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sukirichi · 3 years

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earned it [05]

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins. He also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

cw. domestic abuse, car accident, slight angst, sexism, suggestive scenes, unedited and my naoya simping is obvious with this one,

notes. TEAM NAOYA LET’S GOOOO *sighs* finally got this out from my drafts. anyways, here’s an earned it update while i recover from migraines because my schedule was so hectic last week and i’m so tired, might be sleeping a lot these days hence the hiatus :( also ik i keep saying this but future chapters will finally be more...UH SPICY AND MORE DRAMATIC, I guess? this is mostly an angst fic btw so please don’t expect too much fluff of heartwarming romance. there WILL be romance,,,it just takes some time hehe, anways ENJOY...or not :)

series masterlist

Women were weak. Trained to be voiceless, compliant, and unable to fight – Naoya found them weak.

His own mother was the perfect epitome of that. For years, he’d watched her leave his father’s room with dried tears, wiping them away with the back of her sleeves. When she saw a little Naoya standing at the edge of the hallway, she’d immediately usher him back to his room, her tears replaced with a smile so convincing Naoya wouldn’t have believed she’d been crying if he hadn’t seen it for himself.

Naoya wasn’t stupid. How could he be when day and night, he’s surrounded by tutors, expected to take over his clan and lead them all to a brighter future?

How could he be stupid when he can’t sleep at night, for the screams and cries of his mother, the sound of palm hitting cheek resonating just from the other room, accompanied with the insults directed her way by his own father?

How could he be so stupid when he looked up to his mother – who he believed was the only source of light in the rather desolate walls of their manor – only to see that her beauty faded with each passing day, the brightness of her eyes now filled agony, with pain, with fear? She no longer smiled; not even for him. She no longer came around his room to read him bedtime stories no matter how much Naoya pleaded because he’d gotten tired of reciting scriptures and poetry. She no longer kissed him on the forehead as a morning greeting, opting to stay in the sidelines with her head bowed, acting as if she was a servant and not his mother.

Naoya wasn’t stupid. As the future leader of the Zen’in Clan, it was his duty to hear and see everything, to be wary of everyone around him and to observe. He knew his father abused her. He knew his father hated her, looked down on her, stepped on her at each moment he could. And as if that wasn’t enough, Naoya found out they weren’t married in the first place.

She had been nothing but a mere concubine whose role was to birth an heir. Now that Naoya had come to life, her purpose to live ceased to exist. And people who had no role in the Zen’in estate had no reason to stay any further.

“Mother,” Naoya cried out, tugging at his mother’s sleeve. “Mother, please don’t go, don’t leave me!”

She was crying again; he wished she’d stop doing that, that she’d stop being so weak. He wanted his mother to be strong and fight back, but she’s not even attempting to wipe her tears away this time, displaying her vulnerability and meek self to him. Had his father been there, she’d be scolded again, claiming that Naoya shouldn’t be exposed to behaviors of surrender and weakness.

His mother cupped his face, trying her best to keep the younger version of himself from dangling onto her robes; the expensive, silk material the last evidence she’d ever been a part of them.

“Naoya, baby, it’s okay. You need to grow up strong and be the clan leader, okay?”

“But why do you have to leave? Why do you never fight back?”

“I’m sorry, dear...” was all she said, finally kissing him on the forehead like she’d failed to do so for the past months. Somehow, it didn’t make him feel any better. Instead, Naoya’s cries grows louder with each minute, loud enough that he caught the attention of his manservants who paled at the Young Master’s wails that was sure to displease his father locked inside his study. His mother sent a glance their way that expressed messages he couldn’t yet understand due to his innocence. Strong arms wrapped around his smaller frame until they dragged Naoya away from his mother, the sight of a luggage behind her turning him weak in the knees.

“Remember, Mother always loves you.”

“No!” he fought against their hold. His servants did all they could to not harm the Young Master’s skin, but Naoya was too strong, too desperate that they were unable to hold him back.

Naoya kept running and running, uncaring of the fact his loose robes hindered him from going at full speed. He didn’t stop, even as his servants had trailed after him, desperate pleas for the Young Master to come back falling into deaf ears. His mother had arrived on a nearby bus from the open roads that led outside the Zen’in Estate’s outer gates, her hand frozen on the doors with her head slightly tilted to the side.

That slight moment of hesitance – to look behind or leave everything behind – was what made Naoya stop in his tracks. He breathed hard, sweaty palms on his knees as he silently prayed to the divine beings to bring his mother back, for her to look at him one last time.

But she didn’t.

And Naoya was frozen in his tracks, everything colliding into one crash and burn that he failed to make sense of everything. He stood there and watched his mother hop into the bus, her decision to leave him behind final and irrevocable. What had rung louder then? The way his heart shattered into pieces, or the loud honking of an incoming car that not even his skilled team of guards could protect him from?

Naoya figured it must’ve been the muffled cries of his mother behind the windows that rung the loudest even if he hadn’t heard it.

Until now, he carried the mark his mother left behind; a gnarly scar running inches from his kneecaps that throbs until now. It reminds him every day what could happen to someone once they’re weak, once they’re vulnerable, the horrifying consequence of not being strong enough to face in this world like a huge slap in his face. In a way, he felt grateful for the scar; at least it was proof he’d done his best to run after his mother, and this injury just taught him it was best to face things head on instead of running away.

This scar would always tell him that running away was never the option, and that was why Naoya felt so strong, so disappointed when he met you. Naoya saw much potential in you – the wrath firing in your eyes and the will to fight back is what pulled him in on the first place – and yet you were already trembling on the ground, your sweat dripping on the floor.

“Stand up!” he demanded, tapping his cane on the ground as he wobbled to his feet. “Do you really think being weak will make you survive in this world?”

“I’m trying!”

“You’re not trying hard enough,” he spat out, matching the intensity of your glare. Had you been any lesser of a woman, a servant, he’d have your eyes gouged out. But to him, you were a vessel of hope, an embodiment of strength he could help you hone that he let you off. Still, he felt extremely let down that he expected so much from you, and you’ve been pathetic so far.

Naoya shook his head as he left. “You’re going to die the moment you step out of here. And to think I actually had high hopes for you. As expected, you women are weak and pathetic. Each one of you is useless.”

He didn’t get very far when his injury throbbed again. Naoya fell to his knees and immediately bit down on his lip to conceal his groans, but it was too late. You’ve rushed to him in an instant, already pulling his slacks upwards to get a good look at his knee. Worry is painted all over your features still drenched in sweat and exhaustion, and he pried your hand away, a frown deep on his lips.

“Get away from me. I don’t need a woman’s help.”

“You’re so uptight, you know that?” you rebutted with a roll of your eyes. Naoya watched as you skipped to the nearest medical kit he always kept in his training grounds (which he rarely used) and popping out painkillers to hand to him. “Just shut up and let me take care of you. Unlike you, I don’t walk around calling people weak, and you having this injury never made you weak in my eyes, but you’re not impotent either,” scoffing at him, you pushed the bottle of water to a very annoyed looking Naoya. “At least let me take care of you every once in a while.”

His whole life, Naoya knew nothing but the familiar bitter cold. Being served tea, scaring his servants with his mere presence, the toxic view that everyone was below them drilled into his own head – that had been his life, and his feelings about it were neither hot nor cold.

To him, it was just the way he’s supposed to be.

But the warmth of your hands, the tenderness of your touch to his scars not because you found him weak but rather you cared for him…it tugged at his heartstrings. That had been at least five years ago and Naoya still remembered that moment very clearly.

He couldn’t understand whether he hated his inability to run away or not, because to be around you confused him to no end. One moment, he saw you as nothing but his one way ticket to fortune, but when he was alone with you, he was beginning to see you more as a woman rather than a pawn to his game. Soon, you became more than that, and nothing had terrified him even more that he let someone in his heart just like that.

Did he love you? No, most definitely not. A man like him didn’t know how to love. But with you – every time he saw you – Naoya is confident to admit that he could somehow understand what love meant.

It had been a hellish trip – one he’d never admit it out loud that he wished to never go on again. He was just happy to be home before he laughed, because home? He’d never thought he’d ever say that, yet there he was, beaming at the sight of you pushing your weight off the limousine.

You looked as stunning as usual, running up to him even with your heels before wrapping your arms around his neck. Usually, Naoya didn’t like public displays of affection since it could greatly deter his reputation, but everyone knew both of you weren’t each other’s weaknesses that he didn’t care whether his people could see their leader grinning as his wife welcomed with a kiss. Naoya balanced himself on his cane to encircle a hand to your waist, pulling you closer and burying his face in your hair.

“I missed you,” you mumbled with your head buried in his shoulder.

Naoya’s smile wasn’t any less affectionate. “I missed you more.” And he did – a whole lot. Even as you both made it inside the limousine, the tablet passed to him per the usual to update him on what happened on the few days of his absence, Naoya couldn’t keep his hands to himself. His cane balanced between his knee and the door, while his free hand intertwined with yours, mindlessly caressing the matching rings that symbolized more trust than love.

“How did it go?” he brought your knuckles up to his lips and kissed it, his attention still focused on today’s stock market. “Did you convince him to lend us the lab?”

“Yes, my love, everything is under control. I told you I had it.”

“Cunning little minx,” he smirked at the confidence and triumph dripping from your voice. Naoya shut his tablet off with a click, hauling you until you were resting on his lap. Giggles erupted beautifully from your lips as you pressed your forehead to his, both your smiles equally mischievous. “Did you sleep with him?”

“No. Satoru is still hopelessly in love with me, so it didn’t really take much to push him to the edge with a few tears and white lies,” you smiled at him, soon dropping from your face when Naoya’s eyes darkened with an unreadable – no, unfamiliar hint of worry behind them. “Naoya,” you caressed his leg, “I don’t care about him anymore, you’ve got nothing to worry about. I just want to survive and put everything behind,” you cupped his face and forced him to look you in the eye, making sure he heard every bit of sincerity in your voice. “You know I love you, right? I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth. Him coming back doesn’t change a thing.”

“I know that,” he said, although deep down, in the dark recesses of his heart, something agonizing stirred within.

You were a smart woman – too intelligent that he may have feared you had he been any lesser – who could easily read through him, but Naoya wanted to be a step ahead of you that he caught your lips to stop you from seeking beneath his soul already. He knew that if you looked a little too close, you’d see everything, and that would be the last thing he wanted.

Snaking his tongue past your lips, he greedily swallowed your moans. Naoya’s touch was possessive as he gripped your thigh, seconds away from ripping off the material of your dress. He only stopped once he saw his driver pale in awkwardness, and he chuckled to himself, squeezing your hips to stop you from grinding on his thigh.

“You’re always so good for me,” he praised, “I might just reward you once we get home.”

Home. Prior to meeting you, home had been nothing but a word in his extensive vocabulary. Home had been nothing but something that carried a meaning but no significance in his living, but now that he’d met you, home felt familiar. Home smelled like rose-scented shampoos, it resonated of bubbly laughter and curious hands finding its way to its belt. Home…you’d just given him something to lose.

As per the plan, you managed to sneak past Satoru’s defenses. Naoya had once said that your secret weapon was not your tempting nature as a woman, but rather your intelligence that sometimes put his to shame. He’d shamelessly announced his plan to use you again with the goal of taking matters into your own hands, looping Satoru into the picture until you have him wrapped around your finger again.

It turned out to be easier than expected. Truthfully, you wanted to refuse. It wasn’t because you were worried you’d beat yourself in your own game and fall for Satoru again, but because it felt so uncomfortable to hold him like that, to kiss him like that.

Each second you spent with him just served as a painful reminder of how he’d mindlessly pushed you to the side from a failed plan of ‘protecting’ you.

However, you couldn’t complain nor deny Naoya’s wishes. He wanted to use your abilities to the fullest of its extent and bring out your potential. Besides, you trusted him wholeheartedly that you’d never question his motives, even if it included seducing Satoru with crocodile tears and a faux broken heart to get him to bend and move at your will. After all, your will was also Naoya’s, and that was what made the both of you so dangerous together.

Standing here now in Satoru’s laboraty, sending him phoney desperate glances as you clutched your husband’s hand, the game had just begun.

He was giving you both a tour of what you could use from his laboratory, and Naoya had kept silent the whole time. The whole drug manufacturing was more your expertise than his. He simply observed everything with watchful eyes, his gaze darting between Satoru’s longing ones and yours. It was a play pretend of push and pull, everyone in the room except for Satoru unaware that soon, you’d bare your fangs to rip his neck apart, and then you’d stand aside and let Naoya finish the business.

You would’ve laughed had Naoya not tightened his grip on your hand. Both you and Satoru paused as Naoya desperately shushed you up, his eyes wide and floating from one corner to another.

Suddenly, a loud explosion came out of nowhere. The blast crushed half of the building to bare rubble and concrete and you saw nothing but black, inhaled so much smoke that your lungs quivered. The ringing in your ears didn’t stop as you wobbled to unsteady legs, waving the smoke away and coughing whatever filled your system. Satoru was right beside you, his long limbs quicker than yours before he hauled you up, checking to see if you had injuries but you were too scared, too desolate to care for his worry.

For your husband laid under a pile of rubble, an arm and his head the only parts of his body saved from the explosion.

“Naoya!” You screamed and pushed Gojo away, taking your heels off before darting straight to where he was. Jumping from broken debris to one another, your feet scraped and burned with each contact, the ringing in your ears growing louder along with the pounding of your heartbeat.

“Naoya, baby, no!” you tried to pick up the heavy slab of concrete that had crushed his body, tears blurring your vision until Naoya’s blond hair swiveled with his dark clothes. “Don’t leave me, don’t leave me, don’t you fucking dare-”

“Gojo,” he choked out blood. You fell to your knees as you cupped his face and grasped his hand all the while, your entire body shaking. His name kept falling from your lips as you asked him to stand up but he pushed your hand away, not sparing you another glance as he glared at the shock still man behind you. “Take her someplace far – somewhere he won’t find the both of you. It’s T-Toji.”

“No, Naoya, please! I’m not leaving without you!” It was too late. Satoru had easily carried you and threw you over his shoulder, running away from the scene because that was what he was best at. You pounded at his back as the smoke enlarged and covered the entirety of the building that had fizzled with chemicals inside, your husband starting to disappear from view. “Satoru, let me go! We can’t just leave him there!”

“Listen to your husband! He knows what he’s doing!”

As the smoke cleared for a split second, your world stilled. Naoya’s face was smothered with dirt and stains, pain evident on his twisted features, and yet – he was smiling. “Go,” he mouthed, hands outstretched far enough for your matching rings to glint under the sparkling lights. “Live.”

You slumped into Satoru’s arms. It was too late.

You couldn’t comprehend the events that happened afterwards. Satoru had pushed you inside his car before taking off to who knows where. All you knew was that you’d left your husband behind, and you stared emptily at the streets that flashed by, unable to feel or understand anything. It wasn’t until Satoru dragged you out by the wrist and a plane whirring before you snapped you back to life, your feet turning heavy as you plant yourself on the ground.

Satoru looked back at you.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you shook your head, “I’m not leaving him behind, Satoru, he’s all I have. I need to save him – even if it means I die.”

“You’re not going to die,” he starts off slowly. Satoru moves to place his hands down on your shoulders as if to brace you, even going as far as to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, but you couldn’t really listen, not when the plane hummed to life and remnants of the explosion still clung to your skin.

“Listen, Naoya is a smart man, okay? You know that yourself. He’ll survive, you just need to trust that he’ll make it. Now we have to go before Toji catches up to us and we end up all dying here!” he shook you back to life when your sobs overpowered his speech that fell on deaf ears, and you cried harder, much less like a little girl who quivered in his arms. Satoru sighed, perhaps just as broken from seeing you this way. “He told you to live. Naoya isn’t asking you to die for him, he’s asking you to live and if you don’t get on the plane, we can’t fulfill his wish,” he convinced, but you only bit your lip, still looking back at the car. You could steal it – one punch to his nose and you could easily get away, get back to Naoya, until he said, “You love him right? So respect his wishes.”

You love him. You love Naoya. He would’ve wanted me to live. He asked me to live.

That was the only consolation you could give yourself as you allowed Satoru to take you inside. His right hand man, Geto or something, quietly closed the cabin doors behind you. He was making sure his boss was situated, who in turn was fretting over you. All it took was one last warning glare sent Satoru’s way before he backed off, raising his hands in surrender and falling back to his seat.

Sooner than you’d like, the plane had took off, leaving your heart right behind with each passing second. The higher you flew up in the air, the number you became.

“Where are we going?”

“I have a base in Italy. We should be safe there for a while. Gather resources, plan our next move, contact friends...we’ll be fine,” Satoru pinched the bridge of his nose. It was hard to believe things would be fine when he too seemed restless; whatever happened between him and Toji must’ve really left a scar; not that you cared. You huffed away from Satoru and stared outside the windows instead, your heart dropping the farther Japan was becoming. “Hey. You should get some rest. You’ve had a long day.”

“Whatever,” you snapped at him. You couldn’t stand his voice, not even if he’s saved you.

The only thing that mattered now was living up to Naoya’s wish, and as much as you hated it, Satoru was right. You had to hope he would survive.

The chances of him making it out were low, but knowing Naoya, low chances weren’t zero. As long as he had a little bit of something, he would keep pushing. You just had to place your trust in him.

Kissing your dusty ring, you wiped away your tears one last time, eyes shut tight as you chanted over and over, live, live, live for me! Live! Naoya couldn’t give up that easily. You both had a long way to go, still so many places to travel, thousand more enemies to conquer and defeat. He promised you the fun was just beginning and that you’d get your revenge soon, and Naoya never broke his promises. So you had to trust, had no other choice but to believe that soon he’d be right beside you. He may not be able to completely walk anymore, though none of that mattered. You just wanted to be with him again.

You didn’t realize you’d fallen asleep until Satoru’s hushed whispers woke you up. Sitting up straight, you saw him scowling to whoever he’s talking to on the phone. He looked grim, long, slender fingers caressing his forehead as he sighed. Whatever he heard, it couldn’t have been good, and curiosity got the best of you before you could help it.

“What is it?” Satoru stilled at the sound of your voice, having not expected you to be awake. He refused to meet your eyes as he shut his phone. It angered you further and you stalked his way, slapping a palm down the table before him. “I said, what is it?”

“It’s Naoya...” he said through clenched teeth, still refusing to look you in the eye. “He didn’t make it.”

notes. team naoya...let’s go...cry 😭 when I said I would write more gojo x reader scenes and that they’re still the pairing, I meant it, I just had to take a dark route anyways DO YOU GUYS UNDERSTAND WHY IT TOOK SO LONG FOR ME TO UPDATE THIS, I DIDN’T WANT TO DO THIS TO NAOYA BAE 😭 but on the bright side, italy arc is gonna be SHEESH

taglist open (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @sixeyesgojo @shingekiyofeels @q-the-rockaholic @whatthefuckisthatthing @rogueofbullshit @kat-su-ki @kellyyween @sebootyforlife @asshxcm @charlie-xo @aoi-turtle @ladywaifuuwrites @savantsoulfinder @my-reality-is-in-my-head @hannya-quinn @90s-belladonna @tinyfrogsinmybrain @kinekyuroo @evesmores @ambiguous-something @lilith412426 @kakashiharusohma @aizawap @yumeneji @dora-the-grownup @jotazinha @themrsgojo @d34r-s4t4n @marai-t @toji-bee @hai-cool @badsadbby @stesphy @peach-buns-unicorns @misslezah @riri-marley @gracefullyfallinglikeanime @iwaplant @mikiminaccch | bolder users cannot be tagged

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writing-in-april · 3 years

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Dressed in Crimson

Spencer Reid x Female Reader (Royalty AU)

Summary: Spencer is a stable boy with a passion for learning and Reader is the princess of the palace that he serves in. They’ve been in a secret relationship, the two grow restless about not being able to be out in the open.

A/N: Guys I’m so excited for this one I really really loved writing it- it’s my fourth fic for my 30 fics in 30 days for April and it’s also written for @omgbigfluffwriting !!! I kinda immersed myself into this quite a bit- and it’s my longest oneshot I’ve ever written 🤭The specific historical period theyre in is not specified and the world that they’re in is entirely fictional and not based on any specific point in history- if you’ve ever watched Merlin that’s kinda the vibe I was thinking of just without the magic lol (please still ignore that the gif does not have an accurate clothing choice from Spencer I just wanted a good shot of his hair that I thought of while writing this) i feel like it’s becoming so obvious how much I love historical fiction lol 😂 I’d like to hear from you guys also so if you want to drop me an ask here! It can be about anything 🥰 hope y’all enjoy!!!

