the face kwejrkejh), some gambling (sabaac) also please let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: oOf this is the first fic in sO LONG IM SO SORRY YALL KEHJRKEJH BUT ANYWAYS I HOPE YOU ENJOY

It’s been a couple months since Din’s stepped foot on the sandy nightmare of a planet. Went through hell and back and kriff—it feels like a lifetime ago. But the landscape before him hasn’t changed an inch, Mos Eisley same as always—busy with all sorts of scum and villainy he turns a blind eye to.

Din hopes it’s not the only thing that’s stayed the same—selfish as it is. Someone as volatile as you is bound to catalyze and shift, so is the nature of life. A lot can happen in a month or two and it’s ridiculous to think that you would ever push your life to the side and wait for him to return.

Turns out, you are here, still working as the resident mechanic. Though in the same elated breath of hearing that tidbit of news, it’s equally dissatisfying when he somehow misses you completely. You’re off planet, looking for power converters and electrical wiring—back in few days Peli promises. Maybe by the time his wild goose chase is over, back from the butt fuck middle of nowhere, he’ll get to see you—

Nothing goes as planned—naturally. All Din finds is a man playing dress up, an oversized lizard, planetary drama he’s forced to resolve and—to top it all off—an attempted stickup. Maker—he’s not even worried about anything save for the kid and your speeder. The very same one now scattered over the sand in miserable heaps.

At least some of it is salvageable…

By the time Din reaches the outskirts of Mos Eisley, the binary suns are smearing across the horizon like molten puddles of magma. Deep aches amass in his shoulders and back from the weight of the speeder parts, his gear, and the second pair of armor. Maker—it feels like his arms are going to be ripped off.

The baby babbles something incomprehensible.

“Almost there, kid,” Din responds, sparing a quick glance down the baby. “How does soup sound?”

Instead of trudging back to the hangar, Din wanders to the cantina. Call it a hunch or just you and your aunt’s tendency to lurk around the premises, he’s certain he’s going to find one of you here.

Din is right.

The moment he steps inside, he spots your mess of hair, the low solar lights illuminating the rich colors with a soft orange. The baby coos and blinks up at Din, his tiny clawed finger gesturing in your direction.

Din hums. “Good job—you found her.”

The child’s little teeth peek out, pleased with his discovery. Din steps into the doorway, down the carven stairs and over to your table. A older man—a ship rigger by the looks of his uniform—sits across from you, a game of Sabaac spread across the table between you. You’re winning.

“Hello, Shiny.” You greet, dipping your chin in his direction. “Your armor is looking a tad ripe.”

It’s true. The layer of slime coating his armor had baked and crusted under the suns—probably doesn’t smell too good either…

“I killed a Krayt dragon.” Din states it with a twinge of smug satisfaction despite knowing how little something like that would mean to you. He could conquer three dozen planets and shower you in all the precious metals in the world and you’d still turn your nose up at everything.

“And I curb stomped a centipede today—you aren’t special.” Your eyes never leave the set of worn cards you hold between your fingers, acutely ignoring him like you would an overly enthusiastic puppy. You inhale and scrape your right thumbnail along the edge of the hexagonal cardstock—it’s a subtle tell, one Din would more than likely miss if he were the unlucky bastard brave enough to sit at the other end of the table.

“You playin’ or what?” Your opponent gripes. He scratches his unkempt salt and pepper stubble and quirks a furry brow.

You lift your chin in scorned defiance and lay your hand down—full Sabaac. The man hisses through his crooked, clenched teeth and utters a curse as he shoves his winnings towards your end of the table.

“Peli promised me information.” Din pushes, hearing the kid coo in curiosity as you begin shuffling the cards with practiced flare. “About others like me.”

“Do I look like my aunt to you?” You grumble. It’s the first time your eyes leave the perimeter of the game to look at him. They settle on the kid first with a guarded version of compassion, then leap to the faded green armor clipped to the heavy luggage, and then his visor. Your lip twitches at the green slime still coating the beskar. “I’m assuming my speeder didn’t make it.”

“A technical difficulty.”

You roll your eyes and snort, dealing out the cards then setting the stack in the middle. “Right…”

The background ambiance of the bar and the quiet rasp of cards fill the brief lull in conversation. Any other rational person would take the blaring hint to leave, but Din is just as stubborn as you are.

“I don’t remember where the hangar is,” Din lies, cocking his head to the side in mock innocence, “could you show me?”

The tip of your tongue peaks out of the corner of your mouth. The unconscious tic is not one of irritation—not yet. Though before you’re able to respond, your opponent beats you to it.

“Yeah—I know where it is. It’s between fuck off and take a hike.”

Din turns his head, the cool, even tone of his words sharper than shrapnel as he address the man. “I was speaking to her.”

This is funny to you Din realizes—one of the tiny mysteries of your entirety clicking into the place of the puzzle map he’s conjured for you.

“Well, I don’t have the time of day for cowards who wear shiny buckets over their head.” The man gripes into his drink, dark eyes flicking over to Din as he sizes him up. “What’s a Mandalorian doing out here anyway? Thought your planet exploded or something.”

The man’s ignorance irks him—sure. How could it not? But with years of harsh words and jabs at the foundation of Din’s very being, he’s learned to adapt. It’ll always sting no matter how many layers of beskar he wears but you on the other hand…

Your eyes spark, molten and bright like the last solar flare on the surface of a decaying star. Each encounter Din’s had with you, he’s bared witness to the deep well of your anger that fuels your being like the auto-mechanical heart of a droid. He’s felt the bite of your rage firsthand, but this anger—this is the tragedy of the delicate mayfly wings trapped between the black teeth of misfortune—the story of the boy who rammed a spear into the flank of an ancient beast that bites before it barks and gnashes its yellowed teeth in warning.

Din’s hand inches towards his blaster. He’s not willing to weigh the safety of the kid against your rash decisions, despite it being on his behalf.

Though, just as quick as it appears, it recedes like the cool drawback of a tumultuous ocean. Din’s arm relaxes at his side as you release a puff of air.

Your scuffed up fingers, stained with years of engine grease, scars and dirt, curl around your half finished drink. You stand, lay your cards face down onto the table and flash the stranger a feral grin.

Without a word, you toss your drink directly into the man’s unsuspecting eyes. In another breath, the pointed edges of your knuckles fly forward and hook beneath the point of his chin with a meaty thunk. The man’s head whips backwards and connects with the gravely wall—

Out like a light.

Jaw clenched tight, you shake out your bleeding knuckles and gather up the strewn credits over the table. You shove them into the pockets of your jacket and side eye Din. “Restitutions for damages,” you mutter.

The other patrons keep their eyes to themselves as the three of you hurry out the door. Only an apathetic glance from the bar tender serves as proof that something did, in fact, occur. No one wants to dirty their nose sniffing about where they shouldn’t be when they have their own business to safeguard.

The crisp night air rustles the stray strands of hair that escape from your ponytail. Ghostly moonlight carves the shape of your cheeks into an almost ethereal sight—one of those deep space creatures with pointy teeth and hellfire for eyes. Stuff of legends you’d never think to look in a dingy bar for.

But he knows—Din knows that cool mask is just a front from what you hide. It is a hungry ghost that hounds your thin stretched shadow—what ifs and the glories of war you never really escaped. You forget that you are flesh and blood and ghosts are only air and echoes, nothing more.

Din is sharp edged steel. A stray fragment of a shattered mirror, the lacerated reflection of a nameless purpose and a faceless existence. He’s torn edges and cracked glass but his heart beats within his chest with the blood of a thousand suns. Two souls under the umbrella of the word damaged but entirely different in nature.

“No one—“ you growl, your voice a steady and lethal timbre that terrifies a part of Din’s unconsciousness, “—speaks that way to my friends.”

Touching.

“Don’t look at me like that, Creature,” you huff, staring down at the child who gurgles in return. “He deserved it—“

The reunion certainly wasn’t the one Din imagined, though it’s a relief to find that there’s no roughened edge like sandpaper over skin wedged between you. Picked up right where you left off—no questions asked and no inglorious retelling of how Din nearly died on the floor of a shitty cantina. There’s not a doubt in his mind that you'd laugh at him for it—it is sorta funny…

The rest of the evening is spent walking back to the hangar, arguing over the fact that yes Din should take the couch instead of that miserable little hovel he calls a bed, and spend the night. He’d have to find some other mechanic to work through the night if he wanted to leave in the morning, because you certainly did not want to volunteer for that. And so—Din reluctantly takes the couch and agrees to let you tackle the monstrosity of fixing up his ship for tomorrow.

He has to admit…the couch is a bit smaller than the length of his body, but it’s comfortable…maybe he’d buy a better blanket while he was here. As a treat.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

You purse your lips and whistle. “I swear each time I see it, it gets worse. Y’know, I know a couple guys selling—“

“Can you fix it?”

You fold your arms over your chest and roll your eyes.“Yeah I can fix it, jeez—no need to get your undies in a twist.”

You try not to take offense, because hey—you’re offering him the info on the good deals on new ships (and at this point anything would be better than this old rust bucket). But if Din doesn’t want anything to do with that, then whatever. His loss.

When you wander onto the ship, toolbox in hand, the Mandalorian tags along. Unsure if he doesn’t trust you with his things or just wants to hang out, it blankets the space with an air of uncertainty. Turns out it was neither of those guesses. All he does is throw open his stash of weapons, collect his pile of vibroknives, and set them on a table to polish and sharpen.

Makes sense, you suppose. Everything has to be as shiny as his armor.

You drop to your knees near the closest wiring panel you find. You wrench open the paneling and frown at the disarray of sparking wires and tangled cords. You organized these perfectly last time he was here. “Who the fuck junked up my rigging?”

Mando sits at the little table tucked away in the corner, brooding over his cache of weapons. He shrugs. “Could’ve come loose when I landed.”

You roll your eyes at his half assed excuse and mutter a foul string of curses under your breath that’d make even Peli wince. It’s fine. It’s cool—no biggie. You can sort through this in a couple hours, maybe three.

But of course rarely anything goes as planned. As time ticks away, arms deep in wires older than the kriffing Clone Wars, the distractions begin. The scrape of metal on durasteel makes the hair rise into little pricks all up your arms—you shoot a glare over your shoulder. Din tilts his head, your kneeling self reflecting within the ever dark visor, features scrunched into an obvious tell of annoyance. Huffing, you bury your head back into your task at hand.

The second distraction arrives in the form of a quiet hum of curiosity originating from the Mandalorian. Out of the corner of your eye you see him bring a vibroblade up to his visor, inspecting the notch in the blade that disrupts the electrical current that flows through the weapon. Din then rubs his thumb over the handle of the vibroblade in a slow, sensual circle. You lick your lips and tear your eyes away. That shouldn’t be hot.

You furrow your brows and tear apart another wire, but the metallic tap, tap, tap of Din bouncing the tip of a different blade over the table is bothersome. You swing your head to your left, mouth parting to snap at him, but his hand—sans glove—brings you to a halting stop.

It’s alluring, the way his long, weathered fingers twirl the knife with practiced ease—like silk through water and followed by the low hum of electricity meant to slice through flesh. Din tosses it in the air, watching it spin three rotations then catches it by the handle. Your lips purse when his visor meets your eyes. He spins it between his fingers.

“Am I bothering you?”

Fucker.

You scowl. “It’s fine.”

The soft rasp of his thumb sliding along the flat of the blade entices the eye and damnit—he’s doing this on purpose.

“Doesn’t seem fine,” he hums.

“Well, it is.” You retort hotly. You snatch up your pliers and imagine you’re pulling his teeth out in place of the crooked paneling. “I’m currently thriving in my element.”

Din hums, the sound buzzing with grainy distortion. “Do you want a closer look?”

You chew your bottom lip. He’s playing with an open flame and you with volatile jet fuel.

“I don’t know, seems kinda lame from here.” You scoff, busying yourself by pinching and twisting another set of frayed wires between your fingertips. “A toothpick if anything.”

Din snorts behind you. The deadly whisper of beskar against the durasteel tabletop makes the hair on the back of your neck prick into points. You tense as heavy boots shuffle along the floor, the near silent rustle of armor tinkling behind you as Din steps closer. You’re slow to stand, even though the presence of the Mandalorian is no less than overbearing. You wipe your grimy hands onto a spare rag, continuing to face the paneling. You then turn, a coy smile threatening to break across your face.

Stars Din is broad—and close enough you swear you’re able to see the perspiration of your breath fog the beskar plating. Your eyes follow the seams of the cuirass, across the leather bandolier and up to his helmet that’s fixed in an impassive glare of tempered steel. Your back bumps into the wall as Din takes another step forward, boxing you in. To escape you’d need to duck under his arm and yet…you refuse to move.

Your breath catches as he languidly lifts his hand and taps the flat side of the vibroblade over your collarbone. The sharpened point tickles up the column of your throat, a crackle of nerves and your pounding pulse following in its wake. Din turns the blade to flat edge and pushes into the space right below your jaw—you squirm when he chuckles, the sound low and deep.

“You like this…”

Din grunts as your hand reaches between his legs, squeezing the growing hardness there. “So do you.”

Din circles his hand around your wrist with his free palm. Moons above his hands are warm. He murmurs your name—you shiver. “Tell me you want this—want me.”

A blush, hotter than the surface of Tatooine in the midday sun, rushes up your neck and pools into the apples of your cheeks. Maker you want him. With a shuddering sigh you nod—braving the scathing shrapnel of vulnerability. “I need you, Din—please.”

A low chuckle rumbles through Din’s chest. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard you say please before.”

Din drops his hold on your wrist as you roll your eyes. “Shut up, Bucket Head.”

The Mandalorian snorts and dips his head—gesturing towards the blade still lightly pressed against the base of your throat. “This ok too, Skitter?”

You flash him a wolfish grin. “Gonna fuck me with it?”

Din swears under his breath, crowding his body closer to yours. You hear his strained sigh as he dips his head closer, the beskar a chilly whisper against your cheek. “You’re depraved…take off your pants.”

You smirk, tear off your belt and shimmy out of your pants and underwear, bottom half now bare. His visor dips, entranced.

Your heart leaps into your throat, your pulse roaring in your ears as he settles one of his bare hands over the swell of your hip while the other trails the blunt edge of the handle from your clothes collarbone, and down your belly. From your mid thigh he skates the handle up your bare thigh and then rests it over the crack of your thigh. Heat flushes through your entire body, a stark contrast to the cool metal of the handle. A shiver races down each vertebrae when he drags it over the swell of your cunt and then carefully pressing it against your clit. You gasp and arch into the light touch, your thighs involuntarily jerking as he increases the pressure. It’s cold, rigid and filthy. Who knows where that knife has been—how many lives it’s taken or severed through muscle and skin.

You don’t find it in you to care all that much.

He trades his hold on your hip to slide his hand into your shirt, palming and kneading your breast through your bra as you roll and whine against his fingers. The tight circles he's drawing over your clit burns through your abdomen, drags you closer to the precipice that you’re all ready so close to. Fuck—it’s been so long since you’ve indulged in this sort of pleasure.You whine his name as wicked heat licking up your body and spreading to each limb. You arch into him, the handle of his knife slipping through your folds as arousal drips from your cunt.

Your groan as you tilt your hips into the handle, craving any lick of pleasure he’ll give. Your breath hitches as Din pushes the hilt closer to your throwing entrance, murmuring praise as he sinks the first couple inches inside of you. It’s cold—the knobby feel of the handle not too much thicker than one or two of your fingers combines. You huff and grab at his cowl, the warmth of his hand grazing your pussy each time he rocks his wrist forward.

“You’re so quiet,” Din goads, pulling the handle free from your aching center. “You usually have plenty to say.”

You shoot Din a glare, tongue weighed down by arousal to come up with a god retort. You lean your head back against the wall of the Crest and with a chuckle, Din’s hand leaves your shirt to pull you against his chest, the vocoder rumbling against your ear. The blade clatters to the floor and instead brings his calloused fingertips to your cunt. He softly rolls your swollen clit between his forefinger and thumb, delighting in the way you shake. “Be a good little thing and cum for me.”

Shit, you didn’t think it’d be that easy. Your body seizes as white hot heat ripples through your core. Stars, brighter than a dying sun burst behind your eyes, a high pitched cry filtering past your lips as shake and fall apart in his arms, your cunt clenching tight around the thick fingers he slips inside of you.

You whine as he pulls out, little aftershocks of pleasure wracking through your body in wake of your euphoric high. You groan as he lifts your head and pushes his digits, coated in your juices into your mouth. You lick them clean, tasting the tang of your own arousal and the salt on his skin. “Fuck—that was good.”

You can only imagine that Din rolls his eyes. He takes a step back but before he can escape—

You drop to your knees, a wicked smile curling over your lips. The muscles in his thighs jump as your palms smooth over the outsides of them, then up to his narrow hips, your thumbs lightly massaging the ligaments that protects the fragile joints. Din sucks in a sharp breath when your fingertips hook around his trousers.

