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yourneighborhoodporg · 6 months

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The Guardian

Chapter 8: Blackened Water (Part 2)

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, banter, migraines, a tiny reference to drugs, self-sacrifice ish, skechy neighborhoods, brief stalker (?), very concerned Obi :(

Summary: After this morning's incident in the Starfighter, you go on an afternoon run to clear your mind. Of course, your track of choice is the seedy underground neighborhoods of the outer Senate District— a decision that will prove to be full of twists and turns.

Song Inspo: Black Water — Of Monsters and Men

Words: 7.5k

A/n: All I’m gonna say is, hella foreshadowing and hella symbolism. I’ll let you decide what that means 🫡

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Series Masterlist

The thought was this: that all my life had been murk and depths, but I was not a part of that dark water. I was a creature within it — Madeline Miller

Your loosely booted foot smacked against the damp pavement, splashing apart shallow puddles that collected in the occasional crevice with each sprinting step as you made your way deeper into the alleys of the Senate District. The flickering, golden glows of periodic street lamps illuminated the path ahead, just enough to avoid tripping over scattered waste piles that dotted street corners. It forced your eyes to remain alert as you maneuvered around them and below the thick, interwoven cable squiring across miles-long under-street ceilings like an infinite den of snakes.

You glimpsed at your chilly sleeves without a hitch in your bounding steps. The slate-gray of your robe had soaked into a deep, inky black from the afternoon’s drumming rain. One that had already enveloped the region by the time you first launched this trek into the neighborhood’s bowels at hour’s dawn.

But dampened earth wasn’t your reason for keeping to empty passageways and abandoned tunnels. Coated in shadowed light as distant clatters atop metal rooftops trickled down into groans that bellowed from the surrounding walls.

No.

You were clinging to shadowy covers because, once again, you’d chosen to embrace that long-held, Hoth tradition of keeping a low profile.

And, having spent your entire existence hiding from the world, it’d proven to be a bit of a hard habit to break.

It haunted you as you flashed down each narrow passageway, eyes shifting like chosen prey vigilantly watching for their predator— an action that reflected your utmost desire to keep your Jedi identity concealed. Yet you continued to engage the Force, fueling nearly supernatural sprints down new corridors and twisting avenues. Movements that would usually garner unwelcome attention in any other zone.

But not here.

Not in the underground neighborhoods of the Senate District.

It was where you’d discovered the only way to engage the Force without revealing yourself in public. Through the obscurity of its gloomy locales that credibly camouflaged you from searching eyes.

But besides your decade-long custom of concealment, you knew that these days, it was still vital to remain cautious.

More than ever.

Ever since your arrival, you’d been engaging with more diverse characters every day. Most of whom were uninformed about your real purpose as a Jedi. The Council believed it would be safest to conceal your real identity, name and all. And even though that was quite the adjustment from the fanfare you were expecting, you still felt inclined to agree with them. At least at the Temple, individuals who’d become all the more threatening by learning your secret were weeded out before they could even reach the front door.

But not here.

Not down seedy boulevards or dimly lit backstreets that characterized the forlorn neighborhoods of the outer District, slinking with suspect figures whose watchful gazes peaked out of hooded wear.

Sometimes they’d observe you pass, bodies still with eerily calm attentiveness as they watched on. Others would wriggle far back into the cover of darkened crannies, their jittery silhouettes talking lowly with other, unseen beings of the shadows during their retreat.

Still, in spite of the uncertainty that surrounded this quarter, you took the risk.

It was necessary, you convinced yourself. Mindless movement seemed to work as some sort of binary treatment for your persistently taxing migraine. That was why, following this morning’s planet-side return, your first order of business was to be right here.

In this moment.

In a No Man’s Land of deserted corridors and limited natural light.

Despite the downpour which greeted you on an otherwise tepid day, that instant the Starfighter touched down at the Temple hangar, you knew exactly where you wanted to be.

By yourself. On the street. And running.

You thought back again to those fleeting seconds following your return from Anakin’s piloting lesson. How you were so quick to open the cockpit’s hatch with a click, the engines just barely starting to cool as you agilely hopped out, toes gracing the stone below while you made a beeline for the inner Temple.

All to facilitate your confident escape.

Yet despite your resoluteness in slipping away, you still felt a chilly twinge of remorse dip your stomach. Especially when the distant, resounding tick and whir of the fighter’s opening canopies subtly announced your flight companions’ perfect view of your departing form.

Of your decision to leave them behind without even a goodbye.

Guilt encircled your ears like curiously buzzing blood flies, forcing you to at some point realize that engaging in some mad dash of endorphins wasn’t your only motivation for this morning’s speedy retreat.

You did it because, if you knew anything, you knew Anakin.

Yes, you’d only met him a little over two weeks ago. But Maker were you beginning to grasp his mind as well as your own.

Recently, the two of you had been spending a lot of time together.

Or at least, many hours more than your Hoth upbringing supplied.

Intense sparring sessions, the occasional evening supper that would devolve into its more charming discourses when Obi-Wan joined halfway through. Not to mention those rare, yet revealing conversations with Anakin about his past. The most earnest of which transpiring that night above the garbage pit, when he revealed to you his mother’s passing, and let slip his pervading turmoil on the matter.

And in the end, it didn’t take long for you to recognize that the summation of all those wholehearted interactions, those sundry dialogues amidst quality time, was a sharper ear for his thought process.

For how his heart beat for others.

This morning in the Starfighter, you knew the instant Anakin heard your painful exhale that the cogs of his feeling mind began to whirl. Further propelled to miraculous speeds when you tersely instructed him to bring the ship back in seconds later.

Then, during the reentry, you knew how he was, in all likelihood, anticipating to relay those four, troubled words the moment you two stood face-to-face.

What happened up there?

Of course, throughout that entire, sedated descent, you knew he was thinking about what to say next. Particularly, which words to use if you tried blowing him off again with another two, dry syllables. A phrase that’d drifted from your lips as popularly as each breath during this past week and a half.

I’m fine.

All of this pervading his mind right up until your door unlatched behind him, shocking him out of his stupor, you imagined. Coaxing him to leap out of the cockpit just as swiftly as he heard you do from behind.

But you didn’t give him the chance.

You refused to even glance back to check. To see if he was about to chase after you.

You couldn’t.

You just flicked on your robe’s hood, tugging its gradually dampening form tightly around yourself as your footsteps abandoned the landing platform.

You didn’t even hear what he said next. That is, if he’d said anything at all when you entered the hangar bay. But whether that was due to the clamoring headache that’d momentarily incapacitated you or your pervading questions surrounding this affliction running wild, you didn’t know.

You just blocked it all out.

Deafened your ears to any immediate surroundings, like scattered hangar workers and hammering repairs, as you hastened your evasion of the ditched trio.

But, no matter the shame that tugged at your chest afterward, you were still confident in the reasoning behind your withdrawal.

As of now, you were still trying to investigate the cause of this harassment. And you recognized that until you found some answers, involving Anakin or anyone close to him would put The Chosen One in a land of uncertainty that you weren’t quite comfortable with.

And that just wouldn’t do.

Your striking heels continued to clobber the decaying trails of the outer District’s underground streets, bringing the chatter of leather on wet concrete into a strange harmony with the increasingly beating rain that danced upon the streets above. Centering yourself in another Force-amplified hurdle, you again reminded yourself of the important fact that influenced your decision to keep this secret. The conclusion that you knew would reduce any chance of complications to your duty.

It’s not his job to worry about you.

However, it was technically the responsibility of your ‘new Master.’

Maybe that’s why, at the end of last week— following four, stretched-out days of irregular headaches— you found justification in approaching Master Windu for counsel. Because no matter your efforts to quell this silent beast, through extended rest or quiet meditation, its burning onslaughts ferociously prevailed.

In other words, at some point, it became utterly clear that you required a much wiser opinion.

In many ways, you were confident in the stoic Jedi. And by that, you meant that you trusted him to keep the matter private. Even from those who associated with The Chosen One, and especially from Anakin himself. In fact, at the outset of your conversation, he assured you that he’d only divulge a discussion between Master Advisor and Jedi if it concerned the Council.

And you had no reason to believe it did.

You thought back to that chat while pivoting down another slick alleyway. This one grew narrower than the last, its spotted lamps decaying in luster and prevalence as you dug cavernously into the belly of the beast-like web of tunnels while your mind wandered.

Master Windu had already separately arranged to meet with you once every week. At least until the Jedi were called back to the battlefield, he was sure to clarify. It was time to be spent preparing you for what was to come in this mystifying conflict. To guarantee that its distractions wouldn’t impact the primary reason for your presence.

For your existence, really.

However, of the two sessions you’d already had, the powerful Jedi spent little time on combat training. Rather than correcting your form or educating you on Separatist capabilities, his focus was instead driven toward scrutinizing the closed doors to your mind. All during hours-long, joint meditation sittings in which Master Windu attempted to meticulously probe your life force with the gentle influence of his signature on your forehead.

Sometimes, the spells would last so long that, in the end, you were often left with the sensation of a phantom touch. Though it always faded eventually, so imperceptibly that it felt more like a shift in temperature than a disappearing force.

Although the two of you ended up making little progress, you still enjoyed these opportunities as a way to get to know your new Advisor. Exchanges regarding his unwavering faith in the Order’s ideals reminded you of your own lifelong commitment to a similarly demanding prophecy. The Master also seemed to share a kindred distaste for politics, conveying briefly his disapproval of the Jedi and Senate’s interwoven nature, hastily drawn at the outset of war.

Most importantly, however, the two of you shared a distinct displeasure for the Senate’s conversion of Jedi into generals. You’d been struggling with this concept of converting Jedi peacemakers into soldiers for weeks now, and it appeared that Master Windu held common sentiments. All in all, it was a moment that made the Order feel just a little less foreign to you after a lifetime of studying its older, more contrasting ways.

Perhaps that’s why, despite previous reticence about receiving a ‘new Master,’ you found yourself gradually opening up to the idea.

Besides, you could tell Master Windu was experiencing some kind of similar development.

You’d discovered from Anakin this past week that the wise man had long disapproved of Jedi who acted outside the Order. From that, you easily acknowledged that despite offering to advise you, the traditional Master likely remained biased against your nature.

In fact, you fleetingly surmised that the only reason he put his name in the hat was so he could keep a closer eye on you. On the Gray Jedi that came from a long line of counterfeiters against the Order he held in such high esteem.

Yet, as your sessions progressed, you sensed a subtle shift in the Jedi Master. How the crease of his brow subtly slackened with each passing hour. How his openness to your questions became faintly readable.

Though whether that was because he’d momentarily forgotten about your past or had become lost in his analysis of your mind, you didn’t know.

What you did know was that you appreciated the sagacious Master’s relatable convictions, allegedly burgeoning tolerance, and outright professionalism.

And that was enough for you to test the waters in requesting his guidance.

It was at the tail-end of one of these forums that you narrowly untangled these painfully strange migraines, focusing primarily on their unpredictability and continuance rather than each occurrence’s raging ferocity.

And in the end, you found the effortless flow of his counsel to be uniquely compelling.

“Meditate on these irritants. But do not only acknowledge their existence. Observe their nature. If you give these headaches a name derived from your inner impressions, it may aid you in identifying and extinguishing their source.”

So, you did just that.

In the days that followed into the start of your second week at the Temple, when that familiar pulsing tingle began to crawl across your hairline, you made a routine out of stopping whatever you were doing to search for a quiet alcove. Then, after locating a corner of the Temple free from distractions, you’d lower yourself into crossed legs, all to funnel your accessible energies into discerning the exact nature of this eccentric affliction. You’d reach out to the Force, drawing in its swirling ecosystem through tingling extremities, astutely wielding it to dive into the yawning depth of your inner being.

And for those few days, you explored branching elements of your mind, tracing each errant twig to sense its perception of the boundless, clawing twinges that relentlessly contested your focus.

It was arduous work. Attempting to observe the irritants’ nature would eventually lure you toward sensing its more distinctive effects. But at the same time, the action often amplified your tenderness to those countless cerebral spasms. They were still quite bearable, of course. But it certainly did nothing to speed along your investigation.

That was until the third day in. When you finally found a pattern.

Even now, you starkly remembered how the discovery permeated your body with untapped endurance simply from the realization’s excitement alone.

On that day, you were able to eventually comprehend that, while your skull’s outline felt the stitching thrums of the week before, the sensation was marginally dissimilar in its influence on your life force. Here, you still felt the indiscriminate, unpleasant taps against your spirit, but with a nearly imperceptible caveat.

You rooted out their tendency to unfurl on impact.

So, with the next pounding ache, you were empowered to recognize it again, snatching the sensation with agile fingers. The savage smack quickly plunged into scattered fragments, like drops of water thrashing apart from a violent impact with stone.

That was it.

It was like raindrops, pattering against your mind.

Yet, it wasn’t the refreshing sensation that you associated with such weather. Not that electrifying stimulation you felt in this very instant while you sustained your urgent, whirlwind dash down another curving passage harboring hints of gaseous fumes.

No.

Rain was vitalizing, giving life to despairing vegetation and beasts alike. For you especially, its cooling effect on balmy Coruscanti afternoons calmed your mind. It ventilated you in a chill that provoked cherished memories of soaring amid whispering snowstorms during those afternoon duels with Qui-Gon on Hoth.

Yet this was different.

These drops were draining. Heavy. They weighed down your soul. Blackened your connection to the Force through a permeating pain that enveloped the branches of your mind and sucked the sap of your thoughts.

Yes, blackened.

Master Windu said to give it a name. An association. And, finally, you felt confident enough to put words to this strange disorder’s influence on your inner being.

Black Water.

If you only knew what a mistake you’d made.

Somehow, following this identification, the migraines spiraled into a realm of greater frequency and brutality. They would linger in their pervasion. Graduating from hours to afternoons of ubiquitous discomfort. And then, when you tried to find familiar solace in the quelling nature of a meditative state, you harshly discovered that doing so now only magnified the pain’s potency.

You recalled it so clearly. How the shock of that realization jolted you at your very core, ripping you violently from your connection to the Force like a toy snatched from the hand of a youngling.

It was something you had never experienced before.

And it forced you to learn the hard way that for the time being, it was best to avoid meditation.

Instead, you found it easier to unearth the medicinal properties of attaching your mind to another matter.

And your poison of choice?

Running.

You weren’t sure why it lessened your cranial discomfort more than any form of meditation or training. Maybe it was the fresh air. Or the exploratory element. Or the dichotomy of the District’s underground shafts which swayed darkly on even the brightest of days.

Maybe it was because, in a way, sprinting combined the two Jedi practices. It did encourage you to physically tap into the Force for access to greater speeds, and simultaneously unclogged your mind of worldly distractions.

Still then, it was only enough to center yourself. Never to the degree in which the migraines’ kindling was fanned into embers.

Whatever the reason, it didn’t change the fact that mere minutes into this afternoon’s excursion, you were able to finally relish in the flood of relief that followed. One that washed over you as sprightly legs carried you into a mystic realm where stabbing pains were faintly dulled by the rule of constant motion.

The past week of experimental sprints into Coruscant’s veins had become your drug of choice. Providing additional relief just from the realization that occupying your mind would temper these moments.

Now that made you hum retrospectively. It was hard not to wonder if perhaps this notion subconsciously motivated you to join Anakin’s short-lived piloting class this morning.

You ruminated about those spiraling seconds in the cockpit once more. Even then, in the midst of intrusively distracting g-forces, you were powerless to ignore that your headaches still somehow stirred with new vengeance, threatening your theory on how to properly address the affliction.

You descended another set of echoing stairs, this time entering a residential tunnel that reigned sleek with standing water gradually leaking through cracked roofing. Though the hazard never assuaged your volant charge past the streams of identical, stonewashed doors on either side. Landmarks that supplied forward guidance as you thought carefully about the day’s earlier incident.

With another burdened exhale, you compared the fighter episode to all the others, quickly deciding that this morning’s occurrence was the worst to date. If you were being perfectly honest with yourself, it was the first time one of these vast headaches really threatened your ability to function in the moment.

And that spooked you.

Either way, it was clear in its aftermath, that it was time to return to old habits.

To what worked.

You swiveled left, the squeak of your twisting heel reverberating off the slender walls as you rushed down another flickering tunnel of rundown apartments. You were thankful that the potency of constantly coarse splits at your forehead’s center had eased into a duller pound, so much so that it permitted your mind to wander during this impromptu outing.

However, you weren’t expecting to become so consumed with inner musings to the point of becoming lost within a labyrinth of snaking neighborhoods, forgotten by the Senate District’s lavishly living surface inhabitants. In fact, as you glanced around the residential tunnel, you soon realized that you couldn’t even remember how you entered this quiet zone. One that didn’t follow any semblance of rational architecture to hint at a way out.

So, with no signage to guide you in your search for higher ground, you did the only thing you could do.

You followed the quivering lights, lodged every few meters into the decrepitly, sinking ceiling.

A luminescent road out of the darkness.

That was your plan for the last ten minutes, anyway, until a deep-toned snap zipped past your ears, reverberating across every door as it traced down either wall.

You ground to a halt, dribbling boots faintly whimpering as they fought the floor’s slickness in your attempt to reel toward the noise.

A few heavy seconds passed you stared back into the tunnel's murky depths, trying to discern the source of the sound while labored breaths rung out from your body and colored the eerily barren chamber. It was difficult to focus your vision, finding that the barely perceptible shapes hidden in shadowed corners were playing tricks on your eyes the longer you stared at their forms.

Another crack.

But this time, you could markedly tag its source.

Far down on the opposite side of the shaft, another brittle light in the ceiling’s row numbed like the death of a star.

Great.

You whirled back around, launching yourself into an energized bolt as you tried to escape the coming darkness.

In all sincerity, you should have assumed something like this would happen. You had found the vacancy of these quarterly halls odd. It was midday in a residential area so some activity was to be expected. Beings would usually be on their lunch break around now.

Yet, there were none around.

But the partial flooding? The unstable roofing?

You sighed, powerful legs carrying you blisteringly quick while you connected the dots ahead of the accelerating demise of weak, mechanical stars.

This underground neighborhood was breaking down.

It must have been evacuated.

And now?

They were cutting the power.

Drawing on the effortlessly fluid stability of the Force, you catalyzed your stride, hoping to get a better sense of where you were before being immersed in utter blackness.

Luckily, the opportunity to do so appeared to lie just ahead.

Fairly soon into your run, you noticed the fork in the road, pinned to the tunnel’s far reach. How the illusionary dead-end wall, in fact, split into two, opposing paths. All you needed to do was get there fast enough for a cursory glance of either end before the last light at your disposal became the limited glow of your grayed lightsaber.

You picked up the pace, the reflection of your form in the waterlogged stone flying like loose leaves trying to catch up with you as it too bolted from the ensuing pattern of light fixtures snapping off.

Soon, there were only a few left as you neared the hall’s end, impelling you to power one last thrust of your leg into the junction. You swiveled your head down both corridors as your heels squealed to a halt before the stone wall, catching sight of a larger industrial door just meters into the second corridor as the final fixture above cracked into nothingness.

But that was all you needed.

It didn’t take you long to maneuver your way toward the exit in the pitch dark, lugging open the croaking apparatus only to be met with an ascending staircase illuminated by the scattered, gloomy rays of a showery, Coruscant afternoon.

You jogged up the concrete steps before encountering a wide, open-aired avenue, dotted with as many road lamps as hurrying beings who scampered from industrial cover to cover in an effort to avoid wetting their clothes. The walls of buildings encapsulating this strip stood in an unornamented, brutalist fashion, which effectively limited their options. It was quite the contrast to the streets of the Entertainment District. But that was all you could really say about it. Your observations remained sparse as the continuous downpour did little to reduce the haze.

Pivoting to your right, you followed the road’s natural path, immediately feeling the cool sprinkles pelt your face as you slowed into a crisp walk. You tugged at your biting, saturated robe, bringing it closer to break the slight draft.

As you turned down a wider street doused in equal cloud cover, you decided that it was time to return to the Temple. If anything, at least to give your body a break. You’d been running for close to an hour, and those stretched lungs and burning legs were sure to thank you for the short respite.

Perhaps you could return to the Archives for some easy reading. Your headache had dissipated enough to certainly make that possible now. And you had to admit, you were feeling a bit behind on your knowledge of Separatist technologies.

It was only twelve minutes into your return hike when you began to embrace that peaceful rumination on future plans. Twelve minutes for your mind to drift to lighter musings. But also twelve minutes for those thoughts to be swiftly dashed from reality by a new intrigue.

There were many beings who dusted the streets. All of which you simultaneously kept a close eye on. Of course, special attention was dedicated to those who’d decide for a period to amble too close for comfort. But even then, it usually held no matter. As always, they’d eventually divert onto a path of their own as wandering, city walkers did.

An example was the being that had been sauntering ten meters behind you for the past five minutes. One you didn’t give much mind to. Until they were oddly quick to tread on the heels of your latest deviation from the main road. Which was…odd, but not enough of anything to concern you.

Yet.

You swiveled down another detour, this one more unusual than the last given the District’s layout. It was part of your usual route of choice, since it avoided most of the neighborhood’s major hubs, but still powered enough street lamps to guide you back to the Temple in the evening.

Or in this case, on a rainy day.

Either way, you knew from experience that this was usually when any unintentional tails would break off to continue their lives on a road to elsewhere.

Maybe they were returning home to a waiting family after a long intergalactic trip. Running late for a business meeting because of the rain. Or simply exploring the city’s landmarks with their free afternoon.

These were all activities you imagined civilians had the freedom to enjoy. Freedoms that you certainly fantasized about in your younger years. And freedoms that you later learned you’d have to sacrifice to protect.

You smiled thoughtfully to yourself. It always helped to have a gentle reminder of the good you were doing. These elements of peace you were maintaining. It even allowed you to take a relaxing breath as you continued along the path not taken.

Until the creeping stranger’s presence fully seized your attention by following you down this second detour.

You fought the urge to look back, despite their presence jumping to the forefront of your mind. If that being really was tracking you, you didn’t want to raise any suspicions that you’d caught on.

Not yet.

Even now, after back-to-back questionable activity, you still needed to make certain that your misgivings were accurate. Thinking about it, you would’ve sensed this individual before had they been following you during your run. So why would they suddenly trail you now? You hadn’t done anything topside to give your identity away.

Then, this might have still all been just a simple misunderstanding.

Right?

Only one way to find out, you told yourself.

Keeping an even pace, you scanned your surroundings, quickly catching a narrow alleyway that lay just a few steps ahead to your left. Narrowing your eyes through the gloomy lighting, you soon realized that its width would at most fit two and a half people stood side-by-side. In other words, this gap was sure to lead to a dead-end. One that any city dweller would know not to enter in a neighborhood like this. And one that any traveler would have the instincts to avoid.

From this, you comfortably concluded that a bona fide passerby would have no reason to follow you inside.

Unless, it was you they were after.

So, you swiftly ducked in.

You jogged a few meters down the pitch-black crevice, nimble toes putting some distance between you and the fissure’s entrance before briskly finding a secure spot from which to spin around and face it. You shoved at the midsection of your robe with the back of your hand, nudging it away to make room for stiff fingers to envelop the cold metal of your belted saber.

Your silent, hot breath fogged the cold air just below your nose as you waited out those few, tense seconds. A careful quietness encapsulated your form despite your prediction that this stranger would likely pass.

It was always best to be cautious, you reminded yourself.

But, of course, you had no such luck.

On high alert, thumb hovering over the hilt’s activation, you observed as the being sidestepped in after you, their face and figure obscured by the rift’s absence of light. Watchful steps characterized their form while they inched deeper into the crevice, head tilting side to side as they tried to discern their surroundings with blurry fingertips gracing the left wall to keep them centered.

Strangely, you perceived an air of delicacy from their cautious outline. A meaningfulness in each of their carefully selected motions. However, you still had difficulty in sensing their motivations. Whether it be malice or geniality, their presence felt too calm to point to either direction definitively.

And you were not one to take chances.

So, with the flick of the wrist, you snatched your saber from its resting place with a clink, unfurling that familiar gray glow as you stepped back into a lunge to whip the blade up before resting it inches from the figure’s face.

Instantly, its luminescence unveiled from the twilight a familiar set of bright blue, yielding eyes, accompanied by an auburn beard dewed by drizzles. The plasma’s heat had stirred the man to raise his hands calmly, feigning surrender as a curious expression tickled his cheeks.

You sighed, adrenaline evaporating from your veins while your blade dropped a few degrees.

“You’d think after a lifetime as a Jedi, you’d know it wasn’t a good idea to sneak up on one,” you voiced, raising a brow.

Obi-Wan lowered his hands, offering you an affable expression as you deactivated your saber and snapped it to your belt.

“I’m always willing to take a chance for a friend.”

You shook your head in mock disapproval while you moved to pass the Jedi, unintentionally brushing your upper arm against the weight of his similarly soaked cloak. It didn’t take long to reemerge on the outer end of the gap, cascading you in the brighter light of the still-overcast street.

“What are you doing out here?” You asked, vision centered on a pair of beings strolling near the far end.

“Looking for you,” he stated matter-of-factly while following your form out onto the road.

You leisurely turned, now able to better see his face as he phased into the muddled daylight, his hair sleek with water and eyes dulled by the hidden sun.

“Why?”

The relaxed Jedi paused before you, creasing his brows as he spoke tactfully.

“Anakin came to see me earlier.”

You looked away, choosing to draw your attention to the street ahead before leaning into a quiet stroll.

Though the Master was quick to follow, matching your pace as he glided beside you.

“He was concerned,” Obi-Wan continued, stitched gaze never leaving your face. “Something about a reaction you had during his piloting lesson today?”

The understatement tugged at the corner of your mouth, though your eyes remained tethered like anchors to the raindrops exploding into puddles below.

“Did he also tell you he took the fighter into an Aileron Roll with the gravity dampers off?” You emphasized, waggling your brows in a challenging, yet light-hearted manner.

His eyes widened for a brief moment, cycling through all the stages of what you could only assume was Former Padawan-related grief before capitulating into an expression of experienced resignation.

His gaze fell to the ground, mirroring yours.

“He did not.”

You breathed in deeply, absorbing the momentary silence flooded only by the pitter-patter of cooling raindrops. It had aerated the street of this morning’s blistering heat. And as a creature of the cold, it had the effect of alleviating your exercise-induced, clammy skin deliciously.

“Silvey,” Obi-Wan began gently. “Anakin isn’t the only one.”

You blinked toward the subdued Jedi who must’ve sensed the motion as he quickly met your gaze. Both pairs of cloud-shaded eyes locked for a moment, enabling you to stretch into the space before signaling for him to continue.

“I’ve also noticed that something is affecting you.”

You sighed.

You began wracking your brain for some excuse. Any excuse that you could throw out at this moment. All so that you didn’t need to explain your strange yet nuanced predicament to the man beside you.

You searched the falling droplets for answers, reminding yourself that finding a solution before anyone close to Anakin learned the truth was for the best.

It’s not his job to worry about you.

And that went for Obi-Wan too.

“Is it Qui-Gon? I understand his death may be fresh for you. I’d be happy to lend an ear—“

“No, it’s not that,” you interrupted.

Instantly, you recognized the falsehood in that statement.

“I mean…”

You shook your head at yourself, hoping to shake the right, jumbled thoughts into alignment.

“I can’t deny that he’s been occupying my mind more than most things…”

Your jaw hung loose as you tried to catch the words buzzing in jumbles above your head. But, for some reason, they just kept escaping through your clawing, slippery fingers.

“But that’s not…it,” you uttered.

You glanced back up at Obi-Wan.

His eyes had abruptly softened while he listened to your voice intently. Vision piercing your very soul as if he was hoping to look right through you.

And you weren’t sure why, but that penetrating expression suddenly took you off guard.

Your brain stumbled as you tried to refocus on the conversation. You supposed you weren’t expecting him to have had such an empathetic reaction. Right? Maybe you just hadn’t really made a point to notice how kind his eyes could be. At least, not before now.

But here? In this instant?

You could see their radiance so clearly.

Even among gradually strengthening raindrops that blinked into streams after colliding with the chiseled face of the Jedi before you. They did nothing to dissuade the thoughtfulness that shone from his features.

But then again, wasn’t that always the rule with Master Kenobi?