Warnings: 18+, Reader has a horrible Father, subtle hints about sexism, Classism, Period typical clothing, Reader and Spencer fight for a little bit, Smut, Dom Spencer, Fingering, Handjob, Unprotected Sex, Day dreaming about fucking in public, Spencer’s possessive as hell, Ignoring the potential consequences of a creampie

Main Masterlist Word count: 4.7k

My day started out like any other with my corset made of whalebone being cinched tightly around my figure with my chemise underneath of course. Every time the ends of the laces were pulled taught on my body I thought of the days where I could get away with not having this wretched piece of clothing cutting off my breath. Those days had been so long ago, when I was just a small child, almost so long ago that I had to strain my memory to recall it. It wasn’t even until I was done clutching my mother’s skirts before I started to be forced into the confines of the worst invention in history. I would have rather muck in the mud in pants like the men, unless there was a reason for me to actually want to wear a dress.

Today, I had chosen a crimson colored gown, one of my only favorites. The front of the bodice was adorned with embroidery, one embroidered with a glistening gold thread. The sleeves were long and ever so slightly off my shoulders, ending just at my wrist. It had been perfectly handcrafted just for me, a seamstress being hired to slave away at each detail with precision. If it had been up to my father the seamstress would have been paid little to nothing for this masterpiece, but you had your own coins stashed away from your allowance to give extra to anyone that gave you goods and services.

The dress was my favorite almost solely because of someone else’s appreciation for the lush fabric, no one needed to know about that though. I did like to look nice on certain occasions, but only special ones. There was no special occasion scheduled for me to have a reason for wearing it, well none that the greater majority of the court would know about.

Only my maid Emily knew what my excursion would be today, why I dressed up so nicely. There was no feasible way for me to hide my dalliances from her, especially the one I was about to go to as it required some higher levels of stealth to be able to evade my father’s guards.

His name was Spencer, one of my father’s stable boys. I loved him more than anything, definitely more than any potential match that was arranged for me.

I gifted him whatever I could without raising suspicion, though I often hid my purchases if someone asked by excusing them as more frivolous in nature, such as a new dress. Spencer had no real need for pretty things as he’d said before, except from myself- those were his past words not mine. And, he did express to me how much he loved the dress I was wearing right now, which was tied to how we had first met.

When I first met him I had been looking for a fabric in the market stalls. I hadn’t really wanted to, I was content with all the dresses that I owned right now, they had no ornament on them, just how I preferred. However, my father demanded I get something fancier for some sort of frivolous ball that was coming up that undoubtedly had no reason to take place besides bleeding everyone else dry.

I brushed hands with him for the first time as I was looking for the material I wanted, something just fancy enough to appease my father. The stall filled with fabrics bordered one that had stacks of books, I would have much preferred to be looking at that one. My hand had gotten close to the edge while I was inspecting a fabric and it had bumped into a man who was looking at one of the books.

When I had looked up to see who had brushed my hand I was met with frantic eyes filled with apology. His stuttered apology had covered my attempt to assure him that it was fine, it had taken me grabbing both of his hands to steady him for him to listen to my reassurance.

When he had introduced himself to me after I asked it flowed into a long conversation. I could have talked to him forever, I would be content to never talk to anyone else. For a stable boy he was exceptionally smart, which I learned was from his mother who had made sure he was educated even in poverty, specifically through having him read anything she could get her hands on. From then on our blossoming friendship had flourished, and had eventually developed into more.

I slung a shawl over my shoulders made out of a fabric of similar color to my gown and also grabbed a purse filled with coins with a smile due to my reminiscing . It wasn’t cold enough for one of my velvet cloaks just yet and most of the walk down to where Spencer was housed was indoors.

The walk from my rooms in the main part of the castle to the stables on the lower floor towards the East end was longer than I would have wanted. Truthfully, I wished I would not have to live in a castle at all, I’d rather live in the small house that Spencer lived. It was just past the castle grounds at the edge of the surrounding village adjacent to the stables so he did not have to walk far for work in the mornings.

My feet tiptoed down the corridors carefully, I was lucky that I had figured out to be somewhat light on my feet otherwise I’d be caught swiftly for sure. I passed by the rooms of most of the lords and ladies staying at court, I always wondered why some chose to stay here, it was positively suffocating here. The door I used to go outside was through the kitchen, that had a myriad of breakable things strewn about that I had to stealthily avoid. Luckily, I knocked nothing over that would have woken up the cooks who slept just a room over. Turning the handle of the door had to be a slow process so no one would hear the creak of the knob while it was turned, but I did successfully make it out with no disturbance.

Beginning the stretch of my journey that was outdoors was perhaps the most risky. Guards were stationed around the perimeter of the castle in greater numbers compared to the ones indoors which were only stationed by important rooms. I weaved my way through, in some aspects it was even more confusing than the inside of the castle. Hiding behind each of the pillars was the most effective way to avoid them, the construction of them making a series of small blind spots. I had just snuck behind one of the last ones when one of the guards nearest to me moved forward a little. I stopped breathing immediately, holding it tight in my chest while I plastered myself as close as I could to the back of the pillar. My nails dug into the stone of the pillar in fear, if I was ever to be found sneaking out at night or worse in the presence of Spencer, I would either never leave my rooms again or be whisked away into marriage even earlier than planned.

When the guard did not move to investigate further I let go of the breath I was holding, still making sure to let go of it slowly so he could not hear me. Moving swiftly forward after I had taken a breath was a bit of a challenge, my knees had gone weak with fear. I pushed myself to take each step even with the weakness in my knees, there was no way I could linger any longer.

Finally I was no longer walking on stone, I was walking on the muddy earth now. It was nice to feel the ground under my feet instead of the harsh stone, it told me that I was now only a handful of strides away from Spencer’s home.

The leaves littering the ground mixing with mud crunched under my feet even as I tip toed carefully. The guards may be in the distance now, but I didn’t feel keen on testing how good their hearing may potentially be.

Passing the stables was the last marker for my journey, then I would be able to see his home too. As I passed the sleeping horses by anticipation began to replace the fear inside me. It had been a while since I had been able to come see him, making me yearn for his touch even more.

His home came into view, even in the dead of night I could make it out if I squinted my eyes hard. My pace picked up exponentially when I landed my eyes on his humble abode. It was a quaint home, fallen into disrepair as he could not afford to fix it on the meager salary that my father paid him. The purse of gold that I had brought with me was exactly for that, the repairs. He would most likely protest the gift just like any other thing I had tried to gift him. From my experience the most effective way to get him to accept anything was to leave it there with no conversation about it. I think it made him feel less guilty even though in my opinion he was owed the money in the first place, no one should have to live in squalor when they did their job every day without question or complaint.

When I finally was at the entrance of his home I entered through the door swiftly, too impatient to wait or knock. Stress melted from my shoulders when I caught sight of him, hunched over one of the books I had given him, candles strewn around to give him enough light to read.

The candles he had lit to be able to read in the night illuminated us both with a glow. He would always compliment me whenever we found ourselves in similar lighting such as this, but in my opinion there was no rivalry. Each time the candle flickered it brightened up every highlight of him, letting me see his wild curls, brown eyes deeper than any others I had ever seen, and a body that I had no doubt was crafted to perfection illuminated in a beautiful glow.

I went to compliment him just as he always did with me, but I became mesmerized when he stood up, then moving his way closer to me.

“It is nice to see you, it feels like it’s been an eternity.” It may seem dramatic for him to say that it felt that long, but I echoed his sentiment willingly.

“It is nice to see you too, Spencer. I agree it’s been far too long.” I was sure it had been at least a full moon cycle since we had the pleasure of being alone with one another, our duties to my father keeping us separated.

It had been painful whenever I would go out for a ride on my horse, to see him hand me the reins of my mare and be unable to reach out to touch him. There had been one day, about a week ago, that I had let my hand brush against his own for a moment while he handed the reins to me. It was an innocent brush of a touch, that also had a barrier in the form of my leather gloves. To anyone else it had meant nothing, but to me and him, it meant everything.

His eyes were blown wide with desire, as I suspected mine were as well. We let ourselves take in the sight of each other for a minute longer before Spencer broke the silence with a request,

“Drop your shawl, so I may see you better.” A stable hand commanding someone of such a stature such as I would’ve seen him whipped if it was any other person before him. His boldness was not unexpected, it had taken a while for him to grow so comfortable with my company. In truth, he had been quite scared when I had first met him. It was perfectly understandable considering his employer was my father, who was not known for his kindness. And, even then after his fear had faded he still had a shy exterior for a while, it only had been lifted when we began to become extremely comfortable around each other. We were each other's only form of solace in this world, we could only escape our reality when we were together.

Instead of having malice in my voice like other nobles would I simply pulled the shawl more taught around my shoulders and teased, “Why should I?”

The expression on his face was one of the ones I loved seeing on his face the most, a sly smirk. He came closer to me, with careful steps as if he was waiting for the right moment to pounce. We were so close together when he stopped moving, but still not touching. He was playing a game with me, not touching until I obliged him. As he leaned in to speak into the shell of my ear he was careful with the way he tilted his body forward so I could only feel his breath on the small portion of my skin, “Because you like it when I look at you.”

My arms fell to my sides releasing my shawl to fall from my shoulders onto the floor at his words, as they rang true. I did want him to look at me and also, of course touch me.

“You wore your favorite dress.” He observed, still not quite touching. I didn't need to answer the statement he made with the thought in my mind ‘I wore it for you’ because I knew he had already figured that out. His observational skills were keenly honed in by his constant reading whenever he had the chance, often reading books that I had gifted to him. He even sometimes read well into the night, straining his eyes in the darkness when the candle was almost merely a wick. I had found that out the first- and sadly, only time I had the opportunity to stay overnight. Since then I had pushed him to get more rest as I knew how hard he was worked to the bone during the day, courtesy of my father.

His eyes were staring at my dress, pupils blown wide, his mind seemingly off in another world maybe thinking about all the things he wanted to do to me.

“Please, touch me.” I didn’t need to speak loud, only a soft whisper for him to hear me because of how close he already was to me. So close, yet so far.

He raised his large hands, calloused from working so hard day in and day out. My own hands were soft from the expensive creams I had been pampered with since I was just a small child. I liked his hands better, they showed the hard work he used everyday to cultivate his beautiful mind and body.

I subtly licked my lips in anticipation of his touch, wanting to feel every inch of his hand roaming my body, from the tips of his fingers to where his palm met his wrist.

His fingers then started to trace over the top of my corset, just a hair away from touching the swell of my breasts. My chest was rising and falling with each breath, each inhale pushing it slightly closer to his fingers. With each fall of my chest I felt the need to quickly let go of my breath, so I could once again inhale and be brought closer to his touch.

“Please touch me.” I repeated, breathless from forcing myself to breathe into his touch.

“I am touching you.” His fingers still did not move to touch my skin, only the crimson accented in gold. It was his turn to tease me now, I was at his mercy, ready and waiting for it.

I could beg again, though quite obviously I could not convince him with it. As he was running his fingers over the cloth for what felt like the millionth time, still not touching me, I teased him back instead of begging, “No you are touching my dress.”

A mere ghost of a touch from his fingers then floated across my skin. What should have calmed my heaving chest from my gasping breaths only served to make my breathing even heavier. The slight touch was still not enough, only making my desire for his hands to roam every inch of my body even more severe.

“Perhaps I should take your corset off, to help you breathe better.” He said, as if he read my exact thoughts.

“I like your thinking.”

I was then spun around so my back was pressed into his chest. It soothes my desire for his touch some, but we both had barriers of cloth preventing me from fully feeling him. I could feel some of the warmth that was hidden underneath his shirt, which was made up of a much billowing white linen that compared to his trousers.

If my skirts were not so large I wondered if I were to push back if my behind would come in contact with his cock and whether or not his desire would be as prominent as the slickness dampening the bottom layer I was wearing. I’d have to find a way to find a pair of trousers then, sometime soon, so I could try to grind into him at a later date. There was no doubt that we’d surely find ourselves in a similar position again.

As his hands started to undo the laces of my corset with care, despite both of our desperation, a thought slipped out from his lips that I’m sure he intended to keep to himself, “I wish I could call you mine in public.”

“My father would kill you!” The taste of my voice would have been bitter in anyone’s mouth, quickly spat out in the same way I said those words. Perhaps my quick anger to his innocent thought would be insane to some, most would probably consider it a sweet thought. However, he knew from previous conversations that when those sweet thoughts were expressed that all I could feel was a heavy sadness sitting inside me, instead of desire.

Tears clouded my vision, so much so that I did not see Spencer’s arms come around me to envelop me in an embrace. I flinched a bit at first, but then melted when I realized it was him. We held each other for a while as I sobbed softly into his billowy white shirt.

He stroked my shoulder with his large hands that I loved, but the corset he had not taken off fully yet was blocking me from feeling his touch the way I wanted.

“Take it off please.” I begged softly, I wanted to feel his skin on mine, and not just his lips or his hands. I wanted to feel every inch of him.

The laces of my corset were already half undone because of his previous attempt at getting it off of me. He finished the job, pulling the corset off of my body, tossing it down to the floor. He may have loved the dress, but he was showing me through his actions that he loved what was underneath more.

Turning me around was his next step, so he could properly kiss me. The pressure was soft at first, as if he was testing the waters to see how I would feel. Feeling his soft lips on my own just made me want to pull him in further, and I did so. My fingers tangled into his curls as the kiss devolved into pure passion, we were both throwing ourselves fully into it, trying to express our feelings nonverbally.

His own hands moved to cup my breasts as he backed me into the cot he slept on every night. I did not let him push me down on the bed so he was on top of me like normal, this time I wanted to be on top for a while. When I straddled his hips the first thing I felt was his cock straining in his pants. I unbuckled them so I could wrap my hands around his cock, I wanted to feel his thick and heavy length in my hands. Precum was already dripping down his hard cock as I pumped his length with my hands. My own arousal was dampening the underneath of the skirt I still had on. Spencer confirmed it himself when he snuck his fingers underneath the fabric to play with my pleasure spots. We both groaned as his fingers entered inside me while he rubbed circles into my swollen pearl.

My skirt was bunched up in his hands, pulling up all the way to the tops of my thighs. He soon got fed up with the skirt being in the way though and maneuvered me to shuck it off of me as fast as possible. Being bare before him did not make me wither in self consciousness, it made me lean into his touch even more.

He leaned up to kiss me again while I grabbed his length and restraddled him. I was definitely wet enough to have him enter me, my separation from him making me desperate, it had been so long since we had the chance to be together like this.

I then sunk down on his length slowly, it was for me to adjust to his size and to relish in the feeling of him sliding inside me. I stilled on top of him as the back of my thighs hit the top of his, he filled me with perfection. Spencer only let me be still for a little while before his hands gripped my hips and started to guide me to roll my hips. The pace I set- well Spencer was the one who set it, was slow and deep, I was languidly rolling my hips while he thrusted up into me at a similar pace.

My face twisted in pleasure as his thrusts became more powerful, still at the same pace but with more force behind them.

“Fuck- I want everyone to know that you’re mine!” It was the exact same thing he had spoken to me earlier that had sparked anger and melancholy inside me. This time it caused a spark of pleasure instead, making me think about him fucking me in front of everyone claiming me as his.

“My father would kill you.” This time when I said it it was gasped into his mouth with little to all anger disappeared from it.

My words made Spencer growl which was swallowed by a possessive kiss. He then flipped me over roughly, my back now pressed into the cot. A high pitched squeak had escaped my lips unintentionally in surprise, it was quickly changed into a moan when he entered me again. This time the pace did not start off slow as I did not need to adjust to him inside of me.

“I don’t care.” His speech was agitated as he pounded into me, holding my legs open with both hands spreading me out for him to see everything, “No matter what anyone says or does, you’re mine.”

Pleasure sparked through me at his possessive words, I grabbed desperately at the cotton sheets trying to hold onto something as my finish was fast approaching. When the cotton sheets were not enough of a stabilizer for me I lifted my hands up to wrap around the back of his neck and pull him close.

“Come on I know you’re close, I’m close too baby.” My nails dug into his neck and back during the latter half of his sentence causing him to slightly wince. I knew he enjoyed it though because of the question that he groaned out next, “Can I cum inside you?”

Biting my lip hard was painful as I nodded my head in response to his question that had me falling over the edge. The consequences of him finishing inside me danced in the back of my head, I chose to ignore them as he did. I did not care as he filled me and I rode out my release, even if I was to somehow get pregnant because of our recklessness it did not matter. I’d gladly have his child, even if it meant I’d have to go on the run.

Instead of falling on top of me directly after finishing like I’ve heard most men do with their wives he gently removed himself from my entrance and laid down beside me on the cot. Bliss was mingling in the air between us, both unburdened by any of our problems that would become a reality as soon as I left for the night. For now we would just hold onto the bliss until it was cruelly snatched away from reality.

Spencer had a solution as always to our problems, and seemed to be thinking about the same thing I was with his next suggestion,

“Run away with me.” We were both covered in sweat that had cropped up from our activities, a contrast to the chilly air outside and in the castle. It was nice to feel warm every time I was in his arms, It was hard to resist being greedy and deciding to stay in his arms forever. It had crossed my mind more than once, but there was always something stopping me from going through with it fully. I opened my mouth to point out all the reasons why that would not be possible when he added, “And, before you say no I want to ask- what’s stopping you?”

His reasoning was sound, as it often was. My mouth opened and closed, struggling to find a reasoning before I accepted that he was right. The only potential downfall was my father’s forces searching everywhere to find me, but it would be worth it. We could also easily cross the border into nearby lands ruled by someone else that was not in alliance with him. I already felt lighter thinking about being free from the confines of the castle- and hopefully my corset. Though I would have to keep the crimson dress I wore today, even if I only wore it around him, It was his favorite and it symbolized the day that we met. He glanced over at me just as I did the same, looking right into his eyes as I spoke,“Alright.”

The light that sparked in his eyes made my heart soar, I could feel just from his gaze how ecstatic he was to spend his life with me. I didn’t need any words to know how much he loved me.

We basked for a moment in the presence of our love, Spencer broke the silence again when he started planning,“You need to go pack!”

I moved myself to sit up even though my limbs protested, wanting to sleep after our post coital bliss. A soft smile was exchanged between the two of us, “I’ll pack light, only the stuff I need.”

The purse of gold I had brought for him would no longer be used to fund his repairs, but to fund our life together. I climbed on top of him again leaning forward to capture him in a kiss that was much more chaste than the ones earlier in the night.

“I. love. you.” He whispered in between kisses making my eyes wet with tears. They weren’t born out of sadness, but of happiness that I had someone to love me as much as Spencer did.

“I love you too, I will see you soon.” I pulled myself away from his lips even though I did not want to, I then got up to leave reluctantly. Though it was easier than previous departures as I knew that it would be the last one that I would have to complete. My whole being was lighter and happier than I had ever felt before as I snuck back with a spring in my step. The only hint of what I was about to do, where I was about to go, was the mud stained at the hemline of my crimson dress.

Ask me anything

—-

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labomi · 3 years

Text

play by the rules [1]

Nanami Kento is a well-known bodyguard who always adheres to his own set of principles when completing a job. But when his next assignment is protecting you, he suddenly finds himself second-guessing his morals and questions whether or not some rules are just meant to be broken.

pairing: nanami kento x f!reader

words: 2.7k

warnings: none for this chapter, please look at the series masterlist for general content warnings

notes: i’ve been meaning to write a multichap fic for nanami for so long and i finally got around to outlining most of the story and writing the first chapter yay! i’m a little unsure if the plot will actually be good or not lol but i’m hoping it’ll turn out okay! thanks for reading!

series masterlist

There’s a distinctive knock on your door that pulls you out of your thoughts as you lay on your bed with an unopened book in your lap. You had been meaning to read the story for the past three months after seeing rave reviews about it online, but for some reason, you couldn’t quite find the energy to start reading. Every morning, you pulled the book from your shelf with the full intention of getting past the first page. But every night, it was returned to the same spot on your shelf, remaining untouched.

With a quiet sigh, you force yourself to crawl out of bed, leaving behind the comfortable warmth of your blankets. You drag your feet as you walk over to the door, dreading the imminent conversation you’re about to have.

To be honest, you’d rather he just leave you alone to wallow in self-pity in the comfort of your own room. You knew he had good intentions, but you dreaded his frequent check-ins with you. If he had no good news to deliver, you didn’t want to see him. And there had been no good news for the past three months.