“What are you doing?” Din asks, brushing a thumb over your jaw.

You pause and glance up at him. You quirk a brow. “Was gonna suck you off, but if you have something else in mind…“ He hisses and tips his head back, flashing the underside of his chin as your hand leaves his hip to cup the heavy bulge tenting in his trousers.

“Maker—“ He looks off to the side, inhales a choppy breath and then snaps his head back. “You’d…you’d do that?”

You nod and flash him an encouraging half grin. “Wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to.”

Din mumbles an incoherent string of words under his breath and shifts his weight onto his right leg. His fingers touch your cheek again then tuck a loose hair behind your ear. “But—“

Moons above this man is straight out of some kind of fucking fairytale—arguing about getting his dick sucked—or not.

Whatever.

“Din…” His breath hitches at the sound of his name. “I’m asking you kindly to fuck my mouth—it’s cool if you don’t wanna, but my knees already kriffing hurt and—“

He cuts you off with a hasty nod. “Yes—stars, please.”

Fuck yeah.

You smile and slide your eyes past Din’s legs to the cargo crate shoved up against the wall. “You should sit—easier that way.”

He nods and shuffles over, lightly perching himself on the edge and ready to flee at the barest hint of well—anything.

Din’s knee jumps when you place your palm over it. You assume his nerves are from the nature of his occupation—trouble always strikes when you least expect it—and what better time would that be when his pants are around his ankles. “Relax—I’m not gonna bite—maybe.”

He makes a wary sound low in his throat as your fingertips hook into the waistband of his trousers and pull. Din lifts up as you tug the fabric further down his legs, tan skin and solid muscle following in its wake. Fuck…

You swallow, mouth feeling quite dry when your eyes drift between his legs. Din is thick, a rosy brown color, flushed at the tip and curling towards his bellybutton. Beads of liquid shine at the tip, dribbling down the underside and pooling into the dark patch of curls at the base. Din’s fingers hook over the side of the crate, squirming under the weight of your stare.

Yeah—that’s gonna leave your jaw aching.

You hear his breath hitch, magnified by the crackle of the vocoder as your lips descend over a silvery scar on the inside of his right knee. You pepper a trail of wet kisses and light nips up his thighs, and by the time you reach the crease of his leg, his hips mindlessly rock with need.

The second the wet warmth of your tongue brushes over the tip of his cock, his hips jolt off the crate, a load groan echoing through the empty ship. It’s like striking a match to an open line of kerosene—devouring and explosive that’ll leave your delicate skin singed. You’re not nervous playing with fire if this barest scrap of wild heat is anything like burning to a crisp.

Emboldened by his initial reaction, you wrap your hand around the base, pulsing and achingly hard beneath the velvety flesh. You flatten your tongue over the tip, lapping up the sticky liquid the slip the head of him into your mouth. His hands fly to your hair, tightening into fists as he throws his head back. The beskar scrapes over the durasteel with a sharp squeal, but you don’t find it in you to care about the abrasive sound—eardrums be damned.

“Fuck—kriffing hell—“ Din snarls, arching his hips to seek more of your warmth. “K-keep going.”

Your own rekindled arousal blazes hot in your core hearing his stuttered pleas. You pull away to catch your breath, feeling almost guilty for doing so at Din’s low whine of protest. He picks his head up, watching as you languidly jerk him off—entranced with the way your hand rolls over the leaking tip, back down to the base, then up again. You could keep him like this—tease until he cracks under the pressure and begs you for whatever iota of pleasure you want to give but—

You’re not that mean.

Wetting your lips with your tongue, you part your mouth and slide nearly half of his length into your mouth. Din mutters something garbled, his hips jolting as you hollow your cheeks and bob your head.

Din shifts, arching his back and stuttering out broken whispers of encouragement. Placing your hand over his thigh, you can feel his pulse thrumming beneath your fingertips, wild and alive—something real beneath all that heavy armor and unforgiving helmet.

“You—you look…” He grunts as you hum around around his cock, swallowing him down further. “Shit—you look so p-perfect like this.”

You groan and squeeze your thighs together, attempting to ignore the gnawing hunger snapping at your insides.

Rolling your tongue along the underside of his shaft, your fingers slide over what your mouth cant reach—squeezing and gently coaxing him towards his high. He seizes up tight—yet, just when you think you’ve got him skidding off that precarious edge—

His hand fists your hair at the base your neck and yanks you off his cock. He huffs, breathy little pants as he folds into himself like he’s been punched in the gut, his head rolling forward onto his shoulder. Din shivers as he scrambles for control, beginning to loose that slippery foothold he’s so intent on maintaining. His cock, flushed an angry red and still slick with your saliva, twitches and throbs for the release so cruelly wrenched away.

You let him catch his breath. The fingers tangled in your hair go lax and drop away to rest at his sides. You swallow, his previous skittishness suddenly clicking into place. “Din, are you…?” A virgin. Your question tapers off, unsure if it’ll embarrass and scare him off.

“No,” he answers—not in a sharp way like you’d hear with a bruised ego—just stating a fact. “Just not—not this. Never had someone—stars—“

Your teeth roll your bottom lip between them, forcing your face to remain neutral despite the stroke of pride blooming singing in your chest. You’re his first—lucky enough to make this the best goddamned oral he’ll ever have. Something he’ll remember for years.

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask, praying to the Maker he’ll say no.

He shakes his head, sucking in another calming breath and unfurling himself. His fingers clench into fists then relax, crackling with pent up energy and unsure nerves as to where he should put them. You solve it by threading your fingers through his and placing them around you head.

Your lips quirk. “You’re allowed to cum in mouth—don’t worry about it.”

His cock twitches as a quiet moan fizzles through the modulator. “You su-sure?”

“Oh, yeah.”

With a smile you bring your mouth back to his cock, tongue swiping up the entire length of him. Din groans as the soft warmth of your mouth slips over the flushed tip of cock, his thick length twitching as you hollow out your cheeks and suck. You bob your head as you slowly work him in further because even like this, hardly halfway into your mouth, you feel your lips stretching a bit too much around him. You groan and part your mouth wider, letting him sink into the soft warmth of your throat. Din inhales, the sound shaky and unsure as his hips twitch with a few tentative thrusts.

You take it slow—lifting your mouth nearly all the up to the tip then back down to the base. Din rolls his hips, helping you ease into the gentle pace. Saliva drips down his cock and over your knuckles making an absolute mess you have zero intentions of cleaning up. It’s his ship after all. Din swears as his hips stutter, your hand squeeing around him, trying to push him off that edge he so deserves. Din gasps your name, the pitch of his words knocking up to a lighter, more airy tone, warmer than melted butter.

“Ca-can’t believe, it—ah—it fits.” He groans with astonished reverence. You preen under his praise.

You swallow around him and grunt at the abrupt jolt of his hips. There’s no distinctive rhythm you can follow as you let him rock his hips into your mouth—seeking out his pleasure without a coherent thought in sight. Just a cacophony of gasping breaths and rough moans.

You can feel is cock twitching over you tongue—he’s close—and when your eyes roll up to meet the darkened visor, he’s gone. He shouts your name and knots his fists around your hair as he spirals of that edge. You nearly gag from the force of his release hitting the back of your throat—cock throbbing and jerking in your mouth like he’s been denying himself release for months. His moans, fragile and gasping, filling the quiet space as his hips grind his cock deeper down your throat, his hands threaded into your hair acting as an anchor—the sole tether he has to the waking world.

Din’s grip relents as the last few catastrophic waves tear through his body. He doesn’t move his hands, just lets them rest over your skull as his chest heaves for precious air, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. You pull his still twitching cock halfway out, dragging the tip of your tongue below the frenulum while one of your hands circles the base of his length. Maker—he’s still going—

Last little dribbles of his cum spurt onto your tongue and drip over your knuckles still securely wrapped around him. His legs and lower abdomen flex when your hand falls lower to carefully knead at his balls, milking out his pleasure for all its worth. You let his softening cock slip from your mouth when he swears and mumbles your name.

When you rest your back against the wall, he slips himself back into his trousers and joins you. You take a risk and rest your head over the chilly beskar pauldron. You’d never call this love—the word is much too harsh for this delicate string of seconds. Love means giving pieces of yourself to others like martyrs give their hearts to the sky—or risk fragile skin against the rays of an unforgiving sun. Broken ribs and clenched fists, immensity beyond comprehension—

“You should come with us,” he says with a hesitant mumble. Love is formidable—but you know that somehow, here, pressed against Din’s side, that this is right. In a golden way, a honeyed way, a path that tastes of blood, freedom and blaster smoke that will leave your lungs stained with blackened soot. Cowardice has long made a home inside of your soul, and he’s offering you a chance to shake off the layer of frost clinging to your bones and step into the gentle merciful dawn.

“Yeah—alright, Din. I will.”

tags (only tagging some moots for now bc i have no clue what’s going on in this fandom anymore dbdndn): @goldafterglow @jango-fettish @djxrxn @blsmjoon @spookoofins @krissology @steeeeeeeviebb @teaofpeach @comphersjost @gummiishark @delusionsxfgrandeur @pettyprocrastination @huliabitch

#well it aint that good but it honest work wkerkjehr #my writing #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #fanfic #star wars #sw #star wars fanfiction #jangofctts

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fnf-amateur-writing · 3 years

Note

Hey! It’s Fox again! How are you doing? I just started school back up today, so I’ve been busy Xp.

Think you would be cool with writing some Pico with an s/o who is a writer, and tends to ask him about things like “hey, how long does it take someone to bleed out” or other things like that?

I understand if you don’t feel like it, and I hope you’re having fun 😊

🦊

Hello again Fox, I'm doing quite well rn. I'm cool with your prompt, especially since I need more writing material anyways.

Took me a while, because I didn't want to do a hc, but rather come up with a oneshot with a little twist to the style. Well, hope it works well.

Good luck with school, mate!

TW: Mentions of violence, swearing, slight sexual reference, and crime.

Pico with a writer S/O who asks him strange questions

Prologue:

On a chilly autumn morning, you were sitting out on your patio with a laptop and a mug of your favourite beverage next to you. Whenever you looked up, you could see the warm coloured leaves fall as the breeze accompanied you. The whole scene was an aesthetic.

When your boyfriend, Pico, came outside to see this, he knew that the nice environment you surrounded yourself with meant one thing. "You're back in your writing space already. Heh, with that bestseller you published, I thought you were comfy taking a break." You simply smiled and said, "can't waste the inspiration rush I got right now."

Pico had a good point though, with your rising popularity as an author, you were near set to retire before turning fourty. But you wish you weren't given all of the credit, since your boyfriend's stories of his dodgy job has occasionally sparked some ideas for your stories. However the books you wrote in the past were usually meant for the young adult and had few mature themes. This time, you thought maybe it's time to garner extra inspiration from those stories.

You were met with some disappointment when you realised that your mug was empty, only a drop entering your mouth. "Here, babe, I'll ya some more," Pico said, taking your mug and walking inside. "Quick question," you stopped him. "Yeah?"

"What would be the best place for a murder cemetery?"

"... What?"

Chapter 1:

"So you're doing some story about the police hunting down a mass murderer?"

"Pretty much."

"And to think you were gonna write Pixar's next script. Aight' I respect that." Pico takes a seat next to you with a refill of your drink placed next to your favourite writing laptop. "Thanks, Pico. But yeah, I want to branch out to something edgier, and I think you can help too."

"Let me show you what I've got so far." You showed him some of your notes in a little notepad document, detailing the story thus far and your current plans for this chapter. "Oh, that's it? Just looks like boring police preparation mainly," Pico commented. "Yeah, it's not much right now. But it'll get juicy later." "And bloody?" "And bloody."

"Welp, I'm gonna head back in," Pico got up, "let me know if you need anything." He head back inside, closing the door, but then opened it almost immediately afterwards. Pico stuck his head out, "by the way, the guy should use some strong alcohol or something to throw off those sniffer dogs."

Chapter 2:

"And then, because they used a silencer, the police don't immediately notice the--"

"Nope! I'm calling bullshit (Y/N)!" Pico had suddenly interrupted your explanation of the scene you were currently working on. "Silencers can help prevent some hearing loss, sure, but they're not magic."

"Alright," you reply, "no silencer, but the killer still has to kill in a way to not get blood on them, so I thought shooting and killing them from a distance would work." "Well, they're alone. Instead, have the guy get shanked in the neck or something, and have the killer use a plastic bag as a glove. It saved my ass one time."

"Woah!" you exclaimed with a giggle, "you used a knife once? What happened to my trigger happy boyfriend, huh? That's pretty sus."

"I forgot to reload the Uzis, alright?"

"What an impostor would say."

Chapter 3:

"What would be the best way to muffle the scream of someone you kidnapped?"

You two were sitting on the couch together watching a show. You didn't have your laptop on you, so Pico didn't expect you to still be thinking about that book. "I can't say from experience, really," he said as he paused the show. "However, shove a rag in their mouth and duct tape it in, and you should be good."

"Thanks Pico, also one more thing." "Yeah?" "What if our killer also wanted to..." God, this one was gonna be awkward, but you had to say it or else no help. "You know, cut off this victim's willy. How would you do that?"

"Wai-wha-uh-ga," Pico started fumbling his words like never before. He stopped, then took a deep breath. "YO, WHAT THE FUCK?!" "It'll make sense in the story later, I promise!" You watch Pico begin to lose it, breaking into laughter. "Ladies, gentlemen, and others," Pico dramatically stood up, pulling a little Showcaster impression and directing his arms towards you, "my famous 'young' adult novelist partner!"

Chapter 4:

It was in the dead of night, but you awoke to Pico on his phone. His vpn was on and Tor was up. As per usual, he was checking up on his little hitman service, where others could request for a certain someone's guts to fly if they paid him a hefty sum first. Though tired, you ound this to be the best time to ask him some more questions.

"Pico, how do those sites work?"

"Oh, you're awake," Pico blankly stated, sleepy too. But he still answered you. "Basically, some anonymous rich guys in the area give me money and a target, then I just do the thing and send a mission accomplished email." "Do they pay you in person?" "Nah, we use always use Bitcoin. It's a lot harder to trace than real money."

"Thanks Pico. Goodnight," you wish him, yawning and going back to sleep. "You too... So this guy is a hit man too?" "Hush. Tomorrow." "Okay." Pico puts his phone away, leaving it on a nightstand. You then spoon the night away, peacefully thinking of murder as you drifted off.

Chapter 5:

On a morning similar to before, you two sat on the patio with your drinks and laptop at the ready. Pico watched rather awkwardly as you typed away, wondering why you haven't entertained him with another question yet.

"You gonna ask anything else?" "What? Oh, nah," you plainly state. Inevitable, sure, but he was kind of saddened. He liked being able to share his messed up wisdom. "So, you're done?" "Almost." You turn to look at him, "want the spoilers?" Pico smiled, "sure thing."

In the novella you and Pico crafted together, the main character is a cop who hunts down a killer. They eventually notice that there would be two murders at a time for unknown reasons. Well, it was unknown until one victim had left up a dark web hit man for hire site. They that the hit man not only kills the target, but the client as a hidden price for the service.

And any request will be fulfilled, according to the hit man's site.

"Do they catch 'em?" Pico asked. "Well, ANY request is granted. So, if our hero were to... hire him to kill himself..."

"No way!"

"He did. They find both of their bodies in his bedroom."

Pico was a bit impressed with the ending you came up with, but then he remembered something. "Why did that guy get his thing cut off?" "Lol, I forgot," you giggled. "He sent a message to the hit man, saying he wishes the target would choke on his dick."

"That's my favourite part."

Epilogue:

After everything was finished up, you sent the book off to your editor. After the initial joy of knowing how the story ended, you saw that Pico was still in thought. "What's up with you?" "Oh nothing, well it's just... I'm probably just biased, being that I'm a bit of a hitman myself, but it's kind of sad to see the guy go."

"Then I should spoil the epilogue I came up with." Rather than being excited, Pico nervously asked, "what's an epilogue?" He didn't get an answer, only you staring at him. "Sorry, school held too many bad memories for me to pay attention."

"Anyways," you continue, "the rest of the police gang did some background checks, and find that our killer was a normal guy with no criminal history."

"Penilian?"

"No. But I did decide to take a more supernatural approach here. Somewhere across the country, another string of double homicides occur and that site is active once more. And the story kind of repeats itself."

"Penilian."

"You joker," you give him a playful little kiss on the cheek, one that definitely caught him off guard. "So is it canon?" Pico smirked. "Nah, just thanking you for being my cute little co-author." "Oh," Pico started, "so we're flirtin' now, huh. Come here babe!" He tackled you onto the ground, giving you several kisses in exchange.