It was those same eyes that had shared with you looks of encouragement when you were first struggling to pass the thoughts of large crowds. Those same bright blue eyes that happily guided you to the Sparring Arena during your first full day at the Temple when you were terribly lost. Those same entertained eyes that would glance at you briefly after throwing a sarcastic remark at Anakin to lighten everyone’s moods. Those same, unwaveringly concerned eyes that trailed your figure every time you unexpectedly removed yourself from his company, always to deal with another burning onslaught of pulsing stabs that gradually became more pronounced on your features.

Those thoughtful eyes that were first to check if you were okay, despite the Master Jedi having taken the brunt of your full-speed collision, during that shuttle escape from Hoth.

Those unflinchingly kind eyes which, for some unknown reason, seemed to crack a chink in your conviction.

Enough to let out a sliver of splintering light.

Your feet stalled underneath you, bringing both you and Obi-Wan to an aimless rest as your heart raced. You curved fully toward the soaking Jedi, lips parted in thought as you searched for the words to begin explaining your situation to the man waiting ever so patiently.

You weren’t sure whether it was from the buildup to this long-held secret’s reveal or a side effect of your body’s fatigue. But the moment you glanced up, the moment your gaze locked once more with those two, perceptively azure orbs, you suddenly felt…

Very

Naked.

“I’ve been having…headaches.”

Master Kenobi’s head tilted slightly in disquiet confusion, subconsciously inciting you to tighten the robe’s wrap around your torso with crossed arms.

“Headaches?” He asked oddly.

“I think?” You dithered. “But they aren’t…normal.”

Exhaling, you redirected your gaze to the surrounding building’s upper structures and the gloomy gray of Coruscant’s atmosphere as you rammed through your next words, leaving behind any care of making sense as the wall you had so carefully built began to chip under his still engrossed stare.

“At first, they’d show up…randomly. Last for hours no matter what I did. Until I asked Master Windu for his input. He told me to give it a name the next time I meditated. He said it would help. That if I could pinpoint the feeling, it would root out the source of getting rid of them. So, I did.”

You shrugged.

“But, for some reason, it made everything worse. The times, the duration, the pain. And it doesn’t feel like a regular headache either. It’s-“

The bridge of your nose creased in thought as you drew imaginary lines from rooftop to rooftop with your eyes.

“Deeper.”

The silence that followed, no matter how short, felt utterly deafening. Even the quiet showers around you seemed to stall into white noise.

Until Obi-Wan sighed.

Pensively.

His furrowed brows never left your form as he raised a hand to tensely stroke his mouth for a moment.

“Is that what happened in the fighter this morning? One of these…headaches?”

Your gaze shifted back to his as you breathed.

“Yes.”

He hummed, resting his fingers upon the beard. “And when did they start?”

“About a week and a half ago.”

The Master Jedi allowed his hand to laxly fall, chin rising unexpectedly as his brows faintly furrowed. He’d now given room for his earlier concern to sparkle a bit brighter off ocean eyes that suddenly burrowed into yours.

“I’m taking you to the infirmary.”

Your stomach dropped, unsure if it was dragged down by your displeasure in making this situation a bigger deal than you believed it to be, or by the complete confidence with which the man before you voiced his plain alarm.

You began to question yourself. Were you misjudging this affliction? Were your symptoms really that bad?

Honestly, you thought, you’d had far greater scares on Hoth.

Qui-Gon’s gray hairs could attest to that.

And although most of your heart was beating a bit faster to the rhythm of these circulating thoughts, you couldn’t help but be enveloped by the small fragment that warmed at Master Kenobi’s caring sentiment. So much so, that it pulled you from your uncertainty before guiding your voice into a sweeter lull to address him.

“Obi—“

“This is not good, Silvey,” he interrupted firmly. “And I don’t like leaving such matters unresolved.”

You exhaled, shaking your head in disbelief as you backed down from his solid stance. Instead, you angled back toward the path ahead, resuming that same calm stroll with heavy feet. Again, Obi-Wan fluidly followed, his creased expression peaking at yours, which remained impassive despite your inner thoughts.

“I can’t.”

Master Kenobi dissolved into further unease as he acknowledged your response puzzledly.

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re right,” you began, neck angling toward him coolly. “I don’t understand what this is either. And it could be dangerous or it could be nothing. But what’s fact is that the more I involve beings from the Temple, the more likely this will all get back to Anakin. And I can’t have that.”

You huffed, sending a feeble kick to a passing puddle underneath you while building winds began to zip around the surrounding structure’s corners, nudging you both by the edges of your robes.

“I’m his Guardian, Obi-Wan. The last thing I should be doing is dragging him into unpredictable matters. He has enough to deal with right now, and I’m not adding to it-“

A sudden weight warmed your shoulder, guiding you to pause mid-stroll in the midst of finishing your thought. Still, you followed the slight tug, turning toward the man whose gentle hand rested assuredly by your throat like a sudden fire on a cool afternoon.

“So your solution is to travel through rainy streets in dangerous neighborhoods? Are you hoping to find the answer at the wrong end of a phaser?” He questioned sarcastically, retrieving his limb to gesticulate to your surroundings as a sudden chill nestled in its place.

You defended yourself, throwing back that same trickle of wit that briefly oozed from his figure with a cheeky grin. “Running has proven to help. Besides, I’d never pass up the chance to hone my combat skills. We are in a war, you know.”

You tried to suppress your chuckle at his unimpressed stare.

Still, you couldn’t help the gravity of the situation overcome you once more as his expression carefully hardened.

“And what if something happens because this wasn’t addressed sooner?” He argued. “I agree. Right now, it’s best to not tell Anakin. And I can make sure that he won’t find out. I certainly won’t tell him, and you can trust the doctors at the Temple to do the same. But you owe it to the Galaxy to at least sit through an examination. If the prophecy is true, we will all need you at your best.”

You exhaled, realizing fairly quickly that you were on the losing side of this battle.

“Please,” he emphasized.

You watched as Obi-Wan raised both hands, delicately resting each on your upper arms with their encapsulating heat.

Then, he leaned in.

Just a few inches, but enough to pervade your eyes, filling all the edges of your vision with his cautiously encouraging expression. He spoke lowly, in a deep, smooth tone as the hotness of his breath brushed across your wet cheeks.

“Allow me to accompany you to the Infirmary.”

The sensation of your throbbing heart had now reached your fingertips, shooting down your arms so boldly that you were surprised Obi-Wan couldn’t feel the beats through his steadied palms. Though his confidence in his ability to keep this matter private had eased your stirring veins slightly.

A quick checkup itself wouldn’t do too much harm, you supposed. As long as it remained just that. Still, this was all assuming Obi-Wan could keep you under The Chosen One’s radar until the matter was fully resolved. As you stared at his confident demeanor, you also had to admit that you’d been a bit concerned about how this exchange would end. For a brief second, you thought that as soon as you explained your affliction to Obi-Wan, he’d whip right back around to inform his former Padawan. He’d certainly known him for many more years than you, you surmised.

But that wasn’t the case.

Master Kenobi respected your motives. And he seemed assured enough to support you through these small sacrifices that you’d always need to make as Anakin’s Guardian.

As long as you were also getting the help you needed, it appeared.

But, deep down, you knew that wouldn’t always be possible. Save this exception.

Is that why telling him, even after all of these assurances, still felt so wrong?

No, there was no need to remind Obi-Wan of that reality at this moment. You were comfortable enough to let those blue eyes get the win they so strongly fought for.

Tugging on the seam of your robe, you spoke softly.

“Alright.”

And in return, the Jedi Master offered you a grateful, almost relieved, smile.

After presenting Obi-Wan with this small victory, you couldn’t help the sudden confusion that overcame your mind, born from a latent realization. A perplexing thought which transformed into one more question that you needed to ask before surrendering yourself to the trained hands of Jedi physicians.

“By the way,” you spoke up. “How did you find me? I didn’t tell anyone where I was going.”

The Master sent you a look so pointed that it blared across rooftops one undeniable judgment:

That he knew you were not going to like this.

“Apparently, Anakin was having trouble finding you for those unplanned sparring sessions the two of you enjoy so much. Mostly, because he hasn’t been able to sense your presence.”

He exhaled.

“His solution was to place a tracker in your robe.”

Your jaw dropped, a drop of rain catching your marginally exposed tongue.

“That little-“

“Don’t worry,” Obi-Wan announced in that thick, Coruscanti accent.

“I told him to turn it off.”

Taglist

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@randomwriter435

@soleywoley

@burnthecheshirewitch

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bylightofdawn · 5 months

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2023 Wrap Up.

It’s officially New Years in Texas. 2023 has been a weird year for me, one that both dragged and flew by way too quickly. There’s so much pain and awfulness going on the world right now that it’s hard to not dwell on or carry that into 2024 but I’m going to try and keep this relatively light-hearted and positive if only because I want to try and start the New Year on a positive note. For me personally? I didn’t really do anything big or notable but I had some smaller but meaningful victories.

I made a New Years resolution (something I’m pretty vehemently against because I always feel disappointed in myself when I don’t follow through) that I was going to start writing again and I would try and write every day. I didn’t manage every day but boy howdy did I still keep up that resolution. The major project of course being Seeds for the Future which I clocked in at 176,456 words minus I want to say around 10,000 words which I’d previously started like 3 years ago before abandoning it. So we’ll call it 165,000 to make it even-ish.

Holy. Shit. 165,000 in one year. I did not in a million years think I had that in me. And it’s been a wild ride. At points I felt like I was being ridden by a damned demon that was demanding I write this NOW. I was especially busy the first six months or so and then I burned myself out which….completely understandable when you consider your standard basic fiction book is around 70,000+ so I wrote two fucking novels in six months length-wise. But I also wrote a bunch of other stuff. I wrote A Fragile World Between Sharp Teeth which I’m still absurdly in love with. Wrote two whole-ass Witcher fics this month and one Star Trek fic as well as some other WIPs.

By my calculations I wrote -drum roll- 233,383 words in 2023.

223,383 WORDS WRITTEN ARE YOU SHITTING ME

And actually followed through on a New Years Resolution.

I also forced myself out of my comfort zone in little ways. I pushed myself to take action on my health to try and figure out the cause of my chronic pain and while the diagnosis was a bummer as was getting diagnosed with diabetes on top of everything else this year, I am proud that I forced myself to do it. I also did silly things like bleached my hair and dyed it all manner of crazy colors.

I think for 2024 I’m going to try and hold myself accountable for my health. I desperately need to go back to therapy and as much as I hate to admit it, I need to join a gym and strengthen my body. It will be the best thing I can do for my RA if I can help strengthen my muscles and I think it will help with my pain levels. It just...it sounds like so much effort though and it scares me so we’ll see how that journey goes. I’m going to keep plugging away slowly but surely.

I’m also going to keep trying to write in 2024. I have so many fic ideas I want to write. I’m definitely not going to do anymore crazy fucking 100K fics again. It definitely takes a toll on me creatively and not going to lie, after a while it feels like I’m just kinda screaming into the void because the sad truth of the matter is, long-fic will turn readers off and they won’t click or interact with it. And eventually my imposter syndrome reared its ugly head and the last half of this year and trying to finish Seeds has been a slog for the most part and not one I enjoyed.

Now, I’m going to go pour myself a glass of Moscato, eat some stupidly expensive caprese salad and I think edit the first chapter of my Gallahir sequel. I think I might be able to get it up and posted today if I can edit the first chapter tonight. Thank you to all my tumblr buddies, both new and old who have stuck it out with me through everything. I love and appreciate y’all and I am hoping you all have a happier, more kinder year than 2023.

#life of el #out with the old #in with the new #ngl I'm glad 2023 is over it's been a slog the past six months

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lsdunesarchive · 1 year

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L.S. Dunes: Travis Stever’s yang to Frank Iero’s yin

Words by Ellie Robinson Photo by Mark Beemer November 17, 2022

Travis Stever talks a lot.

That’s not an insult – the 43-year-old New Jerseyan just has a lot to say, and virtually all of it is fantastic. He’s impressively storied: most would know him as the lead guitarist in Coheed And Cambria, but he’s popped his head through many a musical window over some three decades: side-projects include Fire Deuce, The English Panther, Davenport Cabinet and Zero Trust (per Wikipedia, but I’m certain there’s more out there), and he also played lap-steel on My Brother’s Blood Machine, the 2006 debut from The Prize Fighter Inferno, the solo folktronica project of Coheed frontman Claudio Sanchez.

Stever’s latest project is L.S. Dunes, a post-hardcore supergroup* I can only accurately describe as “every mid-to-late 2000s emo fan’s wildest pipe-dream come true”. Stever plays guitar alongside Frank Iero (of My Chemical Romance, and his own mountain of side-projects), while Anthony Green (Circa Survive, Saosin) sings, Tim Payne (Thursday) plays bass, and Tucker Rule (also Thursday, but for a short time, Yellowcard too) plays drums. I write “supergroup” with an asterisk because although L.S. Dunes are a supergroup, etymologically, when I interviewed Stever for Australian Guitar #151, he fucking hated that I called them one.

Nevertheless, we got along like a house on fire, and I had a blast chatting with him about his new band and their debut album, Past Lives (out now on Fantasy Records). It was hard not to be engaged with everything he said: watching him wax lyrical about his impenetrable love for music, even over Zoom with our video link presenting him at approximately three pixels per inch, the glimmer in his eyes and wideness of his smile made it clear, Stever is living his dream. He’s just a kid that fell in love with rock ‘n’ roll, started jamming out for the hell of it – not to make bank, but simply because it was fun – and somewhere along the way, wound up turning it into his full-time gig (no pun intended).

It doesn’t seem to have gotten any less fun for him since then, either. Usually artists with careers as weighty as his appear at least a little burnt out on the music industry. You can tell when someone’s passion is genuine, and Stever’s certainly is.

The proof in the pudding, for me, was just how goddamn much Stever had to say about any and every topic. Our interview in Australian Guitar #151, spanning five questions across a hair over 1,000 words, was cut down from a transcript about four times as long. His unedited answers to those questions ran a solid 600-850 words apiece – well over 1,000 for the first – and there were still a few topics that we had to shave off for page space. One of those was actually my favourite from the entire chat: the creative chemistry that L.S. Dunes unlocked between Stever and Iero.

I opted not to run with that in the printed story because what did make it to the page is a lot more relevant to the origin story of L.S. Dunes and how that led to Past Lives shaping up in the way it did – which is ultimately the story I wanted to centre. But I think what Stever said about his creative dynamic with Iero – and how they each pushed the other to venture outside their comfort zones – adds a lot to the narrative surrounding L.S. Dunes. It also adds a twinge of contextual colour to songs like ‘Blender’ and ‘Sleep Cult’, which makes for a more gratifying listen when you really stop to soak in and digest Past Lives.

Ultimately, I think one of the coolest things about the “supergroup” concept is how idiosyncrasy can germinate when two artists of similar mind collaborate. Both Stever and Iero come from backgrounds of punk, rock and post-hardcore – even if their writing and playing styles are quite dissimilar – but when they joined forces to form L.S. Dunes, they started writing music that neither ever thought they would. And that’s so fucking cool.

So below is Stever’s commentary on his chemistry with Iero, as well as a couple of other offcuts from my interview with him. I’ve included those as well because at a base level, as a fan of music at the end of the day, I love reading about my favourite artists’ plans for the future – even if they never come to fruition – and about how they feel in the lead-up to a major release. I know that latter topic is now entirely irrelevant, because Past Lives came out a week ago, but, like, fuck it, it’s my blog, I make the rules.

You should read the Australian Guitar piece before you hit the jump, because it offers some solid context on exactly what L.S. Dunes is, how their collective ethos plays into everything, and why Stever and I were even talking to each other in the first place – and because the latter two of the three questions here were asked after the ones printed in AG, and some lines might be a bit confusing without that context.

So we’re about a month away from getting our hands on Past Lives. How does it feel to be here in the home stretch? You know, you’re always going to feel a little on edge when you’re about to release something that you poured your heart and soul into, no matter how much you believe in it. It’s exciting, but at the same time, you can feel the the vibes of danger – the danger of exposing the art that you created with your brothers, you know? And knowing that people are going to judge it. But that’s the gig, right. That’s the game. You know people are going to receive it however they choose to – but I’ve gotten nothing but positive feedback from everybody I’ve showed it to, so that’s a good sign!

Being the two guitarists in L.S. Dunes, how did you and Frank coalesce in the creative process? It goes back to what I was saying before, how there was no expectation. It’s really intriguing, because we communicate with each other through the guitars. And we were doing it over streams, online, through email [and] text – and we just knew, as soon as we started sending each other ideas, that it was going to work. And then, you know, it was just as relieving to get into an actual room together and be able to know that the spark was there [in real life], too.

I’ve got to be honest, after working with Frank [on this record], I had to go back and revisit a lot of the things he did in My Chem, and even a lot of his solo stuff – not that I didn’t fully respect everything he does before, but you know, after you see a person in a new light, you understand their musical language more. And I am so honoured to be in this band with him. He comes up with these riffs that are completely different from anything I’ve ever heard before. They’re all over the map – because you can say, “Oh, he comes up with these, really awesome, like, edgy punk riffs,” but that’s not true.

There’s a song at the end of the album that he wrote, ‘Sleep Cult’, where Anthony’s vocals almost have a doo-wop kind of feel. Frank had written that chord progression – that fingerpicking kind of thing – and I heard it while I was working on other guitars; we were in pre-production, getting ready to go over to Will Yip’s, and it was at the end of the session, we’d been working all day, and all of a sudden, he started playing this really beautiful chord progression. And so we recorded that, just as a rough little idea, but we wound up rolling with it. I just added some lap steel and some really delicate chords to it, just to give it a little nuance.

There are numerous parts on the album like that, which I think are probably the best parts of it. Another one that started out with Frank – which is probably my favourite [track] on the album right now – is ‘Blender’. I don’t want to get too dorky about it, but you know, that song is a really good example of what it was like to work with him. I sent him the guitar parts, and he really liked them – I think he was already fine and excited with everything I’d laid down… Because you know, that can always be a touchy thing. I mean, he pretty much had a hole-in-one with the ideas I would send him, and I always loved what he was playing – but I was open to him switching whatever he wanted.

In this case, I had written all the guitars that I was going to play, which was based on what he was playing and what Tim was playing. There were no vocals yet. And I’m so glad that we took our time with that song, because at the very last minute, I just switched it up completely, and I wound up harmonising a lot of the guitars [Frank] was playing instead. It was a completely different approach. That’s one of the things I loved about working on this record – the amount of time we were able to take to really think about it.

I’m not going to speak for Frank, but I think he was probably able to step out of his comfort zone [on this record]. Because there’s things he played on it where someone would probably be like, “Wow, I’ve never heard him play like that!” And for me, that feels really special because I got to [work with him] on those songs. And the same goes for me – there are a lot of [parts] on the record that are very different to [the parts] I would usually write.

We’ve already gone way over time, but I want to wrap up by looking to the future: what are your plans for Australia, and what’s the vibe on a second L.S. Dunes album? Believe me, we want to tour everywhere we can. I can only hope that we’re able to bring [L.S. Dunes] over to Australia – that would be amazing. As for other material… I mean, like I said, there’s just been an endless flow of material. There’s no shortage of stuff that we’ve been sending back and forth, and we already have a lot of surprises up our sleeves. But I just want to pay my respects to the album we’ve already created before we move on to the next thing, you know? I think it’s important that we get out there and show people what we can do on the live end… When everybody’s able to! And if we were able to bring that over there to Australia… I mean, yeah, of course we will!

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Past Lives by L.S. Dunes is out now via Fantasy Records – click here to check it out. The print edition of Australian Guitar #151 is out on November 28th – keep an eye out for that here.

#ls dunes #l.s. dunes #travis stever #m: travis stever #lsd: 2022 #in: nov/22 #misc: interview #p: ellie robinson #ph: mark beemer #archive[ane]#i've never seen someone write about frank and travis' dynamic so well. love this interview

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sophietribe · 1 year

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youtube

My Performance:

I really enjoyed this performance. I felt I did a good job at portraying a relaxing listening environment with the lighting, visual background and me sitting down throughout the performance. As a singer with little piano skill, I decided to make a synth instrumental version of the acoustic song from the AV performance for some experimentation. I chose the synth instrument because I felt it challenged me and put me out of my comfort zone. As the original song was acoustic, I made sure I used many instruments that changed the genre to dance/pop. I made sure to add in many synth keyboards, playing chords or melodic melodies. Due to certain circumstances of me not being able to perform live, as well as being a solo band member (singer), I didn’t have the capability to perform a song live with an instrument in front of an audience. I felt like making a backing track suited me best for this task. The rehearsal process consisted of me making the backing track and singing over it to make sure it was appropriate to perform. I felt like I could’ve pushed myself more during this task. I’m not a good skilled piano player but felt I could’ve got a synth keyboard and played live. However, pushing myself to make a synth backing track was difficult as I have never done anything like it before. My overall thoughts of my performance went well as I feel as if I achieved my ‘tiny desk’ concert aesthetic. Due to the circumstances on me not being able to perform on stage, the way to improve next time will be to have the advantages of the lighting, visual projector, and choice of live instrument at the university. Even though I believe my voice suits ballad/acoustic music, I feel that this was a great opportunity and experimentation to push myself into different genres.

Jack and Michael's Performance:

I really enjoyed watching Jack and Michael’s performance for the alternative instrument’s performance. It was entertaining seeing Michael play drums for the first time instead of singing and Jack playing on the keyboard with a synth sound was amazing. In conjunction to them playing their instruments they had a backing track as well to accompany them. The cymbals Michael was playing worked well with the song, but the snare didn’t work and was out of time at moments. In my opinion, I thought the start of the song was lengthened too much and took up nearly half of the track. However, even with this, I felt the chosen instrument such as the synth keyboard and bassline worked well together and was still very enjoyable to listen to. As much as seeing Michael play the drums in this track was enjoyable and a joy to watch, the way they were implemented into the track didn’t really immerse me anymore than the synth track on its own. I thought they brought it in too late and felt a little bit forced and rushed as there wasn’t much of a lead up to their inclusion.I think that the concept of the track and the idea they were possibly going for is great and has a lot of potential. I think maybe re-evaluating the use of the drums and how they are implemented into the track is a great first step at improvement. I personally think that minimizing the synth solo at the beginning of the song and gradually introducing the drums sooner alongside the synth rather than later, will give the song a completely different feel. I feel that this will immerse the audience into the track more by it not feeling forced using the drums later in the song.

#MD5320 #Youtube

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skybirdplate · 2 years

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What key is down by marian hill

Sway was actually mixed entirely in Reason. Jeremy: Since the beginning of all of this, I’ve been producing and mixing in Propellerhead Reason. What’s your favorite, must–have software or hardware creation tool? Sam: Some people are inspired by having other people in the room, but we sort of get distracted. It’s super collaborative for us, so really just the two of us being a room together alone. We ideally get in a month–long zone where we’re just thinking about what we’re doing, writing, and being in that world. Sometimes, I like to have a MIDI keyboard, but in general, we just want to be in a room together where we feel comfortable. Jeremy: It seems obvious, but I think just the two of us in a room with good speakers, a good mic, and my computer. What’s the best creative situation for you guys, be it environmental factors, writing situations, locations, or vibe? I remember Sam and I were listening to "Your Drums, Your Love" by AlunaGeorge when that had just come out and was making a buzz, and we were both like, “Whoa, this is cool! Maybe we could do something like this." I was on Hype Machine every day seeing what was happening, seeing what new acts were coming up. I was just looking up demos and finding YouTube videos explaining how to do things, and Googling what I didn’t know. Other than that, as far as the scene we came up in and other bands we looked to for inspiration came from the internet. I was fortunate enough to have a few lessons with Adam Guettel, who’s a musical theater hero of mine. That really got me in the mindset of finishing things, which is the really hard thing as an early songwriter and producer - not just letting something kind of dangle at an incomplete state, but really finishing something and knowing how rewarding that is when you’re forced to do it. I had a lot of great teachers in small classes where it would be like five of us, and we’d have to write a song and notate it and bring it in and perform it every week. Jeremy: For me, a lot of my songwriting background was in studying musical theater songwriting at school. was a community in that way, and I would say that it definitely gave me a foundation in terms of confidence in performing and learning to play out. It was actually at one of those that I was encouraged to write my own music because at that time, I was still in high school and was just playing covers. Sam: Before Marian Hill, I was dabbling with singer–songwriter projects, and I had performed at a lot of open mic nights and local venues in the city. I know you two are originally from Philadelphia, so are there any particular Philadelphia groups, people, or musical acts that were a direct influence to your progression?

From there, it was just building outward from that blueprint. That became our template moving forward, along with the addition of Steve Davit, who plays sax with us when we go live. The components that make up that song are big drums with a hip–hop pattern, heavy bass tones with smaller atmospheric elements creating space and ambience, contrasted by very middle–of–the–mix, underproduced bluesy vocals. Jeremy: In a very practical sense, our sound really came from our song "Whiskey." We were both working on lots of projects at that time, which all sounded cool and different, just kind of trying see what worked and what felt good. You guys have referred to your style as a “classic bass sway." Is that still a good descriptor? How do you think that that style kind of came together? We did one tour around Sway, one tour when Act One came out, and then the " Down" tour, which is what just happened.

Jeremy: We’ve done a lot of scattered one–offs and a lot of festivals. Kansas City was our biggest crowd, which was really cool. It was our first time playing two nights in a row at a venue. Sam: We did get to play two nights at The Fonda, which was awesome. It was this new venue with a brand new production, so I think just because it was all starting, that was definitely a real rush there. Jeremy: Playing in New York was really special because we started the tour at a brand new venue in Brooklyn called Brooklyn Steel. Were there any dates or particular performances that stood out to you over others? It was cool because we toured with these songs in the fall, but this time around, we were really comfortable with them and could just sit back and enjoy the moment. The rooms were mostly sold out, and if not, very full. Marian Hill - ACT ONE (Complete Collection)

#What key is down by marian hill

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intermundia · 2 years

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Hey guys!! As of 1/31/22, I have 520k words of obikin on ao3. That’s a lot! I put this together for those who are interested. Hopefully it won’t be too long a scroll for those who aren’t! 😂😅💙

Novel-length stories:

Lex Talionis: COMPLETE Plotty, smutty, Sith AU. It’s my take on how Obi-Wan and Anakin could fall to the dark side, weaving in as much lore as I can. Force dyad, Sith’ari, Zygerria, etc. Obi-Wan and Anakin go through.. character development.. and it is dramatized in the changing way they have sex. I poured in all of my theories about metaphysics and the Force, all my knowledge about Augustus and how a Republic dies, all of my opinions about consent and agency. It has rough sex in it and some uncomfortable power dynamics that get resolved, so it is not for everyone, just a heads up. It is complete, and yes, there is a happy ending lol.

War Drums: IN PROGRESS Darth Vader dies at the end of Return of the Jedi full of regret and wakes up in his 10-yr-old body after the events of the Phantom Menace. Young Obi-Wan struggles to acclimate to the death of Qui-Gon and the discovery that the boy he swore to train grew up into a Sith. Vader tries to use his knowledge to fix the galaxy and Obi-Wan uses his training to make sure they do it the right way. It's about 60k long now, not smutty yet as Anakin is still in a child's body, but that will change soon.

Core Oneshots: (my argument for the ship, basically)

Symposium: The story that started it all for me haha. I put Plato's Symposium in a word document and transformed it into a scene where Obi-Wan is forced to reconsider his relationship with Anakin, while dosed with an aphrodisiac, which leads to lines being crossed back in their hotel room. It suggests the erastēs/erōmenos dynamic that appears in much of my work.

Unwrap, Wrap: Obi-Wan needs emotional hurt/comfort. This story has him fall apart, and Anakin help put him back together, after a traumatic battle late in the clone wars. Dramatizes the way that the war has muddied their roles and how much their lives are entangled. Obi-Wan gets a handjob in the shower, also, if that is relevant.

Longer Modern AUs: (8k+ words, developed AUs that attempt to model the canon dynamic in everyday life)

My Anankē: Classics AU is built on the premise that Obi-Wan would never break the rules re: teacher/student fraternization. He would rather endure years of mutual pining than act inappropriately. Once Anakin’s graduated though, that’s a different story. These are oneshots telling the story of their relationship. It is not told in chronological order, so each one basically opens up another window into their lives.

Soulbound: Obi-Wan is a bossy lawyer who plays World of Warcraft. Anakin is an insecure veteran who is in Obi-Wan’s guild and drives him insane. They meet randomly in a bar, and Obi-Wan realizes that Anakin acts the way he does because he likes to be bossed around—so he bosses him around.