You have no expectations that today will be any different.

With a hesitant hand on the doorknob, you take a deep breath and try to suppress the bitterness you feel towards the person on the other side of the door. Once prepared, you open the door with a wide grin and a bright twinkle in your eyes.

“Hi Dad!” You greet him with a high-pitched, chipper voice.

Your father looks pleased to see your lively expression. “Good morning, princess. Do you mind if I come in?”

You manage to hide your surprise. Most of his visits consist of a quick hello just to confirm you’re alive in your room, but he heads off to go back to work. If he intends to enter your room, there must be something serious he wishes to discuss. You try to ignore the small glimmer of hope that flutters in your chest.

“Of course!” You waltz over to your bed and sit down, patting the space next to you. Your father sits on the plush bed beside you, twiddling his thumbs idly in his lap.

“I’m aware these past three months have been hard on you, princess,” he begins.

You dig your nails into the palm of your hands and bite your tongue to prevent yourself from spitting out a harsh retort.

Yeah, no kidding.

“They’ve been tough for me too.” He pats your leg comfortingly, giving you a sincere, apologetic look. “I hate seeing you stuck in your room all day, but you know I only do this because I love you and because I want to keep you safe.”

Your father’s words are genuinely heartfelt. There’s no doubt he cares for your well-being and bemoans the unfortunate situation, but you’re not in the mood to be swayed by his guilt.

After all, it’s because of him that you’ve been trapped inside for three long months.

“It’s okay, Dad. I don’t blame you.” You try your best to act like a caring daughter who wants to console her father and assuage his fears that you despise him for his actions. “I know it’s for my own good.”

Three months ago, your father fired your personal bodyguard.

This also meant that three months ago, your father shredded your only ticket to the outside world.

You can only venture outside the family’s property lines if a trained professional, tasked with keeping you safe from potential harm, accompanies you to pre-approved destinations.

Your father worries about your safety in public, because he often does business with local mafia groups in the area. He is not an influential or well-known member of the underground economy, but in this line of work, it isn’t unusual to piss off the wrong person in a deal gone bad. Family members are the most common targets, so you are a natural choice for disgruntled clients to take their frustrations out on.

On one hand, you believe it is unfair that you are forced to live a restricted life under the constant protection of a bodyguard because of your father. You have nothing to do with his business, yet you must suffer from the consequences of it.

On the other hand, there is no doubt that you reap the benefits from the success of your father’s career. You had never worked a day in your life and always received any material goods you asked for, so perhaps you do deserve to face at least a share of the consequences.

Your father is insistent that you must have your own personal bodyguard after an incident involving your mother that occurred when you were just a baby. There was an altercation when she had encountered one of your father’s enemies while doing some errands alone in the city.

It hadn’t ended well, to say the least.

So for three long months, you were stuck inside. To his credit, your father had immediately begun the search for a new bodyguard, but his vetting process was so rigorous that it was not a timely process. There had been some mishaps in the past with previous guardians, and your father had vowed to never let those mistakes happen again.

You know you should be grateful that your father cared about your safety enough to have a dedicated group of his team spend endless hours thoroughly investigating each and every potential candidate. You also know you shouldn’t complain about being trapped in a luxurious mansion, but you hate being at home.

You hate seeing your father’s workers around the premises.

You hate thinking about what sort of shady business deals are happening just a floor below you.

You want nothing to do with it. You don’t even want to think about it, which is why you prefer to spend as much time as possible away from home.

“I’m so glad you understand,” your father says with a relieved sigh. “But I have some good news this time.”

Your breath hitches in the back of your throat. The moment feels almost surreal. You had been waiting to hear those words for so long, you almost thought it would never happen.

“I approved your new bodyguard.”

This time, you didn’t have to fake your excitement.

“Really?” you gasp, looking at your father with wide eyes.

He nods at you.

Unable to contain your burst of elation, you throw your arms around your father with a squeal, giving him a fierce hug. “Thank you! Thank you!”

Your father lets out a hearty laugh, patting your back as he revels in seeing your utter joy. “He starts tomorrow, so you may leave the property again in the morning.”

In less than 24 hours, you are free to once again explore the city, visit popular shops, and stop by your favorite restaurants. You can barely contain your enthusiasm as your heartbeat drums in your chest from the rush of adrenaline after hearing such wonderful news. Pulling away from your father, you continue to beam at him, feeling an unusual wave of gratitude towards the man.

A loud beep disrupts the heartfelt moment.

Your father looks at his smartwatch with a tight frown. “I’m so sorry, princess, but I have to go to a meeting now.” He gets off the bed and gives you a small smile. “I’m glad I could finally give you some good news. I’ll hopefully see you for dinner tonight.”

Before your father can leave, you reel in your scattered thoughts after being almost too excited to think straight. “Dad, before you go, can I at least ask for this name?”

You cannot believe you almost forgot to ask such a crucial question.

“Nanami. Nanami Kento.”

You nod at him. “Thank you! Good luck at your meeting!”

Alone once again, you throw yourself a little celebration which consists of childishly dancing around the room blasting your favorite “good vibes” playlist. Afterward, you grab your laptop and plop onto your bed with a satisfied grin. You crack your knuckles.

It’s time to get to work.

In order to maximize your free time tomorrow, you need to have a rough idea about what you want to do and where you want to go. But before you start the task, you need to make one important phone call.

“Hey, Itadori.”

Itadori Yuuji is one of your father’s henchmen, but he’s a sweet boy who had nowhere else to go when his grandfather died. Luckily, he isn’t directly involved in the main operations of your father’s business. Known for his fast feet and powerful arms, he is mostly used as a source of manual labor to move heavy boxes that are brought in or shipped out of the various underground warehouses scattered throughout the property.

The two of you had become friends when you saw him trying to sneak food out of the main kitchen during the late hours of the night. Only your family and your father’s trusted confidants had permission to be in this part of the mansion.

Itadori immediately got on his knees and begged you not to tell anyone that he was stealing food, but you just laughed and showed him where the good snacks were located. Together, the two of you had a mini feast using the leftovers from the culinary staff. It was the first of many secret dinners to be held.

“Hey. What’s up?” he answers.

“Can you do me a favor?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Can you sneak into my father’s office and copy a file for me? It’s someone named Nanami Kento.”

There’s a groan. “Seriously? But you know how hard it is to sneak into his office,” he whines over the phone.

“I’m sorry, Itadori,” you apologize. You know you aren’t making his life any easier, but you need him to do this for you. “But I know you can do it. You’ve done it plenty of times before without a problem.”

Itadori sighs. He knows he can’t refuse you, not because he’s afraid that you’ll turn him in for punishment (or worse). No, Itadori genuinely likes you, and he’s grateful for your presence in his life for many reasons. Therefore, he does whatever he can to help you out whenever you ask.

“Alright. You got it.”

“Thanks, Itadori.”

Several hours later, a manila folder is slipped underneath your door. With a victorious grin, you grab the folder and set it on your desk. You shoot Itadori a quick text confirming that you got the delivery and thanking him once again for his help.

Quivering in anticipation, you open the folder and see a grainy, black and white copy of a man’s photo on top of the stack of papers. Even with the image’s poor quality, you can see the man’s sharp cheekbones and styled, light-colored hair. You think he looks rather handsome, but you’re not quite sure with the fuzziness of the copy.

Setting the photo aside, you read his file with an interested hum. Because of your father’s rigorous vetting process, the folder is stuffed full of numerous background reports. You vaguely wonder how Itadori slid such a large stack of papers under your door.

Nanami Kento, huh.

You flip over a page and continue reading.

What an interesting man.

“Did you finally accept a new job?” Gojo asks curiously, craning his neck to get a better look at the papers spread about on Nanami’s desk. He spots a photo of a woman among the various files that catches his attention. “Who’s that?”

Nanami rubs his face with an exasperated groan, wishing his coworker would mind his own business for once. He tries to hide the photo under other papers, but Gojo is too quick. The white-haired man easily snatches the photo off the desk before Nanami can touch it and waves it in front of him in a teasing manner.

“Nice try,” he grins, pulling back to observe the photo up close. “Oh, she’s pretty cute. I’m guessing she’s your new client?”

“No,” Nanami answers begrudgingly. He knows Gojo won’t return the photo or leave him alone unless he partakes in the conversation. “Technically her father is, but she’ll be the one under my protection.”

“Oh, so you did accept a new job then.” Gojo returns the photo with a satisfied grin now that his original question had been answered. “Surprised it took you this long to choose one. How long has it been since you finished your last assignment?”

“About three months. I wasn’t in a rush to start a new job.”

Nanami can afford to be picky about his assignments now. Over the years, he has built a strong reputation as a proficient bodyguard who always follows orders and always gets the job done. Now that he is well-known in the industry with a long list of satisfied clients, Nanami no longer has to scramble to accept any odd job. Plus, as part of Gojo’s renowned bodyguard service agency, he can rely on the secretaries to filter out any scams or seemingly impossible requests before they reach his desk.

Nanami is now constantly flooded with inquiries from influential celebrities, notorious mafia members, and other wealthy figures. These people are always willing to pay big bucks for an extra sense of security as they go about their lives, but Nanami is no longer interested in solely the money now that his multiple bank accounts are flush with cash. Instead, he wants to take it easy with a simple, straightforward assignment that won’t involve a lot of gunfire, blood, or death.

Being a bodyguard is a lucrative career, but it is also both physically and mentally taxing.

Simply put, Nanami is tired.

This is why he waited three long months to find his next job. With each additional request, he ignored how many zeros were listed as compensation and instead took his time to scrutinize the client, their family, and their motivations in seeking a bodyguard. He had a mental image of what he was looking for in his “perfect” job and much to his surprise, he stumbled upon a request that checked almost every box.

While Nanami was lost in his thoughts, Gojo had secretly snatched your file from the desk and had been skimming through it. He couldn’t resist learning more about this new client.

When Nanami returbs to his senses, he sees the missing file on his desk and glares at his white-haired coworker. Gojo just laughs in response.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m just curious to see what kind of person would pique your interest after all this time, Mr. Picky.” He purses his lips. “Hmm, she’s not much younger than us. Surprised she’s still single too. Aren’t most women in these sorts of families forced to marry early to strengthen business ties? Oh, maybe her personality is so bad her father can’t marry her off to anyone!”

Nanami rips the file out of Gojo’s hands with a scowl. “None of that concerns me.”

“Aww, come on, Nanami,” the white-haired man pouts. “You’re going to be spending a lot of time with her. What is she’s a demon in disguise? Women are pretty scary, you know.”

Nanami figures Gojo skipped the part in the file where your father had described you as a “bright, bubbly young woman who loves to shop and eat”.

“I think I can handle it,” Nanami responds flatly. “After all, I can reasonably get along with everyone except you.”

Gojo clutches his chest dramatically, acting like he had just been shot. “Nanami, you’re so cruel to me!” He then drops his hands and places them on his hips with a devious grin. “Alright, I’ll leave you alone now. Good luck! And don’t fall in love!” He lowers his sunglasses and winks. Gojo can’t help but get in one last jab to irk his coworker.

“You don’t have to worry about that.”

Nanami is a serious professional, one who always plays by the rules. He adheres to a certain set of principles in order to remain successful in this line of work. Without them, situations can get messy, and he has all too often witnessed other bodyguards make the mistake of deviating from protocol and facing the consequences.

There are three fundamental rules that Nanami always follows without fail:

Never go above and beyond what a job asks you to do.

Once a job is finished, leave immediately.

Never get personally involved with a client.

And under no circumstances would he ever disregard any of these rules.

#nanami x reader #kento nanami x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #mine #play by the rules

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samwrights · 4 years

Text

I Found You

I have no excuses for this one except I’m a dirty dirty Overhaul fucker.

On the real though, this one was very loosely inspired from Yagami Yato’s plot lines for Dabi and Overhaul. These routes inspired the Underground and Dabi and Kai’s occupations, otherwise everything else was just me being a simp.

⤞ Pairing: tattooed!Reader x Former Villain!Chisaki Kai

⤞ Word Count: 16,850. Yes you read that right.

⤞ Warnings: language, arson, awkward questions, reader smokes, I shafted Dabi again and made him the best friend...again, slightly vivid gore, mentions of death, male masturbation, daddy kink, age difference, breeding kink (ish), dirty talk, dom!Kai,

I’m sorry this is so long. Just kidding, no I’m not. I love writing really long fics. Honestly, I’m trying to see how much I can push the boundaries of my writing and how long I can keep one idea conhesive and consistent and how much I can flesh out. Eventually these longer oneshots will be cross-posted to my AO3, I just really need to do my paper. Also Tropium Tattoos is pronounced as Tro-Pie-Um.

The color of fire always burns in accordance to temperature as well as the material that it’s burning. Watching the local Underground clinic slash orphanage burn not only red, but an almost ethereal green from the copper couplings and details of the building felt like an early Christmas warning—like the Underground was a target and the rest of the hidden city would soon follow by the holiday. That warning was only followed by disgust at the thought of someone feeling the need to go after a free clinic and orphanage in a city built out of a hollow sewer full of exiles for whatever fucking reason.

Your heart is an amalgam of aching and sorrow and anger as you watch the flames burst through the windows of the shoddy building from a safe distance. From where you stood outside of your tattoo parlor only two blocks down, you see a crowd beginning together. Much to your surprise, most of them were only kids with one adult herding them—a man you recognized to be the owner of the building currently meeting its demise.

The doctor of the clinic is as calm as ever, or rather trying to be, quietly attempting to do a headcount of his children. It seemed that concentration was alluding him, given the situation, because he swears up and down that he knows he has nine kids. Yet, he seemed to be unable to count past eight. He’s trying not to panic, but one of the kids speaks his greatest fear into fruition. “Daddy, Eri’s not here!” Golden eyes widen until the sclerae are fully round, pupils constricting in fear. This ‘Eri’ was special, you realize as you observe from a short distance away. The doctor is looking back at his children who are all in some form of tears and shambles then back at the burning building like a ferocious game of ping pong. Chisaki Kai can’t just leave his kids out here—not when he is almost certain that this attack was premeditated. But his daughter, his eldest daughter at that, was still inside potentially being engulfed by flames.

Back and forth.

Your body moves without a second thought.

Your body moves, ignoring the screams from other bystanders for you not to go inside the burning clinic as you burst past the dilapidated red door. Upon entering, copper decor and steel support beams had fallen from the ceiling, sparking flames that were separating you from the stairwell that led up to the orphanage. There was no way you would be able to find this Eri person through the wreckage—not alone at least. Maybe your dumb quirk was good for something.

You didn’t even realize you had a quirk until the age of twenty when you had gotten your first tattoo. It wasn’t anything crazy—a traditional-style three-eyed wolf’s head on your arm—only to wake up the following morning with no soreness, no tenderness, and no ink on your body. The wolf laid beside you, curled up in your bed, somehow manifesting into real life. At first it was terrifying, of course, but after learning how to return the creature back to your body you realize it might not have been a total waste of money. Your quirk, something you jokingly called the Magic Pencil quirk in reference to a Spongebob Squarepants episode from your childhood, was officially registered through the government on the Surface as Life Canvas. Again, it was a pretty dumb quirk unless you knew just what to utilize. Now your body was littered with dozens of creatures, weapons, hell even a telephone just in case you might need it. But the wolf was your favorite, as it was your first, and he was just the one to call for in this situation. Activating your quirk, you pinch at the ink on your forearm until it begins to peel off before setting it down on the ground. The line work stands on its own before the ink fills out into a three-dimensional mass and a now recognizable creature.

“There’s a child somewhere here. Help me find them,” you implored your creation, cautiously climbing around the shambles while it did the same, though much nimbler than you. Fragments of the stairs were missing, some of railings were in flames—it was hard for you to get anywhere at the moment. A scream rips through the walls, a young girl you realize. She’s probably now seeing your large and somewhat creepy three-eyed wolf. Maneuvering carefully, you find spots that have yet to burn until you see a little girl cowering away from flames in her bedroom and away from your quirk. “Take my hand!” You try to scream, but the way building was going down was deafening. Instead, you cross a patch of fire to scoop the frail child in your arms and trapping the both of you behind a brazen wall of flames. Patting the wolf on the head, as if deflating it with your magical hands, it flattens back into a two dimensional drawing and returns to your body to grant you the ability to switch out to a manifestation that would prove to be more useful in this situation. You repeat the process, this time with a Phoenix from under your bosom that emerges just outside the window closest to the two of you. “Hold on tight,” you tell her as you pull her flush against your own body before smashing through glass to land the back of the Phoenix, covering her head to make sure the shards didn’t mar her skin. With a gentle descent, you place her feet first on the concrete with her family.

“Eri!” The doctor of the clinic calls out in relief, arms wrapping around his daughter tightly. Your lips purse in a small, tight smile before you’re off on your way again, riding off into the horizon on the back of your strange creature. And for a moment, Chisaki Kai is torn between going after you to thank you while Overhaul wants nothing more than cleanse his children and you for touching his precious daughter with a vile quirk. He settles on the former, golden eyes watching your back disappear into the dark cavern of the Underground city.

Weeks had passed since the fire burned down the orphanage clinic. Tabloids were published trying to figure out who the mysterious hero was, though most of the articles feared that an actual Hero was among the residents of the Underground. The Underground welcomes Heroes like the human body welcomes the plague—they tried to be eradicated and killed off. Not to say that quirks themselves weren’t welcome, no. It’s just that most of the residents were quirkless and those that did have one were all registered in a public database, separate from the government mandated one up on the Surface, so that quirk wielders were no secret.

All but you, anyway.

One of these well-known resident holders was Chisaki Kai. Quirk: Overhaul. Local doctor and caretaker of the orphaned, quirkless kids. Though, whether their powers had yet to manifest or he had removed them himself due to his vile distaste for the genetic mutation was unknown to the public.

Another was the leader of the Underground: Dabi. The Cremation user who was presently lounging in one of your dingy, beat up sofas of your tattoo shop. “You know, most of the people just want to know who you are,” he supplies, flipping through the most recent news article. Instantly, he knew it was you that had rescued the little girl from the burning building, knowing full well of your quirk regardless of how rarely you used it.

“And half of them want my head because they think I’m a Hero,” you spit the last word out as you finish tidying up your workspace. Your last client of the evening had just left, leaving you to close up shop while Dabi came to bother you as you did so. Not that you complained considering he had been a close friend for a long time. “Like I would ever be a Hero.” Heroes were the reason you and many others here in the Underground existed in this hidden sewer metropolis. Whether the Heroes had destroyed their livelihoods, their families or, in your case, accidentally killed your parents while you were still a teenager and you had nowhere to go, they were at fault for the creation of this cozy, dingy city.

“Says here that Eri wishes to personally thank you,” Dabi adds, turquoise eyes flickering in your direction as you stop at the mention of her name. “We could hold some little rally, get you a medal—“

“Dabi, no.”

“—or you could just stop by town hall with me. Overhaul and the kids have been staying there while the clinic gets rebuilt.” You mull his words over in your head while capping all your ink bottles and putting them away in their respective drawers. Dabi takes your silence as a gesture of you thinking, even more so as you aggressively sanitize your client chair. “Come on, [ name ], she’s just a kid.”

“Yeah, but I hate kids.”

“Then stop acting like one.” With that, the leader leaves your shop, bells tolling as he exits. You weren’t being childish, you internally bite, silently and stubbornly. It wasn’t your fault that you didn’t want to just announce that the lone tattoo artist of the Underground had a quirk that the public didn’t know about. It wasn’t your fault that your body moved without thinking. And it certainly wasn’t your fault that you rescued the daughter of the most notorious quirk hater in the city.

Chisaki Kai was not quiet when it came for his distaste of quirks despite having one himself. Rumors floated all around the Underground that all of the children in his care had their quirks removed by his own hand, Eri included. What kind of monster did that? To his own child, no less. The thought made you sick to your stomach, only reaffirming your initial decision to not meet with Eri.

But thinking of her brings great sadness to you. She was merely a child—a child who probably didn’t understand her father’s distaste. A kid who just wanted to thank the woman who saved her and nothing else. A sigh passes your lips as you head up the stairs from your shop to your attached apartment, turning off the lights to Tropium Tattoos. It’s not fair to deny her, you think.

Maybe you’ll just sleep on it for now.