"Actually, I think we call that 'making out'," you chuckle out, flustered. "But that doesn't mean I said stop'!" You pull him in for more, accidentally bonking your heads together rather painfully. "Nice double kill there, (Y/N)."

#fnf x reader #fnf imagines #pico x reader #fnf pico

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daydreaming-in-letters · 3 years

Text

London Rain

Part 2

03/13/2021

Pairing: Henry Cavill x fem!reader (3rd person)

Word Count: 1,694

Warnings: smut, oral (female receiving)

Summary: The reader finds herself in a lucid dream about some morning shenanigans with her man - or doesn't she?

A/N: I’m still over the moon about your feedback for the first part. It seemed this boosted my motivation so much that I was able to finish part two earlier than expected. Enjoy!

Part 1

If you like my story, you are very welcome to like, comment or reblog. Please don’t copy, repost or share my work on other platforms.

Waking up without him was the worst. Or was it falling asleep without him? She wasn’t able to decide. Yet, the hours in between were the only moments of solace, the only time when she wasn’t conscious and didn’t feel his absence. But sometimes even sleep wouldn’t bring her peace but torture her with the most vivid dreams instead. Only in the narrow time frame between sleeping and waking she wasn’t at the mercy of her longing since she had found that it was then that she could influence her dreams.

The moment she opened her eyes, she knew that she found herself in one of those lucid dreams again when she saw the familiar view of his smiling face right before her. The vision was so clear that it almost scared her, so detailed and rich in colour that she could even make out the sparkle of pure elation in his steel blue orbs.

Carefully her hand reached out for him, afraid he might vanish into thin air as soon as she touched his face. But wondrously, he didn’t and soon she could feel the gruff stubble underneath the palm of her hand as the tip of her thumb slowly drifted across his moustache.

“I can’t believe you kept that thing.”

A deep chuckle escaped his chest and rolled through the small space between them.

“I can shave it off right now if that’s what you want.”

She took a moment, weighing his offer in her mind. If she told him to do it now, he would leave the bed, probably making her wake up and lose him to the morning once again. So, since this was just her imagination on the loose, why not simply go with it?

Feeling very bold all of a sudden, she locked eyes with him and by the way he glanced back at her, she was sure he could already sense what was about to come.

“Maybe later. There is one thing I need to find out first.” She shot the Henry vision a seductive smile, burying her fingers in the lush locks that covered his pecs.

“And what might that be?”

This was too easy. Why couldn’t this be real life?

“I think you know exactly what that is, Henry.”

The lust in his eyes was unmistakable, that hungry flame dancing in his dilated pupils. For a second she could have sworn that he would engage her lips in a heated kiss when suddenly it felt as if someone had altered her script. She had already closed her eyes in anticipation, but all she heard was a deep, “Very well then,” before he was gone.

With a frustrated sigh she turned on her back, letting the cool morning breeze hit her bare chest, making her shiver in the process. She felt stupid for making herself believe that just this one time it might have worked. But it was always the same. At some point she lost control and was hurled back into reality so violently that it gave her whiplash.

Sulking and angry with herself, she refused to open her eyes, unable to face yet another morning without him. Two more days, it was only two more days, the voice inside her head chanted. Get a grip.

And to her surprise the self-motivation actually seemed to work when out of nowhere she could feel two strong hands grip her ankles. With a sure touch that she knew all too well, they unrelentingly made their way up her shins, pushing her wide open once they reached her knees, coaxing an audible gasp from her lips.

But they didn’t stop yet and she noticed them travelling higher and higher, getting closer to her aching core inch by inch. Even before he had reached his destination, she could feel the telltale wet heat flood her womanhood. A soft moan escaped her lips as she shamelessly imagined his hungry eyes taking in her folds that glistened promisingly in the morning light.

Heat was rising from her lower body, setting her whole body on fire and when his hot breath finally rolled over her slit, she couldn’t help her walls from clenching around thin air. Unintentionally she braced herself for the impact, every second without his mouth on her seeming like an eternity. She could feel the frustration rise again. Should her imagination choose to betray her once again, in this very moment, she would never forgive herself.

Pulse racing, her hands clenched into tight fists when finally she could feel his lips on her, releasing the most obscene moan from deep within.

God, this felt good, so familiar yet also with an exquisite touch every time his whiskers scraped her soft flesh. Knowing her inside out, his tongue played her expertly, every lick, every stroke designed to pleasure her just the way she desired.

Perfect was the only word that came to mind to describe the way he tended to her needs, his whiskers the cherry on top, as they stung and prickled in the best way possible while they stimulated her bud in turn with his tongue.

It didn’t take long before he sent her senses into overdrive and she could feel the point of no return approaching. She needed to feel him, immediately, needed to feel his soft locks between her fingers. And before she even knew what she was doing, her fingers wandered down her body. Of course she knew that there would only be the warm sheets to fist her hand into, but as long as her mind imagined his mouth on her so vividly, she didn’t mind pretending that small detail as well.

Fully expecting to close her fingers around the cool cotton, she almost yelped when her fingers actually made contact with a silky tuft of hair. In an instant her eyes shot open and her delusional mind needed a few seconds to register that this was far from a dream after all.

Right where she had so desperately wanted him to be, he was lying between her legs in flesh and blood, his mouth eagerly lapping at her folds. And then the memory struck her like lightning. He had come home last night. She thought she had dreamed that up as well, but it had been real. He was here, he was really here.

And while she still tried to figure out how that was even possible, she could suddenly feel two fingers pressing up against her entrance. Teasing her a little, he let them drive up and down agonisingly slowly, clearing her mind of all thoughts apart from how desperately she wished to be filled by him.

Before she knew what she was doing, her fingers fisted down in his hair on their own accord. With a slight pull, they drew a heady moan from his throat, the extra stimulation making her dizzy as the vibration rolled over her heated sex, while in the same moment, he let his fingers finally sink into her until they were buried to the hilt.

Fuck, she was so close already and now that he had finally given her something to clench down upon, she could feel her walls tighten around his digits, a violent moan falling from her lips at the sensation.

Her mind began to cloud over, yet one thought remained clear as day, shining like a beacon through the foggy mess of her mind: she needed him, needed to feel his eyes on her before she could finally let go and let herself be consumed by her lust.

“Henry.” His name fell from her lips like a silent prayer and his senses immediately seemed to catch on to the desperation in her voice. In an instant his eyes shot up to hers, blue as the raging sea, possessed by a hunger that mimicked her own and as they met her gaze, she could finally feel herself fall.

In pulsing waves her orgasm washed over her, her head spinning from the unusually high amount of pleasure. She could feel it falling back into the pillow with a thud, while his fingers and mouth kept working her through her high with a sure touch.

Almost imperceptibly slowly she could feel the surge even out, before he gently retreated from her throbbing core. Instead his lips began to tend to the soft skin of her belly, unhurriedly working their way up, touching and tasting every inch of her sweat-covered skin. Still too blissed out to even move, she watched as he stopped at her breasts for a while, licking and sucking her pebbled nipples, at this point as much for her pleasure as for his own.

He must have felt her eyes on him because he suddenly looked up, catching her staring.

“I missed these two.”

His cheeky smirk elicited a hoarse chuckle from her throat that made his eyes shine wildly before his mouth finally continued its trail up her body. With a growl he dove into the crook of her neck, his whiskers leaving behind the most wonderful tickling sensation while he began to tend to her sweet spot.

“You know, Hen, I’ve been thinking,” she tried to press out with a steady voice while his teeth bit down gently onto her pulse point, sending a bolt of lightning through her lower body in the process.

“About what?” he muttered into her skin, refusing to leave his favourite spot.

“Maybe the stache can stay for a while.”

Instantly his head shot up and before she even saw his face, she knew that it was covered in a shit eating grin.

“Then I’ll make it my personal duty to ensure you won’t regret that decision.”

And as if to enforce his promise, his hard length suddenly twitched vigorously against her mound, forcing a moan from her lips which he was quick to smother with a searing kiss. Urgently his tongue began to dance with hers, his strong arms pulling her into him and while he continued to worship her body with his lips and hands, it slowly dawned on her that they probably wouldn’t leave the bed for the rest of the day.

#henry cavill x reader #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill #henry cavill fic #henry cavill rpf #henry cavill fanfiction

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a-dorin · 3 years

Text

crush

pairing: college au! maul x female!reader

word count: 2.411k

warnings: smutttttt, teasing, cursing, mentions of death threats, endless teasing, some filthy talk, nsfw, pet names

a/n: hi so this is my first time writing over 1k in months. please be gentle with me, as i'm really proud of this & i can never get enough of college aus. feedback is very much appreciated. request was anon, but i hope you enjoy <3

prompt: "Hi yes if this managed to make it in time for request, can I please request a Maul x Fem reader smut,,, like anything I’m a desperate hoe ahdhdbsbsbzb"

“so,” there’s the crisp crinkle of a page turning, “why’d you choose university of coruscant?”

“the atmosphere.”

“come on,” he scoffs, “are you a tour guide now? what major are you anyways? isn’t it something really nerdy? something along the lines of biochemistry? a minor in genetics or some bullshit like that?”

“i think you’re thinking of some other girl you’ve fucked because that is nowhere along the lines of what i’m studying. you weren’t even in the right college. some partner you are.”

sitting right across from you, was the star recruit of the university of coruscant. a lacrosse player who transferred from mustafar central. he was the reason why the team was expected to qualify for nationals. why they were supposed to even make it to the championship.

over the summer, it was almost as if the entire campus was buzzing about it. after all, it wasn’t often that the university was able to snag such good athletes. well, it was a division one school so of course it was a given that everyone was pretty good in their respective sport.

however, the zabrak sitting right across from you was utterly exceptional.

in almost every way.

all everyone raved about was his looks. which, you had to admit, the zabrak was gorgeous. with rich crimson skin, complemented by inky tattoos, sharp cheekbones, a dashing smile, and eyes that were pools of pure honey, it was difficult to deny the fact that he was attractive.

however, it was not hard to accept the other truth, either. he was quite acquainted with a majority of the women on campus, matching with almost every single one on tinder. that was if you were a part of a sorority or part of a sports team, of course.

what made matters worse was his intelligence. so, when you were paired with him for a project in your astronomy class, you learned fairly quickly that the zabrak was quite the smartass. and not a nice one, either. he seemed to enjoy harassing and berating you with his jokes and punchlines during every encounter.

he was everything you despised in a man. cocky, stubborn, and careless.

so why were you so attracted to him? you had absolutely no idea.

there’s a beat of silence, and the only noise the zabrak emits is a quiet exhale. the sound of his breath as it whistled through his teeth. yet, it’s followed by a quiet huff.

“you wish you could fuck me. you’ve mentioned it before, to that nautolan friend of yours, hmm? kit, right? he’s on the lacrosse team. your name may have come up a few times.”

heat flourishes through your cheeks as you glance upwards, any last remnants of focus completely crumbling away. your breath hitches in your throat at the smug smirk plastered on his lips, incisors poking against his lower lip.

golden eyes scour you, almost analyzing the sheer and utter shock plaguing your features. satisfaction glints within the depths, and you blink, scrambling to formulate some sort of response.

leaning forward, the zabrak tilts his head, so close that the tip of his nose grazed yours. this time, the words are a low rumble, harsh and gravelly.

almost like a growl.

“you told your little friend kit that you wished that i would just take you right here, in the library, and fuck you senseless. i find that interesting though, because you’ve been feeding me this little premonition that you absolutely loathe every aspect of my existence. now, do you actually want that little wish of yours to come true, or are you going to keep putting up the act and we act like this never happened?”

shrinking in your seat, you could almost feel the eyes searing into the both of you. there’s arched brows and low murmurs, a few giggles ringing through the space. swallowing thickly, you pull the collar of your hoodie over the lower half of your face, in a vain attempt to conceal your obvious embarrassment.

of course your fellow peers were staring. in the corner of your eye, you witness a group of girls roll their eyes. from the decals on their laptops, along with the other memorabilia, you pick out they’re chi omega girls, a popular sorority on campus.

you squeeze your eyes shut as you hear them whispering amongst each other. there’s a few points, and you were dead sure the dusty rose twi’lek in the black nike hoodie wanted to end your life right there.

maker, were you so flustered.

and he had you right where he wanted you.

“m-maul,” you stutter, fidgeting in your seat, “pe-people are s-staring.”

“do i look like i give a fuck?”

“i’m pretty sure the chi omega girls over there are going to send me death threats once they find my instagram,” you grumble, burying your head in your hands, “it’s your fault they’re all looking, you know.”

“hey!” the taunting tone in his voice sent your eyes wide open, strands of curses flowing from your tongue as he called over to the group, “i know we may have matched on tinder, but i’m not yours. i’m not territory to lay a claim on. i’m my own zabrak, you know. i can talk to other girls.”

letting out an exasperated sigh, you bury your head into your arms, laying your head on the table.

getting any work done with him was a lost cause.

“you okay? you gonna make it?”

for a moment, you melt under the tenderness in his tone, the way the words just sounded so gentle. he lays a hand on your shoulder, and you look up, the heat in your cheeks lingering as your eyes lock with his.

“we could get out of here, you know,” maul murmurs, “i live in an apartment with a few other guys on the lacrosse team. they’re all out, though. we could get some peace and quiet. and i could get you away from those chi clowns. i think they already found your twitter. i don’t like the way they’re looking at you either.”

i don’t like the way they’re looking at you either.

“um, sure. i don’t have anything else tonight. at least, i don’t think. i cleared my schedule so we could get this project done.”

“don’t worry about packing up your stuff. act like you’re on the phone or something and i’ll grab your things. i made this mess so i’ll clean it up,” it takes a moment to register the suggestion, but you knew it wasn’t a suggestion.

he wasn’t going to budge.

clearing your throat, you press your phone to your ear, “hello? oh hey! no, you didn’t catch me at a bad time. i just need to leave the room really quick.”

carefully, you weave your way through the maze of chairs and tables, pushing open the door. moments later, you’re outside, inhaling the brisk january air, grateful for the coolness as it seeps into your skin.

“you okay?”

you nod, probably a little too quickly, “yes.”

maul’s brow furrows, yet he doesn’t press any further, adjusting your book bag, “don’t worry about carrying this. i got it. i feel bad.”

“don’t feel bad i mean, you were just teasing--”

“i do,” he cuts in, “i feel bad because i know how you much you dislike unwanted attention. you always get so flustered when the professor calls on you with no warning. you either stutter just a little bit or you pull the sleeves of your hoodie over your hands. i was a little bit of an asshole back there, and i apologize for that. i took care of everything with those chi omega girls too.”

in the darkness, you nearly trip over the sidewalk, “you.. you notice that?”

“i sit right by you and have been for the past two weeks,” he snorts, “i pick up on a thing or two. take a left here.”

all around you, the lights of campus glow softly, illuminating the surroundings with a warm golden glow. the night sky is clear, a few stars glittering over the light pollution of the city. you follow the zabrak, unsure of what to say.

“were.. were you serious about what you said earlier? did kit really say something?”

your knees buckle at the sound of his laughter. how it was so sweet and melodic as it rang out into the night.

“he did say something,” the zabrak raises a hand, pointing to a complex just a few hundred feet ahead of you, “i’m right here. you still up for the offer? i mean, we still have a week and a half but i don’t want to waste your time. you have a lot going on with your classes already. how’s chemistry going?”

“how do you know about chemistry?” you arch a brow, a shudder coursing through you as the breeze rolls through the campus.

“you bitch about it all the time on your instagram story?” the zabrak holds his id next to the door, pulling it open, “regardless of what you may think, i do pay attention to you sweetheart.”

“and what’s that supposed to mean?” your tone shifts, “i’m not sure what you’re referring to, maul.”

“well,” a hand finds its way to the small of your back, just above the curve of your ass, pushing you gently. realizing that you have to go up the stairs, you begin to trudge upwards, his hand still lingering.

“you have this belief that you’re unattractive because you don’t possess conventional beauty set by the standards of social media and society. i know this because you’ve talked about it on your twitter and your instagram. also, your comment about ‘some other girl i fucked’ really took me aback because i don’t just sleep with anyone. you know that, right? i have standards. and i have goals too, outside from ‘how many bodies i have.’ you also said that to kit, which made me upset. is that what you really think of me?”

in that instant, it was almost as if your heart dropped. you stop at the top of the flight, the clammy sensation coating your hands only growing. wiping your hands on your leggings, you dodge his gaze, clamping your mouth shut.

gods, were you in deep shit now.

fingers grasp your chin, forcing your head to the right. maul takes a step forward, pushing your back against the wall. the concrete sends goosebumps lining your arms, hairs standing on end.

“i asked you a question,” your heart thuds as he leans forward, “is that what you really think of me sweetheart?”