Zone of Truth: Obi-Wan basically helped raise Anakin through being his Big Brother mentor through a local gaming shop, eventually teaching him to drive and getting him an internship etc. Anakin graduates college and Obi-Wan turns into a ghost, for very good reasons, it turns out. Anakin’s betrayed him, and he’s betrayed himself. The revelation argument is explosive.

Longer Canon AUs: (8k+ words, AUs that take place in the galaxy far, far away)

Nostos: Technically a sequel to Symposium. It explores would happen if you took the dynamic established in Symposium and then put the characters in the canon end of Attack of the Clones. How would their behavior be impacted? How would the Jedi react to their decisions?

Found, Fixed: Post-Zygerria Obi-Wan hurt/comfort. It’s similar to Unwrap, Wrap, except it’s told from Anakin’s POV and is much more explicit. It’s one of my rare bottom!Obi-Wan fic, he gets taken care of, from a beard trim to.. you know :)

Warm Blood: A/B/O fic that people seem to enjoy. Features omega Anakin having a suppressant failure on the battlefield and going into heat. Alpha Obi-Wan has to fight his way to him, and then tries to resist his instincts—until Anakin confesses his true feelings.

Run Away With Me: Sequel to Warm Blood, tells the story of what happened after the mating, how they left the Jedi and what they’ve been doing. Anakin is preparing to go into heat, and Obi-Wan is helping him nest. Set during Revenge of the Sith, though they don’t know what’s happening in their isolation.

Temporary Like Achilles: A/B/O fic. Alpha Obi-Wan is drugged by Dathomirian Nightsisters into a feral state, omega Anakin finds and rescues him. It's a fuck or die with feelings and ultimately a happy ending.

Shorter Smutty AUs:

Ready Stance: Anakin is bored during a hyperspace journey during the clone wars, so he asks Obi-Wan to spar. Obi-Wan watches him warm up, they spar, and things escalate. This fic explores more core facets of their relationship, like the legacy teaching dynamic.

Snap, Crackle, Pop: Padawan Anakin gets braid tugging and spanking after behaving very badly during the Battle of Muunilinst early in the Clone Wars.

Tilted: Anakin wakes up after Mortis in a female body and hides, struggling to come to terms with the change. Obi-Wan comes to check on him and reassure him, smut ensues.

Obi-Wan’s Stress Relief: Sith-like/Dom!Obi-Wan is rough on eager!Anakin in their Temple apartment, plays on Master/Padawan dynamic.

Murder Puppy: Playful!Obi-Wan seduces raisedSith!Anakin during a duel, bringing him back to the light during sex. People seem to really like this one, it is one of the things I get the most asks about. I have plans for a short story to expand, it’s on the WIP list I promise.

Obi-Wan's Unwelcome Guest: An AU where Obi-Wan couldn't strike Anakin down on Mustafar. Suitless!Vader comes to find him on Tatooine, and wants to be punished for mistakes, there is spanking involved.

Rosetta Stone: Based on the Mummy, an AU where Obi-Wan is a librarian and Anakin is a former soldier, and they defeated a mummy together. Obi-Wan is oblivious and repressed, so Anakin has to be very forward.

Safe as Houses: Based on Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Anakin is the slayer and Obi-Wan is his Giles-like librarian watcher. Anakin seeks Obi-Wan out in crisis and Obi-Wan takes care of him.

The Outlander: Obi-Wan fell to the dark on Naboo AU, so Qui-Gon is Anakin’s Master instead. Anakin sneaks out of the Temple to a club to meet possessive Obi-Wan, there is smut against a wall outside, and Anakin falls to the dark side.

What Happened on Tanaab: Daddy kink fic. Features a bratty Anakin, sex pheromones, spanking and just general daddy!filth.

A New Hope: Anakin never left Tatooine AU. He becomes a Han Solo-type pilot who helps a rebel!Obi-Wan escape the Empire. He’s a touch starved, praise starved, virgin who’s insecure about his missing hand. Obi-Wan takes good care of him.

Communication, What Communication: Organized Crime AU with collegeStudent!Anakin and accidentalSugarDaddy!Obi-Wan, gratitude kink haha. This fic has been picked up and turned into the phenomenal multichapter story Recoil and Ricochet by @wernnaa.

Potidaea, 432BC: Alcibiades!Anakin and his tutor Socrates!Obi-Wan fight together in the phalanx. Armor kink and period-accurate intercrural sex ensue lol.

Minikin and Tiny-Wan: Fluff and crack based on the premise that there are tiny figurines of the Jedi that are alive (kind of like the little dragons in the goblet of fire). Obi-Wan and Anakin each get one, and their Tinys enjoy each other’s company, leading to an awkward but useful conversation.

#BinGate: Great British Bake Off AU, Anakin is a contestant who lost his temper and destroyed his bake, Obi-Wan is a judge who enjoys scolding Anakin.

Let Me, Master: Padawan Obi-Wan, shy demisexual Master Anakin, Obi-Wan throws caution to the wind and finally seduces his clueless Master, smut ensues with bottom Obi-Wan.

Anakin, Duke of Vader, Prince of Coruscant: Anakin is a bratty, troubled prince and Obi-Wan is his unimpressed knight bodyguard. Anakin cries, showing true vulnerability, and Obi-Wan realizes he has a kink for that lmao

Smutty +F fic AUs: (short fics that includes Padmé or Ventress)

Très Lecherous: Padmé and Obi-Wan agree to share subby!Anakin, this fic is all three together, and includes DP if that is your jam.

Post-Revenge: Set after the episode of TCW where Ventress rescues Obi-Wan from Maul and Savage. This is only Ventress/Obi-Wan, but Anakin is extremely present in the fact that Ventress uses Obi-Wan's secret feelings for Anakin to incite him into hate sex.

Plus Anakin Makes 3: Sort of a sequel to the Post-Revenge fic, Anakin discovers Obi-Wan and Ventress having a tryst, decides to participate rather than freak out, so more DP haha.

Collaborations: (stories I co-authored with friends, both happen to be set in the canon universe)

Apartment Story: Post-Deception arc reconciliation fic, where Obi-Wan is drunk and Anakin is angry. Feelings are revealed, and comfort, understanding and smut ensues. Written with my friend Crys as a RP and adapted into a story.

Satellite Mind: What would happen if Obi-Wan could hear Anakin’s thoughts? Spoiler: it does not go well. Set during the last few days of the clone wars, and tracks how their relationship combusted over Anakin’s secrets. Written with @theseptemberist.

#obikin #anakin x obi wan #long post #thank you guys for reading i hope this is in any way helpful #sorry this took a really long time to put together lmao #forgive me hahaha #wanted it to be its own post

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viking-raider · 3 years

Text

Southern Generation - Part II

Summary: Working for Lily is going well for Sy, but he wants her to meet a special lady in his life, and manages to get her out of the house.

Pairing: Syverson/OFC

Word Count: 5,698

Rating: PG - Language, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Angst

Inspiration: An old fic I wrote and wanting to write a Sy fic.

Author’s Note: Thank you to @wondersofdreaming

“You've been getting here more early than usual.” Lily commented, handing Sy his usual morning coffee as he arrived on the property. “You fly here like Superman or something?”

She teased him as she sat down on the brand new porch swing that Sy had built with the scrap lumber from the porch and siding.

Sy laughed and leaned back against the porch railing. “No, I've been staying at the Sunway Motel in Celina.” He confessed, crossing his ankles. “I've been too tired to drive back to Austin most days, I don't want to fall asleep at the wheel or anything. So, I've been crashing there to keep it safe, and it just makes getting back here a sight easier, than a three-hour drive.” He told her, shaking his head.

“One-way.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Lily frowned, offended to hear it.

“Well, I don't want you paying that out of your pocket.” He replied, frowning back at her. “It's not a big deal for me.”

“I do technically pay you to stay there, Sy.” Lily answered, shaking her head at him.

“True.” He nodded, staring at the tips of his boots. “But, I also have a Military paycheck.” He informed her. “Again,” He sighed, pressing his lips together. “I didn't want you paying for something I can pay myself. You buy enough things as is.”

“Well, I would have offered to pay for it.” She started, folding her legs. “But, I also would have offered you one of my guest rooms.”

Sy blinked at her, he hadn't expected that from her, it seemed a bit toward. That thought made him paused, blinking at himself. Did Austin 'Fuck and eat you out til you can't walk' Syverson just have an abstinent thought.

Holy fuck, I did! He thought, staring at her.

And it wasn't because Sy wasn't attracted to her, because he very much was.

She was a beautiful young lady. The way her eyes lit up, every time she smiled, even when she was being shy. She came just to his shoulder. Her hair looks so silk and soft, that it took everything in Sy's power not to reach out and caress his fingers through it to find out just how pillow-y soft it was. She was dainty, but had curves in all the right places, for Sy to hold onto her. He bit the inside corner of his lip, thinking about gripping those hips of hers and kneading them in his big mitts, to rub up against that plump, heart shaped ass, to grab or bury his face in those matching breasts.

Sy cleared his throat and took a deep gulp of his cooling coffee, praying his growing erection wasn't too obvious to her.

What a way to ruin it, Syverson. He berated himself, trying to rein himself back in.

“Anyway,” She said, breaking the silence and getting up off the swing. “The offer stands, if you want it.” She told him, and went back inside.

He stayed there long after she had gone upstairs to her office to start her own workday, even after his coffee cup was empty. He turned around, setting the empty cup on the railing and watched the sun slowly climb higher into the sky, before sighing and getting back to work, siding the back portion of the house; thinking he might start working on the roof next. Since Spring was due soon and the weatherman said it would be a cold and rainy one.

“I'm going to be late tomorrow.” Sy said, that afternoon.

“Okay.” Lily smiled, taking up his empty lunch plate and turned towards the sink. “Everything okay?” She asked, turning the faucet on to do them and the ones from breakfast.

“Everything's great.” Sy smiled, leaning back in his chair and grinning.

“I've never seen you smile so big, since we met.” She teased him, chuckling.

“I made a friend in Baghdad.” He explained, giddy. “She's finally over here in the States, so I need to pick her up at the airport.” He was excited about getting Aika again, even more so for Lily to meet her.

“I want you to meet her.” He added.

Lily's stomach clenched hearing him talk about whoever she was, a bit down to find out he apparently had someone special in his life. “I look forward to it.” She said, focusing on the plate in her hand.

“Great!” He beamed, getting up from the table. “I'm sure the two of you will be two peas in a pod!” He said, heading out the back door to finish his work.

“Totally.” Lily sighed, frowning to herself.

The next day, Lily was a complete wreck about meeting Sy's friend.

She had tossed and turned all night, barely getting any sleep as she kept thinking about the meet. She knew the woman was going to be gorgeous, why wouldn't she be, if Sy had been so excited about her being in the States and she was able to capture the attention of his ocean blues. Eventually, Lily got out of bed, tired of not finding a comfortable position and peace of mind to fall asleep. Besides, knowing her luck, she'd be subjected to dreaming about meeting the lady and all her, super model glory.

So, she padded down to her office and flipped on her computer, deciding to get her day started early and finish the few projects she had going on with a couple of clients. But, not even that helped her forget about the situation, if anything it made it worse, her leg impatiently bouncing to the tune of her agitation and self-pity. Running a hand through her hair for the hundredth time, before putting it back up, yet again, she huffed and stood up, pacing the floor of her office, from the window to the door, and back, biting her fingernails and mumbling to herself.

“Why would you even have the remotest chance with a guy like Austin Syverson?” She berated herself, yet again. “Good lord, look at the man! He's an actual man and you've never even kissed a boy. He's the whole package and you're just full of baggage. This is definition of friend zoned, and you bloody well know it!”

Sy had driven back to Austin after leaving Lily's place the night before. He was so excited to retrieve Aika from quarantine. It felt like an age since they last saw each other, but not as long as it might have felt, if he hadn't had Lily for company and the work on the farm to do, day in and day out.

“Fuck,” He huffed, drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel. “I really hope the two of them get along.” He mumbled to himself, fidgeting in his seat. “Maybe, I should have told her about Aika. What if she's allergic to dogs, or doesn't even like them?” He questioned, suddenly doubting himself. “I know she likes horses, but a dog isn't a horse, and the horse isn't on her property.” He glanced at his mobile phone in the passenger seat, questioning if he should just call Lily and tell her he's bringing his dog to the farm, for her to meet.

“No.” Sy shook his head, brushing it off. “It'll be fine. This will be great! They'll get along perfectly and it'll be a happily ever after.” He nodded, pushing himself to be positive as he pulled into the facility to pick Aika up. “Captain Austin Syverson, here for my dog, Aika.” He told the lady at the front desk, then signed the release paperwork, while they brought her out to him.

“Hey, girl!” Sy called, as Aika charged for him. “Oh, I've missed you so much, bug!” He said, rubbing her erect ears and scratched down her back, making her back leg go wild. “I've got someone special I want you to meet.” He said, getting the German Shepherd into his truck. “You're going to love her.” He smiled at Aika, who licked his scruffy cheek.

“And she's probably going to spoil you rotten.” He chuckled, pulling out of the parking space.

“Oh shit.”

Lily gulped seeing the kicked up dust cloud on the driveway, as Sy's truck approached the house and felt her heart stop, knowing at any moment, she would be meeting his special lady in a matter of minutes. She had been trying all morning to put on a brave and supportive face, not wanting to make herself look like a fool in front of them. “I can't do this.” She gulped, running into the bathroom upstairs and vomited into the bowel several times, before quickly brushing and rinsing her mouth out.

“Afternoon, Lily!” Sy yelled, getting out and giving her a wave as she stepped out onto the porch, he was positively beaming. “You ready to meet her?” He asked, gripping the handle of the passenger door.

“Yep!” She called back, forcing a smile. “As I can be.” She mumbled under her breath as Sy opened the door.

A bark filled the humid air and a big German Shepherd jumped out of the truck, jumping on Sy a few times, before noticing Lily and bee-lining for her.

“Oh.” Lily gasped, surprised that Sy's special lady, was a dog. “Hey.” She grinned at Aika, bracing herself has Aika put her paws on her chest. “Aren't you a beauty.” She said, scratching her erect ears and relieved beyond all belief.

“See, I told you the two of you would get along.” Sy said, stepping up on the porch, relieved as well.

“That you did.” Lily agreed. “What's her name?” She asked, looking up at him.

“Aika.” He replied, scratching Aika all over. “I found her as a stray during my last deployment, she was just a pup. So, I took her in and took care of her. She's been stuck in Quarantine since before I got back, and they just released her today.” He explained as Aika bolted off the porch and zoomed around the front yard.

“You don't mind me having her here, do you?” He asked, biting the corner of his lip.

“Are you kidding?” Lily laughed, watching Aika disappear in the tall grass. “She's more than welcomed here.” She assured him, with a sweet smile. “Any time.”

“She's not really used to grass.” Sy laughed, as Aika attempted to pee on every blade she could. “You might get a few holes as well.” He added, knowing the Shepherd's like to dig.

“Please, I doubt anyone will notice.” Lily giggled, looking around the neglected yard.

Sy went to work on his latest project on the property and Aika spent most of the day running around the land, investigating what Sy was up to or lounging on the floor in Lily's office upstairs. Lily sighed and rubbed her face as the phone downstairs in the kitchen rang. She pushed back in her office chair and carefully stepped over Aika, to pad down the small set of stairs that led directly into the kitchen from the upstairs.

“Hello?” She chimed, pressing the receiver to her ear with her shoulder, waving at Sy as he passed the kitchen window and rounded the side of the house, then frowned, when no one answered her greeting. “Hello?” She repeated, a little bit louder. “Are you there?” She asked, checking to make sure the call was connected properly.

“What's wrong?” Sy frowned, stepping into the kitchen as the receiver fell to the floor at their feet.

“Nothing.” She squeaked, quickly bending to pick it up. “Just being clumsy.” She told him, hanging the phone up.

“Well, who was it?” He asked, tilting his head at her strange behavior.

“I don't know.” She replied, shrugging her shoulders and ran a hand through her hair, not turning around to look at him. “They never said anything. Must have been a wrong number or something.” She told him, heart thundering in her chest. “I need to finish my work.” She said, then rushed upstairs, leaving Sy staring up after her.

“I talked to your neighbor, Billie Marlowe.” Sy said, tugging a cloth out of his back pocket and wiped his face and head with it.

“Oh?” Lily replied, stirring a bit of honey into her tea.

“Yeah, he said, his daughter, Skylar, would be competing in a barrel racing competition this Sunday, in Dallas.” He told her, studying her carefully. “I was wondering, if you had thought about, maybe, going with me?” He asked, licking his lips.

Lily froze, the container of liquid creamer hovering over her steaming cup as she stared across the table at him, eyes wide. “I-”

“Oh, come on.” Sy pressed, brow creasing. “It's my treat. I'll drive and everything. It'll do you some good to leave the house.” He tried coaxing her. “Just for an hour or two.”

Lily continued to stare at Sy, her hand growing sweaty around the plastic container, before she set it down, her shoulders slumping as she did. “All right. Only for a few hours, then we come back. I have a deadline.”

Sy burst into a grin, his blue eyes bright. “Great.” He said, rubbing his hands together. “It doesn't start until eight and her competition doesn't start until eight-thirty. So, we'll have plenty of time.” He told her, excited to go to the fair with her.

Three days later, Sy got Lily in the car and they drove forty-five minutes from Celina to Dallas. The first few minutes in the car was quiet, until Luna's nerves got the best of her.

“When was the last time you went to a fair?” She asked, looking at him.

“Oh, man.” Sy huffed, frowning out the windshield as he considered it. “I think I was sixteen, it was an end of the year thing for my Junior year at high school. I didn't go to my Senior one, since I was getting ready for basic training.” He told her.

“What about you?” He asked, glancing at her.

“Never.”

“You've never been to one?” Sy snapped, shocked.

“Nope.” She shook her head at him.

“Not even for school?”

“I was home schooled.” She explained. “My dad thought they were a suck and waste of money.”

“That's the point.” Sy laughed, shaking his head. “Wasting money on artery clogging food and probably unsafe rides. It's a rush, but mostly from all the sugar.” He grinned at her, amused.

“You'll love it, I swear.”

“I'll take your word for it, Captain.” Lily smiled back, hoping he didn't see how freaked out she was.

They finally reached the fair grounds and a place to park, Sy got them all access bracelets, so giddy as they entered the fair grounds. Lily took several deep breaths as the crowd around them thickened and stuck close to Sy. She really didn't want to ruin Sy's fun at the fair, he had been jabbering about it since she agreed to go with him, telling her about the all fun rides and food. He was like a little boy, reliving his first fair experience, and she knew it had been over ten years since he had been to one. So, she put on a brave face and tried to smile, every time he glanced at her.

Which was every few seconds.

Sy and Lily got on several rides to kill the half hour until the barrel-racing competition started under one of the big tents set up in the huge field. She rather enjoyed the Ferris wheel, just her and Sy in one seat, spaced out from everyone else on the ride. She did think she was going to throw up on the sudden drop ride, but managed to keep it down, making Sy laugh at her as he saw her face from the corner of his eye as the two of them got off the ride.

“You all right?” He chuckled, resting his hand on the small of her back.

“I think, my stomach is somewhere between my brain and my toes.” She chuckled, despite herself.

“It'll even out again.” Sy laughed with her, rubbing her back.

“Ladies and Gentleman, boys and girls,” the fair announcer came over the intercom system throughout the fair. “The Barrel-Racing Competition is due to start in ten minutes, in tent number six! So, find your seats now!” He informed the herd of fair-goers.

“Oh, we should head out that way.” Sy said, pulling out the little fair map and directed them towards the tent. “Why don't you find us a place to sit and I'll go get us something to munch and sip on.” He told her, at the tent's entrance.

“Sy..”

“It'll take two minutes.” He told her, squeezing her shoulder, then disappearing into the crowd that was trying to funnel into the tent.

“Fuck, Austin.” Lily gulped, starting to tremble as she turned into the tent and looked for somewhere to sit, before finding a place in the second row, near the exit.

Sy weaved around the countless people in the main walkway of the fair, before spotting a food vendor with something he thought Lily would love to try out and headed that direction, to standing in line. He was only in the line for a moment, when he felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around to see who it was, breaking out into a smile.

“Mr. Marlowe.” He greeted the farmer, sticking his hand out to the other man.

“Please, just call me Billie.” Marlowe replied, smiling up at Sy and shook his hand.

“Sy.” Sy answered. “You must be excited to see your little girl compete.” He said, as they stood side by side and progressed through the line.

“That I am.” Billie beamed, like the proud papa he was. “I am surprised at you though.” He added, pulling off his John Deere hat, ran his hand through his short, salt and pepper hair, and rubbed the over-tanned skin of his neck.

“Why's that?” Sy frowned, shaking his head.

“I saw Ms. Lily with you.” Billie replied as they got to the counter. “My farm has been in my family for four generations. I knew the couple that lived at Ms. Lily's place, when I was a lad. They passed away and their kids didn't want to be farmers, so they sold the place and Ms. Lily bought it a few years back. In that time, I have never seen her leave the property. The closest I've ever seen was when she fetches the mail, and she does that in a jiffy.” He laughed, stepping up to one of the two cashiers, while Sy went to the other.

“What do you mean?” Sy frowned, then gave the cashier an order for two elephant ears, a coke for himself and a Dr. Pepper for Lily.

“Oh.” Billie frowned, realizing Sy had no clue.

“'Oh', what?” Sy pressed, annoyed.

“You don't know about Ms. Lily being Agoraphobic?” Billie asked slowly, blinking at Sy with a shocked look. “I thought you knew. Practically everyone in Celina knows about it. My boy, Travis, who works at the Celina supermarket, even gets her groceries for her and delivers them, and everything.”

Sy floundered, his mouth opening and closing for a moment. “I didn't.” He sighed, clearing his throat. “I just thought she was a home-body.” He said, shaking his head. “Well, I suppose she is a home-body, it's just a bit more complicated than that.”

He felt silly, all of the signs were there, right in front of his oblivious face. He had never seen her leave the property in the weeks he was there working. She was always, either, in the house or on the porch, the furthest from the house he had ever seen her was the mailbox. She got clearly anxious about any mention of leaving to go anywhere, and her car hadn't moved since the first time he saw it in the dirt driveway. Everything made so much sense to him now, with the sudden realization he had left her, alone, in a tent full of complete strangers.

“Shit!” He barked, taking the food and drinks and rushing back to the tent. “Are you okay?” He asked, as soon as he found her in the crowded stands.

“Other than starving, I'm all right.” She replied, looking up at him.

“You're sure?” He asked and sat down beside her, he could see the tremble in her shoulders. “You're shaking.” He pointed out, his brow creasing with concern.

Why did I push her into this! He berated himself mentally.

“I'm just cold.” She frowned back, which wasn't a complete lie, it was rather nippy out and she had left her jacket in the truck.

“Oh.” Sy gulped at her, setting their snacks down on the empty bench in front of them and peeled off his Five Finger Death Punch hoodie. “Here.” He said, handing her the toasty warm garment.

“Thanks.” She blushed, pulling it on.

The comforting warmth of the fabric settled around her, wrapping her up in Sy's scent of dark vanilla, the fresh cut pine boards he had been working with, fresh air and patchouli, from his beard oil. The tremor vibrating through her body instantly subsided as she huddled herself up inside Sy's hoodie, suddenly feeling safe, safer than she had ever felt in her life before, the murmur of the crowd vanished and everyone melted away, but Sy.

Sy smiled at her, watching as she stopped shaking. “Are you still hungry?” He asked her, picking up the heavy paper plate with the lumpy and sweet pastry dough on it, covered in butter, cinnamon and brown sugar.

“What in the world is that?” She frowned down at it.

“It's called an Elephant Ear.” He chuckled, letting her take the plate from him and picked up his own. “It's delicious.”

“It's as big as one!” She chuckled, balancing it in her lap and pushed up the oversized sleeves of Sy's hoodie, not wanting to get it messy as she tore a piece of the dough off and popped it into her mouth. “Mmm.” She melted, licking her coated lips. “That is sinful.” She moaned, smiling over at Sy, who simply folded his and took a massive bite out of it.

“I told you!” He mumbled around his mouthful, grinning ear to ear.

“I might have to learn how to make these.” Lily said, tearing off a bigger piece and licked her fingers clean of the cinnamon and sugar combination.

“Oh, don't threaten to spoil a man!” Sy laughed, gently touching his shoulder to hers.

“Hey, here she is!” Lily called out, pointing to the girl entering the center of the tent atop a horse. “They look so good together!” She grinned, beaming with her own dose of pride in Skylar and Juniper.

Lily lifted her hand and waved as Skylar looked out over the crowd, she spotted Lily and waved back at her, smiling. Skylar got herself and Juniper into position, taking deep breaths to try and settle her jittery nerves and focus on her task ahead. Skylar was given the signal and she was off, speeding as fast as she and Juniper could go towards the first barrel in front of them. Lily scooted towards the edge of her seat, her half eaten elephant ear forgotten in her excitement. Skylar seemingly sailed through the cloverleaf pattern she had to make around the barrels and back to her mark.

The crowd clapped as she went out, letting the next rider and their horse take their turn at the competition. Lily finished off her elephant ear and sipped at her Dr. Pepper, eyes glued to the beautiful horses and focused riders as they went around and around the barrels, kicking up dirt as they went.

“I really hope she wins.” Lily said, looking at Sy, only to realize he had been watching her the whole time, and not the racers. “What?” She squeaked, eyes wide. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No.” He smiled back, then chuckled. “Well..” He picked up the paper napkin he was given with the elephant ears and gently brushed off a line of brown sugar and cinnamon that Lily had on her cheek. “Just a little sugar.” He told her, softly.

“But, other than that, you're...” He paused for a moment. “Perfect.” He whispered, breathlessly.

Lily gulped and her cheeks warmed, biting the inside of her lip and fidgeted inside Sy's hoodie. “Thank you.” She mumbled back. “For the..” She motioned to her cheek, shyly.

“Of course.” Sy nodded, a tender smile on his lips. “But, I hope she wins too.” He added, turning back to the event.

“All right everybody, it's time to announce the winners for first, second and third place!” The announcer said, standing in the middle of the racing area, a microphone in his hand and a big cowboy hat on his head, as his boots shined with their spurs.

Lily crossed her fingers, making Sy chuckle at her.

“In third place is,” the announcer said, lifting a clipboard he was holding. “Paige Whitley with thirty-four seconds!”

The crowd clapped and whistled as the girl came up and took her ribbon for third place, then stood to one side of the announcer.

“In second place is, Ainsley Ortega with twenty-eight seconds!”

Another round of claps, whistling and yells from the crowd as she took her place beside Paige. There was a moment of pause and the suspense was starting to drive Lily stir crazy as they waited for him to announce the first place winner.

“and the first place winner of the Dallas Heritage Fair is,” He paused for a dramatic affect. “Skylar Marlowe with twenty-one seconds!”

“Yes!” Lily shouted, her arms flying up as she bounced in her seat, overjoyed. “She did it, Sy.” She grinned at him, throwing her arms around his neck, in her moment of overzealous excitement, forgetting herself.

“She did.” Sy grinned, wrapping his arms around her and hugging her back.

He unconsciously turned his face into her hair and took a deep breath, smelling her Lavender and Rosemary shampoo in it. They stayed like that, in a timeless bubble, before they recalled themselves and pulled apart again.

“I'm sorry, I was excited.” Lily blushed, brushing her hair behind her ear.

“Same.” Sy replied, clearing his throat. “I should get you back home now, it's been two hours.” He said, picking up their empty plates, napkins and soda cans, standing.

“I-” Lily froze, watching him dump them into a trash bin nearby. “I don't—mind—staying another hour, if you're not.” She told him, a hard lump in her throat. “I mean, there's so much of the fair I haven't seen, since it's my first time, and you spent a pretty penny on our access bracelets.” She said, lifting her arm, the sleeve of his hoodie slipped down her arm, revealing her red bracelet.

“Be rude and a shame to waste it, don't you think?” She asked, staring at him, shyly.

Sy studied her for a moment, weighing what he knew of her now, but she looked and seemed all right, for the most part, just her usual shy and withdrawn self. “If you want too, Lily. Then, I'm more than all right with staying and showing you the rest of the booths.” He said, his voice soft and—protective.

“I would like that.”

Sy smiled at her, gently, then offered her his arm, which she took. He escorted them out of the tent, with the rest of the fair-goers. Sy took her around the fair ground, stopping at booths that Lily showed interest in. He paused at one booth, seeing all the stuffed animals that were hanging around it and pressed his lips together, before glancing at her and deciding to give it a shot, wanting to win something for her, so when she saw it, she'd remember the fun she had at the fair; and think of him.