The following morning was quiet, as it was every morning in a city built out of a sewer. But eerily...too quiet. The sound of chirping nature and wildlife was a foreign concept now, especially years later. But there were no sound of bikes or clunky old cars passing by or arguing neighbors—if noise was present at all, it was in the form of faint crackling and crinkling of papier-mâché but somehow on a grander scale. It was new. There’s a grotesque smell in the air; a cross between a stale bonfire and rotting wood and warm smoke.

Oh no.

Oh fuck.

Panic fills your veins, throwing your nearly bare body out from under the covers. Ripping open your bedroom door and flying out the narrow entryway that led to the stairwell, you’re met with orange flames burning the wood of your staircase leading down to your shop. There’s no time for you to think about anything other than retreating back to your living room, to where the flames had yet to enter the threshold. Glancing out the large bay window behind your couch, you debate how steep of a drop it is from your second story down onto the cold pavement without sparing a second thought to how you could break your own fall. Contemplation wears down at your time to escape, you realize, as the fire is now entering your living space and burning brightly like a firework and catches onto the wooden console table in your entryway as well as the walls. Without another moment’s hesitation, you throw yourself through the window, bracing for impact from both the glass and the inevitable shattering of at least one bone.

“[ name ]?!” You hear Dabi yelling over the sound of collapsing support beams from the inside of the building. All that’s on your mind is pain—throbbing pain and an ear-splitting cry as you try to cradle your probably broken arm from the back alley of your shop. Dabi calls out your name again, running over towards you while still trying to be somewhat mindful of all the shards of glass in fear of accidentally kicking more in your direction. Between rapid breaths, a few heavy coughs escape your lungs, no doubt from smoke inhalation. “I got you,” he murmurs as he picks you up gingerly. Another groan leaves your lips—your whole body hurts and were you more coherent and not in shock, you probably would have realized sooner that you’d broken more than just your arm. “Find who did this and bring them to me,” Dabi snarls at the small squadron behind him attempting to put out the fire that was destroying your livelihood as he makes his way back to town hall.

It takes everything in Dabi’s body to not stamp his entire way back into his living quarters and the only reason he isn’t is because he’s carrying your busted body. This is the fourth fire in two weeks with no discernible pattern. All he knows is that it started with Overhaul’s clinic and now has somehow reached your quaint and quiet tattoo shop. As a leader, it makes Dabi want to tear his hair out. As a friend, he’s just pissed off.

He’s thankful you’ve passed out just so he doesn’t have to deal with you bitching about how gruff he’s being. Though, it certainly dawned on him that you had probably fallen unconscious from the sheer agonizing pain of breaking multiple bones simultaneously. He sets you down, far from gently, in the residential living room upstairs of the Town Hall building. “Overhaul!” He bellows out, not even caring if the children heard his angry tone right now.

“I told you to stop calling me that,” the doctor appears from around the corner, a clearly agitated look on his face, even beneath a simple black mask. The irony isn’t lost on Dabi despite his composure—he remembers once upon a time when Kai only went by the name of his quirk. Funny how years go by. “Her again?” Overhaul all but sneers, looking at your limp body that was covered only in a thin tee shirt and a pair of panties. Ignoring that little fact of seeing so much painted flesh, he notices the distinct smell of burnt wood and swelling under the skin where the breaks were. “What happened to her?”

“Someone set [ name ]’s tattoo shop and apartment on fire. She jumped out of a window to get out.” Dabi is absolutely seething, little sparks of blue flames leaving his nostrils as he lets out tufts of air. “Idiot had no idea how to break her fall and busted her shit. Can you help her?”

“I suppose that would make us even.” The doctor snarks back thoughtlessly, but he can’t help but wonder why you didn’t use your little quirk to save yourself as you had with Eri.

“Good. I’m gonna go find this fucker.” With that, Dabi storms out of the living room and out of the town hall building, leaving Kai with the woman that saved his daughter’s life. At least maybe now, Eri could say thank you like she had been asking to do. He could say thank you.

Chisaki adjusts you on the couch so that you’re entirely flat on the cushions, mindful of the glass that’s embedded in your skin. If anything, he should probably remove those first. With gloved hands, he picks out all the shards he can see with his golden eyes while his mind wanders as he looks at the lines and colors of the tattoos that covered your body. From neck to toe, there was ink on nearly every inch—even the one dragon-snake hybrid on your face that wrapped around your temple and cheekbone. Despite your [ hair color ] locks matting your skin, Overhaul found all of your tattoos rather intriguing to look at; almost as if it weren’t flesh because the contact wasn’t causing him to break out in hives. Like your body told a story without you even needing to speak.

After getting all the glass cleared up, Kai gently pushed on your arms and legs, checking for any signs of bones out of place from where they should be or cushioning and swelling to protect the damaged areas, outside of the very obvious ones that nearly looked like softballs. Two breaks in your femur, four in your ulna from what he could feel—nothing that Overhaul couldn’t fix. Though, he had to make sure that everything had set the way it was supposed to and that you were able to use your limbs after he did the repair. That meant he would actually have to speak to you, and he comes to the realization the two of you never actually had the chance to speak to each other before. Maybe he shouldn’t be as judgmental of the fact that you had a defect—maybe you were like him and abhorrent at the fact that you had a mutation to begin with.

After using his own quirk, Overhaul checks for a pulse on your neck with two fingers, making sure you at least had a heartbeat before patiently waiting for you to regain consciousness. In the meantime, he continues picking out the fragments of glass that escaped his initial sweep—a task made slightly easier when the shards caught the light contrasted the dark lines embedded in your dermis. For a brief second, you stir against his touch before your eyes snap open. “Holy fuck, what happened?” You all but howl when you come to. You let out a deep gasp for breath, suddenly aware of the dull throbbing in your arm and leg as you attempt to make sense of your surroundings.

“Can you tell me if this hurts?” The doctor to your left says evenly, emotionless even, as he holds your wrist between his thumb and middle finger, moving your arm in all sorts of ways. A sharp inhalation sucks in between your teeth as it twists in ways you weren’t sure it could before. A grimace touches his lips underneath is plain, black cloth mask—maybe he didn’t set the bones correctly? Overhaul lays your arm flat, ready to make his adjustments, but as his gloved fingers padded closer, you found yourself retreating further into the depths of the couch cushions.

“I-I’m good,” your words come rushing out, desperate to dodge his touch. Why did you wake up with Overhaul over you? Did he take your quirk away? You’d have to investigate further when you were alone, test it out in private. Ignoring the dull hums of pain coming from your arms and legs, you manage to sit up, slumping over your knees before you realized where you were. “Town hall?”

“Yes. Do you remember anything?” You shake your head—you remember waking up to smelling the smoke in your apartment. You remember the fire creeping up the stairwell and the way orange painted your once tan walls. You remember jumping out the window, but everything else after is met with a blank slate. “You broke your arm and legs in a few places—I reset them with my quirk.”

“Oh,” is all you have to say. “Uh, thank you.”

“Speaking of thank you,” Overhaul palms his knees before pushing off of them from the wooden stool he’s sitting on, standing at his full height and smoothing out his black dress shirt and slightly creased slacks. “My daughter would like to thank you for rescuing her a few weeks back.”

Dammit.

It wasn’t like you could just say no to Eri’s father when it was only the two of you—that would just make you look like an asshole or worse; he could just kill you and say you died in the fire. It was even more difficult to decline considering the young, silver-haired girl was peeking her head from behind a partition, wide-eyed when her dad mentioned her. With your own eyes softening at the sudden contact, you offer an awkward smile that you pray comes off as welcoming. Overhaul beckons her to come closer, holding one hand open until the young girl is tucked underneath his hip.

“U-Um, t-thank you for saving me,” a squeak spills past her dry lips before she runs out of the room as quickly as she came. You didn’t blame her. Even if Overhaul is her father, he gave off an intimidating air that surely would frighten any child. It made you wonder how such a man ran an orphanage. But to your surprise, Eri returned, though this time not alone. A flock of children was accompanying her, each of them with bright eyes and big smiles adorning their unique appearances.

“Thank you for saving our sister!” They chime in unison. The sight made your heart swell and soften, even if only slightly. Eri steps forward cautiously, pushing through her own trepidation as she stands before you and throws herself at you, hugging you tightly with arms around your neck in gratitude. As if triggering a domino effect, a few of the other children felt the need to express the same sentiment. An uncomfortable laugh bubbles past your lips as you awkwardly wrap your arms around the gaggle of kids—you may not like them, but you weren’t that much of an asshole to deny them a hug.

Kai’s typically hard, cold expression mellows at the sight. It’s heartwarming, he gave it that, but a part of him cannot stave off the tiny bubble of envy he feels seeing his children so ready to embrace you when they initially had such a hard time adjusting to life with him. He loved these kids—and it was quite clear you felt the opposite—so why hadn’t they gravitated towards him like they did you? Underneath his mask, he grimaced before internally shaking his head. They were his children, they loved Kai regardless and he knew that. “Alright kids, why don’t you go play and let [ name ] rest? It’s been a rough morning for her.” The use of your name shouldn’t have shocked you, or maybe it was fear that crawled up your spine at the doctor’s endearing tone. You weren’t aware that he knew who you were. The kids let out a collective groan before listening to their father and exiting the living room. As soon as each of their little, youthful heads is out of sight, you breathe out a sigh of relief.

“S-sorry,” you mumble out, suddenly reminding yourself that it was probably rude of you to make a sound as such and you wanted to make sure you did nothing to insult Overhaul to his face. A huge part of you felt that one wrong word out of your mouth meant the end of your quirk or your life.

“It’s alright, I know they can be a handful. Though, they seem to be quite taken with you.” His tone is still rather polite, you notice, and his voice is entirely different than what you’d thought it would be in a one on one interaction. You thought it would be deeper, as whispers and rumors of Chisaki Kai being an incredibly cruel, bitter man painted a different picture in your head. But the man standing before you looked every bit as broken as you felt on the inside—as if a part of him had an empty chasm residing in his chest that could not be filled by the nine children in his care.

“I can’t imagine why,” you reply.

“Neither can I,” he says without skipping a beat, his tone still airy and light. Before you can rebuttal with your quick wit, Dabi storms in with his eyes locked on to your now conscious body. Gesturing with his head, over exaggerating the folds of his damaged skin, he encourages you to follow him downstairs to the mayoral study. Silently, you sauntered off behind him, leaving Overhaul alone in the living room, while you could feel the internal flames burning within Dabi. Pissed didn’t even begin to describe the look on his face.

In the office, photographs of burnt down buildings, rubble, and the skeletal framework of Underground businesses were littered across the large, maple desk. All the while, the leader of the Underground was grumbling to himself repeatedly while tugging at his raven locks in frustration. Not only had someone burned down local businesses in the city, let alone a close friend’s business, but it seemed that someone was attacking his city from the inside. “I wasn’t able to save Tropium.” You offer no response, mostly because there isn’t one to have. You felt anguish over losing your home, sure, but knowing how hard Dabi worked to protect the Underground, you can’t quite imagine how he’s feeling.

Instead, you respond with, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I should be asking you that. Your home is gone, [ name ].” He had a valid point. Perhaps you could find a few local contractors and give them some work—it wasn’t like you didn’t have the money to spare. But that would probably take some time considering, from photo evidence, the place—all of them—was going to need to be built from the ashes. “Stay here while you figure it out. It’s the least I can do.”

“Don’t you already have Overhaul and the kids staying here?” Maybe Dabi didn’t notice the way your voice trembled as you spoke his name, even more so after having woken up to him by your side. But the thought of you, a quirk wielder that kept that little fact hidden from the public, temporarily boarding with a man who was vehemently against the abomination of quirks gave you severe anxiety. Additionally, there was the nine little children that also were a factor and the thought of one of them waking up in your temporary residence and intruding on what little privacy you would have—

“And?” Dabi asks, pulling you from your reverie. “[ name ], I know I don’t say this enough, but you’re one of my closest friends. I don’t feel right not giving you a place to sleep.” His quirk may be Cremation, but Dabi was a master manipulator when it came to pulling at your heartstrings whether or not he was aware of that. You let out a sigh of conceding, knowing you wouldn’t be able to argue your way out of this one.

“One condition, bud,” you hold up a single index finger, the black quill feather tattooed there standing erect, “find me some contractors to help rebuild all the buildings that were burned dow.”

“That’s gonna cost ya,” Dabi hums, as if contemplating. And he was, but rather in estimated cost as opposed to the proposal itself. Physical currency was a rarity in the Underground, as the city ran on a merit and bartering system. Real Surface money was only used for certain occupations. Realistically speaking, he knew money was no object to you considering the wealth, or rather hush money, you acquired from your parents’ death, so there had to be another reason. Knowing you as well as he did, it was probably the fact that the faster your homes were rebuilt, the less time you would have to spend sharing walls with Overhaul. Very smart, the leader mused. “You got a deal, doll.”

You lost count of the days that had gone by since you took over the project of rebuilding the structures that had gone down. While the orphanage project had already begun, you had hired two additional bodies to help the progress go faster so that Dabi could return to his duties without the addition of eleven more mouths to feed. Simultaneously, you had been at your own construction lot from metaphorical sunup to sundown, helping contribute and manage the two men that were hired for your location.

You weren’t avoiding Overhaul, you told Dabi repeatedly when he asked where you’d been all day.

This project was an opportunity for you to set up shop in a reimagined way—to be able to design both your studio space and your living space exactly to your tastes. It had sort of become your baby and you wanted to be as hands on as possible.

You weren’t avoiding Overhaul, you kept telling yourself.

Tropium’s new store front was stunning, albeit a bit ill-fitting with its new modern style in contrast to the Underground’s more rustic, steampunk look. But the charcoal grey stone walls with chunky white trim filled your heart with a sense of pride that your business would hopefully rise from the ashes much like that of the Phoenix tattooed under your bosom.

Currently, you were upstairs with the tiny team of contractors while going over the floor plan of your currently bare apartment. Given the space of the empty building, you managed to enlarge your rooms at the cost of downsizing your entryway and living room. It still felt homey and, with the addition of a small office that served as a spare bedroom, you figured on nights that Dabi hung out and didn’t feel like going home, he had a space too. After laying out the floor plan and going over schematics with the team, you ventured back downstairs to continue sanding down the counters for your studio space.

“So, this is where you’ve been spending your time?” Oxygen freezes in your throat as you’re met with Overhaul’s golden eyes and black mask. Albeit he wasn’t in his normal dress shirt and tie for once, but rather sporting an oversized hoodie and tight denim jeans.

“W-what are you doing here?” Is all you can say back. You aren’t sure if you’re moving or even breathing at this point. The pressure you feel from a man whose face is half-covered is terrifying—liquid gold was dull in comparison to the intimidating eyes of Chisaki Kai.

“Dabi told me about your little deal,” his voice rolls like honey straight from the dripper as he makes small flits toward you that subconsciously leave you retreating back up the stairs one step at time. A deep groan rumbles in his chest when he sees your reaction—not that he blames you in the slightest. Overhaul is more than aware of his notorious reputation both in the real world and in the Underground and is accepting of strangers’ reluctance to be around him. He knows he’s partially to blame for not trying to quell the stigma around him by formally introducing himself prior. maybe not being such a condescending jackass when he first officially met you would have helped as well.

But he can’t squash the little bouts of jealousy that filled him seeing his children flock to you like dragonflies in search of water that almost make him bask in your trepidation.

“Take a walk with me,” Overhaul adds, torn between offering you a gloved hand as a metaphorical olive branch or simply turning around to see if you follow. He opts for the latter merely for the fact that you’re covered in dust and paint from your days’ work. Bounding after him, you stuff your hands into the pockets of your loose overalls as you try to catch up while bearing in mind to keep a short distance between the two of you. The two-block walk is brief and silent as you end up at the construction site of the clinic. Perhaps your memory of the building you never visited beforehand was skewed, but it you were certain it was much larger now. “Feel free to look around. After all, you’re paying for this.” There’s a twinge of malice that paints his invitation that isn’t lost on you, but you decide to forego the welcoming regardless.

Passing through the threshold cautiously, you’re greeted with what looks to be a regular, two story home. The skeletal structure foreshadowed a kitchen, dining room, living space, and a hallway leading to two rooms. One staircase that lead to a basement, one that lead upstairs—it was strange to see the clinic become more of a home than anything else. “Where are you putting the clinic?” You ask meekly, careful not to touch. Just because Overhaul invited you to check out the specs, doesn’t mean he wanted your lingering fingerprints ingrained in his space.

“Basement. I figured it would be better for the children to have majority of the space.” A pregnant pause takes over the conversation once again, leaving you to roam around the new space in appreciation. A part of you was pleased with the work the contractors did for this family, a large part even, but there was a small nagging voice in your head that was still telling you to retreat back to your own project. “Why did you do it?”

“Do what?” A brief chuckle that is muffled by his mask dances on his lips. He’s not sure which of his theories he wants to start unraveling first. So he starts with the one he believes to be most ludicrous—the conspiracy that you or somebody you worked for was trying to take this children away, or Eri at the very least. If people on the Surface knew about her and her quirk, Kai doesn’t doubt a bounty would be on her head. But truth be told, he knew this seemed unlikely. You had never bothered to even engage with him or anyone else in his family until recently, despite having come to the Underground shortly after its establishment.

“Rescue my daughter, for starters.” Of course he starts with the question you don’t have an answer for. To which you can only respond with the truth—your body moved on your own when you saw the panic in his eyes. Also knowing he had to watch his eight other children and ensure their safety prompted your body to act automatically. “You used your quirk to save Eri, but not yourself. Why?” Your eyes narrow slightly in both suspicion and out of confusion. It was strange that Overhaul kept demanding answers and logic and reason for things you did as a knee jerk reaction. Considering you’d only discovered your quirk just before going to the Underground, it wasn’t exactly what you would call a natural reaction. Plus, weaving through danger for someone else wasn’t as simple as just running in and out of the building as it was to jump out your bay window. Judging by his silence, it seemed he accepted that answer. “And the contractors?”

“I just want all of our lives to go back to normal, including Dabi.” It wasn’t exactly a lie—rather just a short omission of the truth—and it wasn’t like you could tell him that you couldn’t stand living in such close proximity with him due to fear. But Overhaul had a knack for pinpointing a fib like a honeybee in search of something sweet.

“You’re lying,” he bites. You shake your head almost violently, as if the movement will deter your mouth from telling him the truth in its entirety. There was no way you could admit the fear he instilled in your bones or the anxiety you felt standing close enough for him to touch you. Sure, you may have felt that your quirk was less than impressive but that didn’t mean you wanted him to take it away or worse, your life. Knowing that he knew about it too, while the public didn’t which was a requirement for living in the Underground, only reaffirmed your worries. “Do you fear me?” Overhaul asks, making note of the way your fingers were trembling and way your eyes constantly averted his.

“Yes,” your voice comes out as a mere whisper, barely rising above the hammering and drilling of the construction workers. A part of you wished that your admission made you feel better—like it felt like a weight lifting off of your shoulder rather than making it feel like you were denying some greater truth—a part of you just wanted to run and hide and pretend this interaction wasn’t happening.

It shouldn’t have hurt Kai as much as it did to hear you say it out loud, considering you were nothing but a stranger. But you were a stranger that his children were so utterly enamored with and all he wanted was to understand. Yet, the feeling of disappointment is a dull thrum in his chest, long forgotten with a wide array of other emotions and coming only second to his envy. “I’m sorry,” he says finally, though the monotone voice almost sounds insincere.

Perhaps, his jealousy is misplaced, he thinks. His children may be drawn to you, but at least they didn’t tremble or wrack their bones with trepidation the way you do when you see him. If anything, his jealousy is replaced with empathy. Despite your clear distaste for youth, you got along swimmingly with his kids and they clearly wanted to be present with you. It must have been difficult for you to be near them, even more so considering you trembled in their father’s presence. The two of you stand in silence with you looking away pretending to soak in your surroundings of the plastered walls. Overhaul is observing your nervous ticks—the way your twitching fingers are exaggerated by the ink in your skin or the way your knee bounces impatiently along the hardwood.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy, come look at my roo—oh! [ name ] is here too!” Bounding down the unfinished staircase was one of the orphans in Overhaul’s care; Shura, if you remembered correctly.

“Just stopped by to see how the place was coming,” you offer in addition to a sheepish wave. Before you know it, Shura is grasping one of your hands with both of his while guiding you up the stairs.

“Come see our rooms, [ name ]!” Overhaul watches with curious eyes at the way one of his sons is so overzealous to include you in their little world. The appeal makes no sense to him—you were just a stranger with skin like a Monet painting that had made little to no effort for these children outside of rescuing Eri and allowing them to shower you in their affection.