“i-i--” you stammer, heat flourishing to your neck, “t-that’s not i think of you. i was just frustrated because i didn’t know how to process the feelings i had and i’m sorry.”

“feelings?” maul’s lips were practically brushing against yours. and gods, were they so tantalizingly soft, “what kind of feelings?”

“i may have a crush on you.”

“a crush? what is this, fifth grade?” the tease was edged with somewhat you couldn’t quite place your finger on. what was it? lust? want? hunger?

“a crush,” you affirm, “i have a crush on you, maul.”

“you wanna know what i told those chi omega girls?” he inquires, one hand on the wall, the other reaching for your face, cupping your cheek.

“what did you tell those girls?” fuck. were you in deeper shit now.

“i told them we were talking. that you were my girl,” your lashes flutter at his touch, “and you know wanna know what else i told them?”

“what else did you say?” puckering you lips, you take his thumb into your mouth, sucking lightly.

the sound that you hear is nothing like you’ve encountered before.

“i-i,” you feel your lips curve into a smirk as he grits his teeth, “i told them that i was going to fuck you after this. that i was going to completely destroy you.”

“you didn’t---”

his mouth connects with yours for an open-mouthed kiss. it’s electrifying yet blissful, something that would sweep you off your feet yet keep you grounded, keeping you wanting more and more. gods, was it such a craving. to stay in this stairwell, to cherish this moment.

it’s gratifying, enough to make you light-headed with giddiness.

it’s everything you’ve ever wanted and more.

yet, he pulls away, panting ever so slightly.

“fuck.”

“fuck?”

his jaw clenches, “you have no fucking idea how much i’ve been wanting to do that. ever since i met you. fuck, i need more. i need more of you. ‘taste so good.”

“we could always--”

“finish this in my apartment? yeah, i want to. but i don’t want to force anything on you and i don’t want to make you uncomfortable. i’ve just -- i’ve just been having dreams about you.”

“dreams?” you watch as the zabrak’s eyes squeeze shut, his body shifting away from yours. he’s heading towards the door now, nearly throwing it open.

“dreams about being inside of you. fuck. i need to know how you feel. if you’re as tight as i imagined. and fuck, i need to feel how wet you are too. how wet you get for me. have you ever tasted yourself before?”

you shake your head, “i haven’t.”

maul practically stalks down the hallway, finding his door. sliding the key into the lock, he steps inside, placing your bags on the floor, “would you rather study or would you rather let me express how i feel?”

thumbs loop through the pocket of your hoodie, pulling you close to him. fuck, you could feel him against your body. the stiffness of his cock underneath his sweats. how hot and bothered he was for you, practically aching for some sort of release.

“what do you mean ‘express how you feel’?” carefully, you dip a hand into the waistband, hand wrapping around the outline, squeezing gently.

“oh fuck,” maul throws his head back, moaning ever so slightly, “i-i may have a crush on you too. and i wanted to express how i felt. i-i’m not good with words.”

“why don’t you show me then?” your clit throbs as you feel along his shaft, fingers grazing over the ridges, thumb pressing against his tip.

“bend over the fucking counter then and i’ll fucking show you then, princess. you better not utter a single fucking word about this fucking project because it’s my turn to study you.”

☆☆☆☆☆

taggin' some maul moots: @maulieber @maulfrk @hounding-around @maximumninjavoid @xcertaindarkthingsx @zabrak-show @anakinswhore @arsonistvoyager @bonesaldente @catsnkooks@darthmaulslut

#maul #darth maul #maul x reader #darth maul x reader #maul smut #darth maul smut #maul x y/n #reader insert #college!au

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yespolkadotkitty · 3 years

Text

BEAUTIFUL art by @thepoisonofgod

Masterlist ~ Chapter 29

Words: 1800 Warnings: Unproctected sex, swears, intimacy.

Thanking the goddess that is @astroboots for the beta!

*********

As the sky got darker, the celebrations amped up.

Zach fit like he’d always been part of our family. He supported Ahma when she staggered a little while watching the lion dance - standing for long periods had never been her forte.

Later, when we watched the fireworks before heading back home, I came back from using the nearby restroom to see that he’d procured a folding chair for her. No one had asked him. I instinctively knew he’d just done it, and my Ahma beamed up at him like he’d hung the moon.

When we got back to Mom’s, she made tea while I changed into my new dress. The fabric felt cool and silky against my skin.

When I came out of the bedroom, Mom and Ahma were fussing over Zach, blocking my view of him.

“I can’t accept this,” he was saying, his voice low.

The two matriarchs in my family parted, giving me a view of the man I’d come to care for so much.

He wore a smart white shirt, open at the neck, and a pair of charcoal suit pants. A jacket in the same fabric lay over my Mom’s arm, and Ahma held a pair of smart, black sneakers - indistinguishable from dress shoes from a distance, but shoes he’d be able to wear every day.

My heart squeezed, hard.

“Aiyah!” Ahma cried. “You cannot tell me how to spend my money. I will be dead soon and what good will it do me then?”

Zach looked up at me, torn. I shrugged helplessly.

“I am too old to walk to the store to return the clothes,” Ahma said, affecting a feeble air. I swallowed back a laugh.

Mom cupped his face in her hands. “Just say thank you, Zach.”

Zach smiled slowly and nodded. “Thank you. Thank you both so much. Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year,” we all echoed.

Mom handed Zach the jacket and he bent and bussed her cheek.

Satisfied, Ahma and Mom disappeared into their respective bedrooms to change for dinner at our favourite Chinese place. The table had been booked for three hundred and sixty hour days, I reckoned.

Zach spread his hands, awe on his face. “Martha…”

“It’s useless to protest,” I murmured, smoothing my hand down the lapel of his shirt collar. “They got your size just right.”

“You didn’t know?”

“No, I didn’t. I assume that’s why they waited until I went to change to give it to you.” I slid my palm up and cupped his jaw, rubbing my thumb over his lower lip, over the little crease, the little kiss from the angels who made him. “You look very handsome.”

“You look…” Zach settled his hands on my hips, his gaze travelling from the top of my head to my feet and back again. “Wow. There are no words. Am I really the guy who gets to go home with you tonight?”

“Yes. You are.” I leaned in and kissed him softly. He drew me close, and his lips parted under mine. I felt his cock twitch through the dress pants and pulled back, sighing.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you, Martha Song.”

Mom and Ahma appeared as Zach put his new sneakers on. He looked so good. I was overwhelmed by the urge to unbutton that smart shirt and press my lips to every inch of tanned skin, to breathe in his scent and mark him as mine and never, ever let him go.

“Ready?” Ahma asked. She wore a red and gold embroidered jacket and a smart, pale grey top and trousers. Mom had donned her best cheongsam, a rich, dark green with coiled black brocade forming a floral pattern across her left shoulder. Her hair fell around her face in soft waves, and I was struck by how beautiful she was.

“Ready!” I said, slipping my arm through Zach’s.

He bent his head to mine. “Proud to be on my arm tonight, honey?”

“I’m always proud to be on your arm.”

He shook his head, muttering “Stupid,” like I wasn’t playing with a full deck, but he dropped a kiss on my forehead anyway. I could feel his smile.

Mom unlocked the door, and I tugged Zach towards it, but then remembered something. “Wait!”

I hurried to the kitchen drawer where Mom kept a little box with special knicknacks, and fished out Bryan’s dog tags, slid them around my neck, where they rested under my cheongsam, next to my heart.

Zach was watching me with softness in his gaze.

“I always bring him with us for New Year dinner,” I said quietly.

Mom caught me in a big hug, squeezing me tight. I squeezed her back, and felt the cold metal of Bryan’s dog tags between us, and it was momentarily like there were three of us again; and then we locked up and made our way to Da Mao Jia.

*****

“I had plans, I swear,” Zach groaned as we practically fell through the door of my apartment. “I did. But I can barely breathe right now, let alone engage in anything more… enthusiastic.”

Just the thought of him lying on top of me made me shake my head. “Unfortunately, I agree. We were no match for Da Mao Jia’s new year banquet.”

Zach closed the door behind him and shook his head. “I’ve never seen so much food. I have never eaten so much food.”

I hefted the takeout box in my hands. “I hope you want beef ho fun and har gow for breakfast.”

He made a face. “I need to lie down.”

I settled the box of leftovers in the fridge. Zach was sitting on the couch, eyes closed, hands on his stomach. “I may never need to eat again.”

“That’s a shame, because that takeout box begs to differ.”

He chuckled. “Stop talking about food and get over here.”

I started to sit, then thought better of it. “I need to change.”

I unbuttoned the cheongsam and slid down the side zip. I felt like I had a little food baby and I sighed with relief as it was given more space.

Zach watched me over the back of the couch as I shimmied into an old t-shirt and took my glasses off, setting them on the shelf above the futon.

“God! That’s better. I’m sorry we didn’t get to have fun with the dress.”

“Plenty of time for that.”

My pulse quickened. He was talking about the future. A future with me. I was careful not to mention it, though.

He patted the couch and I dropped down next to him. He curled his arm around me, and I snuggled in. Outside, the fireworks exploded in the black of the night sky, spears of red and plumes of gold splitting the darkness and shaming the pinprick stars.

Zach’s fingers played lazily in my hair. “Your Mom and Ahma are too generous,” he said eventually.

“No, they aren’t.”

He mulled this over for a few moments. He was so warm and solid beside me, and I never wanted to get up.

“While we were out - you were in that little fried chicken place with your Ahma - I asked about the pot washer job. They said yes.”

I sat up. “Zach, that’s amazing!”

He flushed. “Well. It’s a job.”

“Don’t downplay it. I’m pleased for you.” I pressed a kiss to his lips, felt them curve under mine. “I am. Congratulations.”

His arm tightened around me. “Don’t know how I’ll cope in the kitchen. It’s in their basement, so there’s more space than most places. We’ll see. I have to try.”

His quiet determination made me love him even more. If that was possible. “You’ll do great. I’m sure of it.” I kissed him again, felt interest stir between my legs. I sat up further, then turned and swung my leg over his thighs so I straddled him. “And I’m also sure that I’m ready for dessert.”

Zach’s eyebrow arched. “Oh, yeah?” He smoothed his palms up my bare legs to cup my ass through my thin underwear. His hands were warm, a little rough.

I shivered. “Very much yeah.”

He inhaled sharply when I unbuttoned his suit pants, my knuckles brushing against his cock, now at full mast. My muscles clenched greedily at the feel of him.

“You know,” I whispered against his neck. “Before you, I had a little scare. Had to get tested at the clinic. I was clean, and there’s been no one since. I take the pill to control irregular periods.”

I felt his cock jump in my hand. He blinked. “I’m trying to work out if you’re saying what I think you’re saying. It’s making all the blood leave my brain.” He cleared his throat as I palmed him eagerly, his breathing getting heavier. “Um. We had regular tests in the marines. There was someone, during, but we always wore condoms. So I’m clean. But you don’t have to….” He sucked in a breath as I twisted my wrist just so. “..take my word for it. I’ll wear a condom for as long as you want me to.”

“I trust you, Zach.” I used my free hand to push my underwear aside and rubbed the head of him where I was soft and wet.

Zach closed his eyes. “Fuck.”

He started to stroke me just where we were almost joined. Watching his thumb circle my clit while I rubbed his cock over my entrance made me wetter, more excited. “Zach.”

“I got you, baby girl,” he murmured, his eyes hazy, gazing at me with something that was maybe half lust, half love. “I got you. Let go for me.”

And I did, gasping into his neck as I rode the high. As my muscles clenched and spasmed, I slid myself down on him, feeling him inside me without barriers, and the heft and fit of him was divine.

“Martha,” Zach rasped, his palms hard on my hips. “Holy shit, Martha, you feel so good-”

I picked up the pace, riding him hard, his little grunts and quick inhales stoking the fire, until his hips stuttered under mine.

“Shit. I can’t - I’m coming, honey-”

I clenched hard around him and with a guttural murmur of my name, he spilled inside me, shuddering, his face buried in my neck.

I love you, Zach, I thought. I love you so much.

**********

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#zach wellison x ofc #zach wellison fic #brothers and sisters au

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punkcupcakestyles · 3 years

Text

Just One More Time

A story about enemies, neighbors and one night stands that are left in the past...

“Fuuuuuck!!!!!”

It is never nice to see a lady yell such a bad word with such passion and rage, but given the chain of shitty events of the day, you considered to have a pass, thank you fucking much.

The heel of your very expensive shoe laid on the floor broken, mocking you under the little ray of moonlight that sneaked through the high window in the hallway. The only thing you could see besides your closed door.

Rain clattered against the windows and every new thunder made you jump a little. You knew very well that there was no one else on the hallways with you, but your heart was still jumping in your chest, and if you focused hard enough, you could see creepy figures running across the walls.

So, you closed your eyes and rushed a little prayer as you continued to look for your stupid keys in your tiny purse as if there was any chance for them to get lost in such a reduced space.

The cold of the night had sipped up to your body, and your drenched clothes and wet hair certainly didn’t help the matter. By now, all of the effort you had put into your hair and makeup was surely gone, and your mascara was probably building up under your eyes. A drowned, harassed rat, the lyrics to the iconic and underrated Let’s Have a Kiki, sadly fit you.

A self-pitying sigh left your glossy lips and you decided that you might as well lean on the door and press your forehead to it, giving up to the pathetic reality that was that night. How much would a locksmith ask to come to your apartment in the middle of the night during a blackout? And, more importantly, would they take your liver as payment? Those were the important questions.

“Are you ok?” Your neighbor’s voice rang in the air, as he opened the door to his apartment to look at you.

Of course, he would come out then, when the wet ends of your hair stuck to your skin, and you were barefoot in front of your locked apartment. Could he have come out earlier in the night when you were looking like a goddess ready to conquer the world? No, he could not.

“Fuck off, Harry,” you muttered, not bothering to look at him. You already knew how he looked, it was always present in your mind.

“Heeeey, I’m just trying to be nice.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were capable of that.”

“You know I can be really good when I want to.”

You knew it well. You still remembered the feeling of his body on top of yours, his hips rolling onto yours, as he fucked you deep and hard.

“I wouldn’t know,” you gulped, refusing to give in even if your red face told another story.

But he knew. Sometimes, when he was all alone, all he could think about was that night and the way your back arched as he had his fingers deep in your pussy.

****

The day you and Harry fucked each other brainless, Ms. Rose’s cat died. You remembered well because it was also the third day and fifth hour of your heartbreak when you heard your sweet old neighbor’s cries and you rushed to her help, coming out of your sad little bubble for the woman that baked you cookies and knitted you a purple scarf and a pair of gloves for the winter.

When you arrived at Ms. Rose’s apartment, Harry was already there, sitting on the battered pink couch and holding her hand as she cried timidly into a handkerchief with embroidered blue flowers. She had long quit trying to come up with words, cause every time she opened her mouth, she would just blabber and sob inconsolably, so she accepted Harry’s help to explain what had happened.

Your brain gathered very few details of what was being said, choosing to focus instead on the boy sitting next to Ms. Rose. Harry was wearing a graphic t-shirt with light blue jeans and his hair was still wet from his shower, a stubborn curl falling over his forehead. You didn’t know why you would notice things like that in moments like this, but you did, you always did. Especially in the morning when he would come back from his early run, and he would take off his sweaty shirt right by his door, revealing his broad shoulders and his lean body, the tautness of his chest, and the ink that spilled across his tan skin. You would always roll your eyes at him and scurry down the stairs to get as far away from him as you possibly could, pretending you wouldn’t look at him.

So, you stood by the door because it was the safest place you could be, it was Harry-free. The air felt electric whenever you got too close to him.

“Do you fancy some tea, Miss Rosie?” Harry asked and the richness of his accent echoed down your body. Your eyes met as he got up, and you held your breath, as Harry got unnecessarily closer to you on his way to the kitchen. You could’ve sworn he had done so on purpose, the same reason why he had brushed his knuckles over yours, the light touch of his knuckles making you shiver and look at him as he walked away.

You needed to stay away from him, indeed.

“It’ll be alright, Ms. Rose,” you whispered to your old neighbor as you took Harry’s place on the couch, but as the words left your lips, you had to wonder if that was true. Would everything be alright? The world seemed a little bleaker now. Boyfriends cheated. Cats died. There was no one to trust left.

Ms. Rose reluctantly ate the cookies Harry set up for her and drank the ginger tea he had made. He sat by her other side and rubbed her back as she calmed herself down. If she didn’t, one of you might have to sleep on that couch, and you were praying it wasn’t you, cause your black dress would not do well with cat hair all over it.

But two hours later, Ms. Rose was soundly asleep and you left her apartment as carefully as you could, walking on your tiptoes so you wouldn’t wake her up. There was no elevator in your old building, which you had grown used to and usually liked, except when you had to walk up the stairs with someone else, because you never knew what to say, and today, as you walked a step ahead of Harry, it wasn’t any different.