It was a shooting game booth, giving the player a minute to hit as many targets as they could, each target was worth a certain amount of points and moved quickly. But, Sy wasn't at all worried, this was his element, his military career made something like this easy. So, he took up the bee-bee rifle that the booth runner gave him, slotted it against his shoulder and held it through pure muscle memory. He patiently waited for the signal for him to start, watching the painted metal targets move on their tracks.

“Ready!” the booth runner called, standing to the side. “Set! Go!”

Sy's body instantly tensed and he started firing, his movement was sharp, quick and calculated, hips and shoulders pivoting as he hit each of the targets, only missing two in the full minute he had. Lily stood beside him, fully impressed by his skill.

“Seven hundred and forty-nine points.” the booth runner read off the scoreboard at the back of the booth. “That's the highest score yet!” He said, impressed himself. “You have a pick of whatever you want, sir.” He told Sy, motioning around to the stuffed animals, some were super teeny, while others were nearly Lily's size.

Sy surveyed the selection of stuffed animals, before a certain one caught his attention and smiled at it, it was perfect for why he wanted it. “That's the one.” He said, pointing out the medium sized, curly furred and light tan, teddy bear.

“A perfect choice, sir.” the booth runner praised him, taking it down and handing it over to Sy.

“Here.” Sy smiled, turning and holding it out to Lily. “He's for you.” He told her, gently, as his heart thundered in his chest.

Lily slowly took the bear from him, it was silk soft and plush, it felt nice under her hands, making her instantly smile as she stared down at it. She was touched that Sy had gone through the trouble of winning the game to get her a prize, no one had ever done something so kind, sweet and thoughtful for her before, it made her a bit emotional.

“Thank you.” She whispered, hugging it to her chest and looked up at Sy. “I love it.” She assured him, seeing the concern in his blue eyes that she wouldn't.

“Good.” He beamed, his heart still thundering, but it felt light and hopeful. “I'm glad.”

It was nearly dark by the time Lily and Sy finished their tour of the fair grounds and headed back to the house. Lily convinced Sy to stay for dinner before he headed back home, wanting to thank him in someway for taking her to the fair and showing her such a good time, something she hadn't had in as long as she could remember.

“Your cooking never fails to amaze me.” Sy chuckled, popping the last bit of his biscuit into his mouth. “It's the definition of a great home cooked meal.” He praised her, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his lean tummy through the fabric of his shirt.

“Well, you have the appetite of a Viking.” She giggled back, blushing at her plate.

Sy laughed again, his own bearded cheeks coloring. “True enough.” He agreed, smiling brightly at her.

“Thank you for taking me today.” Lily said, speaking softly. “I really did have a lot of fun.” She confessed, shyly twisting her napkin in her hands, and thinking of the teddy bear that now took up a prized spot on her bed, upstairs.

“I did too, I'm glad you agreed to go with me.” Sy nodded, tilting his head at her. “Did us both a great deal of good to get out and do something fun.”

“I should let you take off, before it gets too late.” She answered, after a brief moment of silence. “I know it's a long drive.”

Sy cleared his throat, biting the inside of his lip, he didn’t want to bring up staying at the motel down in Celina, so the drive was easier to make and gave him more hours in the day to work on the seemingly endless list of projects that needed to be done, to get the farm back into running order, again. He didn’t want them to argue after such an amazing day.

But, he knew she was right.

“Thanks for dinner.” He said, taking his plate to the sink, wanting a reason to linger a second longer. “Good night, Ms. Lily.” He smiled at her, as they stepped out onto the porch. “I'll see you in the morning.”

“I'll be here, with coffee and breakfast waiting, as always.” She replied, standing barefoot on the smooth and solid board of the porch.

He chuckled, bidding her good night again and got into his truck. As he drove to the motel, he recalled all the smiles she had given him throughout the day and the sound of her victorious laugh, when she beat him at the ring toss game, but sweetly gave him the bracelet she won, making him glance at the macrame, blue and gold turquoise beads weaved with black thread and tied with a slip knot, that hugged his thick wrist. His skin tingled as it remembered the gentle touch of her dainty fingers as she slipped it over his hand to his wrist and tugged it secure.

Sy wasn't a jewelry person, other than his watch and his dog-tags, but for as long as he lived, he vowed to never take that bracelet off.

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cosmiclatte28 · 3 years

Note

I was wondering if you could have yuta comfort a fan during a panic attack? I really love cute nicknames too if you can add them in. If it doesn't apply to your rules I understand. I personally love kpop idols comforting fan scenarios

this is my first request after a long time, and I enjoy this :D

thank you for sending the request !!!

trigger warning : panic attack, strict and controlling family

@unadulteratedmusiciansrockalien thank you for sending this, hope you like this :D

nets @superm-net @multifandomnet

Another day of the life you never wished or dreamed of. The beep from the microwave brings you back to reality, you bend over to take a cup of hot water and drop in a bag of tea. While your hand plays with the tea bag, bouncing it up and down as you calm yourself by watching the brown color fusing into the water, your eyes catch the shadow of your most feared man.

“Good morning, dad.” you greet him and try to hide your face from him. This man who has raised you, is not your biological father. Your mother remarried a man who is so successful in his land and properties business. You detest him though because he forced you to earn a marketing degree when all you wanted to do was be a pediatrician. Words were exchanged back then and his words were unchangeable, he made you take a marketing degree and he’d been controlling your life until now.

“Ready to meet our biggest client? Lord Hyuck from the Lee family is planning to buy and invest money on our newest property area. They are going to make a factory for silicones and if their business is doing well, they might take over the neighboring land too.” he stirs his morning coffee with glint of hopes in his eyes.

Your body stiffens, why does he have to give the most important project to you? You will just mess it up and you won’t be able to convince him to buy the land. Even worse, what if the lee would never buy land or properties from your dad anymore? Will you be a disgrace?

You pause your bouncing activity and clear your throat “I’m sorry but why should you assign me on this big project?”

Your dad raises a brow “Well, of course because you are my daughter and I don’t trust the other employees. They might make a deal behind my back, adding some prices or make a secret deal that could backstab our company. I know, you won’t do that right?” he pulls his “family is who you can trust” card and your finger cannot stop drumming your cup. You’re nervous! Despite being the daughter of the chairman, you’ve always taken the smaller projects because you cannot deal with the nerves of sitting and bargaining to big people.

“I don’t know if I can, dad. Can’t you send Mr Seo instead? He’s your loyal senior marketing agent.” you sip on your cup, your dad not noticing the tremble in your hand.

He shakes his head “I want to give you a big project now and I know you won’t mess it up for me. Right (y/n)? Show me that you are worthy and show me what you’ve learned from the most prestigious school here! Now chop chop, Yuta will be responsible to drive you there at eleven.” with a pat on the back, he leaves you there.

“You got this,” a co-worker who accidentally heard your talk reassures you.

“Thank you Taeyong, I hope so. Well, let me just prepare myself then.” you giggle nervously, stomach already churning and ready to just run to the closest restroom and throw your breakfast out.

You’re super nervous. Meeting new people is not your comfort zone, talking to new people makes you sweat and you are tired of being controlled.

---

“Big project ahead, but I know you will be okay.” your loyal caretaker and personal driver whispers when he opens the door to help you inside and takes over your stuffs.

You sigh “Yuta, you’re only making me feel more nervous.”

He ruffles your hair and gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze “No worries my little angel, I will be here. Do you feel suffocated in this car?” you flash a small smile and take a deep breath. “Yes/ I don’t feel like sitting in a closed room, Yuta do we have another option?”

Yuta smirks and steps out of the driver seat, “Well, yes of course I have, my lady. Please step out and we will be on the road soon.”

You wait for him in the lobby, your head keeps on repeating the breathing exercise Yuta taught you.

He returns with a pair of helmet and a motorcycle on his side. Yuta calmly puts it over your head and you keep fidgeting with your fingers.

Breathing still feels hard, you know you’re almost having a panic attack but you keep hypnotizing yourself that “I am experiencing a panic attack. It feels scary but it will not cause physical harm.”

The loyal man takes your hands and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Breathe with me darling, slowly but deep.” he coaxes you in with his deep soothing voice.

When he sees no objection from you, Yuta pulls you closer into his embrace and runs a hand on your back. “This feels awful sweetie, I know. but it’s not going to hurt you”

You close your eyes and limp yourself into his hug, “Breathe, breathe.. I am okay, I can breathe. There is nothing stopping me from breathing.” you chant to yourself and Yuta just keeps stroking your back. Calming you down with all his warmth, lovely touches, and white noises in your ear. His warm hand makes his way to your neck, he touches you there and just keeps your body standing. You melt deeper into his body, really loving how he can sooth your panic attack.

He hums soft tunes into your ear, he breathes calmly by your side so you can follow him and he keeps praising you for being a good girl in calming yourself down.

“Yoshi-yoshi, there my good girl. Breathe with me okay, you’re doing so great.” he giggles when he feels you tense a little from his japanese words.

When you calm down and stop shaking, Yuta cups your face and stares into your eyes with his soft amber ones.

“I am always here for you okay my sweetheart. I won’t leave you ever.” his thumb caresses your cheek and you blush.

“Thank you Yuta. I think I’m ready to go.” You play with your hair. He presses a quick kiss on your forehead and one more on your cheek. “Good girl.”

He takes a seat on the motorcycle and you jump behind him. Yuta smiles when he sees your face less pale. “Keep breathing my dear, I know you can do that. Hold on tight,” he grabs your hand and hugs it over his waist. “Do what’s comfortable darling. You are safe here with me.” he winks and soon after takes off to the busy street.

You close your eyes and press your cheek to his back, your arms still hugging Yuta tightly from the back. His musky cologne calms your nerves down and hearing Yuta’s heartbeat also makes you feel safe.

Both of you make it to the meeting place. You step down from the vehicle and Yuta helps you take off the helmet. He runs his finger slowly to fix your hair and when you want to open your mouth asking if you look good he already beats you into it. “You look stunning. Now, I know you will do amazing. Mr. Lee is kind, don’t be scared. I will be on the table next to yours, if you need anything I will always be there.” Yuta plants a quick kiss again on your cheek and touches them slowly. You lean your cheek into his palm and take his other free hand, lace it with yours and squeeze it “Thank you Yuta! I love you.” you blush as you plant a quick kiss on his lips and then run away to step into the café before your client comes.

Yuta still stands next to his motorcycle, eyes wide open, cheeks red. He shakes his head to regain his composure and smirks “That little angel, she woke up the devil inside me.”

end

#yuta x reader #yuta x you #yuta x y/n #yuta imagine #yuta comfort #yuta soft hours #yuta scenarios #nakamoto yuta #yuta angst #yuta fanfic #nakamoto yuta fluff #yuta fluff #nct fluff #nct comfort #supermnet #multifandomnet #hotpinklists

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drabbles-mc · 3 years

Text

Early Bird

Juice Ortiz x OFC (Chris Teller)

Request by Anon: what about an x reader insert where reader likes to workout, and Juice walks into the club gym when she is in there, and is quite taken aback by her muscularity. Anywho, they then start up working out together, and this goes on for some time, until the tension just snaps at some point, maybe reader just makes the first move

Warnings: language

Word Count: 3k

A/N: Swapped the reader-insert for an OC because not only do I really love the whole world that I’ve been building for Chris and Juice (which I’ll eventually start posting as a full fic rather than just these little one-offs) but this also worked really well in line with who I’m building her to be as a character. Hope that’s alright! Enjoy xo

Join my group-chat here: (X)

SOA Taglist: @garbinge @masterlistforimagines @adela-topaz-caelon @mijop @chibsytelford @xladymacbethx @i-just-read-stuff @kkim120 @everyhowlmarksthedead @toni9 @unicornucopia-fuckers @mayans-sauce @shadow-of-wonder @punkgoddess-98 @paintballkid711 @black-repunzel99 @lexondeck @jitterbugs927 @mrsstevenbuchananstark (If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know!)

Juice heard the music bumping from the tiny room that passed for a gym at the clubhouse. Curious as to who would be there so early in the morning, he made his way down the hall. He heard the clanging of metal on metal and assumed that whoever was in there was lifting.

He peaked around the corner and his eyes grew wide when he saw Chris laid back on the bench press, getting ready for her next set. She adjusted her grip, getting her breathing right as she pushed the bar up from where it was resting and bringing it directly over her chest. Juice was on the brink of drooling as he watched her in awe. He propped himself against the doorframe silently, not wanting to disturb the zone that she had clearly put herself in.

Once she got through her next set, she let out a sigh before sitting upright. She gasped in surprise when she saw Juice standing in the doorway, letting out a slightly nervous laugh as she paused her music.

“You want to give me a heart attack first thing in the morning?”

“Do…do you always work out here?” he asked, completely ignoring her question.

“Fuck no,” she laughed as she rose up off the bench and stretched, “My gym is closed for some bullshit reason so I figured this little jail cell setup was better than nothing.”

“Hey,” Juice chuckled as he walked farther into the weight room, “it’s got the essentials. Don’t hate.”

She smiled, shaking her head, “Anyway. What’re you doing up so early?”

“About to do the same thing you are. Only, you know, with more weight,” he laughed.

She gave him a good-natured shove to the shoulder, “Shut up,” she laughed, “I’ll leave you to it, then. I just finished.”

“You’re done?” he raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Early bird gets the worm,” she shot him a wink, “And an empty fucking gym.”

“Hey, Chris,” he smiled as he watched her walk away, “You think your gym is gonna be closed tomorrow, too?”

She laughed, not turning around to face him as she walked away, “Maybe.”

All of his plans for the morning completely went out the window. He made his way over to the door and leaned out, watching her walk down the hall. He felt his jaw go a little lax as he took in the way the muscles in her back and shoulders moved and flexed as she walked. A quiet sigh slipped past his lips when she turned the corner out of sight, and he forced himself to focus on what he had originally shown up to do. He went through the motions of his workout but if someone had asked him what he did or how it went he wouldn’t have been able to give him a good answer.

The next morning, he set an extra early alarm. He’d gone to bed early the night before so he would be able not only to wake up early, but also keep up with Chris and whatever workout she had planned. He might’ve joked around with her from time to time, but he really had no interest in going toe-to-toe with her. She carried herself with the confidence and assurance of someone who could easily put him to the ground. And, from the pump he saw in her shoulders and arms the day before, he had no doubt that the confidence she exuded was earned, not given.

When he walked into the gym, she was sitting on the ground stretching with her headphones in. Despite that, she’d heard him walk in and flicked her eyes up to him and smiled. She took one headphone out, “Decided to get a real workout this morning?”

He chuckled, “Just wanted to see what it was all about.”

As much as he wanted to ask a million questions, he didn’t. He warmed up and followed her lead, impressed at her level of focus. They bantered back and forth but he could still tell that underneath it all she was there to work.

They were finishing up with core-work on the little bit of floorspace that they had in the clubhouse gym. Juice didn’t want to admit that the moves she had him doing were making him wonder if he ever really had any core strength to begin with or if his body had been lying to him the whole time. Chris flopped onto her back when she was done, taking a deep breath before turning to look over at Juice.

“So? What’s it all about?” she was still catching her breath.

Juice wasn’t any better off as he sat up, slowly forcing himself to his feet. He wiped his hands off on his shorts before lifting the bottom hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, “It’s more than I’m ready for, apparently,” he laughed.

She tried not to make it obvious that she was staring at him when he lifted his shirt. She forced her eyes to look literally anywhere else as she propped herself back up into a sitting position. He held his hand out to her, offering to help her up onto her feet. When she gripped his hand in hers, he found himself watching the muscles in her forearm and bicep flex as she hoisted herself up off the floor. For a moment their hands stayed entwined as they took in the sight of each other. Simultaneously they both realized what they were doing and pulled their hands back to their sides. Juice was fighting inside his head to be respectful, to not get distracted by the sweat that was glistening on her skin.

“Same time tomorrow?” he finally forced the words out.

She laughed, wiping the back of her hand across her forehead, “Nah, my gym is back in business tomorrow. No more jail setup for me. Besides,” she clapped him on the outside of his arm, “Something tells me you might need a rest day tomorrow anyway.”

She was taking off out of the room before he could respond. He sighed, walking over and taking a long drink from his water bottle as he thought back over the entire morning. He drummed his fingers on the plastic container in his hands, trying to figure out what his next move was going to be, if there was going to be one.

When he went back to his dorm the next night, there was a folded-up slip of paper on his bed. He looked around the small room as though he had missed someone being in there when he walked in. he ran his hand over his mohawk as he picked it up, taking a deep breath as he unfolded it.

A little plastic card fell out and he fumbled to catch it before reading the note, “If you’re looking to get out of the jailhouse gym. -Chris” He chuckled as he looked at the card in his hand, realizing that it would let him scan into what he assumed was Chris’s gym. He tucked the card and the note both into his wallet before getting ready to go to bed. He made sure to set an extra early alarm, hoping to beat her to the gym in the morning.

When he rolled into the parking lot the next morning, Chris was already walking towards the front doors to the gym. She looked up, and he could see her shaking her head as she laughed, making her way over to him once he was parked.

“Surprised you decided to show up.”

“Couldn’t turn down a personal invite,” he couldn’t stop smiling as he grabbed his gym bag from the back seat of his car, “How’d you swing this, anyway?”

“I get one visitor with my membership,” she shrugged, “Figured having a workout partner wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

“Well,” he walked in behind her, “glad I’m at least not the worst thing in the world.”

He felt like he stuck out like a sore thumb, but the longer that he was there with her, the more he realized that everyone was so in their own little world. Everyone had headphones in, just focusing on themselves. It was comforting, and soon he didn’t have the time to be worrying about anyone else as Chris got him roped into everything that she was doing.

“It’s leg day, baby,” Chris laughed as she prompted him to follow her over to the squat rack, “Let’s see what you got.”

Juice laughed as he watched her slide weights onto the bar, “I’ve never skipped a leg day.”

She looked him up and down, arching one eyebrow, “I guess we’ll see.”

It became their new routine every morning. For the first time in a long time Juice found himself with someone specific to look forward to every day when he woke up. Neither of them really said anything about it to anyone. They weren’t doing anything wrong, but at the same time they knew that part of the ease and comfort of it all was that it was something that was just the two of them. Every now and then the guys would give him grief for bailing on a party early, and he’d just tell them that he had an early morning the next day, but wouldn’t offer up any other explanation.

Early morning workouts soon started extending into going out for coffee or breakfast after the fact. And once that became the routine, they both decided that there was no reason not to carpool together if they were going to spend the entire morning together. It got to the point where Juice could hear Chris’s car in the silence of the morning as soon as it turned onto his street. He’d be walking out onto the front steps as she pulled into his driveway. And no matter how many times he tried to argue that they should take turns with the music, Chris always won by saying it was her car and her gym membership so she got to pick the playlist. Realistically Juice didn’t have any issue with any of it, but he knew that the pointless arguments would get her to laugh and there were very few things that were more enjoyable than that.

One morning when she pulled into the driveway, before Juice could walk up and open the passenger door, she hopped out. He looked at her, clearly confused, “What’s up?”

“How you feel about a run today?”

Truthfully, he knew he could use a light cardio day. Working out with Chris had made him realize that while he and the guys worked out pretty frequently, they didn’t really push themselves. Some part of Juice’s body had been sore every day since he became Chris’s workout partner—he worked muscles that he didn’t even know that he had. He didn’t want to admit all of that to her, though, so he did his best to give a nonchalant shrug and not seem too excited by the prospect of it.

“Sounds good to me.”

“Distance or sprints?” she raised her eyebrows slightly.

“Distance,” there was no hesitation in the answer as he laughed, “Fuck sprints.”

She laughed, “Alright,” she grabbed her bag out of the car, “Can I toss this inside?”

He nodded, “Yea, sure,” he gestured for her to follow him.

Once she’d locked the car and put her bag inside the front door, she took off down the driveway, “Try to keep up, Juan Carlos!” she laughed.

He chuckled, shaking his head with a soft smile as he took off after her, both of them racing down the street at a pace they both knew they wouldn’t be able to sustain for any extended amount of time. They quickly eased into a more realistic pace, each of them half listening to their own music and half making sarcastic comments to each other as they jogged.

It got to the point where Juice was wondering how the two of them were going to be able to survive a return trip back to his house without their legs giving out. He was still alright for the time being but it wasn’t going to last forever. Chris, on the other hand, seemed completely unfazed.

“We gonna start heading back at some point?” he asked.

She looked over at him, “What’re you talking about?”

“To the house. We, we gotta head back eventually, right?”

She laughed, “We’re on a big loop. We got like, one mile left.”

His brows furrowed in confusion as he looked around, “Seriously?”

“Yea,” it was hard to laugh and keep her breathing even at the same time, “Dude how long have you lived around here?”

He shook his head, “Apparently not long enough.”

When they reached the bottom of his driveway again, they both stopped to try and catch their breath. Chris interlocked her fingers behind her head as she stood, trying to catch her breath. Juice leaned over, bracing his hands against his knees. Chris smiled as she watched the sweat trickle down the ink that decorated the sides of his head.

“Nice little five-mile run, huh?” she laughed as she clapped him on the back.

“Fuck,” he laughed as he forced himself to stand upright, “I’m going to be dead tomorrow. I can’t remember the last time I ran for something besides a warmup.”

“Or getting away from the cops,” she chimed in with a laugh.

He smiled, “Yea but that’s more sprinting than distance.”

“Right,” she laughed, “right.”

“You wanna,” he motioned towards the house, “want some food or something?”

Chris shrugged, “Sure, why not?”

As she walked farther into his house, she couldn’t hide the surprise on her face at how clean and orderly it all was. Growing up with Jax, and hanging out in the clubhouse all the time, gave her a very skewed view of how all the guys lived. But apparently Juice kept his own space very neat and orderly.

“If you wanna shower while I cook, you can,” he offered.

“Why? Am I that gross?” she cocked one eyebrow.

“Yea,” he laughed, “And I don’t want you getting your sweat on all my stuff.”

She shook her head with a laugh, “Fine, fine. I’ll be quick.”

There were a few moments of silence in the house before Juice could hear music being played from Chris’s phone in the bathroom. He laughed, shaking his head as he set about getting breakfast ready for the two of them.

She walked back out in a fresh pair of shorts and a sports bra, and Juice was trying not to be obvious about his staring. He set two plates out on the counter and watched her as she looked around the house. Despite the fact that it was the first time that she’d ever really been in his house, for some reason it all felt extremely familiar.

“You can eat,” he nodded towards the food on the stove, “I’m gonna rinse off real quick.”

“Yea, you can’t get your sweat on everything either,” she laughed as she walked around the counter to get her plate, her hand lightly brushing along his shoulders as she did.

He glanced back over his shoulder before walking down the hallway, and he couldn’t stop the smile spreading across his face as he watched her do a little dance as she scooped food onto her plate. He bit back a chuckle before turning around and heading off to shower.

When he walked back out into the kitchen, Chris was comfortably camped out at the counter scrolling on her phone. Her eyes flicked up and widened at the sight of him walking through his house without a shirt on.

“New ink?” she nodded towards the tattoos on his chest.

“Uh, yea,” he glanced down at the skulls for a moment before getting back on track, “got them a couple weeks ago.”

“Gotta decorate all your new muscles?” she laughed.

“Might as well, right?”

“You’re welcome,” she winked.

They sat next to each other at the counter and spent the whole morning talking. Every now and then when she laughed really hard, she’d lean over and bump her shoulder against Juice’s. He reveled in the brief contact, wishing that he was brave enough to do something about all of the thoughts in his head.

She was in the middle of a story when her phone started ringing. She sighed as she looked to see who it was, groaning when she saw her brother’s name flashing across the screen, “Yo, what’s up?” she paused, rolling her eyes as she listened to what he was asking her to do, “Alright, yea. I’m, I’m just finishing up a couple things and I’ll be right over. Love you too, bye.”

Juice looked at her expectantly, “Gotta go?”

She sighed, nodding as she got up from her seat, “Yea. Family shit.”

“Everything alright? Need me to go with you?”

She flashed him a smile, “I’m good, Juice. Thank you. And thanks for breakfast,” she walked over to pull her sneakers back on, “Gonna put the diner out of business.”

He walked over, leaning against the wall as he watched her pick up her bag and grab her keys, “Same time tomorrow?”

“Rest day tomorrow,” she saw the disappointment cross his face for a moment and she felt a smirk tugging at the edges of her mouth, “But I’ll still swing by for breakfast.”

“Yea?”

She laughed, nodding, “Yea. I, I like spending time with you, you know,” she stepped in, kissing him on the cheek, “See you tomorrow. I’ll even bring coffee.”

“O-okay,” he was trying to warp his head around everything that she was saying.

“Okay,” she chuckled, “It’s a date,” she saw the flustered look on his face and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“It’s a date,” his voice was almost a whisper as he listened to the quiet giggle that slipped past her lips before she turned and walked out of the house to her car.

#soa #sons of anarchy #soa imagine #sons of anarchy imagine #juice ortiz #juice ortiz imagine #juice ortiz fanfiction #juan carlos #juan carlos ortiz #juice ortiz x oc #oc chris #oc chris teller #oc christine teller #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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mangozcat · 3 years

Text

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. lee donghyuck x fem!reader 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄. fluff, heavy angst, smut 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. you were forced in an awkward spot when your best friend, of which you had fallen in love with somewhere along the road, got a girlfriend. his attention was forced from your morning coffee runs and rose petal scent to the way her eyes lit up every time he gave her a kiss on the cheek. so when you finally get some time to catch up with your best friend, you eagerly took the opportunity, realizing just how much spending time with him, being forced to stay as friends, was breaking your heart. so you finally did it; you came clean to the boy of your dreams.

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆. haechan’s hand was interlocked with hers, eyes glowing as they discussed how nice the scented candles on display smelled. together, they seemed like the perfect image of a beautiful couple out on a mission to buy as many holiday gifts as they could. so, together, they wandered around the bath and body works inside the mall, leaving you standing at the pretzel stand in the middle of the in-door courtyard.

yeah, you were certainly third wheeling.

honestly, you weren’t sure why you had agreed to come along in the first place. you knew watching them interact and share the occasional kiss would only make your heart hurt more. and it certainly had. maybe you needed to work on your ability to say “no” aloud, but how could you, when haechan had given you that innocent look that made him look like a lost puppy? as expected, you lost.

at least you had bought a pretzel. that seemed like the highlight of this whole trip. when they disappeared inside, you decided to wander into your own store, browsing the shoes upon the shelves. maybe you’d treat yourself for all the heartache you endured (which was your fault, though you liked it better when you were in denial.)

you still don’t know when it happened.

one day, your friendship with haechan was normal, simply platonic. the two of you met in high school, stuck in some classes together. you were paired with him for a project, and when he came over to your place, two coffee’s in hand, you had decided he was a keeper.

he even introduced you to his closest friends, and you were surprised to find how well you worked together. renjun and jaemin, two of his friends, had even made a bet about who would give in first. they didn’t necessarily doubt that guys and girls could be friends, but when they saw your chemistry, they knew it would incredibly stupid if you didn’t start dating.

but the two of you had built this idea in your mind that your relationship was simply platonic. even when the two of you had shared a breathtaking kiss during a game of spin the bottle, neither of you changed your minds. just a friendship, that’s all you guys thought of it.

just a friendship.

from then, you guys had the occasional sleepover and movie night. you and haechan were as close as you could be, and you were very content with your friendship.

but then your perspective changed. when you cuddled, and his hands rested on your sides, you always noticed your heartbeat speed up drastically. every time you woke up to his smell, his sleepy smile and tired groans, you felt so happy. it was such a strange attraction for you, to learn that you were falling in love with your best friend with sparkling eyes and a bright smile. every time he was near you, you seemed to pick up this spark, always finding yourself stuck in this never-ending loop of him.

and then your world cracked.

haechan came over to your apartment one morning with a coffee in his hand, a smile etched on his lips. he seemed to excited, and for what? you weren’t entirely sure. and then he revealed to you that he had found a girl that caught his eye, and wanted you to help him choose a date location.

it all felt wrong. the way you agreed so quickly, the fake smiles you had to send to him to mask your disappointment, and how jealous you were that he was stolen from you, even though he was never yours to begin with. it should’ve been you, you had thought at the time.

it should’ve been you that got roses, that got a nice night at some nice diner with haechan, and it should’ve been you he announced to be his girlfriend the next week.

he never would know how painful it was for you. after all, how could he? you were a master of pretending, and you had been doing it for two years. it wasn’t enjoyable, nor was it easy to hide how lost you were every time you cried in jaemin’s arms about how you had lost him; how you had lost the boy of your dreams, and also your best friend.

your relationship would never be the same, especially since his eyes weren’t on you anymore, his arms weren’t wrapped around you as you watched movies, nor did he ever sleep in the same bed as you. the two of you had lost the bond that took oh-so long to develop, and you weren’t too sure if you’d ever be able to spark it again.

the three of you ended up meeting again an hour later, bringing together all of your combined gifts and placing them in haechan’s car. haechan’s girlfriend, mini, enthusiastically rambled on about how excited she was to get home and start decorating her apartment for christmas. you couldn’t help but notice how his eyes lit up when he gazed at her, and how invested in the topic he seemed.

you had nothing against mini. in fact, the two of you were decent friends. she was nice and sweet and honestly held no ill intent. it was strange, enjoyable, and painful knowing that you got along with the girl that stole away your haechan. he wasn’t yours to begin with, you had to remind yourself, he doesn’t belong to you.