Why did acknowledging that their enthusiasm to include you hurt Kai even more so, knowing you were afraid of him?

Trudging behind, Overhaul peers through the open doors upstairs to see each of his kids decorating their freshly painted walls. In Shura’s room, you were sitting on the floor with your arms wrapped around your knees while the little boy explained to you that he wanted his room to be decorated with narwhals. The excitement he had, and the knowledge of even knowing such a creature existed, was quite charming. “[ name ], are you gonna join us for dinner this time? Dabi says you’re always working, but daddy always makes you a plate just in case!” Your eyes glance over to Overhaul and his leisurely pose as he rests one arm on the door jamb. For a moment, your mouth open and closes repeatedly as you try to stutter out some semblance of an answer.

“Just in case,” the doctor adds, as if to add more pressure to his son’s convenient question. The golden orbs you normally deterred from swirled with an intensity that, much to your surprise, didn’t wrack your nerves like they normally did. It was as if they were filled with remorse rather their typical bitterness, maybe sympathy even, imploring you to consider Shura’s inquiry.

“I should go finish my work for today then so I can be home for dinner,” pushing yourself off of the freshly carpeted floor to stand. At some point while Shura was giving you the grand tour of his room, your legs had fallen asleep, causing your first step to hobble and throw you off balance and trip.

“Careful,” Overhaul chimes, bemused at the way you flail to recover from your stumble. To your surprise, he’s pushed himself off the door jamb, crossed through the threshold of Shura’s room, and has his arms locked underneath yours to keep you steady. “Drink some water before going back to work.”

“R-right,” you stutter out, hyper aware that his hands are touching you. He feels the way your tendons bunch together in your arms at the contact, even more so when your pupils lock into his. It untangles one more thread in his theories, one he figures he’ll push on later because it’s a theory just as farfetched as his last one. “I’ll, um, see you at dinner,” the last syllable rises in intonation as you squeak, flitting away and ignoring your numbed legs and blood burned cheeks. Meanwhile, Overhaul chuckles as he watches you scurry away, the blush painting your cheeks burning into his mind just as well. The way you moved was reminiscent of when he had reset your bones and the way you recoiled thereafter. But through thorough observation, he knew that reaction wasn’t fear this time around, no. Fear made you quiet, not nervous or jittery or force your pupils to dilate.

This was something else entirely.

Something else entirely to the point where Chisaki Kai is unsure if he even wants to entertain the possible theory that maybe, maybe, you’re the slightest bit infatuated with him.

“How nice of you to join us,” Dabi sneers teasingly when you set foot into the private entryway of town hall’s attached home. The makeshift family of ten is already seated at the extended dining table, an empty seat awaiting you on Dabi’s left with Overhaul on his right. Each of the children that you had come to be familiar with over the last few weeks had lit up like your presence was a treat—a strange feeling, considering you’d done the most to avoid being in the temporary residence.

“Go wash up, we’ll wait for you,” you had never seen Chisaki Kai without his mask, let alone heard his voice so clear. The angelic lilt rivaled expert fingers rimming crystal glasses, hypnotizing you to do as he said without so much as a fight. Entering your room, you immediately discard your dirty work clothes and shower hastily, scrubbing off flecks of dried paint and dust. In seven minutes and nineteen seconds, you’re out of your en suite bathroom and shucking on leggings and a long sleeve tee before joining everyone else at the dinner table.

To your surprise it felt quite...normal. Was this how families had dinner together? You were unsure, considering your parents had never been one to have the three of you gather together for a meal—they were always too busy working until the day they were killed nearly a decade ago.

It surprised you how natural the flow of conversation was, even with nine children ranging from ages four to seven. Even more to your shock, Dabi was more than willing to indulge the kids in their stories. But the creme de la creme was seeing maskless Overhaul smiling and laughing and attempting to get his kids to eat their vegetables. Was this the real Overhaul? Had his notoriety preceded him so greatly that you feared him for no reason at all? Your intuition tells you no and, perhaps, to some degree it’s right. There was still a dangerous air that encapsulated Chisaki Kai, but it wasn’t one that made you instantly retreat like touching a cake pan you’d recently pulled from the oven with a bare hand. If anything, it was alluring as opposed to intimidating.

The kids were so happy you finally joined them all at dinner. Rapid fire questions from any one or even two of them made you hesitate to answer but you did your best to keep your face even and amused. Children may not have been your favorite, but however the heck Overhaul was raising these ones, especially all nine of them, was truly wonderful. Throughout conversation, Shura and even shy little Eri had scrambled into your lap with each one of them taking a leg while the three of you ate. Initially, Kai had scolded them both, saying they were being rude to which you only shook your head and allowed them to stay, much to his surprise.

After dinner, the children cleared the table. Those that were able of the younger ones brought stacks of dishes to Eri and Shura whom were in the kitchen washing plates and silverware—their duties as the eldest of the nine. Dabi has pardoned himself after thanking the family for the meal to hole himself up in his office. According to the leader of the Underground, the investigative team was still working around the clock to unearth who was responsible for the fires. You had found yourself in the garden of Town Hall, tablet and digital pen in one hand with a cigarette in the other. Drawing was the only leisurely activity you indulged in when not working on rebuilding Tropium.

Typically, Dabi would join on you on these evenings with stacks of papers and a cigar between his lips as he bounced ideas off of you to figure out potential perpetrators. Needless to say, it surprised you when Overhaul enters the makeshift garden that was really just a manmade pond with lily pads and rose bushes aligning the sinkhole. “Hi,” you offer meekly, averting his gaze by keeping your own glued to your tablet screen.

“Hi,” he returns, twisting up a shapely brow at the cigarette between your index and middle finger. For a moment, he’s torn between asking what you’re working on or if you had any ideas to who burned down both of your homes or even how the rebuilding of Tropium was coming along. But he can tell by the way the filter of the cigarette squeezes between your fingers that you’re tense, that you can sense there’s a reason for his presence and decides to forego small talk. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me,” his voice is small and unsure and drastically different from the Overhaul you were used to. Nonetheless, his statement catches your attention and pulls it away from the screen of your tablet.

“I’m more afraid of what you can do,” you admit quietly, “I don’t want people knowing about my quirk. Dabi was the only one who knew and now your entire family knows and—“ you pause for second, hesitating on whether or not you should continue. But Overhaul was brave enough to tell you had what been bothering him, even if only a minuscule issue, you figure you owe him the same. “And I don’t want you to take it away.” The broken syllables leave your lips bare above a whisper, reaffirming at least one of the theories the doctor had about you. Of all the conspiracies, it made sense that this one was the most likely to explain your reactions to his presence, no matter how much he had hoped it to be some strange, magnetic attraction.

You had bought into the whispers of the Underground that said Chisaki Kai’s life mission was to overhaul the population and remove quirks.

Dejection fills his chest as he lets out a sigh. Maybe this was being too honest, his inner voice argues as it debates on his next words cautiously, but he feels the need to burn clean. “[ name ], what do you know about me?”

“That you were a Yakuza leader and you think quirks are a plague that need to be eradicated.” Overhaul closes his eyes languidly, peeling them back open at a snail’s pace while the warm, golden orbs stare off into the never-ending tunnels of the Underground.

“I became the leader of the Shie Hassaikai when I married my wife at twenty-three and took over for her ill father. It was a quirk marriage, but a happy one, nonetheless. At twenty five, my wife had Eri and while most children’s genetic code didn’t activate the gene for a quirk until a few years later, Eri was born with her quirk activated,” you listen deeply, soaking in every word leaving Overhaul’s maskless lips. His eyes drop down to stare at his gloved hands before burying his face in them for a moment to swallow his guilt quietly. “Eri can rewind time on living things and the first person she used it on—“

“—was her mother,” your voice barely vibrated past your lips as you made the connection. Bile rose in your throat, threatening to spill the contents of your gut not out of disgust, but rather an overwhelming surge of sorrow.

“I lost my wife when I was twenty-five. The rate that she was being rewound at was too much for her body to handle and I had to overhaul my own daughter at birth just to get her quirk to deactivate so she didn’t destroy everyone she touched,” had Chisaki Kai not come to terms with the truth a long time ago, he would have shed at least a single tear recounting these memories he had buried. Either that, or almost hurled recalling the way his wife’s body had imploded until chunks of skin and muscle tissue and blood ended up spewing all over his chest and face. There was a reason he constantly wore gloves and a mask—the smell of cooking carcass and burning meat never left him and the exaggerated mask stuffed with lavender was the only scent that eased him. “I was angry at the world for a long time.”

“I am so sorry, Over—“

“Kai,” he interrupts, “or Chisaki, at the very least. I don’t go by that name anymore.” After a bout of silence, Chisaki continues further. Eri never grew up with a mother or siblings and after things had gone south on the surface, he wanted to raise Eri in a place where people didn’t know the truth about her or the mother she never had the opportunity to meet. So he fled to the Underground with Dabi; he started helping tend to the ill and taking in quirkless children who had lost their parents on the Surface to Heroes.

In a moment of vulnerability, you felt the need to offer the olive branch and share your own story with this man after he bared his soul to you. And so, you tell him about the accident. How, while in pursuit of a villain, the small mom and pop diner that your parents frequented on Friday afternoons was accidentally set on fire by Endeavor and trapped and killed of the patrons inside. You were in your first year of high school at the time—fourteen and preparing for university until you realized you would need to work full time in order to continue paying the bills until the settlement from Endeavor came. University was down the drain. It took years for the dividends to be decided and the lawyer managed to get you a considerably high amount thanks to emotional damages, but riches and wealth would never quell the resentment you held towards the then number two pro Hero for being so reckless. That was nine years ago. Somewhere along the way, you’d met Dabi and he granted you a home and space to continue to hone the craft of tattoo artistry that you had picked up from working part time in a parlor, as recompense for his father killing yours. Though, you’d left that last little tidbit out, unsure if Kai knew of Dabi’s lineage. “I’ve been in the Underground for the last three years, give or take.”

You had always been rather indifferent to the concept of heroism until that day. Even more so when you had met Dabi—a man who was wanted and was supposed to be a villain. Yet he extended warmth and welcoming to you, offering you refuge in a new city he had created for the exiled and wandering.

The grey areas only widen with this conversation with Chisaki Kai. A notorious man, an infamous man, known for causing utter chaos on the Surface both as the leader of the Shie Hassaikai and as a super villain, was sitting across from you and sharing the most intimate moments of his life.

Maybe the concept of heroism was skewed to begin with, you think to yourself as you put out the cigarette in the ashtray in front of you. Maybe Dabi and Overhaul weren’t the real villains—only designed that way because of the way some omniscient creature in the stars that you couldn’t see.

“I remember when you first opened Tropium,” Chisaki hums bemusedly, “the children said you looked like a coloring book.” The only fitting response you have is laughter. Neither of you thought laughter would be something the two of you would indulge in together. But the way your cheeks cinch together at the corner of your eyes or the tufts of air leaving your nostrils in a short snort and the somehow smooth staccato of your chuckle sounds like holiday bells after the first snowfall. It was a peace that Chisaki Kai hadn’t known for some time now. It was a peace he didn’t know he needed, and it makes him wish that his magnetic attraction theory had some truth to it. “Your secret is safe with me,” he says finally after the laughter had died off.

“Thank you, Chisaki,”

You started coming home for dinner every night, figuring the two contractors didn’t need you there to micromanage them, until you stopped dropping into the worksite all together. With a full house, Dabi was out more frequently, preferring to be in the field to investigate the fires as much as he could. This left you with Chisaki and the kids more often than not. On occasion, you would run to the local market with Eri and Shura or had even done arts and crafts with some of the younger ones. As a sort of inside joke, you had bought each of the nine coloring books.

Currently, the kids were playing volleyball in the makeshift garden while you and Chisaki supervised. It was no longer tense between the two of you, a sort of bond forming since that one night. You should have seen the inevitable question coming. Though you more so imagined it would come from Dabi in the form of some snide comment with sexual implications regarding how close you and Overhaul had become. Never did you anticipate his oldest son asking, “[ name ], are you going to be adopting us? Are you going to be our new mom?”

“I-I—“ you were a deer in headlights and the question was a freight truck gunning in at ninety. Looking over at Chisaki for help, who seemed almost unwilling or at the very least unsure on how to, you shake your head before staring back at Shura’s big blue eyes. These children had begun carving a special place in your heart due to how they came to be in Chisaki’s care, sure, but you still had your reservations about kids in general. Not that the doctor blamed you—maternal instincts didn’t necessarily apply to every female. “I-I don’t wanna take you away from daddy, he works so hard to take care of you all and he does such a good job,” for a second, Shura’s expression becomes crestfallen.

“But we all like having you around, [ name ],”

“I’m not going anywhere, buddy, I promise,” the seven-year-old boy promptly wraps his arms around your neck, squeezing tightly as if you were going to dissipate into the air in front of his very eyes. Without hesitation, you hug back briefly before telling him his siblings were waiting for him to start the next set of volleyball. “Was that okay?” You ask quietly, looking over to the doctor. From underneath his mask, you can see the twists of pain coloring the dusty gold hues of his irises and the way his jaw tenses. When he remains quiet, you anxiously reach for an e-cigarette—a fruity one that wouldn’t alert the kids or burn Chisaki’s nostrils from the scent—and pull the tip to your lips. Maybe you shouldn’t have said that to Shura, you think as you exhale a large cloud of smoke.

But Overhaul’s stomach is twisting and churning, and he crosses his legs over the knee to squeeze his legs together tightly. He’s thankful for the black cloth mask that covers majority of his facial features as he bites his lip and his nostrils flair while he tries to control his breathing. Think of anything else, his mind snarls. Think of the days in the Shie Hassaikai, think of the children, think of literally anything but the way you called him “daddy” and how the blood rushed from his brain and straight to his dick at an alarming rate. It was so innocent—there was no reason Kai should even be thinking of it in any other way—but primal instincts were taking over, twisting into a delusion in his brain into hearing you repeatedly call him daddy while he fucked you from behind.

“Can you watch the kids?” Chisaki chokes out, standing up abruptly and fleeing inside the temporary home. He doesn’t even have the chance to hear you ask if he’s alright as he’s rushing upstairs to his en suite bathroom. Entering his room, he rips off every shred of fabric covering his body before turning on the shower to the coldest temperature he could tolerate. But there wasn’t enough cold water in the Underground or gruesome thoughts of his wife’s sudden death that could stave off the erection he was currently sporting. “Fuck!” He snarls out viciously, mind running rampant with salacious daydreams. Out of sheer need, Overhaul wraps one hand around his cock, the other bracing himself on the shower wall while the cold water runs down his spine.

Chisaki Kai is livid—raging over the fact that he is reduced to such actions over a simple word that he hears multiple times on a daily basis. It wasn’t that he was abhorrent at the thought of masturbation in the slightest—he was a human with natural human needs, after all—but this desperation that filled his gut and fueled his hard on was less than desirable. But he can’t stop the aching he feels to hold onto that blip of memory of you calling him daddy. He savors it like the first bite of a meal and indulges it in the same way he’s trying to coerce his own orgasm.

Throaty groans and grumbles wrack in Overhaul’s throat as he fists his angry, weeping cock, twisting and turning it as he prays for reprieve. It’s not enough; it’s not your mouth or any other oriface he would rather be shoving into, but the friction rubbing against his veins would have to be enough. He’s far from gracious at this point. Cupping and massaging his balls with one hand while thrusting into his enclosed other at ferocious speeds was all in the name of merely getting off. “Fuck,” he hisses out once again as he feels the very start of his orgasm. As much as his natural instinct is just telling him to sit back and enjoy the ride, his common sense tells him otherwise, tells him that he’s filthy for doing this and he doesn’t deserve to indulge in these thoughts.

But he needs that extra push to satiate his natural instinct.

Succumbing to his deeper, carnal desires, his imagination wanders back to you. With golden eyes screwed shut, he pretends it’s you he thrusting into, that it’s you stringing together languid profanities between your lips; that it’s you begging for daddy to fuck you harder.

That it’s you begging daddy to fill you up and make you into a mother.

“Oh, shit,” Chisaki is gasping for breath as he cums on the shower walls—the last thought to flood his mind serving to break the dam. He licks his lips and swallows hard, his skin becoming dry despite standing in the cold shower. After his ragged, uneven breathing returns to some semblance of normal, he peels his heavy lids open and stares at the fluid coating the shower wall. For a moment, shame washes over him because he feels pathetic and small. But the moment is brief before it was replaced with a dull burn of hunger that may never be quelled.

Pathetic, Kai thinks again as he scrubs his body clean, before exiting the arctic shower. Never before had he been in such a state, even at the ripe age of thirty-two, to masturbate to the mere thought of another person. Perhaps he was that touch-starved, all things considered.

He can’t bring himself to gaze at his reflection as he gets dressed. Adorning grey joggers and a red zip up hoodie, in addition to his usual mask and gloves, he maneuvers his way back to the makeshift garden where the children are still playing with together. But rather than you sitting alone at the patio table as you were, Dabi had joined you in the seat directly across from you.

Both of you were sporting matching cigarettes in your respective hands with matching distressed looks on your faces.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” you say in an almost indifferent tone, a departure from the way Kai had heard you in his mind seconds ago. It was a sentence typically accompanied with some sass, but your eyes were devoid of emotion at the moment. Cautiously, Chisaki took a seat beside you at the patio table, propping an elbow on the armrest closest to you before resting his temple on the same closed fist he had just used to beat himself off. You pay it no mind, how close he is to you, but rather put out your cigarette on the ashtray on the table as a courtesy to him. “Dabi,” your tone is thoughtful as you say your best friend’s name, making a hand gesture that signifies him to speak.

The leader of the Underground opens the manilla folder that was harboring the photos of both of your burnt down homes as well as the two other destroyed businesses. “It’s been a challenging investigation, but after eyewitness accounts and working with local law enforcement from the Surface, I’m pretty sure my bastard brother was behind this shit,” Dabi grits out.

“Brother?” Kai asks, confirming your suspicions of him being unaware of Dabi’s genealogy and family tree. To this, the leader pulls out a mug shot of Todoroki Shouto. The face wasn’t entirely familiar to Kai, save for the small resemblances to Dabi. Same jaw shape, same blue eye with the same dead look.

“Why us?” You ask, flipping the photo over. While it had been awhile since you had resided let alone visited the Surface, you knew that there was some rumors in the air about the start of a war, but what possible reason did Todoroki have for going after the Underground when everyone kept to themselves? For Chisaki, who ran a free clinic, and his children? What about you—why go after you?

Outside of Dabi, hadn’t the Todoroki family tortured you enough?

The city leader takes a deep breath, exhaling smoke as he extinguishes the dead cigarette on the ashtray. According to the patchwork man, Todoroki had confessed that he was selected for a covert mission from the Hero Association. The primary goal was to eradicate any and all quirk wielders within the Underground so they didn’t procreate further, so no overpowered quirks would mutate in the next generation of Underground born children. Overhaul lets out a scoff at the explanation—leave it to the Heroes to act so recklessly and selfishly.

If quirk mutation was the concern, only him and Eri would have been targeted, maybe Dabi as well. Probably Dabi as well. But they burned down Tropium Tattoos, the home of you whom had the legally registered quirk Life Canvas up on the Surface. They burned down a farm whose owner had a quirk that could manipulate light and sunshine—whose farm fed the patrons of the Underground. They burned down the house of the guy who had a weird magnet quirk. It sounds more useless than he actually is—Dabi ended up capitalizing on his manipulation of magnets to create magnetic elevators up to the surface for supply runs and other necessities.

This was about population control.

It was a form of genocide that Overhaul himself was all too familiar with.

“Well that’s fucked,” you sneer, reaching for one more cigarette, “the fuck is wrong with your family, dude, and why are they all trying to kill me and my family?” Chisaki turns his head in curiosity, no longer resting on his knuckles. The only time you had brought up your family, around him at least, was when Endeavor killed your parents—

Oh.

He pretends he doesn’t feel disappointment when he realizes you weren’t implying he and the children were your family.

“Why the hell do you think I left, [ name ]?” Chisaki almost feels as if he shouldn’t be present for this conversation; like it was meant to be private between the two of you. But he can’t bring himself to leave your side, not with the way anger is crinkling in the form of crow’s feet at the corner of your eyes. Dabi excuses himself after a long bout of silence, leaving you to stew in your bitterness while Overhaul directs the kids to wash up for dinner. You don’t realize all nine of them had left the garden until the doctor is standing over you, despite the small wisps of smoke billowing from your cigarette with a hand extended towards you to pull you from the patio chair. You’re sure to extinguish the stick, knowing how the smell often offended him before taking it.