“I didn’t know you had a heart,” You said, just as you turned to go up the last trench of stairs.

“I like Ms. Rose, and my mom always says that some tea and biscuits can fix anything,” Harry replied, and even though you couldn’t see him, you could imagine him shrugging his shoulders as a smirk started to tug up the corner of his lips. He liked Ms. Rose, he would come to her aid if she needed him. It was just that...

“So, you wouldn’t come if I was the one crying?” You turned suddenly, almost making him lose his balance and fall back down the stairs.

“Would you do it if it were me?” He asked you instead, looking up to you. He was closer than you had expected, and you suddenly felt the need to step back, so you wouldn’t feel the warmth of his body, or could smell the citric perfume on his skin.

“Of course not...” Your door was right behind you, so all you had to do was turn around and walk a few more steps. “You probably did something to deserve it,” you smirked, just as you resumed your way to your door.

“I would consider it,” Harry said, and you scoffed in disbelief, turning around to look at him only to notice he was standing behind you, his broad shoulder blocking the little bit of sun that came through the window. Winter was coming, so the sun was starting to fuck around his day job.

“Would you?”

“I’ve been thinking about knocking on your door these last few days, ask if you were ok,” Harry admitted.

There was a new feeling in the air. Any other day, you would have bitten back with some snarky remark, but it didn’t feel right. Harry stood too close to you and your body had become too aware of his presence. So you kept quiet, leaning back to your door with your hands tucked behind your back as you looked at him.

All Harry had to do was say goodbye and walk a few steps to his door, but he didn’t feel like it. He could feel the air shift as well, and the electric pull that tugged him from his belly to yours.

“So, do you want some tea and biscuits?” He offered, even though he wasn’t too sure what he was doing, or where he was going. His voice was soft, and his body leaned into the very same door you were using as support.

What if you said yes? He wasn’t even sure he had any cookies left.

The crumbly taste of ginger and vanilla lingered in Harry’s tongue, and you sighed at the prickly lemon on his lips. You had imagined how it would be to kiss him a couple of times before when your mind would drift away from your control, but even you had to admit that kissing him in real life was better.

Against every expectation, he was slow with his kiss, exploring your mouth as if he had all the time in the world. You had expected a hungrier kiss you, for him to bite you and make you jump in his arms so he could carry you into your apartment, throw you to your bed and fuck you.

Instead, he was taking over every one of your senses. He smelled sweet and citric, and the cotton of his shirt felt soft under your fingertips, as you made your way underneath it. You smiled as he inhaled a sharp breath, and the kiss broke when he smiled, the muscles of his tummy tensing up at your touch. When he kissed you again, it was a little more urgent, his tongue sweeping up across your bottom lip to part them and play with your own as he kissed you deeply, the weight of his body pinning you against the door as you blindly tried to open it. His kiss was maddening, demanding, and soft at the same time, and his leg slid between your tights, spreading them apart so you could feel him everywhere.

“What about your boyfriend?” Harry asked, grazing his words over your lips, as you managed to open the door. Your tummy fluttered at the feeling, and you opened your eyes to look at him, his swollen lips and his dark eyes. Nothing else was on your mind.

“Do you really care?”

“I have my morals...Especially if I’m gonna see him around.”

“We broke up,” you replied, already looking for his lips again, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him once more. But Harry was quicker, and he tilted his head back and smiled mischievously at you as you pouted.

“You’re always breaking up,” he said, which was true.

“How would you know?”

“These walls are fucking paper-thin.”

“Really? No wonder I always hear when you fuck.”

“Yeah?” His grin grew wider and the need that had settled between your legs throbbed tightly as he tilted his head down, until his breath fanned over your skin and you could feel each one of his words drawing on your skin. “You like listening, babe?”

It reverberated down to your tummy and raised havoc in your brain. Did you like listening to him as he fucked other girls? Of course, you didn’t. But sometimes, you had to wonder...

“Where do you get them? They’re all so loud.”

“You should try it.”

“Scream?”

“Letting me fuck you. The screams are a bonus.”

“I bet they do it out of pity.”

“Wanna find out?”

You didn’t allow yourself to think things through, because if you did, the answer would’ve been a resounding no. Fuck, no. Of course not. Keep dreaming, Styles.

Your fingers tangled in Harry’s hair as you pressed your lips to his one more time and his hands went to the hem of your dress, playing with it between his fingers as you both stumbled into your apartment. You didn’t stop kissing, not even as he kicked the door shut, and Harry took the opportunity to let his hands wander down your body, pushing the fabric of your dress over your hips and spreading his fingers across your bum to dig them on your flesh, pressing you closer to him. He could imagine the red marks of his fingers on your skin, he had dreamed of it a couple of times before, picturing you laying on his lap, with your ass sticking up and your legs rubbing together every time he spanked you. He didn’t even know why, he wasn’t a spanker. But he could do just that if you were into it.

What had been a slow kiss was turning hungrier and demanding, your rough breathing fanning over each other skin and your nose bumping clumsily as you made your way to your couch. It almost felt like you were high. The world was blurry and unimportant, and all that mattered was the lemony taste of his lips.

Harry sat on the couch, and you looked down at him as you stood between his strong legs, your heart racing so fast, you could hear it drumming in your ears. He helped you take off your dress, revealing your red lace panties and your black bra, which made him smile and look at you with eyes filled with lust. It was a good thing you were running out of clothes, and that you had to resort to your sexy underwear.

“Do you wear this to hang around your house? I might visit more,” he teased.

His hands were on the back of your thighs, and he pulled you close to him until you got no more option but to climb on the couch and sit on his lap and feel the effect of your makeout session on his growing bulge.

“Just to make myself clear,” you said. “This is not happening ever again.”

Harry didn’t care, just once was enough to satisfy his curiosity.

As you kissed him again, you understood just how freeing a slow kiss can be. It gave you a chance to explore and remember the taste, the fire, the sweetness out of your mouths. If it was going to be a one-time-only thing, you might as well enjoy it.

“Oh…” The little moan escaped your lips before you could even mold out a thought in your brain, and your mouth formed a perfect circle, hanging open as you looked down at Harry, who seemed fascinated, drinking up your reaction. You leaned back, to allow him to brush his fingertip down your slit, as his other hand was looped around your waist, helping you steady yourself up, as his thumb met your clit and he drew a lazy circle on it, the light pressure sending an electric current up to your spine.

Sex was never like this.

You couldn’t stop looking at him, not as he pushed the fabric of your side to the side and started to draw smaller and tighter circles on your clit, and as he pressed soft kisses from your collarbones down to the valley of your breast, making you take a deep breath as you took your bra off. It was the only thing you could control because everything else had been taken over by Harry. He was making sure you could feel him all over your body, raising goosebumps on your skin and making you arch your back as he trapped your nipple between his lips and continued to massage your clit in fast and steady circles, only slowing down when he felt you throb for him. He didn’t want you to cum, not yet, no, he wanted to feel you lose control around his cock.

“Fuck,” Harry moaned and a triumphant smile tugged up the corner of your lips. He couldn’t be the only one to have fun, not when the pressure of his hard cock against your ass was driving you crazy with curiosity. So, you rocked your hips on him, tightening the grip of his legs around him so he could feel you better. Every time you pushed your hips forward, your center would meet the tip of his fingers, making your walls burn for him.

“Are you gonna fuck me?” Your words were urgent and breathless because by now, a fiery need had settled in the pit of your stomach, burning down every bit of common sense that it could find. All there was left was the feeling of Harry’s fingers thrusting in your pussy, as you both ground your bodies against the other, and Harry tasted the creamy skin of your chest.

“I was thinking about taking it easy,” he said and your eyes snapped open in surprise, looking at him as he offered you a lazy grin. But it didn’t last much more than a couple of seconds, because Harry’s thumb found its way back to your clit, toying with it as his fingers slowly pumped inside of you. He was right, you had to bite your bottom lip to not let out a loud moan at the feeling. “I know you need a good fuck.”

He was right, good fucks are very recommended for your overall health. Make you happier as well.

“Please,” you begged, cause you could feel yourself starting to drip down your legs and all over his fingers, to ache for something more. You wanted to see him completely naked as you rode him. You wanted to hear his low grunts in your ear. You wanted to fuck him and regret it later, cause it was a fucking bad idea.

With his arm around you, Harry easily lifted you from his lap and you gasped, giggling in surprise as he lowered you down on the couch. He was fast and rough when he pushed your panties up your raised legs and threw them to the floor next to you. His eyes were on you, looking at you as you spread your legs open, and you let your fingertips brush down your tummy and make your way between your legs until you reached your center, warm and wet for him, and already sensitive.

You rubbed your fingers faster on your clit as he took his shirt off, and revealed the taut muscles on his chest, and the myriad of tattoos that covered his wonderful body. Then came his pants and his underwear and you couldn’t tear your eyes off of him, watching in fascination as his hard cock sprung to his belly, thick and large in all of his glory. His tip was pink and swollen, and your mouth watered just looking at it. You craved the nice stretch of your walls and the way it would hit you in all the right places.

“Don’t stop,” Harry commanded as he saw you pulling your hand away, and you gulped, letting him look as you continued to touch yourself as he looked at you. There was a knot in your tummy, a fire that was pulsing and demanding, added by the fact that Harry was there, brushing his fingers down your thighs just as your walls clenched.

Slowly, Harry laid down on the couch and settled between your legs, and you arched your back one more at the cool feeling of the air he was blowing against your warm center.

“You like this?” Harry asked, even when you both knew the answer to his question. So, you didn’t even try replying, you just moaned, enjoying the feeling of his tongue sweeping and tasting up and down your slit. His fingers wrapped around your wrist and he pulled your hand away before the tip of his tongue drew a circle around your clit and lapped on it to suck it between his lips.

The feeling of one of his fingers pushing into you almost drew you over the edge, and Harry pumped it slowly, releasing your clit only to flick his tongue over it. His fingertip massaged your walls, just in the right spot to make your whole body tingle, and your tummy quiver at the touch.

Sex was nothing like this. No, it wasn’t.

Your tummy quivered just as your legs started shaking. "Reality" was nothing more than a foreign word, and so were "control" and "restrain", because you whimpered and cried, and moaned Harry’s name as you got closer to your high. Your walls clenched around his fingers and Harry smiled in satisfaction. His name sounded fucking good coming out of your lips.

“C’mere.”

Harry stopped, just seconds before a wave of bliss took over every thought of yours, and you almost grunted in annoyance. You felt robbed.

But that feeling didn’t last long.

You could feel him in your tummy. Fuck, you could feel him everywhere. You sat on his cock and he pushed his hips into yours, thrusting his cock into you easily, you were soaked.

“Fuck,” you both moaned. Yours was more of a cry, while you adjusted around his thick, veiny cock. His was forceful and his grip around your waist became tighter, and his forehead pressed to your shoulder, just as you started to move your hips, sliding your wet pussy up and down his cock.

“You’re so big,” you whispered desperately. Your nails dug on his shoulders and you leaned back to allow Harry to suck and bite on your nipples, while you rode him.

Harry wasn’t soft or slow. You two were looking for your releases, and with his hands on your ass, Harry got to dictate your pace, and how fast you bounced on his cock. He was delirious, but so were you, and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and leaned down to kiss him fully on his mouth, as he continued to fill you with his throbbing cock.

“You like my cock? Like getting yourself off on it?” Harry whispered to your ear and you moaned, riding faster as you felt his finger brushing over your tight little hole. “You have a vibrator, babe?”

“No,” you said, licking your lips as you looked at him. His eyes were almost black and beads of sweat gathered on his forehead while red splotches turned his cheeks pink. “Why?”

“So I can fuck your ass with it while you ride my cock.”

“I’ve never done that,” you admitted. Now it was all you were going to think about.

“Too bad it’s just one time, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

It wasn’t much longer before you were reaching your high, and colorful spots covered your eyes. You slacked over Harry’s body and kissed him lazily and sloppily as he fucked you. When he came, you felt warm inside, his juices dripping down your legs while Harry slumped back on the couch, with his lips slightly parted and his eyes closed as he tried to recover his breath.

You were pretty fucking sure you had imagined the whole thing. Sex was definitely nothing like that.

****

“Wanna come in?” Harry asked you, still standing by his door and looking at you as leaned back against the door.

“No, thank you, I would rather sleep on the floor.”

“Whatever you want, babe,” Harry shrugged and began to close the door to go back to his apartment. Was he actually going to leave you to leave out in the middle of a blackout on a cold night?

“Harry!!” You called for him and the door slammed open, revealing him and his shit-eating grin.

“What? I’m respecting your wishes!”

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

You have never been into his apartment before, but you called this an extenuating situation. Electricity might come back in a couple of minutes, or it might take hours, it had never happened before so you didn’t know what to expect. But it was impressively and surprisingly clean and tiny and it smelled like coffee. You could make out a guitar leaning against a window, and the shadow of a large couch against one of the walls.

Flashes of that night kept flooding your mind, which you found incredibly inconvenient and rude of your brain. But as Harry stood by your side, your skin covered in goosebumps and you found yourself taking a step back and away from him. Just in case.

“You ok, babe?” He asked and you nodded in response, trailing behind him so you wouldn’t against anything in the darkness of the room. “I’ll take the couch, you can take the bed. There’s clothes in my room, so you can change into anything you want.”

His room smelled just like him, and it was certainly a shame that couldn’t snoop around, or even see the colors he had chosen for his bedsheets. You changed out of your clothes as soon as you could, and put on a shirt that you hoped was clean before you went under the sheets.

There was just one problem: No matter how much you tried, you couldn’t keep yourself warm enough to fall asleep. Your teeth clattered and your feet were so cold you could barely feel the rest of your body. It didn’t make you feel any less ridiculous, though, as you made your way to the living room, where Harry was playing with his phone while laying on the couch.

“Harry?” You called for him and he slowly turned around to look at you, the light coming from the screen of his phone allowing you to see his face. “It’s too cold.”

“So, what do you suggest we do?” He smiled, and you wanted to swat the phone out of his hand just to spite him

“Well, I was thinking you should give me your blankets, but I guess that’s too much to ask.”

“It is.”

“So, maybe, we can just...sleep together…like, share the bed.”

“Well, if you wanted to sleep with me again, you just have to say it.”

****

Read Part 2 here!

Hi! If you got this far, I just wanted to say thank you! You make me very happy! Any type of feedback, would be greatly appreciated, but if you don’t feel like it, it’s ok, I get it! Have a nice, lovely day!!!

#harry styles smut #harry styles #harry styles writing #harry smut #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #hs #writing #harry styles fanfiction

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redux-iterum · 3 years

Text

A Kindling: Chapter One

(AO3 counterpart here.)

Rusty jerked awake and banged his head on the bottom of the armchair he lay under.

His immediate reaction was to hiss and duck down again, silently bemoaning each residual wave of pain between his ears. The armchair, just tall enough to allow him space to crawl underneath, shifted above him. The top of his human’s head appeared upside-down to peer at him curiously, mane dragging on the floor. He blinked at them and they chuffed, eyes crinkled, before the head disappeared again.

Rusty waited for the last achy throb to fade away before he crawled out from underneath the armchair, stopping to stretch between his human’s feet and shake his fur out to the irritating dinging of the bell on his collar. He felt fingers gently scratch at his neck and between his shoulders, to which he responded with an obligatory purr. The fingers lifted away as the human trilled something in a high pitch. Rusty’s pelt brushed against one of their legs as he turned and headed for the next room.

His food was still there, in its bowl. Rusty ignored it completely, even as his stomach gave a hint of a growl. The stuff tasted terrible and never seemed to make him full. Not for the first time, he reminisced about his last home, where he had been given something soft and much more delicious.

His mind started wandering on the topic of new and old sensations, as it always did, and he distantly felt his feet carrying him through the overly-warm kitchen and to the flap in the door he’d learned to use on his first few days in this house. He barely paid attention to where he was going; he was in the throes of his dream, before he had been startled into the waking world.

It was always the same: he would be prowling through a place he had never been, yet felt right at home in. The place changed every time he dreamed. Sometimes the grass was tall enough that he had to rear up to see ahead, sometimes it was unending stone formations that curved oddly smoothly and arched above his path. Usually…

Rusty pushed through the flap into the night, walked across the yard with cut grass that irritated his pawpads, and leaped onto chairs and pots until he was at the top of the fence that separated him from the outside world.

Usually, it was what he saw ahead of him—a thick forest, so dense with trees and ferns and bushes that it was impossible to track any potential trails to follow, and rich with the scents of the wild. Even from this distance, through the dark and the petrichor from the rain, those scents seemed to find him at all times of the day and night.

Rusty breathed deep, enjoying the freshness of the damp earth and the many, many smells he could not identify from the forest. It was close. Very close—

“There you are!”