“what about you?” mini asked you, a smile on her face. her hair was shoulder length, a cute style you thought fit her quite well. short and well shaped bangs adorned her forehead and you were reminded of how pretty she was. green eyes, light pink cheeks and puffy lips, she was quite a stunner.

“what’s up?” you asked, knitting your eyebrows together. perhaps you had zoned out for a little longer than expected. mini shook her head, knowing a little too well that you had done this since the two of you met. you were never there, always in your own little world.

“I asked if you were excited to decorate,” mini reminded politely. at some point, haechan had sneaked off to the bathroom, leaving you and mini alone for a minute or two.

“oh!” you exclaimed, “a bit? I’m certainly not hyped to get out my decorations or put in the effort to put them up, but I’m excited for the end result. I always loved the lights especially, they’re always so stunning and magical to me.”

she let out a small laugh, accepting your honesty. “me too, to be honest. I only really enjoy the decorating part because of my mom,” she said, a fond smile appearing on her face at the mention of her mother. “she made us put up decorations every year, and our house always looked like a mess. but it was something we all did together, at least.”

mini never really talked to you about her family, but it was nice to hear about. often times, the two of you only spoke about casual things (most of which involved haechan), and it never really got deeper than that. it was strangely nice, you noticed.

when haechan returned from the bathroom, shooting you both a dazzling smile and asking if you were ready to leave, you and mini nodded eagerly. getting in his car and getting ready to drive back to your apartments, you couldn’t help but notice the way haechan’s fingers laced with hers over the middle compartment.

and suddenly, the pain was back.

with mini living closest to the mall, she had been dropped off first. and as perfect as it had seemed, you and haechan were left alone, the man driving you home whilst quietly humming along to the song on the radio. his fingers idly drummed against the steering wheel and you were left to bask in the silence of the moment, staring out the window.

“we used to listen to this song,” he finally said, finger drifting over to turn up the music. when you heard the song, a soft smile appeared on your face as you heard the soft tunes in your ears. “when we met, specifically.”

you remembered. how could you forget? haechan would always stumble into your appartment with his notebook, ready to study with you. and when the two of you began, he’d put on some playlist of his. you always loved this song in specific, and it got to the point where he played it on loop, turning the sound down as to not dull your mind from listening to it on repeat.

“I still love it,” you smiled slightly, tilting your head back against the seat. closing your eyes, you listened to the song, getting lost in the familar lyrics.

“yeah, me too.”

you wanted to talk to him like you used to. wanted to claim that the silence was comfortable, and that you didn’t need to say anything out loud to feel content with your friendship. yet, you couldn’t. it felt forced, the small conversation, and it quickly died out. the silence was awkward, and you were fearful of what that meant.

you had hoped it would never get to this point. where you were unfamiliar with alone time, and were lost when it came to talking to him whilst alone. it never felt like the two of you actually hung out, and were simply clinging onto what you thought was familiar; each other.

but you weren’t familar anymore and holding on was hopeless, you knew. the two of you were too scared to move on, to put each other in the past and move onto better things, less painful things. it was unfixable.

but yet, despite knowing that, your heart still jumped when he said, “I miss spending time with you, y’know.” you had glanced over at the boy, his eyes still on the road. “I heard there’s a firework show in town later this week. would you-“ he paused, lost in how to ask for one simple thing; to accompany him to the last set of normality he could remember, -“I don’t know, maybe, would you want to go with me?”

you smiled, “like old times?”

he finally looked over at you when he came to a stop at a red light. smiling, he nodded, “just like old times.”

preview | part one | part two

#nct #writing #kpop #nct haechan smut #nct haechan #lee haechan #haechan smut #haechan #nct haechan fluff #fluff #haechan fluff #nct dream #nct 127

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doeilovr · 3 years

Text

《　a fool for you 》

ROCKCT AU

Pairing: Drummer Doyoung x Reader

Genre: fluff, a bit angst

Words: 1.8k words

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

It wasn't your first concert - no. You've been to many, sitting in the audience countless times to admire whatever artist was pouring out his heart on stage. But this was different to the classical concerts you've been to in the past.

This was way out of your usual comfort zone. And funny enough you just now started wondering how your friend had even convinced you to come here in the first place.

Jaehyun was like a brother to you, he was your best friend, always supporting you and always spending his free time with you.

But unlike you he had other friends too, friends that had other interests. They were kind of the exact opposite from not only him but also you - or so you thought.

You held Jaehyun's hand tightly as he lead you through the crowd closer to the stage. Loud music was roaring in your ears, you fought the urge to hold your ears.

"They already started", Jaehyun shouted in your direction. "Just enjoy yourself, I'll be right back."

You stood right in front of the stage, the people around you cheering and shouting in excitement. The lights were still out, only a loud melody was heard.

Finally as the stage lights turned on you saw them - Jaehyun and his friends. Five guys that wore either a little too much leather or a little too few clothes for your taste.

You recognized Xiaojun, who was the second singer in the group next to Jaehyun. And you recognized Jungwoo, who Jaehyun hung out with very often and who was an absolute god on the bass.

Yuta, the guitarist was who most of your classmates - mostly girls - talked about. Actually, now you kind of understood their obsession.

And then there was the - wait did he look at you? Just when you thought your mind had played you a trick the drummer's eyes and yours met again.

You didn't know him at all, but he had black messy hair which hid his eyes a bit and what seemed like a smirk, playing on his lips.

He looked ridiculously good in his black jeans and white tank top.

You were intrigued, a strange feeling was building in the pit of your stomach and you quickly averted your gaze, looking at Jaehyun instead.

The concert went by fast, you could really feel the energy of all the boys and the lively crowd.

After the show as the regular music set in again and most of the people left, you still stood at the front of the stage, waiting for Jaehyun who went backstage to change.

You leaned against the stage, watching the people slowly making their way to the exit.

"You're a new face", a male voice spoke from behind. Almost startled you turned your head to find the drummer crouching down next to you on stage.

"It's not like I've seen your face before either", you shrugged, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. He let out an amused chuckle, silently watching you.

"True." His dark eyes were burning into you and you felt a bit trapped under his gaze. "Did someone force you to come here or was it your own decision?"

You chuckled, looking around the room, "No one forced me, but it's not my usual scene either." You smiled unconsciously, thinking back to the time Jaehyun asked you to come and see him and his band live.

"I wouldn't have guessed", he let out a deep chuckle. You turned your head to meet his eyes, letting out a sigh at his teasing comment.

"Kim Doyoung", a loud voice echoed through the room, making both of you turn your head.

Kim Doyoung.

Yuta walked over to the two of you, Jaehyun right next to him. "Did you enjoy the show", Yuta asked, smirking at you.

"Yes, I had a good time actually", you smiled, Jaehyun shooting you an 'I told you so' look.

Doyoung brushed his hair back, his eyes still lingering on you.

"Should we go out for drinks", Yuta excitedly suggested, throwing an arm around Jaehyun.

"Can't", Jaehyun countered, "I drove us here, so I'll drive us back", he added, grinning at you. You were glad to call Jaehyun your friend, since he always took care of you no matter what.

But nevertheless you felt like you were holding him back from having fun. "No, Jaehyun. You should go and hang out with everyone. It's fine, I'll take the bus."

Before Jaehyun could protest Doyoung spoke up next to you. "I'll take you home."

You looked at him, his piercing eyes quickly finding yours. Everyone around you seemed to stop talking, an awkward silence filling the room.

"Would that be okay?" Jaehyun put a hand on your shoulder, trying to get your attention. "Sure", you nodded, feeling uneasy at the thought of Doyoung taking you home.

There was something dangerous about him, something that told you to stay away.

After a while you found yourself in front of the building, the others having already left. You were waiting for Doyoung who had to grab his bag from the backstage room.

You leaned against the wall just staring out into the night. A few drunk people passed by, girls you recognized from the concert earlier.

A group of boys walked up to you, you could barely make out their faces in the dark.

"You got cigarettes?" One of the boys pointed at you, clearly tipsy. You quickly shook your head, hoping they'd quickly leave you alone.

Of course they didn't and stepped even closer. "Wanna come with us", another one of the boys spat out with an evil smirk. "We could have some fun together."

You swallowed, "no I'm good. Now would you please excuse me I'm waiting for my boyfriend." You lied and you were pretty sure they noticed, you just sucked at lying.

The boys chuckled dangerously, one of them stepping even closer. You tried to back up more, but your back already hit the wall.

"That's very rude", the boy countered, visibly annoyed.

"Are they bothering you?" A familiar voice came from your right and you turned your head to watch no other than Kim Doyoung step out of the dark.

"Can I help you", one of the boys barked, now all the attention on Doyoung.

Doyoung chuckled, making you wonder what the hell he thought was so funny. "Yes, do me the favor and leave. Now", he hissed. You could tell it was a threat solely from the choice of his words. On the outside Doyoung looked as calm as ever.

"And who are you to tell me to piss off", the boy spat back. Doyoung walked past him and stopped next to you, his arm quickly finding its way over your shoulders.

"I'm her boyfriend."

You shot your head to the side, looking at Doyoung in confusion. You wondered if he had heard you mentioning that before?

The boys didn't argue any longer and walked away, Doyoung's staying close to you until they were really out of sight.

"Are you okay?" Doyoung's expression had changed, his eyes looked a lot bigger and sparklier than before, for a moment it even seemed like he was pouting. Or maybe that was just your imagination.

"What? Yeah, I'm okay", you mumbled, stepping away from him.

Maybe it was because you were still nervous about the encounter with these rude boys, but maybe it was also just because of Doyoung. Whatever this strange feeling that spread in your stomach was, it made your heart race and your mind go blank.

"Should I take you home now?" Doyoung took off his jacket, putting it around you instead. "It's cold", he mumbled, "you shouldn't get sick."

You felt torn between these two sides of Doyoung. Was he cold or caring?

Doyoung lead you to his car, which was parked right across the road - he even held the door open for you.

The whole ride you were quiet, not even daring to talk. You felt oddly nervous in Doyoung's presence, your heart was beating fast.

The car came to a halt in front of your dorm, both of you not moving in your seat. "Thanks", you turned your head to look at Doyoung once again, only to find him looking at you already.

"You know, I've actually seen you before", Doyoung explained, immediately having your attention. "I've been to one of your concerts. It was actually a coincidence, but I was glad I took the wrong turn that evening."

The corner of Doyoung's mouth slightly rose as he thought back to the time he first saw you. You were playing the piano on stage, a piece by Chopin.

And although he didn't even enjoy classical music it seemed like the most beautiful thing he had ever heard at that moment. Especially with you playing it.

"I didn't know who you were back then, but as I hung out with Jaehyun I unconsciously learned about you everyday", he explained, "you know, he just can't shut up about you."

You let out a chuckle - that was just so Jaehyun.

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again. And I don't believe in fate, you know, but when I saw you tonight I doubted all my beliefs for a second."

You swallowed, eyes blankly staring in Doyoung's direction. "So?" You watched his smile slowly appear. "Are you telling me you suddenly believe in fate?"

Doyoung chuckled, as if he was amused by your question. "No, but I believe in coincidences, in seizing the opportunity. And I'd be a fool to not ask you to come and see us play again tomorrow."

You raised your eyebrows at him. Did he just ask you out? "Tomorrow", you repeated, "yes, id love to come."

"Good", Doyoung nodded with a soft smile, his gaze moving between your eyes and your lips. "I was hoping you'd say that."

"And maybe afterwards you can drive me home again", you suggested without thinking twice.

"I'd like that."

You looked at each other for another moment, before you finally snapped back to reality, waving goodbye to Doyoung and getting out of the car.

You watched Doyoung drive off, unable to hold back your smile. You felt like you were floating and you were already excited to see him again the next evening.

You didn't believe in fate either, but there was something about seeing Doyoung on stage, fully focused on playing the drums.

There was something about him falling for a stranger he saw from the distance one day and falling for the same stranger again some time later - that stranger being you.

There was something that made you almost believe in fate too.

And maybe it really was a coincidence, maybe it was even Jaehyun's work. But maybe, just maybe, there really was a little fate involved.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

a/n: check out the rest of the collab hosted by @johnsamericano :3 I'm super happy to be part of this collab! It's my first one too so it's even more exciting:)

#nct #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct u #nct 127 #nct doyoung x reader #nct doyoung #nct dongyoung #kim dongyoung #kim doyoung #nct fluff #nct series

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honeymoonjin · 4 years

Text

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 9k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: medical play, dom!jungkook, sub!reader, multiple orgasms, fingering, dirty talk, bondage, ruined orgasm, unprotected sex, squirting, oral (m receiving), cum eating (not yoongi for once), this was meant to be a light palate cleanser after the intensity of day ten but i got lost in my feelings in the first half and then got horny over doctor jeon in the second half i apologise

banner designer @jamaisjoons | thank you my darling SFHS babies ! i love you

DAY ELEVEN

“I think you should be a little more concerned, PD.”

Sejin flattens the two men - oldest and youngest of the house - an unimpressed look. Jungkook tries not to wilt under his gaze. “And why is that?”

Jin clears his throat, staring right back unabashedly. “Tae’s been involved in a terrible accident and you’re just waiting here. You should be rushing over to the house to save him.”

“A terrible accident?” Sejin questions monotonously, before turning in his chair to angle his monitor so that both boys can see. On the screen is a freeze frame of a very familiar scene - Taehyung crouching on the bottom of the stairs, Jin and Jungkook huddled around him.

Ah, Jungkook realises with sinking disappointment, the cameras. Once the producer clicks play on the recording, Jungkook is faced with the HD version of himself gesture excitedly, patting Taehyung on the back and pointing to the banisters.

Cheeks flushing, the youngest member of the house watches in dread as Sejin plays back the evidence of Taehyung willingly forcing his head through two banisters, ears popping out the other side as he glances up with a beam at Jin.

Having seen enough, Sejin pauses the video, and switches back to the realtime feed. “An accident, was it?” Sejin repeats rhetorically as the Taehyung on the security camera drums his fingers lazily against the wood posts, letting out a lionlike yawn. “I’m not an idiot, you know.”

Jungkook bites down hard on his tongue. This wasn’t how things were meant to go at all. Behind Sejin’s desk, the majority of the production van is filled with all the mess of a regular office. Stacks of paper, scribbled sticky notes on various surfaces, a large whiteboard with roughly handwritten schedules and a small game of naughts and crosses in the bottom right corner. Jungkook tries not to let his eyes dwell on the whiteboard too long. Don’t raise anymore suspicion.

Beside him, Jin shamelessly shrugs with a smile. “He put his head through the bars on purpose, sure, but he got stuck on accident.” The oldest - though still younger than Sejin himself - emphasises this distinction with a single outstretched finger and an arch of his eyebrows. “So you should go help him.”

Sejin slips his glasses off and lets them clatter to the table, pinching his brow with two fingers. “Am I gonna get there and have Taehyung ask me for the latest issue of Chinese Vogue?”

Jin stiffens, his mask temporarily shattered. “I requested that in confidence.”

The production manager throws his hands in the air in defeat. “How was I supposed to know which of your bogus requests was confidential? Just half an hour ago I got a call from my superior asking why #getjinanXL was trending. You tweeted that you wanted me to buy you extra large condoms because you ‘ran out.’”

“Well, that was obviously a joke,” Jin rebuffs easily. “You know I use Magnum.”

“How would I-?” With a huff of desperation, Sejin shakes his head to clear his mind. “No, okay, back to…”

Zoning out, Jungkook’s eyes are caught by the sight on the screen as another figure walks out into the foyer. Yoongi rushes forward once he sees Taehyung, crouching on the other side of the bars as he delicately prods around Taehyung’s face and neck. The younger man waves him away in frustration, pushing at Yoongi’s chest until he gives up and leaves reluctantly. Jungkook bites his lip and looks away.

Whoops. Staring right at him are the producer and the therapist, each as expectant as the other. “Huh?”

Sejin huffs. “Why would Taehyung intentionally stick his head through the bars of a staircase banister?”

“Tell him, Jungkookie,” Jin adds with a bump of his shoulder.

“Uh…” With a hard swallow, Jungkook’s mind whirls. “He… We were… measuring,” he finishes awkwardly. “Me-measuring Tae’s head.”

“You were measuring Taehyung’s head?” Sejin repeats flatly. “With the stair banister?”

Jungkook shrugs with what he hopes is a ‘what can you do?’ expression, laughing nervously. “We couldn’t find a ruler.”

Sejin blinks once. “Then how would you know how wide the gap between posts was? Without a ruler?”

“Oh.” Jungkook stares in barely subdued panic at Jin, who widens his eyes meaningfully, urging him to turn back to the awaiting producer. “We, um, we didn’t think that far. We’ll know for next time?”

“If you want to stay on this show, there will be no next time,” Sejin warns.

Jungkook ducks his head in shame. “Sorry, dad.”

“Y- what?” Jungkook hears Sejin cough lightly, flustered. “Please, Jungkook, that’s not appropriate.”

The youngest gives a little bow. “I apologise, Father.”

Sejin clicks his tongue. “Okay, that’s even worse.”

Jungkook glances up, brows knitting and head tilting in confusion. “...whoopsies, daddy?”

Sejin buries his face in his hands, fingers tugging at the hairline. Jungkook spots several grey strands.

Clearing his throat, Jin steps forward slightly. “Taehyung is still stuck, PD.”

“Okay, fine! Fine,” Sejin announces, pushing his chair away from the desk and standing up. “But if there is a single other incident like this, I’m calling in child protective services and getting them to baby-proof this place. No more funny business. Understood?”

“No more. Promise,” Jungkook assures sweetly, heart soaring as Sejin slips past them, hurrying out of the production van and towards the front door of the villa.

The moment he’s well out of earshot, Jin claps his hands once with a victorious grin. “It was a bit touch-and-go there,” he admits, “but that’s bought us time. Quick; get the whiteboard, I’ll grab some pens.”

Jungkook grins. Like secret agents, hyung and him were. Moving quickly, the two of them manage to sneak out the whiteboard from the van, trundling it noisily across the gravel, around the back of the house.

---

“I’ll be honest,” Jimin drawls, “I don’t understand why we couldn’t have just chatted about this. Is the whiteboard really necessary?”

Taehyung deflates immediately, one hand still rubbing at the red marks on his jaw and ears. “What do you mean? I suffered for this whiteboard, Minnie.”

It’s crowded; five people huddled inside the confessional booth. But apart from the bathrooms and the rec room, this was the only place without live security cameras - purely because the only camera needed was the one for the confessionals themselves - and Jin and Jungkook doubted they’d be able to smuggle a very noisy whiteboard into the rec room when Sejin was directly outside it lubing up Taehyung’s neck with aloe vera gel.

While Producer Shin had been lured away by Jin with the promise of a homecooked meal, the four youngest men in the house were bundled into the garden shed, staring at a whiteboard that had barely fit through the door.

Jimin, still unconvinced, shrugs. From his spot perched delicately on Namjoon’s lap he watches the two younger men take a picture of what’s written on the whiteboard, then rub it all out. The man of the hour, Namjoon had been given the right to sit on the only proper chair in the room, the one the producer would normally sit in. Beside it, the wooden stool sits unoccupied. Jimin told the others that he was sitting on Namjoon’s lap because the stool was too uncomfortable, but Jungkook thinks there’s something deeper in the way he relaxes onto Namjoon’s chest, the academic alert but not tense underneath him.

Or perhaps being on this show has made Jungkook more suspicious.

“The whiteboard was vital, hyung,” he defends adamantly, grabbing one of the pens Jin-hyung had handed him, yanking off the cap with a satisfying click. Immediately the alcoholic smell of ink tingles his nostrils, but he ignores it, turning to the others. “What if Namjoon-hyung was a visual learner?”

From behind Jimin’s back, Namjoon adjusts the bridge of his glasses. “I- actually I learn best through listening.” His hand drops, hovers over the space both him and Jimin share, then rests awkwardly on the armchair. “But I appreciate the thought.”

Namjoon-hyung is so cute. “It’s okay,” Jungkook assures, suppressing the endeared grin that tugs at his lips, “We can brainstorm out loud, and Tae and I will just take notes.”

With Taehyung in his Sunday best (well, a button-up shirt so baggy it looked like he hat batwing sleeves) and Jungkook having dug out his glasses to look extra smart, the two of them were prepared to make this as academic as possible for Namjoon. Even after getting laid for the first time, academics were his comfort zone, and the two youngest were happy to oblige.

“First things first; what was it you had to do? Honeymoon?”

Jimin leans back on Namjoon’s shoulder so the taller man can see past. Namjoon shakes his head lightly, his purple hair in serious need of a touch-up; the natural brunette frames his face now, emphasising his brow. Jungkook wonders if he’d let him dye it a new colour, just for something fresh.

“Just husband and wife,” the academic corrects, “It didn’t specify, uh, anything else.” His voice is still quiet, as if speaking on it is taboo. One day he’ll get used to discussing sex openly, but until then, the others will meet him halfway.

“Okay, so, Y/n is your wife,” Jungkook states with a nod, “do y’all have kids? Is it a newlyweds situation? We need backstory here.”

The squeaking of a pen catches Jungkook’s attention before he even finishes speaking. To his right, Taehyung writes in sharp strokes across the board.

Y/N PREGNANT

“It’s the nineteen thirties,” Taehyung announces in a smooth voice, eyes finding each member in the room, “war is imminent, and worldwide men are preparing to be conscripted. Every moment spent with their loved ones is precious, and for General Kim Namjoon,” Taehyung pauses to draw a gangly stick figure giving a salute, “him and his wife Y/n-” this time a female stick figure joins the scene, a cartoonishly round stomach off to one side, “-have only one goal. To knock Y/n up before he goes to battle, so that even if he never returns they ha-”

“Wait, wait!” Jimin cocks his head to the side, brows furrowed. “Isn’t this too dark? Too elaborate? They’re fucking, not going for best screenplay at the Oscars.”

Taehyung deflates a second time, the hand holding the pen dropping limply to his side. “You don’t like it?”

Face stricken, Jimin waves his hands frantically. “No, no, I love it! Honestly! I just- I feel like Namjoon probably wants something a little simpler? Perhaps not so bleak?” The blue-haired man swivels around on Namjoon’s lap, his hand resting inconspicuously on the back of his neck, playing with the longer hairs there.

Namjoon swallows. “Uh, yeah, simple is probably good. Honestly, I feel a little unsure about all of this. What if I, I don’t know, drop character or get shy? Won’t it be awkward?”

Taehyung scratches at his chin as he thinks, the beginnings of beard scruff shadowing his jaw. “If we help you brainstorm, you can just memorise a basic script.”

“I guess so,” Namjoon muses, eyes fluttering unconsciously as Jimin continues to trace the nape of his neck with his fingertips. “Are you sure you don’t mind? I know you have your own scenes to worry about.”

Jungkook shrugs. “Two birds with one stone, we can help each other. You know; I suck your dick, you suck mine.”

“That isn’t the quote,” Namjoon protests automatically, “but- I get your point. Anyone have any advice on how I even go about this?”

Taehyung pouts. “You’re the smart one,” he points out, “I did try to help but clearly my services weren’t appreciated.”

“Oh, honey,” Jimin coos, “I always appreciate your services.” The double entendre is clear in the silk of his voice and the arch of his brows, sent with a sweet smile, and Taehyung flushes in response.

Jungkook winces, ignoring the spike of - of something green and ugly in his chest. “Okay, enough from the lovebirds, this is about Namjoon. Joonie-hyung, I would just offer to help out and join with yours but I was gonna do mine this afternoon, and I don’t think a husband would fit very well into it.”

“That’s okay,” Namjoon assures, shifting under the weight of the man in his lap. His fingers flex on the arm of the chair behind Jimin’s back, unsure. “Taehyung? Yours might work, I guess.”

Unaware of Namjoon’s indecision, Jimin suddenly stands up off his lap entirely, stalking over to Taehyung with a bemused grin. “You think our well-trained Taehyungie could be the family dog?”

Taehyung, though keening under Jimin’s sudden attention, seems hesitant. “I- I don’t know, Minnie, I haven’t really…” He trails off helplessly, casting Namjoon an apologetic stare.

“It’s okay,” Namjoon rushes out, scooting forward to the edge of the armchair. “You don’t have to, I could just do it by myself.”

It’s strange, watching Jimin so visibly caught in indecision. He hovers in the centre of the small shed, torso towards Taehyung but head twisted back to stare at Namjoon. Wanting to support Namjoon, but wanting to protect Taehyung.

Jungkook feels like an outsider invading in on a precious equilibrium. Namjoon shifts, gaze dropping. Taehyung can’t keep his fingers still as they fiddle with the buttons of his shirt. Jimin’s so still the thin silver threads of his earrings don’t even shift in the air, but his eyes flood with emotion, bottom lip twitching just slightly as he seeks for something to say.

Jimin isn’t as mean as he’d like people to think, Jungkook muses. Saving the uncomfortable decision, Jungkook clears his throat awkwardly, diverting the attention of the other three. “We could always practice? Jimin, you’re pretty. Pretend to be Y/n and give Joon-hyung some tips.”

The effect of his words are instantaneous. Jimin perks up, turning on his heel to grin down at his elder, who gasps almost imperceptibly. Taehyung’s eyes dull with something akin to disappointment. At himself or at the situation, Jungkook can’t say, but the sight of him turning to the whiteboard and swirling sullen circles of ink on the glossy surface has Jungkook’s heart breaking.

Leaving the other two to talk - Jimin resting gracefully on one of the arms of the chair, his feet dangling between Namjoon’s - Jungkook hurries forward, wrapping his fingers around Tae’s to catch his attention.

“What’s up?” he asks softly, low enough to give the two some privacy.

Sucking on the inside of his cheek, Taehyung shrugs. “Nothing.”

Jungkook isn’t deterred by the shortness of his tone, but changes tacts nonetheless. “It’s a bit weird,” he offers up, “it’s like each of us is the wingman to the other guys, but we’re all going for the same girl.”

With Jungkook’s hand still on top, Taehyung begins to swipe the pen across the board again. This time, what looks like a flower with long, pointed petals takes shape in thick black lines. Taehyung himself stays focused for a few moments of silence, until he’s ready to speak.

“But it’s not just that,” he explains in a low timbre, “it’s not just her.”

Jungkook lets his hand be maneuvered by the deft movements of the masseuse. Every part of Taehyung was so elegant, like he’d been sculpted from marble. From those slender fingers, to the slope of his nose. Lashes that brushed against his brow bone as he focused, teeth pressing just slightly into his lip, a dusky pink. “No, it’s not,” Jungkook agrees after a moment.

Taehyung lets his hand fall, Jungkook’s slipping off. With eyes hidden behind dark curls, the elder sneaks a look at Jimin and Namjoon, the two smiling and laughing, Jimin’s fingers playing with the strap of the watch on the other’s wrist lazily.

“I never know who to be jealous of,” Taehyung admits with a weak chuckle, capping the pen. “Anyways; that doesn’t matter. We’re here to help Namjoon.”

Jungkook spares a glance at the lovebirds on the armchair. “I think he’s doing just fine.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung answers shortly, eyes locked on the way Jimin curls onto Namjoon’s shoulder, the two locked onto Namjoon’s phone as he types in notes. “He’ll do fine.” Letting out a deep sigh, Taehyung scrunches his eyes shut and shakes his head, like he’s clearing the funk away. “It doesn’t matter, we’re all in this together.”

Jungkook cocks his head. “But- Well, no, this is still a competition. Technically we should be against each other, not together.”