“Why don’t you go rest inside for a minute and wash up while I make dinner?” He offers quietly as he pulls you to your feet. The entire time, Chisaki maintains eye contact, his golden orbs unwilling to break their trance with your form. But thanks to the distress and the rapid pace that your brain is moving, you aren’t even aware of your surroundings or the way Chisaki is just standing in front of you until you’re running into his broad chest. Instinctually, you recoil away from him. Not out of disgust or fear like before, but rather respect, knowing how he is about touch and physical contact.

“Sorry—“ his arms are nestling at your waist to keep you in close proximity and you’re suddenly reminded of the time your legs fell asleep at the orphanage and you had stumbled trying to walk. Chisaki had been there then too, holding you steady much like he was now. There was something drastically different to the scenario now compared to back then. The doctor didn’t shy away from the contact anymore, didn’t draw his hands back like he touched a freshly stoked lump of coal or break out into itchy hives. If anything, his gloved hands lingered just a little bit longer—too long even for Chisaki—before gingerly patting your head and retreating inside the home.

And maybe if you weren’t trying to process the fact that the Surface was attempting to start a war with the Underground, you would have dwelled more on the warmth and security coming from Kai. The poise he held coupled with the fire and desire in his eye would have been enough to reassure that everything was going to be alright.

Dabi never came back that night. Rather than leaving his head seat at the dining table empty, Chisaki sat to your left with his daughter filling his space temporarily. You sat directly across from Eri, the girl who was once too timid to thank you now smiled brightly every time you looked at her. Other than your best friend’s absence, dinner was relatively average. Conversation went on as normal, sharing laughter and smiles between all of you—it was a nice delusion that for a moment, you were all a complete family and you weren’t so enrapt with the heartbreak of knowing these ten humans were targets to the surface.

The children cleared the table as they always did, but rather than having the two oldest do the dishes, you offered to clean up instead. “Why don’t you kids gather up in the living room and have daddy put on a movie for you?” Clearly excited from the reprieve of duty, the orphans all head off, touting something along the lines of Frozen versus Tangled. But your back is already turned away from the family, getting started on putting away leftovers and scraping away scraps on plates and entirely missing the way Kai’s eyes drain from gold to a murky mustard. It misses the way his jaw clenches tightly as he settles the debate for his children, turning on Tangled—the clearly more superior film—before he returns to the kitchen.

The sleeves of your ragline tee are pushed above your elbows as you hum an unknown hymn, unaware of Kai stepping cautiously toward you. Despite having just eaten, the doctor is filled with a renewed hunger entirely as his grip finds limp purchase on your hips much like they had before dinner. “You know, I think we need to have a talk about you calling me ‘daddy’ in front of the children,” he murmurs hotly against the shell of your ear, causing the hair on the back of your neck to stand up. Your blood is torn between running cold from the predatory drawl in his words and boiling from the sudden close contact.

“I-I’m sorry, should I stop?” Kai licks his lips before running his teeth behind your ear and down your neck, suckling on the flesh as he mumbles a response.

“Do you want to?” You contemplate his question in full, though it proves to be a challenge with the way he’s pressing warm, open mouth kisses to your neck and shoulder and the way his hands are kneading at your hips. “Are you afraid of me, sweetheart?” He asks again, his voice a low grumble yet somehow is louder than thunder as it isn’t hidden behind a mask. Had this been months ago when he had asked you an identical question when you were perusing the reconstruction of the orphanage, you would have said yes again. But this wasn’t fear—fear wasn’t a word you associated with Chisaki Kai anymore.

Warmth. Strength. Dedication. Resolve.

Love.

Those were the words you associated with him now.

“No,” you finally respond, shutting off the water before turning to face him. It was a rare, momentous occasion when you got to gaze upon his bare face outside of having meals together. His golden eyes swirl with elation, even more so as your painted fingers brush stray locks that fallen just over his brows. Despite a rather simple appearance, especially in comparison to yours, there’s something elegantly charming about Chisaki Kai that had never gotten the full appreciation he deserved.

Tentatively, you nudge him closer to you from the back of his neck until your lips are pressed against his. For you, it’s an experiment just to feel him in such a manner. For Kai, it’s torture in every sense of the word because it’s a tease after all of the salacious thoughts that have marred his imagination. Taking a leap of faith, his arms tighten around your waist, pulling your body flush against his because right now there isn’t enough contact in the world that would satisfy him.

The once delicate, experimental kiss becomes hungrier at his hand as he’s exploring your mouth with tongue, groaning as he does so. The scent of smoke and fresh cotton wafts into his nostrils between his sharp intakes of breath as he refuses to break contact. It’s as if he’s trying to commit the moment to memory, to burn it into his brain.

As if this was never going to happen ever again.

“Kai,” you whimper out his name, his true name, between pants of breathlessness for the first time. Just as gingerly as before, your fingers are cradling the man before you by the temples. You’re gazing at him fully, unabashedly, as you run a thumb just below his distinct lower lashes. Chisaki’s head dips a bit further into your brief touch before you skip away from him.

“Wait, where do you think you’re going?”

“Come on, let’s go watch the movie with the kids,” you chime, holding a hand out to him as if he didn’t just have you all but pinned to the kitchen sink.

“I was serious when I said we needed to have a talk.” Despite his verbal protest, he takes your hand in his, trailing behind as you saunter off towards the living room where the children are fully invested in the film. Plopping down on an empty space on the couch, you bring Kai with you until he’s nearly resting on top of you. For a moment, he releases your hand, opting to wrap an arm around you to pull you closer. “Back to avoiding me, angel?” The doctor grumbles into your ear, low enough so as not to alert the little ones.

“Figured it would be better to not risk being interrupted,” you whisper back, smirk twisting your lips. Chisaki’s licks his own dry plains, tugging you even closer so that you’re sitting on one of his thighs instead. That predatory miasma that surrounds him on a day to day basis is seeping out of him tenfold, but intimidation when it came to Kai was now a foreign concept to you. It brought back that same seductively dangerous feeling you’d felt the first time you had dinner with the family or, thinking back further, to when you went to scope out the renovations. A part of you wonders if that fear you once had was displaced as soon as you knew he was going to keep your quirk a secret. Displaced with an attraction to him that was easily confused with fear.

A part of you wonders if you ever really did fear him at all.

Maybe you didn’t.

Your mindless thoughts wander to anything other than the screen, casually leaning back so that your head settled on Kai’s clavicle. The doctor looks down at you with a curiosity that is replaced with a warmth that temporarily quelled his lust. As much as he had been fighting his day dreams of fucking you, having you in his arms surrounded by his kids stoked a different fire inside him.

He didn’t want this domestic moment to end.

He hopes that desire translates into the simple gesture of his lips pressing into your hair.

Chisaki Kai was finally caving into his wants and being honest with himself. He doesn’t want this makeshift family to go back to normal when you finally returned to Tropium or when his family returns to the Underground clinic. There isn’t a single cell in his body that believes having you in his lap and curled into his chest feels anything other than right. He’s overwhelmed with the idea, the fantasy, of you moving in and being with the family. Your family—in the collective sense—with Kai by your side with your nine orphans.

During the lantern scene of the film, he presses another kiss where the roots of your hair meet your forehead, lips lingering a little longer than normal. In response, you look up at him curiously to find his muted golden eyes staring right at you. There was a plethora of different things that Chisaki wanted to say to you, especially with the way you look so heavenly in his arms. But he settles with the murmur of, “I don’t want things to go back to normal.”

“Neither do I,” you whisper, gracefully accepting the way Kai’s lips mould over yours almost lovingly. In a sense, it’s your way of finally admitting to yourself the feelings that worked and wriggled their way into your chest. The thought of returning to your lonely little two-bedroom apartment by yourself just seemed daunting now, despite the initial rush to get to work on the remodel. No more waking up to bright eyes at the table for breakfast or coloring with the kids; no more having Kai cook a delectable meal or having him accompany you in the garden for a smoke. It broke your heart just thinking about all you would be missing out on when life returned to somewhat normal, war aside.

The doctor sucks gingerly on your lower lip, nipping slightly with his canines as his tongue wholeheartedly dances with yours. The kiss is full of longing and desire and it made his brain go fuzzy with strange thoughts. A part of him can’t remember ever feeling this recurring surge of wanton lust and infatuation when Kai would kiss his wife and, in regular circumstances, he would have felt guilt over it. But this warm, wet entanglement of your tongues is more loving than he was accustomed to and it excited him. Than you were even accustomed to.

“So stay with me, sweetheart,” the nickname he’s given you sounds almost patronizing. But the admiration that seems to be laced in with it sends a shiver down your spine and leaves the hairs on your arms standing at full attention as the film comes to an end. “Time for bed, children. We’ll be by in a little bit to check on you,” Chisaki calls out to his protesting kids, though making no motion to move from his planted position on the sofa. When he’s certain that all nine of them are out of earshot, he adjusts you in his lap so that both of your legs are draped over his thighs. You call out his name, pulling him from his thoughts that take him far away from the present.

“You said you wanted to talk,” you remind him. A part of you is afraid to start conversation because you aren’t sure what direction he wants to take this. Chisaki could have an entirely different meaning of returning to normal than you, but for you...

You didn’t want to wake up every morning without him being nearby. In the rawest form, that was the only way you could piece it together into a coherent thought. But even more than that, you felt as if there was so much more you wanted to see from Chisaki Kai. He was becoming more open with touch, no longer breaking out into hives when he touched others and even going so far as to hold you, albeit very languidly as he was now. Another part of you wanted to know if he would be beside you when it came to the impending war with the Surface.

Mostly, you just wanted to know if he wanted to be by your side too, even if logic wanted to tell you this was a bad idea.

“Will you stay? With me?” Kai implores quietly. His eyes are locked with yours, the gold shining brighter than ever.

“You say this after I renovate our homes?” A short, lighthearted scoff leaves his lung in lieu of laughter at your attempt of a joke. Because, despite him echoing your own deeper, innermost thoughts, a part of you refused to believe this was reality. As if reality was actually playing a prank on you.

Of course he had thought of that little fact. It was the longing desire he felt in his bones to have your presence that he hadn’t taken into account, but that need burning at the pit of his stomach had outweighed any semblance of logic that urged him to keep his thoughts to himself.

“The kids will grow up eventually and need their own space away from the orphanage. We could always save it for them.”

Answers you were expecting from Chisaki Kai: not that.

Had he invested that much into the idea? To the point where he planned on you still being a part of the orphan’s lives until they were adults?

“‘We’?” You ask. “And what if “we” don’t work, have you considered that?”

“No,” Kai’s voice is clear and calm as ever, exuding the very confidence that once made you tremble, “I want you in every sense of the word. I’ve already said my vows and had my shot at forever. I want that sort of permanence with you and I know that some part of you wants me too.” At a loss for words, you opt to brush the backs of your nails along his cheeks endearingly, trailing them down until your hands find purchase around his neck to bring him close enough that you can feel his lashes tickle your cheekbones. The silence between the two of you was deafening and damning, yet welcoming as it’s broken with him pressing his lips fully against yours.

For a moment, it feels as if the hunger stirring within his gut is satiated—satisfied with the even the tender, loving gesture of pulling you closer still until you’re straddling his lap. As if you were trying to fuse your bodies together because there was no such thing as too much physical contact right now. Kai encircles your waist with his arms, hoisting you up as he motions to stand and causing you to wrap your legs around his midsection. You don’t ask where you’re going; partially because your tongue is too busy just indulging in a private dance with his, partially because it doesn’t matter where he takes you. You’d go with him anywhere, no questions asked.

It’s a challenge and a half maneuvering up the stairs with you anchored around him so tightly—even more so that with every step he took ended up grinding your pelvis along his ever-growing erection. Kai felt liberated this time around, shamelessly rubbing against you this time rather than scurrying off for a cold shower and a five-minute session with his hand. Your eyes open as he unceremoniously tosses you onto the plush blanket of your borrowed bed. Immediately, you’re greeted with the sight of Chisaki Kai hastily shredding off his tee shirt and lounge pants, leaving the doctor in strained boxer briefs.

Briefly, you’re blown away by the sheer beauty of him—like a statue of Adonis come to fruition before your eyes. Even with the uncomfortable twinge in his golden orbs from your unnerving gaze. It was different, to say the least, to have you gawking at him with such adoration when he felt he was the only one doing so. “C’mere,” your voice comes out as a near broken whimper, a call to which Kai heeds graciously. The bed dips as he kneels at the edge, crawling closer until he’s hovering above you. Gingerly, your fingers trace over the smooth skin of his cheeks, tracing down his lips and neck until they ghost over his collarbones.

“Sweetheart,” Kai groans out, snatching your hand in his as it continues to trail further down his bare skin. “As much as I want to bask in the romance of all of this, you called me ‘daddy’ earlier, and I think it’s time you suffer the consequences.”

“Yeah?” You sneer sardonically, pushing into your elbows until you’re both touching nose to nose. “Like it when I call you that?” His breath is hot as it fans over your features, the wanton lust tangled within the golden hues of his irises becoming overwhelmed with feral desire. Kai’s hand that isn’t supporting him over you grips tightly at your baggy tee, pulling harshly to tear at the fabric keeping your bare body from him. For a moment, his breath becomes caged in his chest upon seeing your semi-nude form for the first time. But the moment is flitting as he’s reminded of his aching, hard cock twitching underneath his undergarments.

“Hands and knees, baby,” the slow, torturous movement you give in reply grates at Kai’s nerves, prompting a resounding smack to the ass of your joggers the moment your bottom is visible to him. “Daddy’s already impatient, dear,”

“And what’s Daddy going to do about that?”

Similar to the treatment he gave your shirt earlier, Kai dug his fingers into the waistband of your joggers. Though he did not have nearly as much luck tearing off the thicker material, the gruff motion is enough to expose you, leaving your bare, pulsing core in plain sight while the cloth gathered at your knees. His chest presses against your back, his skin searing hotter than hellfire, as he places languid kisses along your shoulder. “I promise, I’ll spoil you with attention later. But right now, I need you,” his voice is something reminiscent of begging, only amplified by his suddenly bare cock dancing along your slit and smearing pre-cum along it before cautiously slipping the head in.

Throaty groans leave both of your lungs simultaneously. Kai swears up and down that this was heaven manifested into reality. Part of him thinks this is all a dream, the way your walls are squeezing him to tightly as he pushes in centimeter by centimeter. “K-Kai,” you whimper. The calling of his name awakens something gutturally primal within him.

“Uh uh,” the doctor tuts, ceasing his movements. “What’s my name, baby?” In lieu of a response, only pants of shortened breath escape your slackened jaw. There was no way Chisaki Kai was human, you decided. Not with the way his words sent every cell in your body into overdrive or the way his fat girth stretched you so deliciously without even entirely plunging his engorged cock. Not with how, despite his notoriety once proceeding him, he was often blatantly honest with you and certainly not with how utterly enamored he was with you and vice versa. “Say my name, baby, and I’ll give you a reward,”

“D-daddy, please,” you whisper in between breaths. Abiding by his word, Kai works his thick length into you, albeit still slowly, until your bones presses into his pubis and his whole cock carefully bottoms out inside you. His right hand trails up your tummy and dances along the skin of your sternum until his fingers encase your throat gingerly. Keeping still within you, the doctor tugs at your throat until you’re only resting on your spread knees as his lips ghost along the outer shell of your ear while he gives slow, deep, steady thrusts.

“You like having daddy’s fat fucking cock in you, angel? Feel so fucking good around me, yes you do,”

A real poet, Kai was.

Turning your head to face him, your fingers lace themselves in his messy locks and pull his lips to yours in a kiss that is entirely devoid of lust. He can bring the heat all he wants—it was your mission to make sure he understood that you wanted him in more than just sex. Even if the slow torturous withdrawing of his cock was absolutely divine.

And he felt it too. Even with his hand delicately cupping your throat or the way his pelvis greets your plump ass with every thrust or the way your wet walls clench on him as if trying to expel his cock from inside of you. Kai can feel it in the way your nails are digging into the flesh of his arms or in the tufts of breath that leaves your nostrils because he leaves you absolutely breathless. He feels the love, and he wants to bask in it.

Now that he’d quelled his hunger slightly, Chisaki pulls away from your endearing lip lock while simultaneously withdrawing his length from you. A small whimper leaves your lips at the loss before Kai turns you over, pressing your back against the mattress and sliding home once again. The passion and intimacy he feels is overwhelming, boiling his skin through every pore as he bears weight on one arm while the other caresses your cheek. “I meant it, you know,” the murmur dances like air along your own lips, warm breath inviting. “I want you in every possible way. I want to wake up next to you in the morning, experience every season that doesn’t pass for us in the Underground with you.”

“Kai...” in return, you seal you mouth along his, wrapping your arms around him to pull him closer and coaxing him to move. Slow and steady, he withdraws himself from within you before snapping his hips once again until he’s fully sheathed. Each thrust feels like thunder. “M-more,” you choke out, breaking apart your kiss momentarily to beg. His focus shifts down to where you’re connected—where each vein of his throbbing erection greets and becomes acclimated for every crevice within your cavern. Angling his hips along with your own with the assistance of his hand, he manages to welcome that spongy weakness that makes your knees buckle and regurgitate a scream in response.

“Right there, princess?”

“P-please!” The hand under the small of your back moves to hook around your knee, it’s twin mimicking the gesture and leaving you entirely at the mercy of Overhaul whose mission at the moment is to rearrange your insides in an entirely different sense. Pinning your knees to the bed, Kai is at the perfect angle to ram into your g-spot over and over at a rapid, even pace until you’re clenching around him deliciously, silently coercing his orgasm. “Oh my fucking god,”

“Mm, you’re so tight, baby. Ya gonna cum? Gonna cum nice and hard for me? Cum for daddy,” his words are almost enough—almost. And it was as if he knew the filthy, slopping sound of his cock reaming you wasn’t enough. Though whether enough for you or him remained a mystery, his thrusts are becoming erratic as he’s panting and grunting an unabashedly as he chases his release and oxygen. “I love you,” Kai’s voice is broken, “love you so much, just wanna fill you up over and over until your body only knows the taste of me.” And you aren’t sure if it’s his nasty, vile words or the way he is utterly knocking away at your g-spot that is causing you to convulse around him—that brings you over the final hurdle and over the dam. Screams rip past your lungs as your back arches as much as it can from it’s confines while your fingers twitch out of necessity to grip something—anything.

You’re granted no reprieve in that regard, but it matters not with the way Kai is still smacking his hips into yours, dragging out your orgasm even longer while in pursuit for his own. There is no amount of physical contact in this moment that is enough for him, even as he slats his lips over yours and slides his tongue inside your mouth to greet yours. Hips beginning to stutter, Kai is fighting every fiber in his soul—torn between the dichotomy of wanting to cum and stave off his orgasm because he wants to feel the welcoming, convulsing walls of your pussy forever. And though you’d already came at least once, the pressure was building again rapidly from the stimulation of the uneven rhythm of Kai’s hips. Part of you is thankful his tongue is hungrily dancing with yours to keep your screams muted so as not to wake the children down the hall. But the rumbling in his chest from his own throaty groans become overwhelming, forcing him to break away to and let his grunts and slew of curses fly from his mouth freely.

“I love you, Kai,” the moans are just as bad coming from you, but those four words coming from your lips are what do the aforementioned man in. And he can tell there is no lie dripping from a silver tongue here—you mean every ounce of these four little words. For everything that is Chisaki Kai—the former Yakuza leader, the former villain, the doctor, the father—you loved the man before you.

“Fuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuck, ‘m gonna cum,” he wails, the rhythm of his cock head tamping against your womb matching the pacing of his broken speech, “daddy’s gonna cum so fucking deep in you, gonna make you mine forever, angel.” Another hissed out string of profanities pass through as his dick twitches almost violently, shooting out ropes of seed and painting your walls white. You can tell he meant what he said, even in his lustful spew, by the way he leaves his softening erection inside of your spasming cunt and sealing his emission inside until he was almost certain his claim held permanence.

“I meant it too,” you mumble into Kai’s sweaty neck as he collapses on top of you. Though he’s boneless at the moment, having spent all of his energy, you feel the breath of his questioning grunt beside your ear before his face is attempting to look at you while half buried in your pillow. Gingerly, he removes his now flaccid member from you, adjusting himself so that his form molds around you and wraps his arm securely around your stomach.