Rusty blinked in surprise and turned his head to see another kitten in the next yard, who did a much less graceful job of getting up onto his fence, scrabbling and puffing for air every time he had to heft his considerable weight to meet with his friend.

“I didn’t think you’d be out this late, Smudge,” Rusty said once he had finally sat down on the rail and was catching his breath.

“Well, I was looking for you all day,” Smudge said, letting out one final huff before sitting up straight. “Were you inside the entire time? What were you doing?”

“Ehm…” Rusty cocked his head sideways a little in thought. “Sleeping, I guess. I was having a lot of nice dreams. I suppose I didn’t want to wake up.”

“Very unlike you, bud.” Smudge gave him an amused look. “Even the old homebody down the way asked where you were today. He said you weren’t around to scare his prey off.”

Rusty snorted. “He’s never caught a thing in his life and we all know it.”

“Well, neither have we,” Smudge said. “Just a matter of time with you, though, I suppose.”

Rusty frowned. “You could catch something one day, too—”

Smudge blinked slowly, unimpressed, and motioned with a paw to his own chest and belly. He was quite different from Rusty—black-and-white and much softer and rounder. He looked like how he lived, never moving far from his bed and food bowl if he could help it.

Rusty, ginger and much wirier, persisted. “Still, you never know.”

“S’pose we don’t.” Smudge glanced out at the forest before them. “Though I wouldn’t dare try, myself. Not over there, anyway, since you keep looking that way.”

“There aren’t really any other places to hunt, though,” Rusty said. “Unless we wanted to go—”

“’We’,” Smudge muttered.

“’We’.” Rusty nodded. “Unless we wanted to go further into the neighborhood and try that park.”

“Eh.” Smudge rolled a shoulder like the very idea of walking that far pained his limbs. “There’re probably ferals out there too.”

Rusty did not respond to this. He was looking back into the forest, thinking. He’d heard stories of feral cats living in those woods—wild giants that lined their borders with the fur of trespassers and ate the bones of helpless kittens and house cats. He’d been warned many times by the adults in his neighborhood to stay away from them, and to run as soon as he saw a hint of their eyes or caught the scent of strange plants and cut wood (whatever that smelled like, he wasn’t sure). Apparently there were even more feral colonies far away, but he knew nothing about them. What everyone was concerned about was the group in the forest.

“Mind a nibble on your thoughts?” Smudge said, jerking Rusty back to the present.

“Just—” Rusty looked between his friend and the woods. “Just wondering what’s in there.”

“Probably nothing good.” Smudge wrinkled his nose distastefully. “A bunch of mud and bullies, I’ll bet.”

“Really?” Rusty looked at Smudge sideways, head tilted a little. “I’ll bet there’s a lot of prey and adventures waiting past those trees.”

“Ohhh,” Smudge said with a grand sarcasm. “Lots of good times in there?”

“All of the good times,” Rusty returned. “And if there are cats, I’ll bet they’re not as bad as everyone says.”

Smudge huffed an amused breath. “Tell you what, you bring one back for me to see myself, one that’s real nice and friendly, and I’ll personally take you to the park tomorrow.”

A spark of something lit up Rusty’s mind. “You know, I might take you up on that.”

All of Smudge’s snarky demeanor vanished in an instant. “Rusty, I was joking.”

“Well, I’m not.” Rusty bunched up and looked over the fence, eyeing the best place to land.

“Don’t—” Smudge puffed up out of the corner of his eye and his volume rose. “Rusty, don’t.”

“No, no, we have a bet.” Rusty jumped and landed with, he proudly noted, barely a stumble. “I’ve got to go find you a feral.”

“They’ll eat you alive!” Smudge protested, looking genuinely anxious. “Come back here! I wasn’t even serious!”

“See you in a while, Smudge!” Rusty called over his shoulder, and started off at a trot through the soft, uncut grass.

“Rusty!” Smudge shouted, but Rusty didn’t look back. He simply padded along, ignoring his friend’s yells, only pausing for an instant as he hit the treeline before pushing his way past a fern. The forest swallowed him and Smudge’s voice faded away.

Rusty stopped a few steps in, eyes wide. The trees, he knew, were always taller than the houses, but up close they seemed to scratch the sky—he wasn’t sure he was even able to see their peaks from here. Some smaller forms of them, much more delicate and thin, fought their way out of the brush that covered almost every bit of ground. The ferns, soft and broad and fringed, took up what the brush didn’t, and patches of incredibly soft grass soaked up what little moonlight they could catch. Everything was vibrant, fresh, alive.

More than that, though, were the scents, so numerous and strong that they threatened to knock Rusty off his feet. Even the trees clouded his nose, and he understood instantly what smells the adults were talking about. The ferns and grass were almost delicious, and the packed soil under his paws smelled not only of rain, but of something that made Rusty’s stomach growl. Something like what he had eaten in his old home.

He wanted to find it.

Without quite understanding what he was doing, Rusty lowered his body into a half-crouch and he tried to pinpoint the scent past all the others. Experimentally, he opened his mouth, and the air brought him a taste that seemed to be coming from his right. He sniffed, turning slowly, ears swiveling.

Something rustled in the ferns, and something else lit up in his head.

Very slowly, very carefully, Rusty moved forward, trying to track the scent as he went. His shoulders brushed against the fronds, but luckily, they made no sound (“Luckily?” What was he trying to sneak up on?). He cursed in his head when his feet shifted the soil and the rustling stopped. He paused, and the rustling eventually continued, as did he.

He closed in on this unknown target, until he ducked below a fern that was blocking his view. In a little clear patch of ground, he could see something tiny and brown scuttling back and forth, digging at the earth or chewing on grass. It had a long, naked tail and wide ears, and Rusty had a vague idea of what it was supposed to be, based on a toy he had at home that looked about the same, save being much more brightly colored.

Again, not having a clue why, Rusty crouched further, eyes focused on the animal. He kept as still as possible, waiting for an opportunity to… do something. The animal was entirely unaware of him. He lifted one paw and took a step, pulling himself closer.

The bush ahead of him violently shook and the animal darted into the undergrowth.

Rusty straightened up, greatly annoyed. He glared at the bush, now catching a scent of something else. Something that was also familiar, but still as new as the rest of this forest. And, going by the continued shaking, something quite large.

Rusty had a faint idea that he should probably run.

#warrior cats #warriors redux iterum #iterum #chapter #chapter one #book one #arc one #a kindling

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ifonlyweknewwhatiwasdoing · 2 years

Note

I really loved ‘the galaxy’s worst kept secret’!!! I would love to see it from Anakin/Obi-Wan’s POV.

For the ask game: soulmate au + arranged marriage ? 💗

Hello Anon Friend!!

I'm working on TGWKS from Obikin's POV! Now that you said it I kind of want to see it too!

As for your ask, here you go! I don't think there's any warnings for it but if you find something, do let me know.

Your Soul Greeted Mine Like a Long Lost Friend (2.9k) (possibly part 1, haven't decided whether or not to write a part two)

Read Below the Cut

They were ruthless.

The stories had been passed down from person to person since before Anakin had been born. Although they tended to leave the Republic alone, the same couldn’t be said for any of the planets that were under the Hutt’s rule.

First, they had come for the small planets that were close to the newly reestablished Republic space. Nimia fell first. Then Klatooine, Delacrix, and Renatsia. Word reached Tatooine as Slehegron and Simban fell and then before they knew it, there was a siege on Kessel.

Everyone held their breath through the next week as Kessel fell to Jetti.

It was impossible, that’s what they said. Kessel was too far into Hutt territory for them to lose. It was a defensive war. The Hutts should have had the advantage of knowing the land and the amount of money they had between them.

The whispers of Kessel’s fall rattled everyone and Anakin remembered how pale his mother’s face had been when news reached them.

“This can’t be good,” she’d told Erinata one day over a cup of caf, “They’re savages. If this is what they are doing to planets, I can’t imagine what will happen to us.”

“Well, what are we going to do about it?” Erinata had told her, her wrinkled hands tightening slightly around her cup, “It’s not as if there’s a way to stop them. They’ve taken Kessel and I doubt that they will stop there. They never do.”

She was right.

Toydaria and Hollastin were the next to fall.

Anakin had been in the shop, fixing and cleaning parts for Watto to sell when he heard the news.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Watto had yelled, “Get your own slaves. Are you telling me the Hutts don’t have da money to be buying their own? You bantha herder!”

It seemed, the Hutts knew that they were losing and they’d had a backup plan.

So Anakin, along with any of the available male slaves were carted away, off to fight on the front lines against the Jetti.

His hands shook as he looked back to his mother, who couldn’t hide her tears, as he was forced to board the ship that was meant to take them to the front lines. It would figure, that an empire built on slave labor would use those slaves to fight their wars but Anakin still couldn’t say he wasn’t surprised.

Anakin was given a blaster and what had to have been old clone armor and then they were sent to Teth, the next planet that they thought would be invaded by the Jetti. His hands shook as he saw the unfamiliar ships hit the atmosphere.

The rich had evacuated and all that was left were slaves who were fighting, slaves that had been abandoned behind, and those too poor to leave. Anakin and some others had been stationed outside the Hutt’s palace, though it was empty for the most part.

Anakin could see the twin moons beginning to rise and realized that this must be it. This must be how he died. The ships landed only a few klicks out and then he could see them on the horizon.

As they came into view, Anakin wished desperately to turn back but he knew either way he would be dead. The chips under their skin would kill them all if they were to try to venture into the protection of the Hutt’s palace and out here they were as good as target practice for the Jetti.

As they approached closer, Anakin swallowed thickly, realizing that not one of them was dressed in full armor. Some of them had pauldrons and reembraces and a few had cuirasses but most of them were free of armor, only dressed in neutral-colored robes and Anakin felt a chill run down his spine.

“We’re so dead,” he told Kit, hands shaking so hard he could barely keep grip on his blaster.

“What do you mean?” Kit asked, looking over at him with wide eyes, “They don’t have any armor Ani. We’ve got to have a chance now, right?”

“They don’t have any armor because they don’t need any armor,” Anakin told him, unable to keep his eyes off of them as they marched forward, “They so so confident that they will win that they didn’t even bother to put their armor on.”

He heard the sharp intake of breath around him and then, “We’ve got to run. We don’t stand a chance.”

Anakin looked over to the man next to him. He was an older gentleman named Kreck who had been a slave for most of his life. He was already taking a step back as Anakin reached out a hand.

“If we head back towards the palace we’re dead,” Anakin reminded him, “This is our only shot.”

He looked around and realized with a pit in his stomach that they were the furthest to the front. Everyone had begun stepping back and now it was obvious that they were all itching to run. Anakin took a step forward, “If we run we’re dead.”

“We’re dead anyway!” Kreck yelled back at him, “At least this way we won’t be prisoners of war.”

“We’re already slaves!” Anakin argued, “At least this way we leave with our lives.”

Still the restlessness grew in the group and Anakin stepped forward. Even if everyone ran away he’d be damned if he ended up dead.

The Hutts had taken everything from him but he’d be damned if they took his life too. He ran his fingers over the raised skin on his wrist and looked down to the burn mark that had once been his soulmate mark.

Kark the Hutts and Kark the Jetti too. Anakin wasn’t going down without a fight.

The Jetti were only steps away from them when the man in the front stopped. The group behind him stopped as well and Anakin took a shaky breath, trying to still his trembling hands.

“Hello there,” the man in the front said and Anakin looked at him.

He was-.

Well, he was beautiful, was Anakin’s first thought, followed by what the kriff are you thinking? He’s an enemy.

But he had auburn hair that shined copper in the last of the sun’s rays and clear blue eyes that Anakin felt like he could drown in. He was steady and standing tall as he looked to Anakin, face calm in a way that Anakin knew his wasn’t.

Was the man serious? He was going to chat with them before the massacre? Was this how war normally went or was this some kind of war tactic that Anakin had never heard of?

“What do you want?” Anakin barked out, raising his blaster, though his hand shook so hard he was sure he was more likely to accidentally shoot himself than anyone else.

“Well perhaps I was hoping that we could avoid the whole fighting part and skip to your surrender,” the man’s smile should have been condescending but it was so bright Anakin could barely look right at it. He brushed a shaky finger over where his soulmate mark burned. He’d do anything to know the name of the person who was meant for him.

Then his words processed and Anakin realized.

“Is that an option?” he blurted out, face reddening even as Kit hissed behind him, “What are you doing man? They’re going to blow our brains out if we surrender.”

The man looked so stunned that Anakin wished the ground would swallow him up. It’s not that he wanted to surrender, it was just he knew they were defeated before they’d begun and he at least wanted to live.

“Did you just offer to surrender?” the man seemed confused.

Anakin swallowed thickly and then quietly, “Yes. But if they know we’ve surrendered they’ll kill us all.”

The man’s face became very serious and he stepped closer, “And if you were to come with us?”

“Then we’ll still be dead,” Anakin bit out, their faces inches apart from each other, “They’ve got our trackers.”

“Trac- you’re slaves,” realization crossed his face and then he straightened up, turning to one of his comrades and said sternly, “Tell air support to fall back. Tell them to abandon the plan. Don’t begin the air raid.”

“Wh-?” the man to his left began to say.

“Just do it,” he said tightly, “And get me that electro-proton bomb.”

Anakin swallowed, standing up straighter himself. Had he just gotten everyone killed? Were they just going to bomb them and be done with it?

“It takes out electromagnetic fields,” the man reassured him softly, as if he’d known what Anakin was thinking, “When we used it during the war we found it had some unintended consequences. It took out prosthetics, blasters, and-.”

“Chips,” Anakin breathed in realization, “It will fry the chips.”

“It will,” the man agreed, “Just give us a bit of time.”

“Okay,” Anakin agreed and then swallowed, “But you should get back. If they find out your helping they might flick the switch and if all of the chips go off at once...”

He looked at the man seriously, “It will be as bad as a bomb. So for now, you need to get back. You don’t have much time to find your device and if you don’t make it in time, I- I don’t want to hurt anyone. None of us do.”

He gestured to the group behind him.

The man’s face softened, “I promise, we’ll find it in time. Just hang in there… what’s your name?”

“Names have power,” Anakin told him, “So you’ll have to excuse me if I don’t give you mine.”

“That’s alright,” the man told him, “You’re right. And since you’ve been so helpful, my name is Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin breathed the name with a sort of reverence Obi-Wan wasn’t sure he’d ever heard, “Thank you Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan stepped back and looked over at his comrade, “Find the electro-proton bomb. Now. We don’t have much time.”

---

Slaves.

Obi-Wan wished he could say that he couldn’t believe it, but honestly, it was something that they should have expected. Still, it hurt Obi-Wan to think about it for too long.

Having someone who had nothing to do with your empire to fight your battles for you was something that was so in character for the Hutts that it almost hurt.

The young boy who had headed the so-called army had really been something.

Fearful, but unwilling to run, hands shaking even as he held his chin up in defiance as they’d reached them. Obi-Wan knew that everyone had been told that the Jedi were some undefeatable, to-be-feared warrior race from what he’d gathered during their siege. But still, the boy had stood tall and proud, ready to face him for his life.

And, he’d been more beautiful than anything Obi-Wan had ever seen in his life. Dark golden skin and light brown hair threaded with streaks of blonde from what must have been working outside constantly, with blue eyes, brighter than the waters of Lake Paonga and clearer than sky on a cloudless day.

He was taller than Obi-Wan, but lither and the way the force had swirled around him had stopped Obi-Wan in his tracks.

He’d asked them if they’d like to surrender because of how taken he’d been with the boy but he hadn’t actually expected anyone to accept.

Now, he was grateful that he had been so distracted or they might have slaughtered countless innocents and that wasn’t what they were there to do.

They were there to free the slaves, at the behest of the Republic, not to kill them.

None of this would have happened though, had Gardulla the Hutt not stolen the man that Obi-Wan had been set to marry.

It was a timeless tradition and one that was said to bring bad luck if it should be broken. The prophets of the Jedi thousands of years ago had come up with a list of Jedi to be who would eventually marry their soulmates, non-Jedi but force usually force-sensitive, to keep the peace between force and non-force users.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was the six hundredth and fifty-ninth Jedi to be added to the tradition, or he should have been.

Shmi Skywalker had born a son, Anakin, who was set to marry Obi-Wan, but on her way to the Jedi Temple, she’d been taken by the Hutts and somehow ended up in the hands of Gardulla. Anakin, who was only a few months old at the time- being nearly fifteen years Obi-Wan’s junior- had been taken with her.

Then, the Clone Wars had happened and the Jedi had to put a pause on their search to find the boy so they could fight for the Republic.

Finally, nearly two decades later, they resumed the search for the missing boy and his mother. It was finallly time to pay the Hutts back for their wrong-doings and it had been decided by the Republic, that their Empire was to fall.