The air leaves Taehyung’s lungs in a rushed breath. “Fuck, you’re right. I should, like, hate you, right?”

Jungkook hums with a raised brow. “I guess.”

“I should be trying to cockblock you and tell Y/n you have syphilis, yet here I am wanting to suck the dicks of everyone in this room. But also maybe hold the hands of everyone in this room. You can imagine my confusion.”

Jungkook feels his stress slip away at the genuine smile that tugs at Taehyung’s lips. Even if his eyes are still muted with sorrow, he doesn’t seem so despairing over it. The youngest reaches out to grip onto Taehyung’s upper arm reassuringly. “We could have hate sex if it’d make you feel better?” he offers up in a soft voice.

The blue depths in Taehyung’s gaze recede a little more as his smile brightens. “I’d like that.”

The two manage to hold this Hallmark moment for a little longer before Taehyung’s shoulders begin to shake with suppressed laughter. In seconds, the two are dissolving into chuckles and snickers, Jungkook throwing his head back and Taehyung hunching over with the force of it.

Across from them, Namjoon and Jimin pause their excited conversation to stare at them in bewilderment.

“What did we miss?” Namjoon asks, brow knitted but eyes wide.

“Never mind,” Jungkook deflects, heart feeling strangely warm as Taehyung grins under his lashes at him, like the two of them have an inside joke. “We should probably pack up, though, unless we want Producer Shin coming back in the middle of our top secret team meeting.”

Jimin clicks his tongue in agreement and stands up off Namjoon’s lap. Lithe like a cat, his arms come up over his head and his back arches into a stretch, eyes fluttering shut. Jungkook knows his eyes aren’t the only pair watching the way his shirt lifts to display a band of pale golden skin.

“Alright,” the porn star lets out with a relaxed sigh, arms dropping and shirt falling again, “let’s head out, then. Joonie’s sorted.”

Namjoon stands up behind him, nodding shyly. “Thank you, guys. I feel a lot better about it now.”

Jungkook and Taehyung share a look. “To be fair,” Jungkook says with a light cough, “I don’t think Tae and I really helped at all.”

Jimin sends the two of them a broad smile, eyes crinkling in good humour. “You did provide the whiteboard,” he points out. “Though I imagine your efforts to steal it without Sejin realising were in vain.”

Taehyung frowns, hand automatically lifting to rub at his jaw. “What do you mean?”

“There aren’t any cameras in here,” Jungkook offers to Jimin, “he wouldn’t have seen it!”

Jimin blinks. “Where do you think Sejin went after helping Tae out of the staircase?”

Jungkook feels the odd pressure of dawning realisation that hasn’t quite materialised. “His office,” he answers slowly, “why?”

Behind Jimin, Namjoon ducks out with a sympathetic smile. “He probably noticed the giant whiteboard missing, Jungkookie.”

The camboy opens his mouth, waits for words to come, and closes it again. “Mm,” he replies eloquently.

“Oh, we’re gonna get in big trouble, huh?” Taehyung mumbles, fiddling with the pen in his hands.

“Wait,” Namjoon offers, “I’ll tell him it was me.”

Jungkook frowns. “How does that help?”

“Sejin won’t get mad at me, he loves me. I’ll just tell him I was getting a head start on my work for next semester.”

“When did he tell you he loved you?” Jungkook asks with a pout. “He never says it back to me.”

“I didn’t- What?” Namjoon frowns. “I was just chatting to him for advice one night and he told me I remind him of his son.”

“He doesn’t have any kids,” Jimin says with a lilt of confusion.

“I think he was talking about his cat,” Namjoon admits with a pained look, “but he loves his cat, so he must love me. Anyways, I’ll tell him I was using it for study and I don’t think he’ll mind. Just clear off the board and one of you can help me wheel it back.”

Jungkook sighs a breath of relief, turning back to the board. Beside it, Taehyung is frozen with his head bent and his mouth dropped open, staring at the pen. Neither Jin nor him thought to bring a duster, so Jungkook balls up his sleeve in his palm and wipes off the-

And wipes off the-

“Why isn’t it coming off?” Jungkook asks frantically, scrubbing over the shiny lines of black. “It’s not even smudging!”

“Um, Jungkookie,” Taehyung utters lowly, curls shifting as he slowly looks up. “This is a permanent marker.”

Jungkook’s hand freezes. He steps back, eyes wide as they stare at the image drawn in thick black.

The blooming form of what looked like a lily on the bottom corner, that was fine, but the giant all-caps Y/N PREGNANT followed by a very evocative drawing of a heavily pregnant woman beside a patriotic Namjoon was going to be harder to explain.

Slowly, Jungkook swivels on his heel, coming face-to-face with Namjoon, whose eyes are almost open wider than his mouth. “Hey, hyung,” the youngest offers up with a tentative smile, “how much d’you reckon Sejin loves that cat?”

It’s late afternoon by the time Jungkook has done his penance with the whiteboard and Sejin himself, but luckily it means that Yoongi is definitely in his room when Jungkook goes knocking.

More content with his own company, the second oldest tended to retire to his bedroom early to “entertain” himself. Jungkook had assumed this was a euphemism for masturbating, but Taehyung had informed him that the doctor was making his way through an impressive collection of the Slam Dunk manga these days.

As expected, Yoongi opens the door to Jungkook on his third knock, ushering him in with a look of confusion.

“Hyung,” Jungkook begins in an entreating tone, “you have a first aid kid in your room, don’t you?”

Yoongi’s eyes widen, back straightening in alarm. “Is someone hurt?”

“No, no, it’s sex reasons,” Jungkook explains quickly, eyes wandering around the room, eying up the open closet in the back of his room. “Do you have a white coat?”

“I- what? No, I don’t have a white coat,” Yoongi stutters out, face scrunched up in confusion. “What is this about?”

Jungkook hums, brushing back hair out of his face absentmindedly as he delves deeper into Yoongi’s room, checking in the drawers of the small nightstand. “I can make do without the white coat,” Jungkook murmurs to himself, before turning on his heel to face the older man again. “Do you have stirrups?”

“Stirrups?” Yoongi asks incredulously. His arms are folded over his chest tightly, though the brown loose-knit sweater loses the intimidation factor. “Why would I bring stirrups? They’re attached to the chair anyway, I can’t just pack them away in my suitcase.”

Dammit. Jungkook collapses onto Yoongi’s bed back-first, staring blankly up at the ceiling. “You need to help me, hyung. I’m determined to win fan favourite this week, so I need to go all out.”

A sigh of realization comes from the other side of the room. “Your prompt,” Yoongi remarks flatly. “What is it; nurse and patient?”

Jungkook’s mouth drops open as he sits up. “Doctor and patient,” he declares proudly. “I asked if Sejin could promote me to neurosurgeon but he said it wasn’t relevant.” The thought dampens Jungkook’s spirits a bit. Even just regular surgeon would have been nice. “But anyway,” he continues, “whatever props you have would be greatly appreciated. I already googled a list of medical terms, so I’m feeling pretty good.”

Yoongi sighs again, but he shuffles over to his closet and pulls out a sizeable, bright green first aid kit, laying it on the bed. Jungkook gasps in excitement and makes room for him, but Yoongi just tuts. “First of all,” he explains while unzipping it, “these aren’t props, they’re medical-grade supplies. And you can’t have them all. I don’t trust you with most of the things in here.”

Jungkook frowns, but shrugs off the disappointment. Something is still better than nothing. “Okay, hyung,” he allows in a small voice, “thank you.”

Yoongi fails to hide the quirk of a fond smile as he takes out some of the stuff in the kit. “You owe me,” he says instead.

You have to give it to Jungkook; the dedication to his craft is impressive.

After he sent you a vague and rather concerning message about needing to see you in the gym for ‘health reasons’, you were greeted by a hand-written DO NOT DISTURB (unless you’re y/n) sign taped to the door.

Inside, the indoor gym had been transformed. Most of the larger equipment had been shifted to one side, leaving the other half open. In the middle of the open area is a weightlifting bench covered in a white sheet which you’re certain was off his bed. A comically out-of-place office chair is beside a table which Jungkook is using like a desk. The desk is pushed up against the mirror which fills one whole wall of the gym, and you can’t help but laugh at the infographics and charts he’s printed out on A4 sheets of paper and taped to the mirror.

There’s a fuzzy x-ray of some ribs taped next to a heart rate line, frozen mid-pulse like he took a screenshot off a video, which is next to a chart filled with increasingly smaller letters, like one you’d see in an optometrist’s office. Though everything is mismatched, the effort he’s put it really warms your heart.

The desk is where you find Jungkook. He sits with his back to you, typing away obnoxiously loudly at a laptop on the desk. On the screen, gibberish keysmashes fill up an otherwise empty Word document. Rather than a lab coat, Jungkook looks more sharply dressed than you’ve ever seen him in a ironed button-up shirt, pale blue. The back of the fabric is taut against his skin, clearly borrowed from a slightly smaller, or at least less jacked man. But it provides a streamlined view of the muscles in his back and shoulders, tucked into belted black pants to highlight the surprisingly narrow waist.

Kitschy or not, you’re grateful that Jungkook got some kind of cheesy medical roleplay if it meant you finally got to see him in fitted clothing.

Even though he must have heard you open the door and lock it behind you, he remains tapping away at the keys. His head tips slightly to the side, expectant.

“Jungkook,” you call out, disappointed and a little confused when he doesn’t respond. But you quickly realise your mistake. “Oh, uh. Doctor Jeon?”

Like clockwork, he spins around magnanimously on the chair, hands splayed out in a welcoming gesture. “Ah, my favourite patient. Do come in.”

So we already know each other then, you surmise. Remembering all these details was an unexpected, though not entirely unwelcome part of this week’s theme. Developing a backstory, information on the scene, almost felt like constructing a scaffold to continue. There was something equally reassuring and exciting about it. A bolt of arousal shooting between your legs, you step in to the middle of the open area, sitting awkwardly on the covered bench.

“Take a seat,” Jungkook adds redundantly, like he’s following a script. “Let me just bring your file up. Name?”

You pause as he wheels back around to the laptop, pulling up what looks like an Excel spreadsheet. “I thought I was your favourite patient,” you quip with a smirk, but unable to suppress your fondness at how much thought he’s clearly put into it.

Jungkook’s shoulders drop, but he doesn’t falter. “Of course, I’m just going through the motions. I’ve been in the field for so long, you know.” He shrugs demurely. “I was actually a neurosurgeon before this.”

A disbelieving laugh bubbles out of your throat before you can catch it. “You went from neurosurgeon to doctor? Isn’t that backwards?”

Jungkook’s eyes waver, biting his lip. “I prefer the simple life,” he offers as an explanation. He shakes himself out of it, and turns back to the computer once more with a warm sigh. “Alrighty then, I’ve got your file here. It’s been a while since your last visit,” he remarks, cursor hovering over a watermarked image of a clock. “I better check your vitals again.”

You watch in bemusement as he readies himself, first sanitising his hands using a small travel-size bottle that’s in the shape of a cartoon shark, then pulls on a pair of latex gloves that had been lying on his desk. Even in the strangely comedic atmosphere, the sound of him snapping the glove against his wrist makes you gasp soundlessly, thighs pressing together in need.

Jungkook notices it, eyes darting down as he rolls his chair over. He unbuttons each cuff off his shirt and rolls them up to expose his forearms. His hair is getting thicker as it grows, and even though it’s pushed back, a few locks slip forward to frame the smirk on his face.

You swallow, neck craning as he gets closer. The bench you’re sat on clearly isn’t intended as an examination table because it’s just as low to the ground as the chair, and there’s something inside you that runs electric when he comes close, looking down at you from it. With spread knees, he places them on either side of yours and pins you there, making you gasp.

The feeling of the cold gloves on your cheekbones, pressing to keep you steady is dizzying, more so when he looks intensely into your eyes, searching with a cool professionalism that you’d never seen from him before. Though it’s new, you recognise the shift in the tension of the room signifying the true start of the scene.

In your peripheral vision, you spot his tongue darting out to wet his lips, but you’re locked onto his gaze. Jungkook smiles softly. “Eyes are healthy,” he remarks, “good to know you’ll be able to see everything properly.”

The gloves catch on your skin, one sliding down to tighten on your chin, tipping your neck back even more. You’re barely breathing, waiting for his move.

“Open up and say ahh,” he instructs huskily, and you’re responding without thought, letting your lips part and your tongue relax. Jungkook frowns. “Wider.” You feel the corners of your mouth pang as you lower your jaw as much as you can in his grasp. “Keep it like that,” he demands sternly, and your heart thuds.

To your surprise, he doesn’t just look inside. You jerk instinctively in his grip as two gloved fingers slide down your tongue, but his rebuking glare has you settling again, trying to breathe through your nose as he delves deeper, smirking at the way you squirm, legs trapped between his and eyes lidded as you feel the length of his fingers heavy on your tongue.

Quicker than you can put your head around, his fingers plunge deeper, far enough down your throat to make you gag, tears springing to his eyes. His fingers leave as you let out a little cough, blinking wetly at him in betrayal.

Jungkook smirks, not bothering to wipe the shine of your saliva off his glove. “Gag reflex intact and responding well,” he notes smugly.

“How is that a vital?” you question, voice slightly hoarse.

“It’s vital for what I’m about to do to you,” he quips with a lecherous grin, and you bite down hard on your tongue to fight the urge to tremble.

“And what is that, Doctor?” you ask instead, blinking owlishly up at him.

His lip quirks. “Don’t play coy, now, Y/n, I’ve seen the way you look at me during our appointments. Tell me; why is it that you came here today?”

You swallow, eyes heavy on him. “I’ve been suffering a strange sensation, Doctor,” you make out, your voice quieter than you intended. “Can you make me feel better?”

Jungkook exhales harshly, hands dropping to rest on your knees. “And where does it hurt, hm? Here?”

You suck in a breath as his legs spread further, coming close enough that your knees press against his crotch, the hardness undeniable. A single hand shifts up to lay against your forehead, questioning, and you shake your head. His hand skims lower, pressing firmly against your sternum where you feel your heart race against it.

“Here?” he questions, and continues on when he receives a negative. Next he veers off to the side, cupping a breast and brushing a thumb over your nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt. “Does it ache here?”

You whimper, arching into his hand. “A little bit,” you offer up weakly, glad you opted out of wearing a bra in anticipation of the scene.

The answer seems to amuse Jungkook, and you shiver when you feel his other hand playing with the hem of your shirt, the gloves tickling the sensitive skin of your stomach. “I better check it out then, hm?”

You feel so exposed, the air conditioner chilling the air and the mirror reflecting Jungkook’s back as he leans in close, breath tickling your bare shoulder as his hands cup your breasts.

Without further preamble, he begins to roll your nipples simultaneously between his fingers, enough pressure to make you shiver as he studies your reactions closely. The feeling of being touched so intimately with the barrier of latex gloves feels both taboo and exciting, and without even realising you find your hands clenched in the fabric of his shirt, gripping at his biceps as they flex with every movement.

“Does it hurt when I do this?” Jungkook asks lowly, humming in response when you shake your head. “What about this?” Suddenly, he’s tugging, pinching them harshly enough to make your back arch to ease the pressure.

You squeal, fingers digging in deeper to the corded muscle of his forearms. “Yeah,” you gasp out shakily, “h-hurts.”

Jungkook doesn’t stop. “But you like it, don’t you?” he accuses as he continues his rough treatment. “Coming into my office, begging me to touch you like this. Fucking filthy.”

A moan slips out as you rock your hips against the bench, seeking friction for the heat between your legs. “Please, Ju- Doctor Jeon, it hurts,” you cry out, gaze imploring as you blink up at him.

All of a sudden, he pulls back entirely, hands falling back onto his own knees as he watches you. “Show me,” he instructs, eyes hazy.

You shiver, the cool air shifting over your naked torso as his stare burns molten hot. “Show you what?”

Carding a hand through his hair to push it back, Jungkook wets his lips. “Show me where it aches the most,” he explains, voice like crushed velvet.

This was a side of him you’d never seen before; neither the competitive dom nor the obedient sub. His sexual versatility never fails to surprise you, and you find yourself hopelessly lost in the calm dominant air he exudes. Shakily, you part your legs.

He scoffs lightly. “That isn’t much help if I can’t see it. Undress.”

A rushed exhale leaves you at his shortness, but you stand up and push off your leggings and panties, kicking them to the side. It’s far harder to bare yourself to him this time, and as you sit, you can’t help but hesitate.

Jungkook raises a brow at your pause, leaning back like he’s disappointed. “I’m a very busy man, Y/n,” he chastises, “these appointment slots aren’t long and if you don’t want the next patient coming in while you’re choking on my cock, I suggest you do as I say, when I say it.”

Your legs fly apart the moment his voice lowers into a growl, clenching automatically at the open air at your most vulnerable place. “Please help me, Doctor,” you plead lowly.

Jungkook curses under his breath and comes forward again, placing a single gloved hand over your core. You jerk instinctively but keep your legs open at his warning glare. Even through the gloves, he has to feel how wet you are, slicking up the latex without him moving it. “It hurts here, hm? Lie down on your back and I’ll take a look.”

Your breath picks up as you turn and lower yourself onto the white sheet, legs dangling over the end. To your surprise, Jungkook doesn’t come around but returns to the desk, rolling his chair away and rifling through what looks like a first aid kit. You crane your head to watch him, narrowing your eyes in confusion as he returns with what looks like two rolled up lengths of gauze bandage.

“This isn’t the usual gyno office,” he explains, unravelling one slowly, “so we don’t have stirrups. But don’t worry; I’ll make sure to keep you nice and open for me.”

Like he’s done this a million times before - though the rational part of your brain knows he’s probably making this up as he goes along - he begins using the bandage material to bind your ankles to the legs of the bench, wide enough that you have to shuffle right to the edge, spread wide. He doesn’t say a thing when he ties them, mumbling to himself like he’s recalling instructions, and slips in his fingers to test how tight they are.

He’s kneeled between your open legs now, and you prop yourself up on your elbows to watch as he runs his fingertips over your sopping folds, eyes lidded with arousal. “Does it hurt here, Y/n?”

You shake your head, fighting the urge to scoot even closer. “Inside,” you explain, sighing in relief when two fingers plunge inside your walls, scissoring to stretch you out.

Jungkook has one hand on your thigh to hold you steady as he rocks his fingers back and forth like he’s seeking something, and the feeling of the latex, so slick with your juices, has you trembling immediately. “It’s important in this line of work,” Jungkook breathes out as his fingers widen even more inside you, “to be thorough, so just relax for me, let me in.”

The moment you try and unclench, his fingers curl and press up against your g-spot, and it’s like a line of electricity connecting all your nerves together lights up. Your legs instinctively flex in an attempt to close around his hand, but the taut bonds keep them spread, and you sob at the reminder, arms giving out so that you end up flat on your back again.

Jungkook chuckles. “Looks like we found the problem,” he remarks cheerily. His fingers continue their assault, targeted now as you writhe beneath him, and the wet sounds of the latex as he increases to three digits echo obscenely in the large room. “That’s it.”

The joints of your fingers ache as you cling onto the edges of the table for dear life, unable to stop the rising wave of pleasure that threatens to crash. It’s so close you feel it in your teeth, eyes rolling back and babbling nonsense to try and get him to go faster, harder.

Faintly, you hear the sound of him humming in amusement, and your mind conjures the mental image of him, sleeves rolled up and gloves dripping with your arousal, hair falling in his eyes and teeth glinting as he grins and brings you to orgasm. It’s that thought that finally begins to tip you over the edge, and just before the wave crests, you feel his fingers slip out.

“Looks like it doesn’t hurt anymore,” he remarks cheekily.

“No, no, no, don’t stop,” you blabber mindlessly, but it’s too late, and your orgasm washes through you as he sits back and watches the unsatisfying roll of pleasure take your body.

Irrationally, you feel tears prick at your eyes with the cruelness of his actions. “It sti- It still hurts, Doctor,” you sob, reaching a hand down to cup yourself, wanting more even as you hiss with the sensitivity.

Jungkook tuts in fake sympathy. “My fingers can’t reach any further, Y/n, if I couldn’t reach where it hurts, I don’t know how I can help you.”

Your bottom lip trembles as you blink your eyes open again, struggling to focus on him. “Use your cock, Doctor, please, I’ll do anything.”

“Is that so?” You could just about cry in relief when you hear a belt buckle jingling, and Jungkook kneeling over you, lining himself up. You can feel the tip pressed against your entrance, just enough pressure to tease you. “Too impatient for me to even put a condom on, naughty girl.”

“Fuck, I don’t care, just fuck me, Doctor,” you whine, your sentence punctuated by a strangled cry as Jungkook snaps his hips forward, bottoming out in a single thrust.

Somehow you’d forgotten just how long Jungkook was - while he wasn’t the thickest or overall largest, and even the thought of mentally cataloguing the guys’ dicks was strange - there was a graceful rising curve to his length that felt like it pierced right through you, and as he starts a punishing rhythm, you feel the air punched right out of your lungs.

“Is this what you wanted?” Jungkook growls. “Acting innocent when you just wanted my cock to fuck you stupid, hm?”

With every thrust, your body is rocked back and forth on the bench, and you feel the bandages that bind your ankles to the legs of the table loosen, a little bit at first and then enough that they slip off completely. It feels odd to no longer be tied down, and Jungkook notices how your body is suddenly shifting far more than it was before.

His pace slows down and you feel a gloved hand wrap around one of your ankles. “Do you want them back on? I don’t think I tied them so well,” Jungkook notes hesitantly, and if you weren’t wildly chasing your orgasm, you might have cooed at his character dropping away to reveal the Jungkook you’re more used to.

As it is, your mind can only care about one thing. “I don’ need them, just fuck me!” you plead, and Jungkook exhales sharply, lifting your ankle until it rests on his shoulder, holding down your hips to fuck into you once more.

With the new angle, you can just about feel him in your guts, and your mouth drops open soundlessly, the only noises escaping your lips are gasped breaths as you feel a deeper orgasm begin to build.

“Oh fuck, I’m close,” you manage to slur out, a raw scream bouncing off the walls as he lowers a hand to rub at your clit, the slippery glove only making him thumb it faster. “Fuck, don’t stop, don’t you dare fucking-ah!”

Your sentence is cut off violently as an orgasm rips through you as suddenly and overwhelmingly as an electric shock. If you’re making any noise, you can’t hear it, your mind like white static as you sit there and let it take you. Every inch of you is singing, down to your toes, and as Jungkook continues to fuck you into oversensitivity, you feel another release, one that makes you shudder and Jungkook swear violently, spilling inside you as he grips at the flesh of your hip.

It takes a while for the blur in your mind to clear, vision swirling in hazy technicolour and whole body trembling. Jungkook must have taken the gloves off at some point, because you feel the softness of his hands as they seek out yours, gently squeezing to rouse you more.

“Y/n,” you hear him say, voice still distant. The fog dissipates more with the calling of your name, and you feel yourself tune in again, once more becoming aware of the cool breeze of the aircon on your heated skin. Jungkook leans over you, eyes bright with enthusiasm. “Y/n. Have you ever done that before?”

You knit your brows in confusion. “Huh?”

Jungkook lets out a light chuckle, sitting back. He’s still inside you, barely softening, and you groan at the sensitivity of him shifting. “Look,” he guides, and you glance down to see your stomach and thighs, shiny with wetness, too thin to be cum. The liquid soaks his shirt, too, leaving dark patches. “That was fucking hot,” Jungkook gushes, his doctor persona well and truly evaporated by now.

You laugh weakly, an exhausted smile stretching at your lips. “I don’t think so? Fuck, that was a lot.”

“You were amazing,” Jungkook praises, squeezing your hands one last time before letting them go. He begins to pull out, then, and you shudder at the emptiness, remnants of his cum dripping out of you as he lowers your leg to the ground again. You sit up carefully, still lightheaded, and watch as he quickly rushes over to the desk, returning with a gauze pad damp with water from a bottle.

He uses it to clean you up in comfortable silence, though you can’t help but bite your lip when you notice he’s still hard. Just as he finishes wiping away the last of the wetness from your thighs and begins to wipe himself off, you reach out a hand to halt him.

“Doctor,” you coo teasingly, “won’t you let me clean you up? I wanna repay you for making the ache go away.”

His chest heaves as he shudders out a breath. “Really?”

You blink up at him as he stands in front of you, his cock right in front of you, glossy with your combined cum. “Don’t you wanna test my vitals one more time, doctor? Just to make sure?”

He gulps as you lean closer and lick a single stripe up the underside of his cock. It’s only slightly bitter, and well worth it for the look on his face and the feeling of his hands carding through your hair.

“I’ve got some filing to do,” Jungkook offers up, chest puffing as he slips back into his role, “if you’re going to clean me up like a good little girl, you can do it while I get back to work. I’m a busy man.”

You bite your lip as he cups the back of your neck and urges you to stand, leading you towards the desk. It’s just tall enough that you can sit on your knees below it, mouthing at his cock as he sits back in the office chair.

Giving a guy head isn’t your favourite hobby, but there’s something weirdly erotic about licking your own cum off of him as he types away, all but ignoring you. As you clean him up dutifully, you realise it’s a challenge, of sorts, to suck him off so well that he breaks concentration.

His jaunty clicks of the mouse and punching of keys continues away as he sighs lowly, feeling your lips wrap around his tip. You tongue the slit, keeping yourself steady by gripping the meat of his inner thighs and let your eyes slip shut so that you can fully focus on the minute sounds he lets out.

As you take him deeper and deeper into your mouth, testing your limits, you begin to learn the rhythm of his typing, recognising what makes it falter. His tip is sensitive, particularly where it meets the shaft, but it’s when you lap at the skin below his base and suck his balls into your mouth, tonguing at them languidly, that makes him break concentration fully.

“Hngh, fuck,” you hear him make out in a strangled voice, a hand coming down to stroke at his own length.

You bat it away immediately. “I thought you needed to work, Doctor,” you tease, “just let me take care of it.”

Jungkook groans but doesn’t protest when you wrap a hand around him and jerk him off, fingers tight around him as you suck at his perineum, making him moan prettily, the tapping of keys sparse and uncoordinated.

“Fuck, gonna- gonna cum again,” he warns, thighs tensing with the urge to thrust up into your grip.

You switch positions to suck his length into your mouth, rolling his balls in your hand and bobbing your head. Jungkook’s falling apart so beautifully, gasping out little ah, ah, ahs with every breath.

The moment you feel him stiffen up even more, you suck in a breath through your nose and swallow him down to the back of your throat, tearing up as your gag reflex kicks in.

He cums with a cry, shooting ropes of cum down your throat, and you wring out every last drop until he’s hissing and pulling away.

Jungkook helps you up from under the table with shaky hands and tucks himself away, panting. “Holy shit,” he says with a exhausted laugh, “I should have gone to medical school.”

The two of you spend the late afternoon showering and then returning the gym to its former glory. It’s not until even dinner has passed before you recall the rule of the Bangasm Bomb - a different bed every night.

You’d slept in Jungkook’s bed on the Monday night, and so you’d have to seek shelter elsewhere.

After getting into pajamas, you step out into the second-floor hallway, glancing around to see if anyone’s door is open. Jin’s is open - he’s still downstairs having a beer with Yoongi - but you’ve used his bed before. The only other one that’s ajar is the bunkroom.

Inside, Namjoon has his nose inside a book by a Japanese author you’ve vaguely heard of, and Hoseok folds a pile of laundry on his bed.

“Room for one?” you call out hopefully. The two of them have each chosen a separate bunk so they can see each other, but while Namjoon has a bottom bunk, Hoseok’s hair just about brushes the ceiling on the third and highest bed. The two of them glance up in unison, matching grins as they wave you inside.

“To what do we owe the pleasure?” Hoseok chimes out cheerfully.

“I was wondering if I could stay in a bed here tonight. I can’t room with Jungkook again.”

Hoseok’s eyes warm in recollection of the scene the three of you shared on Monday. “Well, we’ve got plenty of space. Pick a bed; any bed.”

It makes the most sense to choose the third stack of beds, on the far wall from the door. With only two beds instead of three, it’s easy enough to choose the top one, a perfect halfway point between Namjoon and Hoseok. “It’s not so bad in here,” you remark, tugging up the sheets so you can slip under.

“As far as punishments go, it does seem pretty tame,” Namjoon notes, adjusting a pair of thick reading glasses that balance precariously on his nose. “Though I do feel like it’s the equivalent of a naughty corner. Even if it’s comfortable, it’s the social factor that makes it undesirable.”