“You know,” Kai starts off slowly. The rich timber of his voice is thick with exhaust but is warm and welcoming all the same. “I was jealous before.”

“Jealous? Of what?”

“My children love you—a woman who was nothing but a stranger who doesn’t even like kids. They warmed up to you so easily, much easier than they did with me,” there’s a brief pause between his statements, causing you to adjust under his grasp until you’re touching nose to nose with the doctor. His eyes are closed for a moment, his long and feathery lashes greeting the tops of his delicate cheekbones. “So I tried to understand. Tried to figure just why they gravitated towards you.”

“And what did you find?” Peeling back his eyelids, Kai’s rich amber eyes bore into your own. Irises swirling with admiration before the view is flooded with a sudden closeness and the press of his plush lips against yours in the most loving fashion.

Truth be told, he wasn’t sure how to answer.

He had found determination and independence, qualities of a strong woman that his daughters looked up to. Free and proud and brave, he thinks, are the reasons his sons admired you. But there’s something more. There’s a love and warmth that you bring to the family, yet a sternness that doesn’t allow them to run rampant (not that they would under Overhaul’s upbringings) that spoke so motherly to each of his nine children. And somewhere along the way for the last six months that the Clinic had been under remodel, Kai found himself gravitating to all of those exact qualities in you, the envy transforming into an admiration of his own. It was an error in his initial magnetic attraction conspiracy theory; he thought that your fear had changed to attraction when it was his all along.

But Kai’s not always the greatest with words, and the thought of spilling his deepest thoughts of you seems a daunting task that he’d rather replace with kissing you instead. Considering you asked a question, however, he did feel the need to respond with something—anything.

“I found you.”

“Honey, I can still help, you know,” you whine for the umpteenth time, folding your arms over your chest as you stand in the mayoral office of Dabi with your partner. It’s been a year since Todoroki Shouto had burned down Tropium Tattoos and the Underground Clinic and tonight was finally the night that the Underground had planned on mobilizing their forces. It had taken a full year of investigating, planning, building alliances with those on the Surface, and patience for the citizens to finally strike back.

Enough was enough.

All of you had been exiled at one point or another, but now the Surface was trying to exterminate all of you.

“Angel, no,” Kai chides sternly, igniting the twitch on the leader’s face. Granted it had been six months since you and Kai had first declared this little relationship of yours and, as your best friend, Dabi was still slightly hesitant on the idea. Not that his opinion had much weight considering—

“Kai, I am only three months along. I can still fight!”

“Hell no,”

“Absolutely not,” both men snark simultaneously. Best friend or not, personal opinion aside, there was no way in the ninth circle of hell that Dabi was going to let you go to war while you were pregnant. And with Kai being the father, the chances of you getting your way in this moment with him were even slimmer. The doctor pinches the bridge of his nose underneath his black cloth mask with his thumb and middle finger before letting out an annoyed rift of air. “Dabi, I’m gonna take [ name ] home before we go over invasion plans. Do you mind?”

“Nah,” the leader waves his purple and nude hands in dismissal, “besides, we should wait for Hawks to get here before we start all that.” With that, Kai grabs your wrist with his gloved hand and drags you away from the office. He knows you want to fight, and he knows you want to protect your family—all eleven with himself and the embryo included. But as a father with another—biological—one on the way, Chisaki Kai just can’t bring himself to allow you to put yourself in harm’s way.

“Sweetheart,” he calls out, stopping just outside of the currently closed Tropium. The grey and white building looked crisp and clean and everything you wanted it to be but you often found yourself closing up shop early and coming in late to spend more time with your nine children at home. At the very least, you were grateful that your parlor was only a block or two away from the clinic. “I need you here where you can keep our children safe in case anyone slips through the cracks.” Even with his mask on, you can tell that Kai is trembling ever so slightly. The thought of someone making their way into his home and hurting his kids, hurting you, was enough to unleash the beast within.

“I know,” you respond quietly. Using his grip on you to your advantage, you pull the doctor towards you until he’s towering over you and looking down directly into your eyes. “But you know me, always ready to jump headfirst into the fire,” his amber eyes soften, thinking back to a year ago when you had saved Eri from the burning clinic. To think that a year later, you would be living with him and carrying his child and occupying nearly every cell in his brain.

“It’s your turn to watch the kids,” he jokes pulling down his mask below his chin to slat his lips over yours lovingly. It’s only half a joke—he knows better than anyone you would do anything to protect them. He’s known that since day one.

“You better come back to us,” your demand is quiet and breathless and laced more with concern than it is with threat. The thought of Kai dying while on the Surface has plagued you for the last six months, even more so when you found out you were pregnant. He knew it too, knew how much worry and panic had disturbed your sleep when the realization that war was an option had settled in. Despite the knowledge that he carried about different afflictions and ailments; Kai had been at a loss for how to quell your anxiety. He hopes that circumstances aside, him reaching into the right-side pocket of his heavy, army green coat and pulling out the small black velvet box is the correct move. Gingerly holding up said box until it’s in your line of sight, he takes a step back before peeling back the lid to showcase a single, solitaire diamond set in a simple gold band.

“I promise you I will come back. And when this is all over, we can finally enjoy our life in peace, so long as you’ll have me.”

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nautilusopus · 3 years

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do you have any favorite books?

Coraline by Neil Gaiman is the obvious answer lol. Still my favourite book to this day, obviously hugely influential in my own bullshit. Seriously check it out if you can find a copy, it’s pretty short and absolutely worth your time.

The Devil’s Storybook by Natalie Babbitt and its sequel (The Devil’s Other Storybook) are more of an anthology of short stories starring the Devil, who occupies every role from vague background presence to put-upon protagonist that are funny and thought-provoking and genuinely clever and that pissed enough people off that it was a banned book for a while. “The Imp in the Basket” is the kind of short story I wish more people knew about and wanted to sincerely discuss what actually happened at the end.

ugh i haven’t read a book i actually enjoyed in over ten years at this point uhhhhhh

Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut. I think potentially the only classic I had to read in school that I genuinely liked and actually finished in one sitting on my own time. And I think the first time any themes a book had for me actually clicked and I was able to do any kind of meta analysis of it completely unprompted. Baby’s first literary comprehension. Slaughterhouse-Five is a semi-autobiographical piece set during the bombing of Dresden in WWII, and also some period in the “future” (the 80s lol), and ALSO on an alien planet as the protagonist is abducted and taken to a human zoo. The story is told achronologically, and I feel is hugely influential to my own shit where it skips around, building a narrative almost entirely by juxtaposing specific moments in time against one another. It's surreal and thought-provoking, and if you only ever make yourself read one classic, it should be this one. *

Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH by Robert C. O'Brien. Bear in mind this thing has fuck-all to do with the movie, and while in retrospect I now am able to enjoy the Don Bluth movie as its own thing, I remember being fucking furious when they busted out a goddamn magical amulet. It’s a different kind of story, but is more magic realism than outright fantasy, and the titular rats get a lot more backstory, as does the late Mr. Frisby iirc.

The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane by Kate DiCamillo. God that book fucked me up. It is about a snotty porcelain toy rabbit that gets dropped overboard a ship into the ocean one day, and the various owners he has over the years as he changes hands, and the impacts they have on him, and it makes me fucking cry every time and is to date the only book to ever do so so fairly warned be ye. Fucking shit I wish I could dish out gut-punches half as good as that book could.

The His Dark Materials trilogy by Phillip Pullman, which in and of itself is an angry rebuttal against everything the Chronicles of Narnia has to say, as well as Christianity in general. You’ve probably seen shit floating around about the HBO series, which I have not watched. Lyra is a horrible gremlin child running wild around a parallel universe Oxford until she accidentally stumbles onto a conspiracy that goes all the way to the Church which unofficially runs the government and eventually starts an interdimensional war against God. The first two books I think are better than the last one, which really drags in spots (and in a twist of irony had Lyra’s sexual awakening censored from the North American release which like... come on man). Absolutely worth checking out though, especially if you’re an angry pedant like I am.

Tales from the House of Bunnicula, by James Howe. Honestly the entire "Bunnicula Expanded Universe"(???) is great, but in particular I'm mentioning this sub-series because I think it actually kind of taught me to write. The framing device used is that they're being written by Howe's pet dog and sent in to him to publish by proxy. On top of having just a lot of good storytelling tips for beginners (how to create a plot! how to create character motivations! how to write female characters like actual people!), they're also fun little satire pieces of various kinds of genre fiction. Like, the third book is a riff on Harry Potter and making fun of all of JKR's worst writing tendencies, like her compulsion to phonetically write out everyone's fucking accent.

these days i'm just too picky to enjoy books anymore idfk. you have no idea how fucking disheartening it was growing up with actual taste (snooty snooty snoot) and watching everyone go nuts over stuff like divergent and eragon and maximum ride and fuckmothering twilight and shit. like, yeah misogyny absolutely played into why people shat on it because teenage girls aren't allowed to like anything, but lest we forget they were still shitty books guys. that never stopped being true or anything. and you were a social pariah if you didn't like them and that sucked. and then a couple ostensibly good series, like harry potter and artemis fowl and hunger games just dropped the fucking ball for one reason or another as they went on and never picked it back up. i think the mid 2000s almost singlehandedly just killed any real enthusiasm i had for reading altogether (this is not even getting into the fact a lot of really fucking bad "grown-up" novels came out around that period too. whole era was a baaaad time for books). so here i am writing, i guess, because i've decided you fuckers can't be trusted to make anything good yourselves. if you want something done right...

(*I like to think if Cloud wrote a book he’d write something like Slaughterhouse-Five. I think at one point I was even working on a fic along those lines -- a fictional story vaguely based off the burning of Nibelheim and the fall of Shinra that was written, in-universe, by Cloud several years later. Abandoned it just because of how fucking complicated it would be to do. Might come back to it one day.)

#asks #Anonymous

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mf-despair-queen · 4 years

Text

Never Give Up - Lee Taeyong

Author: @mf-despair-queen

Pairing: Lee Taeyong/Reader

Word Count: 20,984

Summary: When Y/N joins SM Entertainment as a trainee, she didn’t think she would make it. Nor did she think Lee Taeyong from NCT would be assisting in training her class. But most of all, she didn’t think that he would step up to help her achieve her dream.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Unprotected Sex, Oral, Shower Stuff, kinda sweet stuff all around because Taeyong is just a caring baby?

Notes: Only like... 3 months in the making. But I hold this fic very close to my heart because Taeyong’s story of becoming an idol is very precious to me. And just as an overall person, he’s very inspiring to me. I wanted to represent that side of him, not giving up when you have a dream and a goal, to be the best you can be and not let anything bring you down.

Happy chatter filled the room, the voices echoing off the walls and mirrors located all around. Each small group stretched together, joyously preparing for the first day as a trainee. Some showed off their moves at each other while others just kept a pleasant conversation to pass the time.

And here you were, sat alone in the corner. Our fingers tapped anxiously while reaching for your foot extended in front of you, feeling the muscles in your back stretching out and loosening. Sweat was leaking from your pores, keeping your skin moist and uncomfortable despite the lack of dancing you had actually done.

When the door opened, everyone instantly stood at attention, including yourself whom scrambled up to stand at attention. Lines had formed, each trainee stood one by one as the instructor waltzed in, eyes glowering slightly as he scanned the crowd.

“Good morning, sir,” the trainee group said in unison with a bow, the teacher nodding in approval.

“Good morning,” he said, voice slightly gruff and deep, throwing you off for a moment. The instructor placed his stuff aside - a notebook and pen combo, water bottle, and towel - before turning to face everyone. “My name is Kim Jihun and I will be your dancer teacher. And may I start by saying congratulations on being admitted to be a trainee of SM Entertainment.”

The girls around you clapped happily, smiles on their faces. Your hands were slow to come together, your nerves on edge. His words seemed to haunt you, sending a shiver up your spine. You were questioning why you even showed up to the audition in the first place. You weren’t expecting to get through when they approached you on the street, telling you that they were looking for potential recruits.

You weren’t anything special in your mind. Sure, you loved to dance and sing in your free time, but compared to the people around you, you were miniscule. You wanted nothing more than to shrink into the background and disappear, running from the room and never returning.

“Let me warn you that this will not be an easy course,” his words filled the room, making you snap back to attention. Jihun walked back and forth in front of the group, speaking slowly and intently. “SM Entertainment has very high standards for its artists and you are expected to work hard to achieve that. Fail, and you be let go. Succeed, and you will be trained until you are ready to debut.”

You swallowed thickly, eyes falling to the ground before you. You toe dug into the shiny hardwood floor, afraid to look up. You knew that the look in the mirror would show just how stressed you were while everyone else looked determined to do well. Your hands rung around the bottom of your shirt, wrinkling the loose material in the tight grip. Your fingers twisted around the material, disappearing into the white fabric.

“But, don’t let that discourage you. Everyone here is at a different level, but you can’t let your inexperience stop you. I’ve had trainees in the past that have come in and I thought they would amount to nothing. I figured they would not make it to be an idol. But I was wrong. Through hard work and determination, he was able to overcome those challenges and become the leader dancer of her group. He is the epitome of the term “never give up on your dreams” and I want you all to remember that.

“I want you to remember that because he will be training you as well for the next few months. His group is on hiatus for the time being after having finished their recent promotions and he expressed an interest in helping train for once. So, don’t think he needs any further introduction. Please welcome Lee Taeyong from NCT.”

Your heart stopped when you watched him open the door carefully, a nervous smile on his gorgeous face. It made his soft cheeks uplift, contrasting against his sharp jaw. He uttered over a dozen hellos as he entered, bowing continuously in his normal polite manner, hands clasped together in front of him with every bend of his back and step of his feet. Each bow made his bright blue hair bounce around, falling to rest against his forehead when he stood straight. His brown eyes twinkled in the lights of the practice room, the glimmer they shone making your heart race. His large hands rubbed together as he took his place next to your instructor, trailing his eyes over the crowd. It felt like his eyes lingered longer on you, his smile curling further. The male idol was wearing a simple pair of black skinny jeans and a loose white shirt that said “Rare”, black shoes adorning his feet.

You let out a shaky breath, unable to believe that Lee Taeyong was standing in front of you. You had watched the man grow and succeed since his days as an SM Rookie, He was one of the reasons you enjoyed dance as much as you did. Seeing the way he moved, the joy it brought - you couldn’t help but move yourself. You aspired to be as good as him, sadly accepting that you never would be. He was a god among men, and you could only wish that you could be on his level one day.

Now, he stood before you in the flesh, ready to help you learn and improve. If you weren’t nervous before, you would be now. Too bad you were already sweating bullets before he walked in. Your face felt hot and you were ready to pass out. From across the room, you could feel his presence. HIs aura was intimidating, even though the face he gave the crowd was soft and he bounced between his feet anxiously. His hands rung together, picking at his nails slightly, but he stood proud.

“Hello,” he greeted officially. Your heart thundered heavily at the sound of his sultry voice. It was deep and smooth, a husky undertone that you were familiar with from his fabulous rapping skills. His infectious smile made you crack a small one of your own, feeling your cheeks light up with a bright burn.

“My name is Lee Taeyong, leader of NCT. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He finished his greeting with a bow, you and the others following his gesture. When he stood up, he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his forehead while speaking. “I’m really looking forward to helping train you guys for a while. I remember my days as a trainee and how nerve wracking it can be, so I hope that I can help you guys grow and improve like I was able to.”

“I will leave this to you, Taeyong,” Jihun told the idol leader, who nodded in return. Jihun took a seat in a chair to the side, his notepad and pen in hand. His dark eyes stared daggers through the room, ready to assess your first day.

Taeyong made his way to the front of the room, everyone turning to face the mirrors and rearranging themselves to a more comfortable location to begin the lesson. You slid to the back of the group, hiding yourself from the mirror as much as possible in the small group of people. Taeyong slid a black headband on his head to keep his hair back, turning to stare at himself - and your group behind him - in the mirrors.

“Alright. We’ll begin by teaching you the moves to this choreography that I helped to create. It was something I dabbled in when we did the song So Am I with Ava Max, so I hope you all like it. We will start off slow and practice each section a few times, but it’ll be pretty quick to learn the entire piece. By the end of today, I want to test run this dance with the music.”

You dry swallowed, shaking slightly. It was time…

He wasn’t kidding when he said the learning curve was steep. The speed that you were intended to learn the choreography was fast paced, even with Taeyong’s slow and methodical teaching style. He showed each step multiple times, explaining thoroughly what he was doing and how your body should be moving with the movement. He allowed ample time for you to practice the movements before moving onto the next move, He would even sing his own rap part when he picked up the pace to show the entire section as it should be performed, your eyes wide in awe. Taeyong made the dance look simple.

The steps themselves weren’t hard in reality, but you couldn’t help but wonder if you were doing it right. As pieces started to get linked together, more of the choreography coming together, you couldn’t help yourself from turning your eyes to those around you, trying to pick up on how they moved, imitating their postures and strides. The more parts that got added amplified the difficulty, aiding in your downfall, your progress slowing, stopping and receding.

You were struggling to follow the full dance, resorting to following those around you in an attempt to complete the dance. You felt weak compared to them, lacking power and precision, your steps sloppy and uncoordinated. You were off beat, arms swinging slowly, body rolling with less exuberance than the other trainees. You were crying internally from the difficulty and underwhelming results.

Taeyong stopped everyone for a water break, readying the music. “One last run before we end for today. I know it’s been rough for the first day, but this dance course is no easy feat. We will do one run of the choreo with the music then you guys are free to head to your vocal class.”

A resounding grunt of acceptance was heard, but all you could do was puff out a sigh. You prayed that you could mimic those around you enough to get through the dance, all while hoping Taeyong’s eyes didn’t find you in the back of the crowd. When the music started, you struggled, just as you thought you would. Your eyes followed everyone else, a beat behind just like during the practice runs. You struggled your way through the dance, wishing with each passing second that it would be over.

Taeyong’s dutiful eyes, a deep, chocolate color, scanned the crowd unknowing to the trainees as he danced, taking in every incorrect step, bent leg during a kick, and lackluster sway of the hips. But, amongst all the trainees, he couldn’t stop his eyes from being drawn to you shielded in the back of the crowd. He pouted slightly to himself, fixated on the slow movements and turned head, pausing to get the steps of your colleagues.

His heart ached for you.

Taeyong uttered a thank you to the group once the song was over, everyone bowing before parting their ways to collect their belongings. Taeyong strode away to Jihun, the two muttering softly together, the dance instructor jotting things down as Taeyong talked. You let out a sigh, knowing that you had been caught red handed by the instructor. Soon, Taeyong would know as well. You were disheartened to know that you had failed your role model at his own choreography. Your feet, aching and sore, moved towards your bag, missing how Taeyong glanced your way, Jihun’s eyes following.

You collapsed to the ground, ignoring everyone around you grabbing their stuff and making their way to the door, the room growing quieter by the second. You pulled out your phone, frowning at the text you had received from your mother asking about how your first day went. She had always supported you, encouraging you to pursue this unrealistic dream - that was quickly transforming into a nightmare instead. You didn’t know how to tell her it didn’t go well.

Yeah, the first day was horrible. That’s just what she’d want to hear.

“Excuse me,” you heard beside you. Your head whipped to the familiar, deeply pleasant voice of Lee Taeyong. The idol had removed his headband from his blue hair, allowing beads of sweat to drip along his facial features, running along his jawline. His dark eyes bore into your soul, his sweet smile making butterflies rage at you. “Sorry to disturb you. Your name is Y/N, correct?”

You blinked, unsure how he knew who you were. “Yeah…?” You placed your phone down, standing slowly. Your feet were yelling at you for doing so, but it didn’t feel right to sit while talking to him. You bowed at the young man, though he waved at you in dismissal.

“No need for that. It’s fine,” he chuckled happily. “I just… want to talk to you really quick. If you have a moment.”

Your brow furrowed, opening your mouth to find no words escaping. Your throat felt dry, swallowing once before managing to get something said. “I mean… I have to get to my vocal training…”

“I will walk you there and explain the situation,” he offered.

“A-alright,” you weakly muttered.

Taeyong gave a sad smile, licking his lips before speaking. “I just… I couldn’t help but notice you during the training.” Your heart plummeted. “You looked like you were really struggling.”

“I-I…” you started, fighting back tears. “I was, I guess…”

“No need to be sad!” he exclaimed quickly, biting at his lower lip. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”

“You wanted to talk to me because I suck horribly?” You uttered sarcastically, earning a chuckle from the man.

“Kind of, I guess,” he teased. You pouted. “I wanted to make you an offer actually.”