So here Obi-Wan stood, in front of a group of slaves, fighting against the clock to save them.

“We found it!” he looked over as Quinlan came running towards him the bomb in his hand. It had taken a while for them to finally get it sized down that it could be carried on their person and it had changed the tide of the war when they’d finally managed to do it.

Obi-Wan took it from him and turned to start running towards the group. They’d decided that one hundred meters would be far enough away should things go wrong but Obi-Wan wished he would have been able to stay beside the man who had led for the whole time.

He wanted to know his history, his story. If Obi-Wan was being honest he wanted to know everything about him.

But he was set to be married, he knew. That was the whole point of this and he couldn’t afford to be distracted by someone who had caught his eye.

He had a duty to the Jedi.

He pressed the button on and then using the force, tossed it so that it was in the middle.

“It should be-,” Obi-Wan started to say and then stopped short as he heard a beeping noise, looking in horror at the man as he swallowed thickly.

“It’s too late,” the man told him, “They’ve just hit the-.”

There was a bang and everything was covered in the dust that the explosion caused. Obi-Wan looked up in horror but he couldn’t see anything. He couldn’t even yell for the man.

He’d never even gotten his name.

“Obi-Wan!” Quinlan and Qui-Gon were at his side almost immediately.

“Are they- are they-?” Obi-Wan started to ask, looking as the dust began to settle.

“We’re fine!”

Obi-Wan looked as the man stepped forward, coughing but unharmed, “It’s fine! Your bomb thing worked! I think only a few of the trackers went off!”

Obi-Wan didn’t often do things on impulse. He was a good Jedi, one of the best and one of the youngest to ever achieve the rank of Master. He was a fierce fighter and a brilliant negotiator praised for his level-headedness.

So, he’s not sure what comes over him as he twists his fingers into the other man’s tunic and pulls hard, letting their lips meet in a clash of teeth and tongue, but the man kisses him back, letting his long fingers cup Obi-Wan’s face and brush through his beard as their lips lock.

Then they pulled back and Obi-Wan realized what he had done.

“I- I’m- I’m so sorry,” Obi-Wan apologized, “I don’t even- I don’t know what came over me.”

But the force was singing around them, dancing brilliantly as if it was rejoicing and Obi-Wan couldn’t regret what he’d done. He wanted to do it again. He would have done it again if only-.

Anakin Skywalker was waiting for him. He couldn’t be doing this when he was supposed to be waiting for his soulmate. He was supposed to be on a mission to save his soulmate.

He tried to step back but two hands on snaked around his waist to stop him.

“Wait,” the man said, “Wait. Don’t go, please.”

“I-I can’t,” Obi-Wan’s face turned pink as he realized everyone was watching, “I- I’m supposed to be on a mission to save my betrothed. I’m- I’m not sure what came over me but I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Wait!”

He looked again but the man wasn’t looking at him, he was looking at his-.

Obi-Wan realized that part of his collarbone was showing and went to cover it, only to have a hand stop him.

“Is- is that-?” the man stopped as he took a deep breath, looking back to Obi-Wan with a look of awe, “The name! The name on your-! Is that my name?”

“I don’t know your name,” Obi-Wan said dumbly, and then the man was leaning forward, lips brushing Obi-Wan’s ear.

“Anakin. Anakin is my first name,” he said, “Is that-? Is that really my name?”

Obi-Wan took the man’s face into his hands and let the relief wash through him. He was drawn to this man for a reason. He wouldn’t have to let him go after all.

“Anakin,” he said, “Anakin Skywalker.”

“Yes?” Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan pulled him back down for another kiss.

#asks #prompt mashup #obikin #star wars fanfiction #obikin fanfiction #musicsoul1982

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taexual · 4 years

Text

i’d love you to stay but that’s simply insane // JJK (16)

jungkook is an uncontrollable lead vocalist of the campus band, and you’re a goal-oriented top student that’s known his rich and complicated family since childhood. you don’t want anything to do with each other, until each other is exactly what you want to do.

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: college au

warnings: angst

words: 6.6k

chapter sixteen

Despite deciding not to make your already uncomfortable situation even more awkward by discussing your kiss, Jungkook could not stop thinking about it the entire drive back to your dormitory. Actually, he’d been thinking about the kiss nearly every moment since it happened, but with you in the car next to him, his thoughts became clearer. More defined. More vibrant.

If he’d have closed his eyes – not a good idea for someone who was behind the wheel of a car; but it wasn’t like Jungkook was above entertaining bad ideas – he swore he could return to that moment when he had you underneath him on his bed, your mouth against his, right before his mother knocked on the door and interrupted you.

What would have happened if she hadn’t knocked?

“You okay?” you asked suddenly, the question startling him.

“Hmm?” he nearly swerved off the road, answering you in a high-pitched voice, “yeah. Why?”

“You just inhaled really—nevermind,” you changed your mind – it was better to stay quiet all the way home. But, aware how weird your question seemed without any explanations, you mumbled under your breath, “thought you were suffocating or something.”

Jungkook hadn’t realized his breath got caught in his throat every time he remembered kissing you, but it made sense; his body needed to give up every other activity—no matter how crucial for his survival it was—in order to make enough space in his mind to fully immerse itself into the memory.

The memory was so important to him because, based on the way you shifted closer to the door and further away from him in his car, he could tell that even the lingering possibility of bringing the kiss up made you close off. So the chance of it happening again – him, getting you to lower your guards down enough to allow another kiss – was so slim, it was incredible he hadn’t given up yet.

“So, I take it you won’t make it to my gig this Friday, then,” Jungkook said when he entered the campus, nodding at the barrier guard through his window before turning to look at you to show you that, no, he wasn’t going to try to get you to talk about last weekend, but also, no, he wasn’t going to completely let this go, either.

“No,” you said with a quick glance his way, the barbecue at his father’s company written in red letters in your mental itinerary. “Not this Friday. Sorry.”

He thought this over – “this” Friday meant that next Friday still had an opening. He liked these odds.

“Text me if my dad gets too crazy, yeah?” Jungkook asked as he pulled into the parking lot of your dormitory. “I’ll make sure to reply with tips on how to get him to leave you alone.”

“No, you’ll be in the middle of your performance,” you said – expressing your appreciation for his concern by giving him a warm smile – and then dismissed him with a wave of your hand, “I’ll find a way to handle it.”

Stopping the car right in front of the entrance – but not shutting the engine off which was, both, terrible for the environment and also not a very smart idea socially, considering that people were already watching your every step, and they were absolutely going to hear Jungkook’s car – he turned to look at you with a very determined expression on his face.

“If you don’t think I can find a way to include answering texts in my set list, I have news for you,” he said and you thought he was joking – just being reassuring – but the look in his eyes told a different story.

Your smile widened despite your protests. “Alright, noted. But don’t worry about me. Just let me know when you’re done with your gig.”

Jungkook – who’d never had to report his whereabouts to anyone before – found himself nodding eagerly.

“You too,” he said. “I mean, text me when that whole social gathering is over. I can drive over there to take you home.”

“No,” you protested again, “you have an after-party to get to. I’ll make my own way home. Don’t worry—”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he countered, using your own argument against you, “I will come get you out of there early if you’ll need me to. No matter what I’m doing.”

The look on his face was resolute and, for a moment, you considered that perhaps this was his way of showing you that he didn’t want you to go to the company barbecue at all – especially not when he couldn’t be there to supervise and make sure the real story of your relationship remained well hidden behind the tale you’d created for his parents – but then, Jungkook looked down and refuted these thoughts.

“Thank you for doing this,” he said. “My dad already had that look on his face – the scowl he saved for me only – because he’d been expecting me to refuse to come all along, but then you… well, you softened the blow.”

“I didn’t soften it much if he still looked at you like that,” you said, lowering your eyes just as Jungkook raised his.

“No, you did. I’d have gone home, thinking—no, knowing—that I’d let him down yet again,” he said, “and that often has interesting consequences—”

You raised your eyebrows. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Right. But now I get to go home and worry about you being there alone with my family and their colleagues, so that gives me something else to occupy myself with.”

You could have insisted that you weren’t a damsel in distress and could figure out your own way out of a tricky situation if you had to, but you chose to let him have this one. If thinking about this kept him out of trouble while you were out of campus and, possibly, unable to reach him in time, then so be it.

“That’s hardly a better way to spend your time, but if that’s what you’re into these days…” you replied with humor and Jungkook – who could tell that you were only saying this so you’d stop going back and forth with him – forced himself to smile.

“You’re rubbing off on me,” he said. “I’m starting to develop this need to constantly be in control of everything.”

Your mouth opened in genuine surprise and then – almost comically – opened wider still, when you decided to add a more dramatic effect to your reaction, so you could conceal the fact that the portrayal of you, as a control freak, had honestly upset you.

But you couldn’t express your feelings out loud because, admittedly, he was right, you did like to be in control of your surroundings. Shamelessly so, too, because you didn’t think it was wrong to know about everything that involved you.

“That’s not good,” you said. “We can’t both be in control. We’ll clash.”

“If we do, I hope it will be as epic as Harry versus Voldemort.”

You snickered at this, the tension in your shoulders lightening. “I take it you’re Voldemort?”

Jungkook looked positively outraged by this assumption. “Of course not! I’m The Chosen One.”

Now you were full-on laughing. And The Chosen One – who, technically, could have actually been called The Boy Who Lived after all the life-threatening stunts he’d pulled since starting puberty – smiled, beyond proud of himself.

Smiling at each other for several seconds – that could have been minutes or even hours for all you cared; it only felt like one blink of an eye to you anyway – you felt your chest fill with affection. That tended to happen sometimes, especially when you’d been dreading a situation – The Talk About the Sunday Night Kiss – and then managed to successfully make it out alive – by using a method, commonly referred to as, Staying Quiet and Changing the Topic.

“I meant what I said, though,” you spoke and the relief that you didn’t have to endure the awkward ‘so… what do we do now?’ question washed over you with a warm wave. “I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

You had leaned closer him as you said this – it was a natural instinct: reaching out to touch someone’s hand (or, uh-oh, cheek!) for more effect – but you froze mid-way, hanging awkwardly over the console of his car and regretting your very existence because you’d noticed how Jungkook stopped breathing when you moved closer, and how quickly his breathing returned to him – in the form of a disappointed huff – when you suddenly stopped.

“Thank you for taking me to the meeting today,” you ended up blurting as you pulled back, your eyes now firmly locked on the handle of the door.

“Yeah. It’s nothing,” he replied and, somehow, that was it.

The eternity you always spent in his car when he dropped you off in front of your dormitory had suddenly come to an end and, because of how weird it was to leave without saying goodbye – but, then again, were you supposed to hug? Kiss? – your hand lingered on the handle numbly, only pushing the door open a minute later.

Paradoxically, relief and concern both flooded your brain as soon as you stepped one foot outside but then, before you could exit his car, you felt him take hold of your wrist – not pulling you back per se, but holding onto you firmly enough to stop you from moving.

“Hey,” Jungkook said. You were mid-step, so you had to fully exit the car and lean down to look at him.

“Hmm?” you asked, your wrist still in his grip even though he had successfully captured your attention.

“D-don’t…” he tried to say, mumbling the rest of the words under his breath. You frowned, not hearing him, and were about to lean forward to ask what he’d said, when he cleared his throat and tried again, “let’s not be weird around each other, okay? We know each other far too long for that.”

Your plan to keep your mouth shut and divert his attention to different topics had, clearly, only succeeded in part, because Jungkook was addressing last Sunday night, after all, but he didn’t dare to bring the kiss up directly. And his acknowledgement of the fact that you were too stuck in your own head to let him talk to you about the kiss specifically, made it all worse.

“Yeah,” you said then. “I wouldn’t want things to suddenly be weird between us.”

“So, let’s not make it weird,” he said, nodding and reluctantly letting go of your hand. “Don’t forget to text me tomorrow.”

“I won’t,” you pulled your hand back and, with one last smile – that looked forced, uncomfortable and weird; all the things you didn’t want it to look like – you walked away from his car and back to your dorm, ready for Inna’s tirade of questions. Questions that you had no answers to.

What surprised you about the company barbecue on Friday afternoon wasn’t the fact that Inna hadn’t demanded to know all the details of the event when you told her where you’d be going, or the fact that all of the people you’d seen at the bi-yearly meeting on Thursday, were now dressed in red aprons like your friendly neighborhood dads.

It was the fact that Namjoon, of all people, was dressed like one of those dads, too.

“Hey!” you exclaimed, evidently shocked to run into him here. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Oh, hi!” Namjoon seemed just as surprised but he shook your hand – which was his go-to way of saying hello to people, as you’ve learned – and smiled, explaining, “I’m interning here, actually. What about you?”

You were thrown off balance by your surprise – the two of you had talked about your plans for the future before, sharing your ambitions with each other, and yet you didn’t know that he was an intern here – but recovered a moment later to explain yourself.

“Oh, I’m—the CEO is an old family friend, so I’m here as a courtesy of sorts,” you said, feeling self-conscious when you saw Namjoon raise his eyebrows after he learned about this connection. “I was supposed to come earlier to help you set up but my roommate was leaving for the weekend, and she—well, anyway. I’m only here to get acquainted with the company, really.”

Contrary to what you’d expected him to ask you next, Namjoon wondered, “do you see yourself here in the future?”

Even though he didn’t inquire about your biography outright – “were your parents powerful and influential businessmen as well?” – his question did seem to insinuate that you may start working here purely because of your relationship to the head of the company.

“Maybe,” you replied, realizing how privileged you were to be here when you weren’t even a part of the company yet. “What has it been like, interning here?”

“Oh, it’s been okay. It’s the only company that took me in,” he spoke and you felt yourself exhale in relief after you lost the spotlight. “The others weren’t looking for interns. Or they needed interns with a job experience that spanned more than my college career.”

You scoffed, understanding what he meant very well because you’d been there, too. “How does that make sense?”

“It doesn’t,” Namjoon said with a sigh. “And that’s why I’m here.”

“So, this wasn’t your first choice?” you asked.

“No, but I don’t regret coming here,” he replied. “It’s a nice work environment. The people are very welcoming and helpful, which isn’t something you see a lot of in corporate businesses.”

Sadly, some of the people here weren’t very welcoming in their personal lives, you thought bitterly, remembering Jungkook and his father’s tense relationship. You chose not to mention that, however, because it didn’t seem like the right thing to do.

“I hope you’re not here for work, though,” you said instead, smiling as you watched Namjoon laugh awkwardly and nod at the beef patties on a plate next to the grill.

“No,” he said. “But they did put me on grilling duty – which wasn’t very smart of them, considering how terrible I am around things that can burst into flames – so I do have some hefty responsibilities today.”

You chuckled. “I could help you. I’ve done my fair share of barbecuing when I was growing up. Let me just leave my handbag somewhere—”

“The gazebo over there,” Namjoon pointed at the far end of the camping grounds, “they’ve turned it into a coat room. You could leave it there,” he looked at you and, catching his own eagerness, explained, “I would really appreciate your help. I don’t want my internship to end prematurely because I’d poisoned everyone with my poor cooking.”

Giving him a sympathetic grin, you assured him, “that won’t happen. At least, not on my watch. I’ll be right back!”

As you’d learned once you got back to the grill and started to assist Namjoon – or, allowed him to assist you – Jungkook’s father hadn’t even arrived yet. Him and his wife – according to a very chatty woman who was Namjoon’s supervisor – were supposed to come a little while later and then, following tradition, they would take a picture with the rest of the employees, sit down for a meal, and leave within an hour.

This barbecue may have been a nice social gathering for the employees of his company, but it was strictly a formality for Jungkook’s father.

“Still, it’s nice,” Namjoon said once the woman left you two to finish grilling the sausages and the patties alone, “not many CEOs bother to interact with the lower-rank employees at company events. At least, not in my experience. My dad didn’t even know what his boss looked like and he’d worked for the same company for twenty years.”

“It sounds impossible in today’s day and age, though, with everyone being on social media,” you pointed out.

“Of course. But you don’t always recognize people from social media in real life. So, it’s nice that even I, an intern, have a chance to see the CEO of the company with my own eyes. And maybe even meet him.”

“Hmm, sure,” you nodded with an unconcerned shrug. “It is nice of him, I suppose.”

Namjoon noticed your nonchalance and he knew that the reason why you couldn’t relate to him in this particular situation was because you had nothing to get excited about – you had already met the CEO.

“You said he was a family friend?” Namjoon asked you. “So, you know him quite well, then?”

You paused grilling for a second to look at him but he was watching the food to make sure it didn’t burn. And that was even better, since it gave you more time to come up with an abridged version of your relationship with Jungkook’s father.