“It’s basically a sleepover for losers,” Hoseok surmises.

Namjoon pauses and nods. “Well said.”

You chuckle. “You two seem to be getting along well. Doing a lot of bonding in here, are we?”

“Not a whole lot else to do,” Hoseok points out. “We’ve been chatting away the boredom. Did you know Namjoon thought he could speak to crabs when he was a kid?”

Namjoon lets out a wounded noise, carefully marking his page with a bookmark before tossing the novel to the side. “I never said that! I said I thought they were trying to speak to me, okay?” The academic pokes his head out to look up at you. “Hobi-hyung is scared of Big Bird from Sesame Street!”

Instead of defending himself, Hoseok nods with an indignant pout. “Yeah, I fuckin’ am.”

You let out a peal of laughter. “Wow, you’ve only been in here three nights and you’re already sharing childhood trauma? Jin’s gonna be devastated he missed it.”

“Jin had the chance to come join me and he chose not to,” Hoseok declares. “As far as I’m concerned, Namjoon is the only man in this house I respect.”

Namjoon beams, eyes crinkling behind thick frames. “Thanks, hyung. I respect you, too.”

Hoseok’s chest puffs up in pride. “You better after all the things I’ve taught you.”

Namjoon’s blush is telling. You lean forward in interest, glancing back and forth between the two. “Wait; what did you teach him?”

“Well, we’re not gonna tell you,” the dom responds petulantly, turning his nose up, “it’s a surprise for your scene together.”

You pout, leaning back onto the pillow on your bed. “That’s no fun.”

“Oh, it’ll be fun when you get to experience it firsthand, trust me.”

Namjoon lets out a sigh at Hoseok’s teasing, slipping his glasses off and placing them on the nightstand beside the bunks. “Don’t hype it up too much, hyung, I’m not that good yet.”

“You’ll get there, young grasshopper.”

You frown at the uncertain look on Namjoon’s face. “I can go ask one of the others to room with them if you wanna, uh, practice some more.”

Namjoon’s eyes widen. “No, it’s okay. This can be my rest day.”

Hoseok sighs sweetly, rubbing his eyes. “Actually, rest does sound pretty nice. We can pick it up tomorrow. Night, Joonie. Night, Y/n.”

You and Namjoon chime out a simultaneous reply as Hoseok climbs down the stairs to deposit his pile of folded laundry on the empty bed below, returns to the top bunk, and tucks himself in.

Namjoon seems equally relieved to be able to go to bed early, curling up with a pillow cuddled to his chest. “Sweet dreams,” his low timbre calls out.

You smile fondly at your two boys, snuggled up with peaceful faces as they drift away. “Sleep well,” you offer up, before getting comfortable and letting your own eyes slip closed.

#bts x reader #bts smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #networkbangtan #ficswithluv #magicshopnet #goldenclosetnetwork #ksmutclub #btswriterscollective #btswritingcafe #btswritersnet #bangtanarmynet #bangtanhq #bangtanidx

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adhdeancas · 3 years

Note

for trans man!dean, him mcfuckin dipping to totally transition how he wants then posting up at a family reunion as his badass self with Sam proud of him? also cas comes as his plus one/emotional support/husband idk

mcfuckin love how you worded this. here you go, more trans dean for everyone. minor trigger warnings for a little bit of dysphoria and a little bit of transphobia

Dean didn’t tell anyone when he went away. He just left. Wasn’t anybody’s business, and it’s not like anybody cared enough to keep up with him.

Sam was too busy with school and work, Dad was too busy being a drunk asshole, and, well, there weren’t many other people who gave a shit in Dean’s life.

The only person he told was Bobby, and that’s because Bobby would’ve hunted his ass down just to kick it if he just stopped showing up at the garage.

Sam texted every few months, sure, but Dean always got by with vague answers. He didn’t tell Sam that he was having top surgery, or going on hormones, or shacking up with a hot former-priest in Canada. Nah, not important. After all, he’d told Sam he was a dude years ago. So he shouldn’t be too surprised. Right?

Except then he has to go to this stupid Winchester Family Reunion.

“Dean, it’s going to be okay. They love you,” Cas placated him for the thousandth time. He came over and fixed Dean’s tie, which Dean resolutely batted away. He was the one used to fixing Cas’s tie. He glared at his boyfriend.

“You don’t know them.” He said quickly. He stomped over and flopped down face first on the gross motel comforter they’d rented out halfway to Bobby’s. (Dean wanted to just power through, but Cas insisted on making a road trip out of it. He hadn’t been on many.) He let out a muffled moan out of frustration.

Cas rolled his eyes. “Well, that’s why we’re starting with Bobby. Baby steps, right?”

Dean sat back up and cringed at his boyfriend. “Yeah, baby steps for me and giant leaps for Bobby.” Cas smiled and sat on the edge of the bed. He looked like a freaking doctor visiting a patient, and it was so cute Dean wanted to end the conversation and pin him to the mattress instead.

“Bobby knows you’re trans, right?” he asked patiently

“Yeah.”

“Then it shouldn’t be that big of a surprise to him that you look a little different. I mean, it’s been two years.” Dean grinned at him. Cas had a way of making everything seem so manageable.

“Sure, just a little bit different. Two boobs lighter and a beard heavier.” He gave Cas a shit eating grin and looped a leg over him, sitting back on his heels.

Cas pursed his lips, running a hand over Dean’s stubble. “I don’t know, would we call this a beard?”

Dean growled at him and leaned in for a kiss. “Hey, asshole, aren’t there better things you could do with your mouth than talk?” Cas laughed and kissed him back.

“You make a good point.”

They left the motel room a little dirtier than they found it.

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

Dean spent a full minute pacing back and forth behind an old clunker before he ran up to the front door and knocked. Cas eased up from where he’d been leaning against the Impala and joined his boyfriend where he was now awkwardly drumming against his thigh. “Do I look okay? Do I look-uh-” he faltered, not sure how he wanted to look. Did he want to look like a guy? Or enough like a chick to look like his old self, so Bobby would let him in?

“You look great.” Cas reached for his hand but Dean stole it away so he could turn around when he heard the door opening.

“...hello?” Bobby asked gruffly. Dean grinned and put his hands on his hips, then down at his sides when he realized he didn’t want to emphasize how wide his hips were.

“Hi, uh, Bobby. It’s… it’s Dean?”

Bobby did a double-take, and then Dean shifted uncomfortably. He knew he was looking for what Dean used to look like in how he looked now. He cleared his throat. Bobby blinked at him. “Well, shit, Dean. You- uh- you been working out, kid?”

Bobby pulled Dean into a bone-crushing hug, laughing. Dean pulled away with just a grin just as big. “Lil’ bit.” He said, blushing. “Oh, uh,” he stepped back and grabbed Cas’s hand, pulling him forward. “This is Cas. He’s- he’s my boyfriend.” Dean was absurdly more nervous to admit he liked guys (again) than he was for Bobby to see him post-op. Would Bobby still believe he was a guy if he was queer too?

“Shit, a boyfriend? What, you got a mortgage too, you hiding a kid under that jacket?” Bobby huffed and stalked into his house. Cas seemed a little taken aback by his gruffness, but Dean just grinned and squeezed his hand. This was a good sign. They followed him into the kitchen, where Bobby was making coffee and muttering, “What, go away for a couple years and come back a man?”

Dean beamed.

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

Dean took a deep breath, and Cas squeezed his hand. He pressed a kiss to Dean’s cheek. “You’ve got this, babe.” Dean nodded shakily. He could do this.

Surprisingly, he could do this. From the second he walked in the door, Dean took no shit. Most people didn’t give him more than a glance; they didn’t recognize either of the new men. Dean looked for Sam’s messy mop of hair and made a beeline as soon as he recognized it. Easy, when Sam towered over practically everyone.

“Sammy!” Dean poked his brother in the back. “How the hell are you?”

Sam turned around, his furrowed brows loosening into a look of pure surprise when he recognized his brother. Which of course he did. “Dean!” He hugged Dean, pulling away so he could look at him. “Holy shit, you- you got top surgery?”

Dean grinned. “You know what top surgery is?”

Sam looked offended. “I research.” Dean laughed and lifted up his shirt quickly to show his scars.

“Pretty cool, right?” Cas laughed at that and Sam turned his attention to the dark haired man standing behind his brother. “Oh yeah, I brought moral support.” He dragged Cas forward with a hand on the small of his back, and Cas thrust out his hand. “He’s a grad student too. I’m sure you nerds have a ton to gab about.”

Sam rolled his eyes and shook Cas’s hand. “Hey, man, nice to meet you. What’re you studying?”

Dean zoned out almost immediately, keeping a hand on Cas out of comfort. All around the room, his family didn’t recognize him. Usually he’d have people coming up to him, Aunts screeching “Deanna!” and talking about his weight or his outfit or his hair, he’d have uncles throwing him over their shoulders and talking about last time they’d seen him when he was a little girl. Now? Nothing. Clean slate. It felt like freedom. He was him, in front of his family. For once. Then Dad walked up to him.

“Sammy, who you got there? Thought you weren’t bringing a plus one.” John asked gruffly, suspiciously. Sam rolled his eyes.

“It’s Sam. And I told you, Jess couldn’t come, she’s got too much on her plate right now.” He reminded his dad quickly that he was dating a woman right now, fuck you very much.

“Yeah, sorry Dad, that’s my date.” Dean grinned and looped an arm low on Cas’s waist. He felt Cas look at him and he swore he heard him sniff. Motherfucker was checking for alcohol on his breath. He laughed and turned to give him a quick kiss, which surprised him even more. Confidence was a helluva thing.

John was frozen in place. One of his eyes was twitching like he was overloaded with information. Which, Dean guessed, he was.

“Dad, Cas, Cas, John,” Dean said, still grinning. Sam let out a snort from his other side. Cas extended his hand coolly. John stared at him as he returned the favor, turning Cas’s knuckles white with the force of his grip. “Oh and I’m Dean, by the way, in case you didn’t get the email.”

Dean extended his hand for his own handshake, and John took it equally slowly. “So you’re just going to show up like this, no warning or-”

“Yup.” Dean said happily. “Now I was promised burgers. Where are the fucking burgers?”

“What have you done to yourself?”

“Upgraded.” Dean shrugged and fixed his jacket.

“And you’re…” He looked at Cas.

“Into men.” Dean nodded. “And women. No offense, Cas, but women are just prettier.” Cas nodded sagely, and Dean offered Sam a fist to fistbump. Sam did it with a smirk. “Guess you got two queer sons, daddio.”

John made no move. “Burgers?”

“Over there.” Sam answered this time, pointing. Dean looked.

“Oh over by Grandpa Henry? Sweet. Thanks, Sammy. Wanna join?” He looped an arm around Sam’s shoulders before he could answer and dragged his two best guys toward the food.

“Dean, hey, I’m- I’m really proud of you.” Sam stopped him and put a hand on his chest, and Dean felt a warm feeling both due to his words and the fact that Sam could pat him on the chest now without it being weird. “I know you’ve had a rough time- I mean, with everybody, with caring what they think- I’m just really proud of you.”

Dean swallowed a lump in his throat. “Thanks, Sammy. That’s all I need.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

#trans dean #dean is trans #ftm dean #destiel #deancas #sam winchester #dean winchester #fanfic #my writing #anon #ask

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hockeyboysiguess · 4 years

Text

Lines and Sunshine

a/n: this is based on a tiktok i saw and it immediately gave me matty vibes! also shoutout to @nolypats for getting me through this one when i had one scene and nothing else in mind to write.

warnings: swearing

word count: 4K

You sighed as you let yourself fall down onto the couch. Your drink sloshed a little in your cup, splashing onto the back of your hand with a few drops landing on the arm of the curly-haired boy next to you. Matthew groaned and shook his arm with a disgusted look on his face.

“You’re the worst,” he lamented. “How dare you?”

“I dared. I did. I delivered,” you countered smoothly. “Nice to know your carefully curated appearance of four t-shirts, three pairs of gym shorts, and a cut-off sleeve Nike jacket will fall apart if two drops of beer fall on your bare arm that you can easily wipe off.”

“I carefully picked this particular shirt and shorts combination today and did not plan for wet spots on my arm and an overwhelming odor of beer to be part of the ensemble. You’re ruining me here, honey,” Matthew joked back, a mischievous smile playing on his lips as he spoke to you.

You rolled your eyes at him and took a sip of your drink with a smile against the edge of the cup. Matthew gave you a soft nudge with his shoulder in response to your eye roll, which you shook off. The couch next to you shifted suddenly, causing you to break eye contact as the movement rocked you away from Matthew. You turned your head to find that Brady’s sudden weight as he plopped next to you on the couch was the culprit for tipping you almost sideways on the couch.

“Hey, Brads,” you said with a bright smile to him, giving his cup a tap with yours as a greeting.

“Hey, hey,” he replied. “Enjoying the party?”

Matthew and Brady were throwing this joint party together before they left St. Louis to return to Calgary and Ottawa respectively for training camp next week. You’d tried to argue they should call the party “Yoo-hoo, Big Summer Blowout” like from Frozen, yours and Brady’s favorite, and Matthew’s absolute least favorite, Disney princess movie. Matthew had axed the suggestion, something you’d tried incredibly hard to get him to budge on. You’d almost succeeded too when you brought out your best puppy dog eyes, but Matthew had found some extra resolve from somewhere inside and pushed you off, insisting the party remain nameless, which was cooler apparently. You thought it was bull and told him so.

“You’re thinking that I should’ve let you name this after Frozen, aren't you?” Matthew called you out instead of letting you answer Brady’s question. “You’re fucking ridiculous.”

“And you love me for it,” you finished for him with a sharp nod of your head, your ponytail swinging with your sudden movement.

Matthew shook his head, but didn’t disagree, as he turned his attention toward the party. You sighed and let you head fall onto Matthew’s shoulder. He didn’t look at you, but he shifted and threw an arm over the back of the couch behind you to make himself into a more comfortable head rest for you. You sighed in appreciation.

“You haven’t had enough alcohol to get over the hump,” Matthew informed you. “You’re in your ‘I’ve had two drinks and now I’m a sleepy ho’ zone.”

“You don’t have to call me out like that,” you mumbled to him, making him chuckle and give you a small squeeze around your shoulders in reply.

“It’s my job as your friend to call you out on your bullshit,” he laughed as he spoke. “If I stopped, you’d need to demote me to friendly acquaintance and we all know it’s a slippery slope from there to casual acquaintance to that guy you know that plays hockey right into that guy you used to know that plays hockey. I don’t like that career path for myself, personally, so I’m going to keep doing what I was hired to do and call you out on your shit.”

You’d met Matthew and Brady a few years ago at house party of a mutual friend’s not entirely unlike this one, sending the boys off before their hockey season kicked into full gear back then. You’d met Brady first and hit it off instantly, finding kinship in being taller than your older siblings after the constant verbal and physical abuse you suffered at their hands growing up. He’d still introduced you to Matthew that night though, something he swore to this day was his biggest mistake because Matthew had immediately stolen you right from Brady and declared you were his friend first, before Brady’s. You’d tried to fight, but Matthew was persistent and you had the same sense of humor as him.

Plus, the dimples, the curls, and the coy smile drew you in. You remembered thinking he was cute when you first met him, but also that nothing could ever come of it, so you had forced yourself past that initial feeling and had been his friend ever since with no regrets. Despite the distance, you two had remained close since that day. The two of you made a pretty formidable team when you were on the same wavelength about something. You were pretty sure it might be better for everyone in your potentially shared warpaths that you weren’t around each other as much as you would be if you lived in the same city.

As the night dragged on, the party shrank in size, but the group of people relaxing in the couch area on the patio grew with Matthew and Brady’s closest friends. You’d been up and down a few times to fill your drink, but Matthew always saved you the seat right next to him. He never forgot about you, not even for a second, something you always appreciated.

You felt your phone buzz in your back pocket. You sighed as you lifted your hips and grab it from your back pocket and sighed again when you saw who texted. Aaron. You read the text quickly. He was asking you if you wanted to come over after you were done with the party. Aaron was... fine. That was the best word you had for Aaron. He was nice, polite, decent in bed, and completely unextraordinary in every single way possible. You weren’t seeing anyone else and neither was he, but he wasn’t your boyfriend. Neither one of you really wanted that. Aaron was fine for now, hence why he’d stuck around for six months. He hadn’t done anything to earn you wanting to promote him from casual fling and hadn’t done anything to make you want to get rid of him either. He met your few needs, you met his, and that’s all that mattered to either of you.

“Oh, is that Aaron?”

Matthew’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts and back into the moment. You shrugged instead of actually answered. You didn’t really want to get into what he thought of Aaron right now. He’d told you that he thought Aaron was basically the human equivalent of beige wallpaper and he couldn’t understand why you talked to him the first and only time you’d let them interact. You’d kept them apart ever since.

“So it was Aaron.” Matthew answered his own question in a curious tone. “Thinking of ditching me and Brads here for him?”

“I’m not going anywhere unless you keep making comments like that,” you sang softly with a layer of caution for Matthew coating your voice as you brought your cup to your lips for another sip.

Matthew chuffed a little under your admonishment of him, but he pressed on.

“Okay, so how long have you been talking to this guy again?”

Matthew leaned forward as he asked you the question, his hands lacing together as he braced his weight onto his forearms pressed against his thighs. He raised an eyebrow at you as he waited for you to answer.

“Six months,” you replied, taking a sip of your drink to cover a sly smile that tried to rise as you continued by asking, “why?”

Matthew skipped over your question with a wave of a hand as he shifted back onto the couch, his large frame pressing into the cushions of the back of the couch. He nodded softly, one of his hands moving to his chin, scratching at the stubble there as he thought.

“And you’re not talking to anyone else?” he asked you, his pitch raising higher than normal at the end of his question.

“No,” you said firmly, pressing the red cup between your palms as you watched Matthew react to your answer.

“And he’s not talking to anyone else?” Matthew followed up after a moment of thought.

“Uh, no,” you laughed with a soft shake of your head, thinking that one-sided exclusivity didn’t do anyone any good. Kind of ruined the whole exclusivity concept if only half of the team was playing the same game.

Matthew nodded in fake understanding. You knew him well enough to know he was playing some long game you didn’t know anything about. He carded a hand through his curls, shaking them out a little with a sigh.

“So he’s your boyfriend then, right? He has to be by now and you just forgot to tell me,” Matthew continued.

You shook your head softly, “No, he’s not.”

Matthew groaned and let his head fall back, hovering over the back edge of the couch. He drummed his fingers on the exposed skin of this thigh just south of the edge of his shorts. He nodded softly and tightened his lips before lifting his head. You could’ve sworn you heard him whisper a soft, “Fuck it,” to himself, but you weren’t sure if you’d heard it or imagined it. Matthew sighed as he sat up, the words starting to flow out of his mouth as he turned towards you and locked his baby blue eyes with yours.

“So like, I’m confused here. Six months being exclusive with this dude and he’s not your boyfriend. Is he confused? Like, does he want you or not? Because he’s holding up the fucking line here!”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came as Matthew’s blue eyes looked deep into yours, deep into you, and as your friends circled around you started hollering and clapping. Brady next to you was particularly loud, but it was all relative. Everything else was muffled compared to how loud the silence between you and Matthew was in that moment. His eyes were tracking across your face, from the wideness of your eyes, to the wrinkles in your forehead from your surprised expression, to the tight, firm line of your lips you’d closed as you tried to figure out what to do, what to say. Matthew telling you he had been waiting the whole time you’d been seeing Aaron at the very least had beyond blindsided you.

Matthew closed his eyes softly and began to nod in understanding, curls bouncing with the movement. His tongue poked out between his teeth as a sad, forced smile pulled at his mouth. He sighed as his smile widened, but it wasn’t the smile you’d grown to know from him. It was something entirely new. He stood up without another word and headed into the house. You let out a deep breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding when the patio door shut behind him.

“He’s planned how he wanted to tell you like, six-hundred ways, but that was definitely not one of them,” Brady laughed next to you. You turned your head toward Brady, your surprised look somehow impossibly intensifying, making Brady laugh harder. “Oh yeah, he’s liked you for years now. You’ve just never lined up. You had that boyfriend, then he was sort of seeing that girl, now there’s Aaron, who is super boring by the way. He’s been trying, but the timing has never worked out for him. Got to give the guy some credit for finally growing a pair and telling you though, even if that wasn’t exactly pretty.”

“How long?” you asked, choking on the word.

You cleared your throat and repeated the question again. Brady shrugged in response.

“I don’t know, probably since that first party honestly. He made me introduce you to him when he saw us talking. Guess he thought you were cute.”

Brady said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, like he was simply ordering orange juice with brunch at a diner on Sunday morning. For you, it made your world tilt violently on its axis. Matthew was always never an option. He was so not an option you had all but deleted every memory of every thought of finding him attractive. Apparently, completely unknown to you, he’d been an option the entire time.

You stood up quickly from the couch, your fingers already pulling up Aaron’s contact information even though you didn’t have a plan on what to say to him. You knew you needed to see the sun in your life again and you knew Aaron wasn’t it. Aaron wasn’t the sun; he was a gray cloud. He was kind enough and unproblematic enough to never rain on your life. He protected you from some UV exposure, meaning bad one night stands and societally named walks of shame, but he was keeping you cool and complacent with you life. You never felt warmth on your skin from him. There was no heat, no love, no passion. A cloudy day was fine for a while. Aaron was fine for a while. You wanted the sun and you knew who it was.

Your mom had said it the first time you’d invited Matthew over to watch a movie with you a couple of week after that party where you met. While he could be your resident pain in the ass, he charmed your mother instantly, a fact he rubbed in every now an again because your mom, like everyone, was fine, but not thrilled, with Aaron’s existence.

“That boy is like sunshine, I swear,” she told you. “You light up when he walks in the room.”

Matthew was the sun. You wanted, needed, to feel the sun on your skin. You’d been standing near it for so long. You needed to know what it felt like to actually stand in the light.

You walked into the house, turning the opposite direction of where you’d seen Matthew turn when he walked in. You shut the door of the front office behind you to try to give you some privacy for this. You were completely unprepared and there was a serious risk you might try and compare Aaron to a raincloud at this point if you talked to him, but there wasn’t ever going to be a better time for this. Aaron answered on the third ring, like clockwork, like he knew you too well in the worst, most superficial ways.

“Hey,” he spoke softly and steadily, as always. “Is something wrong? Need me to come pick you up?”

“Uh, no, I’m good,” you mumbled out before hastily adding a quick, “thanks.”

You cleared your throat before you tried to continue.

“Hey, Aaron.” You cleared your throat again, trying in vain to bring the pitch of your voice down. “This might be out of left field here, but what are we doing here?”

“What do you mean?” he replied after a slightly too long pause. “Are you not okay with this anymore?”

You sighed and tucked some errant strands of hair that had escaped your ponytail behind your ear as you tried to collect your thoughts.

“That’s the thing Aaron,” you breathed out. “I’m tired of things being okay. This has always just been okay and you know it. This has never been a heart-stopping, Earth-shattering, scream-how-you-feel-in-front-of-a-room-full-of-people kind of thing. And I want that, Aaron. I want passion and I want things this doesn’t have, has never had, and won’t have because that’s not us. This is just, it’s fine, Aaron. But I’m sick of fine.”

You heard Aaron breathe out harshly, not unlike how you had before you’d let all of those feelings come out. You hadn’t realized exactly where you’d been going when you opened your mouth, but you knew you’d arrived at the right thing by the end.

“Honestly, so am I.”

You almost dropped the phone at his words. You had been expecting every reaction ranging from tears to screaming to silence. Agreement wasn’t a response you’d planned for. You’d thrown it out instantly, like you do with Jokers when you open a new deck of cards because they can’t possibly be in play. There aren’t any games that actually utilize them. There wasn’t a scenario you were prepared for where Aaron agreed with you.

“What?” you managed to get out. “You agree with me?”

Aaron laughed softly before saying, “Honestly, yeah. I hope you don’t think I’m being rude when I say this. You’re a great person, but this was just something casual for both of us and I think it’s just gone on longer than we planned since we both got into it thinking it would go bad before we were two months in. It never went bad, so we kept doing it. You and I are kind of alike in that way. Unless something makes us go off the rails, as long as the train has three out of five stars, we’ll stay on it forever basically.”

“That’s not rude. It’s exactly how I feel,” you told him, making him laugh again. You scrunched your nose up before adding, “Sorry, that probably sounded a little too relieved, huh?”

“No, no,” Aaron chuckled. “It’s real and fine and I feel it too.”

You sighed and leaned back against the nearby desk, trying to will your nervous heartbeat to slow down for a second. You nodded softly, trying to come up with words to say.

“What are you still doing on the phone? Go get him. Go get your real guy.”

You paused. You weren’t sure if you’d heard Aaron right. You racked your brain, trying to remember if you’d let anything slip out that could have pointed you ending things toward Matthew. Aaron might have not been your guy, but he was still a good guy and deserved better than thinking you’d dumped him for someone else.

“Matthew,” Aaron added before you could speak. “He finally plucked up the courage and said something, huh? About fucking time, Chucky.”

“You knew?” you asked breathlessly. “Did everyone know but me?”

“Uh, yeah, pretty much,” Aaron informed you, laughter edging at his voice again. “So, go get him. Hang up already! No hard feelings. I’ll see you around, okay?”

Aaron hung up for you. You slowly slid your phone into your back pocket, trying to collect your thoughts. Was what you were doing sort of sudden and crazy? Probably. It didn’t feel that way though. It felt like this was exactly what you should be doing.

Your feet carried you toward the kitchen where you assumed Matthew still was, most likely freaking out about ruining your friendship. You found him with his head hung low, one of his hands supporting him by gripping the edge of the counter behind him and the other feverishly raking through his curls. He was mumbling to himself, trying to gather his thoughts like you just had been.

“You want to finish having this conversation with yourself or can I interrupt?”

Matthew’s head snapped up and over toward you. His eyes soften when they connected with yours, before that same sad smile from outside came back onto his face. You knew what it was now, the unidentifiable emotion on his face. Pain. Looking at you, looking at what he thought was your rejection hurt him. He was trying to deal with it as best he could, but he was barely holding himself together.

“Well, you’ve already interrupted, so I feel like the least you could do is come into the kitchen,” Matthew replied, waving you in with his free hand.

“Matthew-”

“No, let me,” he cut you off as you started stepping toward him. “I’m sorry. I totally threw that at you in front of everyone. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t cool. And you have Aaron, I guess, so you’re not even really single, so it was really stupid to say. I’m really sorry and I hope-”

“Matthew Tkachuk, shut up for once in your life,” you said exasperatedly as you reached him.

He opened his mouth to speak, but then your hands grabbed his and he couldn’t focus on anything other than how it felt. His eyes were locked on your hands as you let your fingers intertwine with his.

“I ended it,” you told him.

“You what?” Matthew choked out as his eyes snapped up to yours. “With Aaron? Just now?”

“Yeah,” you laughed a little. “He actually took it really well. Turns out he’d been feeling a little stuck too, I guess.”

“Mm, solid,” was all Matthew had to say in reply as his attention turned back to your hands wrapped around his larger one. He wouldn’t let himself get his hopes up about what they meant for him right now. Just because you were getting rid of Aaron, didn’t mean that was permanent or that you were picking him instead.

He started to gently squeeze your hand with his, letting his large hand dwarf both of yours and he softly moved his thumb in smooth circle over the back of your hand. The small act, the smallest of possible movements, still was far more intimate than anything you’d felt in six months with Aaron. This was what it was supposed to feel like.

“There’s no line, Matthew.” You spoke softly and steadily, willing your words to wrap around him and take away any temporary pain your hesitation caused him. “There’s only you. You’re the one I want.”

Matthew didn’t need to double check. He knew you were sure from your tone. In the blink of an eye, his hands were on your waist, hoisting you up onto the kitchen counter as his lips crashed to yours for the first time. One of your hands tangled itself into his curls and the other rested on his broad chest, anchoring you to him.

He felt like sunshine on the first warm spring day of the year. Your skin soaked up that first light willingly, relishing in what it had missed as his warmth thawed the permafrost from your bones.

“Jesus,” you breathed out when he finally pulled back. “You’ve know how to kiss like that the whole time and you didn’t just try and do that to get my attention? Damn, Tkachuk.”

Matthew blushed softly, a new reaction to your words you immediately threw into your favorite column of reactions to pull out of him, noting you needed to make it happen more often. He smiled softly at first, but as he looked at you, his smile wouldn’t stop growing until it was spread wide across his face.

“I’ll make a note of it.” He paused to slide his hands under your thighs and lift you off the counter in one smooth motion. He guided your legs around his waist as your hands braced the back of his neck for support. “You know, for the next time I try to confess my feelings for a girl in front of all of my friends .”

“Mm, hope you don’t have any plans to try and use that advice anytime soon,” you teased him back as he carried you out of the kitchen and towards his room.

“Honestly, I already threw that note away. What did it say again?” he asked you jokingly, giving you a quick peck on the lips as he walked.

“It was just a little notice letting you know I’ve moved you to boyfriend status,” you replied with a shrug, but your smile betrayed you.

“Before I even show you all the tricks up my sleeve? Damn, mind if I show you anyway? I’ve got some pretty good ones that just might blow your mind.”

Matthew threw you a quick wink as he pushed his bedroom door open with his back just to make sure you knew exactly what he was referring to, leaving nothing open to misinterpretation.

“Oh really now? Try me, sunshine. I’ve got all night.”

#Matthew Tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk fanfic #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl blurbs #nhl imagine #Hockey Fanfiction #hockey writing #hockey imagine

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clearlynotjanus · 3 years

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Whumptober: Day Two, Talking is Overrated

READ ON AO3

Chapter Summary: Ever since Remus returned from his isolation in the Imagination, things between Janus & Virgil have been strained. Virgil can’t deny that he finds Remus attractive, & Janus doesn’t seem to have a problem with this, but there’s a lot lurking just under the surface of his feelings that makes being with either of them far more difficult than it should be. CW: Dubious consent, panic attacks, anxiety, crying, blowjobs, deepthroating, graphic description of sexual acts Word Count: 5160 Genre: Hurt, Smut, Angst, Whump Rating: Explicit Ships: Dukexiety with a dash of Anxceitmus Author Notes: Soooo you’ll notice that this is very out of the realm of the stuff I usually write. I’m giving everyone a warning right now, this is dubcon & it’s all hurt, no comfort. If you’re familiar with my writing, right about now you’re asking who the fuck is this because this sure isn’t Andrew-Moceit-Fluff-Anderson, & you’re right! This is extremely out of character for me! But sometimes you just gotta hurt the anthropomorphized version of your panic disorder to get through some shit, you know? lmao. Maybe that’s relatable, maybe you’re wondering if my hitaus has turned me into a psycho; who knows! But anyway! I’m using Whumptober to explore some...less than savory topics. So honestly, a big fat “Don’t like, don’t read” / “Dead Dove Don’t Eat” on everything I post this month. But if you’re into it! Hell yeah! I hope you enjoy! :D

Taglist: @sanderssidesangsttrash @catalinaacosta @whatishappeningrightnow @anxiousbean4404 @vexelore @ranboo-but-booran @serpentinesomebody @poptartsaysurloved @robertdownerjr @dangitsbrightinhere @iamuncomffy @sanderdarksides @dragonfander @virgilstarantula @a-rudethude @indubitably-emo @gay-artist-626 @edupunkn00b @wouldntyou-liketoknow @awesomerandomgirl1 @cosplayhanna @rizzyluke @all-panic-nodisco @remy-the-lemon-berry @their-royal-fiensishness @xravynsflamex @imma-potatoo @obsxdiannn

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Hearing the television downstairs, Virgil decided that four in the afternoon was as good a time as any to leave his room for the day. With ghostly silent steps, he descended the stairs - only to stand awkwardly at the foot. His eyes settled on Janus who was staring at the flickering screen, a gloved hand bore the weight of his head with a cupped cheek. Virgil’s heart rate thrummed in his ears like an approaching war drum, nearly drowning out the indecisive show clips. The irregular pattern of noise began a pressure between his eyes as he strained to keep up with alternating sounds of unfamiliar shows.

“Oh is that o--” Virgil started, recognizing a voice finally with several ounces of relief. His head turned as Janus clicked past a rerun of The Twilight Zone.

He blinked, pausing on the following station as he looked up at Virgil with furrowed brows.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” Virgil said, shaking his head. With long steps he quickly retreated to the kitchen as Janus shrugged and resumed his mindless clicking.

Virgil collapsed against the kitchen counter, a palm splayed heavily behind him as though his life depended on it, the other gripping his stomach. Breathe, he ordered himself sternly, tightly closing his eyes and drawing in a breath he struggled to keep quiet. In, 1, 2, 3, 4. Hold, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. Out, 1, 2, 3, 4 --

“Virgil, since you’re in the kitchen,” Janus called, hardly louder than his speaking voice, but the sound made Virgil jump regardless. Instinctually a hand slammed over his mouth to keep the inevitable squeak on his tongue. “Would you be a darling and make us some tea?”

“Y-yeah! Sure!” He said, peeling his palm off his lips. As Janus remained silent, Virgil sighed heavily.

He repeated his breathing exercise as the water boiled, again as he dumped a ridiculous amount of sugar in one mug and a single teaspoon in another, once more as he placed a bag of Red Rose strawberry cheesecake flavored herbal tea in one mug and a bag of standard Lipton black in the other. His hands had stopped shaking by the time he carried both steaming cups out and placed them on the coffee table.

Typically he wasn’t one for hot drinks outside of the occasional hot chocolate in fall, but the idea of bringing Janus something without one of whatever it was for himself had always felt...off. Awkward maybe, or just weird; Virgil couldn’t say, but it always compelled him to inevitably join Janus, even if that was the last thing he wanted.

“Oh delightful,” Janus said, immediately wrapping his hands around the molten mug. Virgil flinched just thinking about touching something that hot, but Janus simply leaned back against the couch with a look Virgil could only describe as stupidly content.

“Yeah,” He mumbled and again found himself standing there.

Why was he always so awkward? Virgil internally lamented, wondering what normal people did with their hands. He’d been with Janus on this side of the Mindscape for four years now; had watched television and drank tea with him plenty of times. But it never felt easier. Janus put him on edge, for more than a handful of reasons; some harmful and some not.

Fight or Flight - more aptly upgraded to Paranoia these days - in theory was necessary for something like Self Preservation. A healthy dose of Anxiety kept one vigilant about their health and surroundings; it provided information for Self Preservation to react to and plan for. On paper, they should be a smooth running machine; Virgil would alert Janus to dangers and Janus would provide the escape route. The wrench was that communication was neither of their strong suits; but after four years, Janus didn’t really need Virgil to speak. He knew his problematic little spider well enough by now.

“Sit down already,” Janus waved a hand to the open end of the couch. “Your angst is suffocating.”

“S-sorry,” Virgil mumbled and sat on the opposite side of the L shaped couch.

“Tsk.”

The two sipped their respective cups in a smothering silence. Virgil’s shoulders ached under the weight. Should he talk? Was Janus going to say something? He stole a glance at his partner, and a sigh caught at the back of his throat at the sight. Janus sat upright, drinking his tea and staring at the television without even a furrow between his brow. Why was he always so goddamn content?

“You’re still upset.”

“No,” Virgil rushed, the sudden observation pumping adrenaline through his blood. Janus hadn’t even looked at him - how the hell had he made any sort of observation, true or not? The air around them sweetened. Janus narrowed his eyes condescendingly, finally sparing a glance at him to offer the expression. They both knew that was a lie. Virgil bowed his head, needing to look away.

“You should really know better by now.” Janus complained into this teacup, but to Virgil’s ears, it just sounded like an insult.

He should know better by now than to lie to Janus’ face. Or maybe he should know better by now than to get upset at Thomas’ lies. But Virgil struggled to say it wasn’t the thought of Thomas lying that lurched his stomach. The words knotted his tongue and tightened his throat until even the tea wouldn’t go down.

Of course Janus knew this; knew every bit of Virgil’s simple psychology. His words were being misconstrued in that buzzing mind of his at this very moment. Even his intent from yesterday; misunderstood, which is what got them here of course. What was bothering Virgil was very easy to understand; when continuously faced with the fact that Janus unflinchingly told Thomas to lie, manipulate, and do whatever he must to get what he wants, it was only a matter of time before Virgil began to wonder if those very same morals were at play in their relationship.

The answer was equally obvious, Janus thought, and therefore Virgil should know better by now.

“Yeah,” Virgil agreed with a sigh, but the bitterness continued to strangle him, and Janus felt no need to get into the topic. If they continued pretending as though things were fine, eventually they would be, which was usually his philosophy in dealing with Virgil’s anxiety.

The crushing silence rang in Virgil’s ears despite the ease it came to Janus with. Paranoia - it was a very difficult experience and talking himself off the ledge was getting harder every day. The thought of Janus hurting him was haunting. How far would he go to get his way? The things he implied Thomas should be willing to do...were they things Janus was willing to do to him? Virgil gulped, and then jumped five inches off the couch.

“Sup, emo,” Remus greeted nasally, having barrelled down the stairs in microseconds. Virgil’s heart all but stopped as he cursed at the warm tea that had splashed on his hand with the shock.

With no amount of hesitance, Remus flopped on the couch and forced his head into Janus’ lap. Though Janus looked generally disgruntled about the loud interruption, he still lifted his arms and adjusted to make himself available.

“Aw damn,” Remus continued gruffly, ignoring Virgil’s flinch and discomfort as he gave a grotesque sniff to the air. “You made tea and didn’t even heat me up any bleach? Booooooooo.”

“Sorry,” Virgil spat sarcastically, scrunching his nose, “I try not to think about you.”

“That’s not what you said last night.” Remus mocked and Virgil choked on his inhale, going red.

“Be nice, Remus.” Janus bounced his leg gently, jostling him. “You know he’s much too frigid for that in this clearly public space. I mean, anyone could walk in at any moment.”

Remus snickered, folding his arms behind his head as Janus spoke with mocking alarm. He looked at Virgil expectantly and only had to wait a second before the bickering began.

“I am not frigid,” Virgil said, blushing still.

“Prove it, Daddy Long Legs,” Remus wiggled his brows suggestively. Virgil glared, but couldn’t keep the paranoia from creeping up on him; anxiously, he glanced at Janus, struggling to keep his attention on Remus. Janus, as though entirely separate from this conversation, seemed to be minding his own business now; he took a loud sip of his tea and kept his vision trained on the television that was quickly being drowned out by their arguing.

“H-how?” Virgil asked when he realized Janus wasn’t going to butt in, immediately regretting his decision to indulge Remus.

“Suck my dick,” he said quickly like he had just been waiting for Virgil to ask. “Right here in the living room!” His hands reached for his waistband. Covertly Janus reacted; as though he had inhaled at the wrong time, he quietly cleared his throat into a cupped hand.

“No!” Virgil protested immediately, recoiling as he nervously looked towards the staircase.

“Prude.”

“Am not!”

“Virgin.”

“That’s just plain wrong!”

Virgil’s face had gone a deep scarlet and again he regretted his words. Anger seized his throat; though he hadn’t raised his volume, his words were heated and bitter. Remus, for all his apparent disinterest as the insults were slung, just couldn’t do away with the pleased sparkle in his eyes that always came with riling Virgil up.

“Is it really now, Screamo?” Remus taunted and Virgil pushed his tempered tongue against the side of his cheek.

“You know it is,” His words came out slow and ground between his teeth. He hated Remus for making him say these things out loud, for making him acknowledge the truths he purposefully left hidden under his bedsheets.

“Do I?” Remus dug a finger into his ear, giving Virgil a stupid and ignorant expression. “Sorry, Cindy Lou Boo, must’ve just…slipped my mind.” He finished with a shrug that held both his hands open.

Virgil groaned and pulled his knees to his chest, slamming back against the couch in a show of edgy annoyance. He glowered straight ahead, unseeing at the window as his rage-filled heart hammered against his ears.

“See what I mean?” Janus mumbled, a smirk just barely hidden behind his teacup. “Frigid.” He raised a shoulder in a half effort shrug.

The words cut Virgil deep, deeper than Remus’ digs had. Janus was always cold and pointed with his insults. They hit hard and lingered with murderous precision. Remus’ were fast and easy to ignore in the long run. Virgil forced himself to take a breath; his lungs expanded against his legs. This was a stupid arguement to be having. They both knew what Virgil was like in bed, which he guessed was why they liked teasing him, but it wasn’t fun. Not for him anyway. Even so, it made Virgil feel like he had something to prove.

Maybe it was some sort of twisted aspect of toxic masculinity or something, but he couldn’t just let their jeering go. It festered in him, the need to be recognized as one of them, because these days it really was feeling like Janus and Remus were against him, which was fucked up if you asked Virgil. He’d been with Janus the longest, so why was Remus able to just swoop in and act like this? Virgil steeled himself with more deep breaths before opening his mouth.

“Talking is overrated,” Virgil started and Janus peered through the corner of his eyes, recognizing how uncharacteristic of him those words were. “If you can’t remember, I’ll just have to remind you.”

“Hell yeah,” Remus immediately enthused, a wide grin cracking his face as he reached for his waistband.

“N-not here,” Virgil rushed, desperately clinging to the cool tone he had used just a moment ago. Remus pouted and Virgil raised his eyes to insinuate one of their bedrooms above them. “Later.”

“Fiiiiiiiiine,” He bemoaned, crossing his arms and sinking back into the couch, his head colliding Janus’ lap again.

“Well then,” Janus mumbled and reached for the remote.

-----

Remus maintained a rough grip in Virgil’s hair. When his fingers had first tightly laced at the roots, Virgil had yelped and felt the familiar tingle of adrenaline prick down his spine. Now, even though Remus hadn’t let up at all, it felt mostly numb - at least in comparison to everything else. His boney knees had begun going red against the carpet, even behind the fabric of his jeans. The color was both from how harsh Remus had pushed him down onto them and for how long he’d been kneeling. His throat ached something raw. His lungs strained against his ribs. His cock struggled for friction against the boot between his thighs.

Virgil’s subdued cries fell on sadistic ears; not apathetic or deaf ones. Remus was spurred on by how Virgil’s protests interrupted the wet sound of his cock colliding against the back of his throat. Virgil knew that of course, and it was a thin line to be riding. Tonight, the margin for error felt smaller than usual.

Perhaps it was his interaction with Janus earlier or maybe it was the instigation this was founded on, but Remus’ grin seemed to glow maliciously down at him. The walls of his throat squeezed unusually tight, reluctant to relax no matter how many deep and even breaths Virgil forced through his nose. His hands shook against his thighs with the restraint of keeping his fight or flight at bay. It wasn’t typically this difficult, taking Remus’ cock and swallowing his violence. For all his objection in the living room earlier, the crude mockery of love that was his lewd time spent with Remus was enjoyable for him. Usually.

Tonight his body reacted like a great duality sliced a canyon in his mind; though he could feel his cock throbbing against his pants and his hips aching to press down against the rigid surface of Remus’ shoe, the familiar animal of panic surged through him, screaming danger like a mating Bellbird. Remus’ hand pressed Virgil’s head down further, his cock searching for the give that’d have him sliding down with ease. Virgil’s eyes watered; even in pain he struggled to maintain eye contact. His vision swam as he glanced between Remus’ unwavering, heated stare and the ceiling just behind his head.

“Relax already, Virge,” Remus complained, reaching with his other hand to tip Virgil’s head back by his chin.

He whined, though the sound quickly became strangled against the obstruction. He was trying, he was trying so hard to let Remus cram himself down, but the more Remus pressed, the more obvious it became that Virgil’s throat wasn’t letting up; and the more obvious that became, the more distressed Virgil got. He was trying, why wasn’t it working? It always did, he was always able to do at least this much. If he couldn’t even deepthroat Remus…maybe they were right. Shame tightened his chest as Janus’ voice rang through his mind. You know he’s much too frigid for that…

Janus couldn’t be right about that. Virgil wouldn’t let Janus be right about that. Rallying, Virgil shifted forward on his knees, straightening his back. His crotch slid further up Remus’ boot, and despite the tears in his eyes, Virgil looked desperately stubborn.

“Ooooh,” Remus almost sang, his voice entertained as he tugged the tuft of Virgil’s hair in his grip and earned a gargled cry. “You’re finally ready to try, Scare Bear?”

He winced; he was already trying, but it was probably a good thing, Virgil thought, that Remus didn’t realize that. It’d just make him look that much more pathetic.

With a deep breath, Virgil squeezed his eyes shut. His knuckles went white as they gripped the hem of his shirt. He forced his jaw to relax, his tongue to press flat against the bottom of his mouth. This would hurt. He steeled himself for pain. The Bellbird rioted in his ears and every other thought hazed as he pressed forward of his own volition. Remus’ hands guided him forward as his cock split through the anxious knot in his throat. The courage of determination and humiliation wasn’t enough to numb the agony. His eyes shot open and the muscles in his neck tensed to pull back as Remus’ cock penetrated beyond his soft palate and teased at the entrance of his esophagus.

Remus’ eyes fluttered shut as he moaned, his head falling back as though it was a great effort to stay standing as pleasure coursed through him. Virgil’s panic rose and no amount of nonverbal approval could prevent him from jerking away - or at least trying to. As he pulled back, feeling his lungs burn for air, he realized the real reason Remus’ hands had stayed lodged in his hair and gripped on his jaw; to hold him in place when he inevitably changed his mind. At the revelation, Virgil squirmed, his hands unconsciously reaching for Remus’ pant leg as muffled pleas wedged between the walls of his throat and Remus’ cock. Virgil struggled, his movements frenzying the longer Remus went without a reaction. He clawed at Remus’ leg as his jaw reflexively tightened. His front teeth grazed the intrusive member between his lips and despite Virgil’s misery, he attempted to keep his mouth open. Tears streaked down his cheeks and his thoughts crescendo to their steepest point of doom; he would die here.

Remus sighed and loosened his hold on the back of Virgil’s head, enough for him to slide backwards several inches until his cock rested at the back of his throat, no longer obstructing Virgil’s breath. But Virgil continued to push back, wanting to eject the horror completely. He shook his head and stared up at Remus with pleading, terror-filled eyes.

“God, Dee’s right, you’re such a Drama King. Breathe already,” Remus said with an exasperated eye roll.

The mention of Janus felt like a slap across the face. How often did they talk about him? Did they only have bad things to say? His stomach flipped and he forced his eyes closed. He already suspected it was like that; he shouldn’t act so shocked. Ever since Remus has come back from the Imagination, he was closer to Janus than Virgil had ever been. It made him beyond jealous, beyond paranoid - but could it really be called paranoia if he was proven right?

Though Remus’ words were harsh, Virgil eventually obeyed, realizing he was right as a slow and even breath went through his nose and down to his lungs easily. It didn’t matter what Janus said about him, Virgil lied to himself. It didn’t matter if they talked behind his back. He’d prove them wrong.

“Good, now stop being such a wuss already,” Remus continued as Virgil’s panic began to subside. Little by little his deep breaths chipped away at the looming wall of his anxiety until eventually, only a line of bricks remained.

He was fine. He did this all the time - well not all the time but frequently enough that it was pretty ridiculous of him to make such a big deal out of it. He blushed, thinking about how pitiful he must’ve looked, struggling to get half of Remus’ cock down. Embarrassment swelled and he swallowed against the feeling, closing his lips around Remus in the process. He gave a small nod and readied himself. This time, he wouldn’t be such a coward.

Remus’ hand tensed in Virgil’s hair and a flinch coiled in his muscles; but the moment remained paused as Remus hesitated.

“Pull your pants down.”

Virgil blinked up at him, a dumb look on his face as his fearful mind struggled to keep up.

“Pants. Down.” Remus repeated like it was the most obvious thing in the world, his tone bewildered. He lifted his foot which remained pressed against Virgil’s cock; the jolt of sudden pressure seemed to get the point across finally.

Virgil unfurled his hands from Remus’ pant leg. His knuckles cracked from being released for the first time in several long minutes. The blood rushed back to them as he fumbled with his zipper and button. Clumsily he maneuvered them down his thighs and below his knees enough. With that done, he looked back at Remus, wanting to just get on with this already. His hardon had shrunk significantly with his earlier pain and even thinking about getting off now made his skin crawl. He wanted to get this over with. His throat ached, his head was pounding, and his knees were raw.

“Boxers too, Spidey,” Remus said impatiently.

Virgil sighed through his nose. He should’ve seen that coming. He looked down, though from his angle he couldn’t see very far without taking Remus’ cock out of his mouth, which was very clearly unallowed by the hands holding his head still. The color on his cheeks darkened at the realization; if he took his boxers off, there’d be nothing between him and Remus’ boot. Disgust overtook him. He didn’t want to touch those things with his hands, let alone his cock.

“My shoes are clean, Sir Bite.” Remus said, tone full of disdain as though it was completely out of the realm of possibilities that his shoes were dirty. “I’m going soft,” He lamented, pushing Virgil’s head forward an inch to feel some friction, making him squeak in surprise. “Hurry up.”

Dejected, he repeated the process, albeit a bit quicker this time, and exposed his half-hard cock. He held it in his hand as he shifted himself back into position; spine straight, thighs separated, head tilted back with his jaw slack and lips tight - though he hadn’t had much of a choice with the latter part. Remus bent his head to the side and peered with dissatisfaction at the way Virgil refused to let his cock touch his shoe. Again he lifted his foot, pointedly pressing against Virgil’s hand as his eyes rolled to lock their gaze. Virgil’s cock twitched in his grip as Remus nearly glared at him with expectation; he resented the thing for it. There was no way such a revolting insinuation should get that sort of rise out of him…and yet, it had. His stomach churned and his nerves frayed as Remus refused to move. It was clear nothing would start or end until Virgil released his cock.

Slowly Virgil closed his eyes again, resigning himself to a very hot, very soapy shower later. He released his hand and rested both, once more, on his thighs. His cock pressed against the leather of Remus’ shoe. It felt…demeaning, Virgil thought. He especially hated how it curled his muscles with anticipation. He cursed internally and refused to meet Remus’ knowing stare. Bastard.

“Good. Now deep breath, emo.” He warned a second before he began to press forward again.

Panic exploded through him like a bullet with the words as his eyes shot open. He rushed to inhale as told in the moment that Remus’ cock inched beyond the back of his throat again. The adrenaline of fight or flight flooded his blood, electrifying his brain with the lone command to flee. But Remus’ hands and eyes paralyzed him; even if Virgil could find it in himself to move as irrational fear crippled him, he’d be prevented. He hadn’t noticed at what point he had stopped crying, but a renewed wetness began trickling down his cheeks, dripping onto his shaking hands.

His cock hardened against Remus’ boot despite himself, the feeling of being trapped somehow translating to arousal as Remus began violating his esophagus with paced thrusts and deep groans. Virgil knew that was exactly what Remus wanted; for all his pain and dread to transform into surrender and lust. That’s how it usually went so it was no wonder his cock dripped against the leather, preparing for the moment Virgil’s desire to run flipped on its head and he embraced his instinct to fight instead. But it was so much more difficult tonight to simply let that happen.

Virgil choked out a defeated whine, blinking rapidly as tears blurred his vision. The sound made Remus’ cock twitch aggressively; his movements hastened and Virgil gargled on his welling spit as his lungs began burning again.

“You know what to do,” Remus grunted, gripping his jaw tighter as he plunged deep enough to press Virgil’s lips against his crotch. He could feel his Adam’s apple taut against his skin. “To make it stop hurting so much.” Virgil thought if he wasn’t preoccupied, the words would’ve sounded like a laugh. Instead they were rushed, like Virgil’s pain was an annoyance rather than a concern.

Twenty seconds had passed and Virgil started to think he was going to die again. It hurt so much, all of it, and Remus was right; there was one way to make it stop, or at least dull it a bit, but Virgil didn’t want to think about that. The idea of moving his hips to gain friction against Remus’ shoe was…outrageous, ludicrous, crazy. But His cock ached for it, dripped precum against the cloth laces for it. Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting. He shook his head as much as he could and choked out a wet wail. Remus clicked his tongue and seemed to shrug about it; it wasn’t his problem if Virgil didn’t take him up on the relief he was offering.

The obscene sound of Remus’ cock pushing all the way down Virgil’s throat filled the room. It invaded his mind and seemed to be in rhythm with his heart, drowning the sound out. Ten more seconds and he struggled to keep his eyes open. Five more and his heart desynced from the even tempo of Remus’ thrusts. His pulse slowed and it was like he was standing in the living room, listening to Janus rapidly flick through the television channels again; a pressure formed between his eyes as he strained to keep up with what was happening. A dull panic nauseated his stomach. A sudden flash of heat like a desert wind beaded sweat at the back of his neck.

Was this enough? Did he live up to the expectation now? They couldn’t still call him frigid or a prude or accuse him of being a virgin after this, right? If he held on long enough and let Remus cum like this, maybe they’d even stop teasing him so much. Virgil hoped that was true, oh, he hoped so much. This could be just like a hazing ritual; he’d pass with flying colors if he could just sit still and take Remus’ brutality without flinching.

His thoughts became nonsensical as his body ran out of oxygen. This wasn’t a hazing ritual. This was just how Remus was. He’d never be comfortable around Janus again. He’d never have Janus to himself anymore; Remus would always be standing in the way like some twisted guard. Even in moments of peace, the inevitability of his unsettling nature put Virgil on edge. No amount of Deceit could cover the truth anymore. Thomas was sick and Remus was the proof.

As his vision went dark, Remus released his grip on Virgil’s hair. His fight or flight returned all at once as he was finally able to pull away. Falling backwards, a hand clawed at his throat, the other bracing himself up in a shaky way as he gasped and choked for air. Everything he knew about steadying his breathing had exited his mind somehow. He scrambled for ways to calm his now pounding heart; his wide eyes snapped across the room, up at Remus, across the room, up at Remus. What was it again? Something about counting, right? Panic climbed higher and higher until Virgil was sure his throat would close or his heart would burst, whichever came first would be the end of him.

Remus watched, a brow raised as he stroked his reddened cock, inches from finishing himself off. He wasn’t stupid, he knew the telltale signs of Virgil’s panic whatevers. He just didn’t understand them; why they happened, why Virgil made such a big deal out of them. If Virgil knew even a fraction of the things that went through his head, then maybe he’d have something to panic about. Virgil had it pretty easy in comparison.

“What’s with the hissy fit, Purple Heart Attack?” Remus said, voice strained with labored breathing as he closed the distance between them.

Virgil made a high pitched sound and went to crawl backwards. He was only successful for a moment before Remus caught his hand and brought it up to his cock. Reluctantly, Virgil wrapped his fingers around the width as he was physically instructed.

“C’mon, loser, I’m almost there.” Remus grunted as he forced Virgil’s hand to move against him; eventually he began to mechanically move his arm without aid.

Just a few more minutes, Virgil told himself, but the dizziness grew a heavy fog behind his eyes as his throat continued to clamp down on itself. His rhythm was uneven, his arm grew numb and Remus’ impatience surmounted into an agitated sound. He slapped Virgil’s hand away and took the final steps to tower over him. Grabbing his own length roughly, Remus stroked fast and hard, his sounds cresting to a loud moan of release as his eyes squeezed shut. Virgil froze, unable to look away until Remus came; his semen landed in streaks across Virgil’s face and the floor behind him.

They both panted, hard and heavy with shaking hands. It was over, but as Remus’ high faded in the afterglow, Virgil’s panic only continued to rise. With a quiet and involuntary cry, Virgil’s hands reached out, searching for a comfort his logical mind, if at all present, would have realized didn’t exist in Remus. Predictably, Remus stepped back, adjusting his pants into place as he avoided Virgil’s grip.

“What?” He said, tone so condescending, Virgil had almost thought Janus was in the room. “It’s like you said; talking is overrated, right?”

Virgil’s arms fell as tears burned his eyes. When did Remus get that good at cutting deep? Weren’t his insults always easy to avoid, or at least get over? Even though Remus had just spoken those words, Virgil felt them settling deep in his bones. They would haunt him forever, he could already tell.

“Right.” He sniffled as Remus turned away and headed for the door. Virgil wiped his nose wetly on his sleeve.

Remus left, not caring that he had closed the door so hard, the wall decor had rattled. Virgil flinched at the sound and pulled his knees to his chest, which certainly didn’t help how difficult it was to breathe. He was glad they always did this in his room; he didn’t think he would’ve had it in him to stand, pull his pants up, and sink out before the loud sobs began. Equally, he didn’t know if the sobs were from anger, embarrassment, or loneliness. Maybe it was some unfortunate mix of all three.

#dukexiety #remus sanders #virgil sanders #tss fanfiction #whumptober2021 #no.2 #talking is overrated #fic #dubcon #smut #nsfwhump

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