“Yeah, uh… my mom and his wife had been best friends growing up,” you said, “and they’re still very close to this day. Now that they’re both married, their families got involved in the friendship, too. He’s always been kind to me but my knowledge of him comes from Jungkook’s point of view, so I’m probably—”

Namjoon finally looked away from the sizzling grill to get you to back up. “Wait, Jungkook?”

“Yeah, we—” you paused, realizing that he wasn’t confused about your friendship with Jungkook but, rather, about Jungkook, being the son – and the heir apparent – of the CEO. “The company—i-it belongs to Jungkook’s father.”

“Oh,” Namjoon mumbled, looking away as this revelation rendered him speechless for a quick minute. “Oh.”

You didn’t know what to make of this “oh”, so you tried to clear the air with a chuckle.

“I, uh—I had thought that was common knowledge on campus,” you said.

“I—maybe it is, I don’t really keep up w-with that,” he admitted. “I just assumed he was popular because of Parental Advisory.”

“He is,” you nodded, “but coming from a rich family probably didn’t hinder his way to the top very much.”

“No,” he snickered, “it probably didn’t. So, uh, is he coming here, too?”

You had picked up a pair of tongs from the folding table nearby and used them to flip the patties before you answered. That was why you didn’t notice how much Namjoon struggled to process this new information. You couldn’t ask him what was it about Jungkook that caused Namjoon to have such a hard time dealing with this news.

“No,” you said, still not looking at him as you focused on the grill. “He’s got a show tonight.”

“Ah, so his band comes first,” Namjoon said in a voice that would have been humorous—in a sarcastic way—if it wasn’t so acidic.

You stopped what you were doing to give the boy next to you a surprised look.

“Well—not necessarily,” you said and then tried to find a way to explain why Jungkook was the way he was without getting into too many unnecessary and overly-complicated details, “he cares about both, but he’s not—he’s got, uh, some issues with—”

“With being civil in front of his father’s employees?” Namjoon interjected sharply.

You blinked. “He—”

“God, sorry,” he blurted suddenly, putting the metal spatula down on the grill before realizing that this wasn’t a good idea and picking it back up again. He sounded exasperated as he tried to take his previous question back, “I don’t know why I’m coming off so angry about this. I was just surprised. I did hear that the CEO had a son who was presumably going to take over the company one day, but I didn’t think it was… you know.”

You didn’t know, but you could guess that Jungkook’s bad reputation preceded him and even people, who claimed not to judge others without getting to know them first, couldn’t help but judge first.

Namjoon sounded disappointed when he talked about him. Worse, he sounded displeased and even choked as he spoke, trying to cover up his own frustration so he could remain impeccably respectful like he always was – or tried to be.

He tried to avoid stereotypes but you’d gotten glimpses of his real attitude at the library when he’d revealed his assumptions about the members of Parental Advisory, guessing – and getting it right – that the members were a “troubled bunch”.

You’d admired his restraint from any further assumptions that could have shown his prejudice. But now his respectfulness irked you because it hid his real feelings and made it almost impossible for you to defend Jungkook without sounding like you were overreacting.

“There’s still a long way before Jungkook can take over,” you said, focusing on the tongs in your hands and the way they clapped with a metallic yelp each time you clicked them together. “He’s working on it and his father definitely isn’t cutting him any slack just because he’s his son.”

“Right, I wasn’t—”

“But you probably know that if you work here,” you continued, yours words coming out in a batch of agitation that Namjoon could not interrupt, “there aren’t any exclusive employees here. Everyone is being treated the same, regardless of their connection to the staff higher up.”

“No, of course!” he exclaimed before you could continue. “I didn’t mean to imply—although, I guess I did imply that he had certain guarantees that other people didn’t, which is true, of course, with him being the son of the CEO. But I didn’t mean to make it sound like he wouldn’t deserve the chief executive position. I’m sure his father wouldn’t give it to him if he didn’t think Jungkook was worth it.”

“Yeah,” you said, swallowing hard. “He wouldn’t.”

Namjoon wasn’t going to say anything else about this – he’d already said too much – but the way you went straight for his throat when he misspoke about Jungkook, shed a new light on your relationship with him. It intrigued Namjoon even if he wasn’t fascinated by you in a romantic sense.

His interest in your relationship with Jungkook was mostly understandable, though – the two of you were so different on the surface, one could only wonder what was it that attracted you to each other.

Well, apparently, there were depths to the reckless lead vocalist of the campus band that Namjoon didn’t know about.

“I’ve heard he treats everyone here like family,” Namjoon said, trying to make his voice sound light as he shifted the topic from the son to the father.

“I’ve heard that, too,” you agreed, your voice still on edge. “The man has a great reputation around here.”

“He’s sort of living up to it, too,” Namjoon said and you saw him nod in the direction of the road that ran along the north side of the camping grounds.

You turned your head to see Jungkook’s father step out of his car, with his wife following after, from the other side. He shook hands with the few people who came to greet him.

He had a wide smile on his face – a smile that you couldn’t remember seeing in a very long time, but now that you did, you realized how similar him and Jungkook were: both of them seemed to lose ten years of their age when they smiled.

“He kind of looks like he’s running a presidential campaign,” you said, observing the scene as Jungkook’s father greeted his employees – some with a good-natured hug, others with a wave.

Namjoon glanced at you and, relieved to see that your mind was no longer lingering on your previous conversation, laughed. “Maybe a bit, yeah.”

Within moments of Jungkook’s father’s arrival, the campgrounds were in an uproar: everyone was busy grilling their last bits of food and arranging it in a way that would look the most appetizing.

The plate of food you and Namjoon had grilled definitely wasn’t the easiest on the eyes, but none of the food seemed under-cooked or burned, so both of you were content with that.

Then, just as you were about to pick the food up and carry it over to the structure tent in the center of the grounds, you were reminded that time for dinner hadn’t arrived yet.

The traditional picture had to come first.

You felt a lot like you did on picture day back at school – with one of the employees ordering everyone around, demanding they squat, scooch closer, smile wider, turn their heads, and move to the back because their clothing is too flashy – and that was what you told Namjoon when the two of you found yourselves standing side-by-side in front of the camera, very close to Jungkook’s father himself.

“I think it’s worse than it was at school,” Namjoon whispered back, glancing at the other employees and their wide smiles, “but, at least, we don’t have to wear uniforms.”

You scoffed. “Yes. Wearing dark red aprons is better.”

“This awful color makes us all more united,” he said, looking over your shoulder and accidentally meeting the eye of his CEO, who was making sure you weren’t standing too far from him, because he considered you to be his guest and, therefore, he had to make sure you received the best treatment. Namjoon figured as much, as he cleared his throat and straightened his posture.

Finally, the photographer – or, actually, the Head of Human Resources with his new Samsung – took the picture, making sure the flash blinded each and every single person posing for him. And then he took another picture. And then another one. And then a few more for good measure.

You thought you’d blinked in all of them but you hoped to never see those pictures anyway. They probably hung them up in the lobby to remind everyone who went into the building that this was a very friendly environment to work in, but the actual employees never really looked at the pictures.

It was almost funny how wrong you were about that.

“Such a pleasure to see you here,” Jungkook’s father said, approaching you as soon as the people broke apart from their designated positions and pretended to mingle while, really, they waited for the director to finish talking and lead them to the main tent for dinner.

“Thank you very much for inviting me,” you said, aware of everyone’s eyes on you as you exchanged a polite and obligatory hug. “It’s a very nice place here.”

“It really is, isn’t it?” he nodded and then, much to your relief, pointed at the tent. “Let’s go have some food, shall we? I’d been saving up my stomach the whole day for this.”

You chuckled and walked next to him towards the plastic table, filled to the brim with various plates of food. There was far too much grilled meat here – it was impossible for everyone to eat it all, no matter how many people were here – but that only seemed to please the CEO.

“Would you like to take a look at the pictures, sir?” the Head of HR approached Jungkook’s father after he noticed that your conversation had ceased.

Based on how carefully he held the treasured Samsung in his hands, you figured that, either the phone had cost several million dollars, or the man was genuinely terrified of Jungkook’s father – which wasn’t unlikely, as you very well knew.

“Oh, of course, of course,” Jungkook’s father said, always so pleasant, and then stopped to take a look at the phone. You weren’t sure if you should have kept walking or stopped as well. And then he solved the dilemma for you by addressing you, “I’m going to forward the picture to Jungkook so he knows what he’s missing.”

“Oh, yes, that’s a great idea,” you said, smiling, even though you knew Jungkook probably wasn’t even going to open the picture.

Funnily enough, you were wrong about that, too.

While you and Jungkook’s father joined the rest of his employees for the barbecue, Jungkook was finishing soundcheck with his bandmates. He checked his phone – like he did after each song – and rolled his eyes when he saw a text from his father instead of from you.

He opened it, though.

He didn’t care much for what his father said – but he had to admit, he’d never seen his father use the winky face emoji before, so that threw him off – but his eyes caught the picture he’d attached and Jungkook pressed on it without a moment’s hesitation.

Skimming over the bright smiles of his father’s employees, he scanned the picture, looking for you.

And he found you.

But not before he found Namjoon standing right next to you.

Much to your surprise, talking to the other employees – even despite the age gap – proved to be a lot of fun. Some of the older ones actually remembered you from when you were little; they recalled you and Jungkook holding onto Jungkook’s mother’s dress as she brought you two along when she came to visit her husband at the company. And the younger employees curiously absorbed everything you told them about your experience at university, sharing their own life stories with you in return.

Because you found yourself having a good time here, you only remembered that you’d left your phone in your handbag – which was across the camping grounds, tucked away in the lonely wooden gazebo – when Jungkook’s father – who was still here, much to everyone’s surprise – decided it was time to pop the champagne.

You excused yourself from the table, promising to return soon because you only meant to retrieve your phone so you could check the time and maybe check in with Jungkook in case his show was over by now.

That was not what ended up happening when you located your handbag under the various expensive jackets that were haphazardly thrown on the bench in the gazebo.

You pulled your phone out to see several missed calls.

None of those missed calls were from Jungkook. In fact, the majority of them came from Inna, which was already weird enough since she’d left campus again this weekend and she never called you. You always texted.

But what truly confused you were the last two missed calls because they were from Yoongi, Jungkook’s bandmate. You’d only talked to Yoongi on the phone once, when you were attempting to get in touch with Jungkook after he missed dinner at his parents’ place, but Yoongi was high back then so you didn’t think he even remembered.

But he did remember, apparently, because, while you stood there, puzzled and a little alarmed, his number lit up on your screen again.

Clearing your throat, you picked up the call. “Hello?”

“Oh, fuck, thank God, you’re here,” Yoongi spoke and, judging from the relief in his voice, he knew very well whom he was talking to. “Is Jungkook with you?”

“Jungkook?” you repeated stupidly. “W-why would he be with me? Don’t you have a show?”

Yoongi laughed, loudly and completely humorlessly. “We do have a show. He was wasted for the most of it.”

A painful bolt of electricity shot through you. “He performed drunk?”

“Doesn’t matter. At least, he performed,” Yoongi said, “that’s before the encore, though. We couldn’t find him. The fucking asshole completely missed the three final songs. We thought he went to see you.”

You felt a pang of guilt even though you had nothing to feel guilty about because Jungkook was most definitely not with you, and he didn’t have a single reason to come see you before he finished the show anyway.

“I-I’m not on campus right now,” you said, running your hand through your hair as you considered what could have happened in the span of the few hours since you left your dorm this morning, after having talked to Jungkook on the phone. “Did you try calling him?”

“Obviously. He’s not picking up. I’m pretty sure he tossed his phone into a fucking lake,” Yoongi said and then, even though he didn’t mean it, he added angrily, “he better be in the lake, too, or else I’ll kill him myself.”

Knowing that the scenario of Jungkook accidentally driving into a lake wasn’t one to be dismissed, you felt your skin shiver.

“I’ll look for him,” you promised, looking back at the celebration in the tent across the field.

“You said you weren’t on campus,” Yoongi said. “Your roommate said she was out, too.”

You weren’t aware that Yoongi had talked to Inna tonight, but that explained the avalanche of missed calls from her. You made a mental note to send her a quick explanatory text message on your way to your dorm.

“I’m coming back,” you told Yoongi, grabbing your bag and making your way back to the rest of the company. “Let me know if he gets in touch with you, though, okay?”

The boy on the other end scoffed. “He won’t. Chances are, he won’t talk to the rest of us for a week after he eventually shows up back home. As if it’s us who fucked up, and not him.”

“Did anything happen?” you asked, still trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together. That wasn’t easy when each piece looked drastically different from the next and you had no idea what the full picture was supposed to look like. “Did someone say something to him? Did he get into a fight? Did he—”

“No. Nothing happened. We were—ah, shit, wait, his dad texted him, didn’t he?” Yoongi said but it didn’t sound like he was addressing you. He wasn’t; a moment later, a muffled, “yeah” sounded in the background of the call. Then, Yoongi continued, “yeah, we were finishing up with the soundcheck when he got a text from his dad. He read it and just fucking dipped. When he came back to do the show, he was already struggling on his feet.”

You cursed under your breath before thinking aloud, “his dad is here. I did see him text Jungkook but he was just sending him a picture—could it have been the picture that triggered him?”

“A picture of what?”

“There’s this barbecue that the company organized. His dad invited us both but he stayed back to do the show, so I came alone. We took a picture, everyone who’s here. And his dad sent it to him. Could that be the reason why he—”

“No,” Yoongi said right away, “company dinners—or barbecues, or whatever—doesn’t sound like Jungkook’s thing. He wouldn’t give a fuck about the picture. Unless you took someone there as your plus one?”

“Of course I didn’t. I was supposed to come with him but—oh, fuck.”

You stopped walking, the realization hitting you first, and the absurdity of it following right after.

Namjoon was in the picture next to you. He was just standing there, not even touching you, but was it possible that his appearance in the picture was enough for Jungkook to lose touch with reality?

“Fuck, of course, that’s possible,” you said out loud, almost stomping your feet in frustration like a kid, throwing a tantrum. “Listen, I have to go. I’ll text you if I find him.”

You didn’t hear Yoongi’s response because you were already pulling the phone away from your ear as you returned to the tent. You needed to find a way to leave without raising any suspicions with Jungkook’s father – whom you ran past in a wide semicircle like he was the plague itself – and you figured that the best way to do that would be faking a health emergency.

But for that, you needed to spend another few inconspicuous minutes by the table, looking colorless and uncomfortable. That wasn’t going to be difficult since you did feel light-headed already.

As you waited for the right amount of time to pass before you could leave, you tried texting Jungkook. You even tried calling – thinking you’d have enough time to walk far enough from the table so that’d no one would hear you – but the beeping signal never ceased and you didn’t get to hear Jungkook’s voice.

Right when you bit your lip, trying his number for the fifth time in a row as if the previous four times were just glitches in the system, someone noticed your distress.

“Hey,” Namjoon’s voice sounded by your ear, startling you because he was across the table from you just a second ago. “You okay? You came back to the table, looking very out of it.”

“Namjoon,” you said, your voice so grave, he thought you were about to tell him that the entire campus had burned down while the two of you weren’t there and you were the only suspects. “I need to leave.”

“Did something happen?” he asked, the concern in his voice genuine.

You nodded. “Jungkook got in trouble. I have to go back, b-but I can’t tell his father about any of this.”

You spoke without thinking about your last conversation with Namjoon or how this news could have confirmed Jungkook as a useless waste of space in his eyes. Frankly, in that moment, you couldn’t have cared less about Namjoon’s opinion of Jungkook.

You could have used his help, even if he was going to judge you for it.

“I’m going to call myself a cab,” you said, “but could you please do me a favor, and tell his dad that I’d left because I wasn’t feeling well?”

Namjoon pulled back from your chair and looked across the table to his own seat – his leather jacket resting on the back of the chair – before giving you a nod.

“Let’s go,” he said. You were already standing up but then paused and sat back down, confused.

“What?”

“I’ll drive you back to campus,” he said, “we can leave without saying anything – no one will even notice. And then, when I’m back, I can tell everyone that you weren’t feeling well and that’s why I took you home early.”

“T-that’s very kind, but I can really just—”

“No, let me take you home,” Namjoon insisted as gently as he could, afraid that his forceful tone might remind you of his previous slip-up when you were talking about Jungkook. “It’ll be my way of apologizing for stepping over the line earlier today.”

You considered telling him that he had nothing to apologize for – he didn’t know Jungkook personally and everyone was entitled to their own opinion; you’d just gotten annoyed that he was so quick to hide this opinion under the curtain of fake politeness – but, eventually, the realization that you really didn’t have the time to debate if he should have felt apologetic or not won over, and you nodded.

You needed to get back to campus quickly, even if there was a risk of Jungkook seeing you and Namjoon together again – if that really was the reason why he got drunk and missed the encore of his own show.

“Okay. Let’s go,” you said, finally standing up. “Thank you.”

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