“Offer?”

“Yeah,” he cooed softly. His hand ran through his hair, cheeks puffing with a burst of air before continuing. “I wanted to see if you’d like some extra lessons. You know, with me?”

“What?” you asked without hesitation. Taeyong laughed, shaking his head.

“I wanted to give you some extra dance lessons, just the two of us. That way we can focus on what you need more than the others. That way we can get you on a higher level than you are at now.”

You blinked at him, turning away slightly, avoiding his sharp gaze. “Why would you want to do that?” you whispered lowly.

“Because,” Taeyong spoke calmly. You turned to look back at him when he didn’t continue. His face was serious, but he smiled at you, stuffing his hands in his pockets. His foot kicked the wood floor aimlessly, digging the toe of his shoe into it. “I know what it’s like to be in your shoes. I know what it’s like to struggle and feel like you aren’t good enough. I know how it feels to think you aren’t cut out for this.

“I was called a blank sheet when I was a trainee and I felt insulted. I felt like I was being told that I wasn’t good enough and I wouldn’t amount to anything. But I overcame that because I realized that as much of a blank sheet as I am, I could draw my own path on it. And I want you to be able to do the same. I was in the same boat as you once, standing at the back of the crowd, following everyone else. Now, I can stand on my own two feet. I want to help you do the same.”

You contemplated his words, never straying your eyes from him. Silence enveloped the room, apart from the steady breaths of the pair of you. Finally, you spoke up. “But why do you want to try so hard with me?”

Taeyong grinned, freeing a hand to ruffle his hair. “Because I can see the fire and desire in your eyes. This is what you love to do, and I want to make sure that you can enjoy every bit of it. I’m not going to give up on you because I want to see you overcome this and make it big one day.” He let out a heavy breath, licking his lips. “So, what do you say? You up for some extra dance practices?”

After a moment of hesitation, you nodded slowly. Taeyong’s face lit up, grinning widely. “Alright. I’d like the extra training if you’re willing to help. I… I don’t want to give up.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t let you,” he laughed. He grabbed his phone from his pocket, handing it to you. “Go ahead and put your number in. We can set up a secondary schedule around your vocal and dance practices. And we can use this room as our go to. Sound good?”

“Sounds good,” you told him, taking his phone and typing in the number. When you handed it back, contact name complete with a smiley face, your fingers brushed, making your skin tingle. Your cheeks lit up, backing away slightly to grab your stuff. “I appreciate the help, Taeyong. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Same here,” he grinned, leading you to the door after you gathered your belongings. “You’re going to do great, Y/N I just know it.”

“Ugh!” you huffed in exasperation. Killing the music on your phone, your hand a sweaty hand through your hair, pushing the loose strands away from your forehead in anger. You had stumbled again, much to your dismay. Despite the extra practice you were getting, and the additional coaching you had been gifted, you were still struggling, grasping everything too slow for your liking.

Training for Taeyong outside of the normal practice had been a blessing. You found yourself doing better, learning the dances more and more each time, but you still had difficulties during the classes themselves, finding yourself still following the others to move your feet and hands to the beat. You continued to stay to the back, even though Taeyong encouraged you to step forward more and show the skills he believed you had.

Speaking of Taeyong - you never realized just how caring the man was until you agreed to this ordeal. You found yourself getting daily text from him after having exchanged numbers to discuss your additional practice regimen, the older male never failing to give words of encouragement amongst his own busy schedule. The texts came without fail before every dance and vocal lesson that he wasn’t there for, using silly emojis, dancing gifs and memes he found online to keep your low spirits elevated as much as possible.

That was just one aspect of the sweet man. Once your private lessons began, you learned how patient he was with you. Seeing your struggles, he slowed down his own movements, taking more time to show you what to do and how to do it. He pointed out every detail you would need to know for the dance before stumbling over his own feet, ears turning red.

“I meant to do that,” he would claim, earning a laugh from you. Hear your laugh just made him smile.

Taeyong over the few weeks you had been a trainee, under his tender loving care as a mentor, became a close friend that you could confide in, no matter the time of day. During water breaks, you would find yourself talking about everything and nothing with the idol, both of you sharing every little fact you could with each other. At this point, it felt like Taeyong knew you better than you knew yourself, and vice versa. You learned many things about the humble young man, your heart thumping harder every day for him. Your adoration for him had grown the more you learned about him, every day getting better.

Until now.

Letting out a deep breath, you restarted the music, turning to face the mirror. As the beat began, your foot slid across the floor, toes pointed, and leg extended outward. Your arms raised, beginning to sway to the beat just as you had learned not even an hour before in your class. Your hips rounded, turning in circles to the thumping music. Your eyes closed to concentrate on what you were doing, counting the steps as you moved.

Your body stumbled when the chorus hit, feet tangling around each other when you went to take a step. You let out a loud grunt, feet stomping in annoyance. “Why can’t I get this right?” you exclaimed to no one in particular, venting the pent-up frustration you felt.

“You’re overthinking it.”

The words caught you off guard, your body whipping around to face the door, only stumbling to the side in the progress. Taeyong chuckled, pulling off the white hat he had on his head, placing the plastic bag in his hand against the wall. You pouted at his laughter, trudging over to pause the music. The idol ruffled his blue hair, taking a seat against the wall. Wordlessly, you joined at his side, taking the iced coffee he offered to you.

“Don’t laugh at me,” you scowled at him playfully. Taeyong smiled at your words.

“I’m not wrong though,” he stated firmly. “Also, sorry for startling you. That wasn’t my intention. And I’m sorry I was running late. I was finishing recording a new song.”

“I know. I got your text,” you teased. Taeyong made a sour face, sticking his tongue out.

“And here I was nice and brought dinner because I was running late.”

“Depends what you brought,” you told him. Taeyong moved the bag in front of you, pulling out a platter of japchae, gimbap and mandu. You watched him eagerly open the japchae, snapping his chopsticks apart so he could take a mouthful of food. “How do you stay so skinny when you love food so much? Especially sweets. I’ve seen you eat nearly a dozen cupcakes before and you lost weight. I don’t get it.”

“Dancer metabolism,” he joked.

“Don’t be mean,” you huffed, biting into a warm dumpling. “So, what did you mean?”

“Hm?” he hummed, tilting his head cutely. You shook off the adorable face, shoving his shoulder with yours instead.

“You know,” you scolded. “When you walked in, you said that I was overthinking it. What did you mean?”

“Exactly what I said,” he pointed out. “You’ve gotten better, but I can see how you are still struggling. And I think you are trying too hard to do well at it now. Because you are so worried about doing well, worried about learning to choreography fast enough, and worried about not messing up, you’re pushing yourself too much. When you stress, you are bound to make more mistakes. When you worry, you’re more prone to mistakes. I would know. I did it a lot when I was a trainee.”

“Oh.”

Taeyong gave a small, lopsided smile. “Hey, it’s not a bad thing. It’s understandable and kind of to be expected. The stress that being a trainee for SM is insane sometimes and when you don’t believe you are doing enough, it hurts a bit.”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I’m scared of the first evaluation next week.”

“Don’t be. Just do your best. That’s all you can do. Practice and do what you can. You can’t let yourself get down about this because you need to make your own path with this.”

“This coming from a blank slate?” you teased.

Taeyong chuckled, nodding vigorously. “Absolutely. I was hard on myself all the time, YN,” he said, turning to look at you better. “I didn’t think I’d make it. But I never gave up because I love what I do. I love to dance. I love to rap. I love to sing. And even though I felt insulted, I turned that around. I decided that I would write my own story. And, I know you have that same drive.”

“How do you know?” you asked after a moment of hesitation, pulling your eyes away from the bowls in front of you to look into the dark eyes of the young man beside you. His lips upturned, showing his glistening white teeth.

“Because I can see how much you love to dance. I can see how much joy it brings. I can see the passion you have for it. And I want to see you succeed,” he told you. Learning back on his hands, Taeyong stared up at the ceiling for a moment. “Honestly, I can see how good you are too. Even though you take a bit to learn the moves, I can see how strong your movements really are. You follow others for the steps, but when you have them, you are the best at them. And, if you ask me, you stand out the most among the trainees.”

“Really?” you asked, shocked.

“Of course,” he chuckled. “If I’m being honest right now, you were the first one to draw my eye on day one. Not because you weren’t doing well. There is just something about you like I enjoy watching. And when you can get the dances, it’s even better. I can’t pull my eyes away because you have this… I guess you can call it beauty, to you that just makes me smile. I love watching you dance and enjoy yourself. And I can’t wait for others to see what I see.”

Your face burned with the blush that rose to your cheeks, curling your hands in your lap. “Thanks, Taeyong. That means a lot to me.”

“You don’t need to thank me. I’m only stating the truth,” he mused happily. Rising to his feet, his hand extended towards you. “Now, shall we get started so we can show the world one day what Y/N is capable of?”

“I guess,” you huffed, playfully reluctant. Your hand fit perfectly in his, allowing Taeyong to pull you to your feet.

“No one overthinking your steps, right?”

“No guarantees.”

Taeyong pouted, moving over to your phone. He didn’t even have to ask, unlocking it with ease. “Fine. Be that way.” The music started, a smirk forming on his face as he leaned against the wall. “Show me what you got. Come on.”

Letting out a breath, you turned to start the dance, beginning strong. As the music progressed, your movements wavered, unsure if they were correct or not. Taeyong followed your form silently, not interrupting you as you went. You managed to complete the dance, not perfect by any means. The music trailed off, the final notes fading through the speakers. Your chest heaved with uneven breaths, turning to the idol for the judgement call.

“Not bad,” he called, taking slow steps forward. “Definitely better than you’ve done before. You’re getting a lot better, Y/N.”

“Are you sure?” you asked.

Taeyong chuckled, shaking his head. “Stop doubting yourself. You’re an amazing dancer, Y/N.”

“I guess…”

“You’re impossible,” he laughed. “Do me a favor. Show me beginning from verse two.”

With a confused look on your face, you did as he requested. Your foot and arm extended to the right, ready to bring your other arm around as you stepped. But Taeyong told you to stop, making your body freeze, tightening to hold the pose. He stepped closer to you, standing behind you. You could see him through the mirror, his gaze reflecting back on you.

“What are you doing?” you asked quietly.

Your already tense body from the stress and anxiety of training tightened more, your breathing shortening. His fingers danced their way up your arm, ghosting along your skin lightly, tickling you in the process, before taking your wrist in his hand, raising it slightly.

“Your stance is off,” he spoke lowly, words somewhat raspier than normal. “Your arm should be a bit higher here. And your leg should extend a bit more.” His foot nudged yours out, making you slide against the wood flooring. Luckily, his free hand was on your waist to keep you steady, his fingers pressed into bare skin from where your tank top had ridden up.

You turned to look up at him, Taeyong glancing down at you. His hot breath could be felt against your skin, making you blush more. Slowly he dropped his hand, letting you hold the stiff position while he examined you. Slowly, he got you to start dancing again, following your movements on his own directly behind you. His movements were more fluid and cleaner than yours, but the entire time, Taeyong helped to guide you, never once hesitating in what he was doing.

When you stopped, you turned to look at him, watching the young man silently run his fingers through the sky lit locks on his head, fluffing the strands inadvertently. “What are you thinking?” you voiced, watching him ponder. Taeyong tilted his head back and forth, cracking his neck as he did before speaking up.

“I think I know the issue.”

You snorted out a laugh. “Oh really? We’ve been are this for a few weeks now and you just now know what the issue is?”

“Yup,” he laughed, stepping behind you again. His hands found their place on your shoulders, turning you to the mirror. “You, my dear, are too tense.”

“Well, that’s a given,” you laughed. “I’m a bit stressed.”

“I don’t think it’s just that,” he said. “I think you are working too hard. I think you just need to relax a bit and just let go. Enjoy the music a bit more.”

“Enjoy the music?” you asked.

Taeyong nodded, moving over to connect his phone to the speaker. He flicked through his music playlist a bit before turning on some soothing, but fun, music, bouncing on the balls of his feet to the sound.

“Honestly, I find myself dancing the best when I can just relax and enjoy the music. I like to be able to feel the music and just move to it freely. It’s very calming and just helps me loosen up. But I think it helps me connect better to what I’m doing.” Taeyong started swaying to the music, beginning to freestyle to the song he put on. You watched in awe at his motions, the man smiling the entire time. “You should try it too, Y/N. Just freely dance and let yourself go to the music.”

“I don’t know…”

Taeyong huffed, not accepting your answer. His feet moved quickly, long strides drawing him closer to you. His hands took yours, pulling you closer to him, still within arm’s reach. “Come on. Just let yourself feel the music. Just have fun!”

He started swaying back and forth, your arms swinging with the motions. He made your body wiggle with his, neither of your actually dancing to the beat of the song. But, deep inside, it felt right just to do the silly dance with him, enjoying the music around you. There was not a care in the world for the next few minutes as your danced in crazy circles, arms waving in different directs, your body loosening up with the fun.

Taeyong smiled down at you, tugging you closer until you were crashed against his body, hugging you closer. Your bodies moved from side to side in no real pattern, losing yourself to the soft music.

“Ok, but, that worked,” you said, words muffled by his chest. It rose and fell with his laughter, making you giggle.

“I told you,” he teased. His arms never left your form, keeping you close to him. The music continued to play around you, smooth tunes filling the room that you natural moved to. “It’s calming. And it’s best to just feel the music inside you. When you can connect to it, you will be at your best. And your shoulders are significantly let tense. I can feel the knots you had before are almost gone already.”

“The power of music.”

“The power of dance.”

You glanced up at him, his gaze on you. His tongue poked out between his lips, licking them slowly. You followed the trail of the pink article tracing the plump, cupid shaped lips, biting at your own lip. The music seemed to get drowned out, everything disappearing around you.

“What’s going on in here?”

Your body separated quicker than lightning, pushing away from Taeyong instantly at the sound of the voice. You let out a low shriek, hand on your chest, stumbling into a wall to catch your breath. Taeyong just laughed, pausing his music.

When you glanced at the door, your eyes widened, seeing Lee Donghae and his wife in the doorway. You bowed at the senior idol, the male returning the gesture. Taeyong spoke up as he moved to your side.

“We were just dancing, hyung,” Taeyong told him. Donghae’s brow rose, a knowing smirk on his face.

“Oh?”

“Ya!” Taeyong whined at the older idol. “We were! I’m helping her train! We weren’t doing anything besides dancing and enjoying the music! Right, Y/N?”

“Don’t drag me into this!” you yelled at Taeyong, learning a laugh from the two intruders. With another bow, you introduced yourself. “I’m sorry for being so disrespectful. My name is Y/N. I’m a trainee right now with SM.”

“Pleasure,” Donghae greeted. “I’m sure you know who I am. I’m Donghae from Super Junior. This is my wife, Nanda.”

“It’s great to meet you,” she hummed happily.

“Likewise.”

“So, a trainee, eh?” Donghae laughed. You nodded at him. “You must be excited.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” Taeyong snickered at your comment.

“Well, I take it that something is going on if you guys are hiding out and dancing all by yourselves,” Donghae teased. Taeyong’s cheeks flushed, swatting at his senior.

“Hyung, stop!” Taeyong whined some more. “I agreed to help with some dance lessons because…” Taeyong paused, glancing at you. “She kind of reminds me of myself. I understood what she was going through and I want to see her do well because she’s very talented. So, I offered to help her learn.”

Donghae smiled at Taeyong words, nodding in acceptance before glancing at you. “Well, you are in good hands. This boy can really dance. And if he sees something in you, then you must be something special.”

Taeyong blushed harder. “Hyung”

While the two men bickered like children, though the senior was near a decade older, the senior idol’s wife tugged you aside. “He’s right though. Taeyong is a very talented young man, so you are in great hands.”

“Yeah,” you breathed. “I’m kind of lucky that he offered like this. It really has been helpful with these extra sessions. I feel like I’m not quite there yet, but I’m better.”

“Well, don’t give up at all. And whatever he tells you, don’t neglect the advice. He is one of the best people to know exactly how it feels to be in your shoes. I’m sure you will be on top of your group before you know it.”

“You have a lot of faith in me,” you laughed. Nanda smiled.

“I just know that Taeyong wouldn’t try this hard with just anyone. He sees something special in you, so I will be looking forward to when you are on stage with the others doing your own dances and songs. Just keep pushing till then. Keep practicing, keep training, and keep your head up. You got this.”

“Thanks,” you told her. Lowering your voice, you leaned closer to the female. “Not to be rude or anything, but are those two related at all?”

Nanda laughed, shaking her head. “Why do you ask?”

“I just…” you paused, staring at the two men with a furrowed brow. “How can two guys be so incredibly attractive?”

Nanda snorted with a laugh. “I think it’s that Lee name. There is something in the Lee family name that gives them good genes, I swear. They are insanely good looking.”

“That’s some good genes then,” you laughed back, your laughs joining in unison.

The two men, hearing your laughter, glancing in your direction. Donghae made his way over, Taeyong on his heel, the older male taking his wife’s hand. “We should probably head out. The little one needs some sleep,” he said, patting Nanda’s protruding stomach. “We just heard the music and thought we’d stop in for a sec. It was a pleasure meeting you, Y/N.”

“It was my pleasure, sunbae.”

The man smiled, shaking his head. “Just Donghae, please.”

“Alright… Donghae,” you uttered softly, a small smile gracing your cheeks. The older idol grinned, patting your head gently.

“Stay strong, Y/N. Remember not to give up on your dreams, and I’m sure we’ll see you with us before you know it. And if you guys ever need a hand, you know who to call.”

“Eunhyuk?” Taeyong sassily sneered, jabbing Donghae in the ribs with his elbow. The look on Donghae’s face made Taeyong snicker, hearing the disgruntled huff he let out.

“Low blow, Yong. Low blow,” he joked, tugging his wife towards the door. “Don’t stay too late guys. You need rest too.”

“We know,” you both responded, waving off the couple. “Night guys.”

“Night!”

The door closed with a subtle click that echoed through the silent studio, ringing loudly off the walls and mirror. Taeyong let out a sigh, ruffling his bright blue locks before turning towards you. “So, shall we get back to practice?”

“Yeah…” you hummed, eyes locked momentarily on the door. Taeyong’s brow rose, but he didn’t question your odd behavior.

“Do you want to continue the dance from practice?”

The words from the couple sent tingles up your spine, a pit of warmth filling inside you. Their eager encouragement fanned the flame that Taeyong lit on that first day of practice, the candle burning brighter than ever before. A surge of confidence overwhelmed you. Wringing your hands together, fingers twisting around the bottom hem of your shirt. Drawing a lip between your teeth and turning to face the man, your gaze met his, a confident glint in your irises.

“Actually,” you spoke up. Taeyong’s grin grew with the conviction in your voice, the strength you were suddenly portraying making his heart race, blood pumping rapidly. His dark eyes narrowed on you, nodding his head as encouragement to continue. “Can we… can we try something different?”

“Like what?” He pushed.

“How about… one of our group’s choreographies?”

Taeyong brow rose, but he smiled nonetheless. “Are you sure? We don’t exactly have easy dances.”

‘I’m sure,” you replied without hesitation. “I want to get better, Taeyong. And the only way to do that is to keep trying. To try new things, harder things. I want to master all I can and prove to everyone, and myself, that I’m cut out for this.” Pausing, you stepped closer to him, tilting your head up to look at him. Your hands took his, his returning the hold with a soft squeeze. “I will make you proud by taking the blank page of my life and drawing my own path.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” His fingers laced with yours, tugging you towards the stereo. “Now, what song would you say you fancy?”

Tapping your chin, you smiled cheekily. “How about a nice duo song. How about… Baby Don’t Stop?”

Taeyong chuckled, placing his phone down, selecting the song. “Perfect choice, milady.”

The surge of confidence that transpired thanks to the idol couple was let loose like a storm. Inspiration struck, and your skills grew stronger with each passing day. Taeyong noted how you grew stronger, more powerful, every time you danced together, praising you for your hard work and accomplishments. Your steps no longer felt sloppy, your body no longer felt sluggish. Every dance practice was better than the last, with movements becoming easier and quicker to learn - and master.

The overwhelming confidence showed more during the actual lessons. With each passing week, you made your way closer to the front of the pack, no longer hidden in the back row. You managed to lead the others instead of following their motions, setting the bar for those around you. Your dance instructor even praised you for how far you were coming, patting you on the shoulder one day after a hard dance that you almost perfectly nailed.

You were on cloud nine. Your dreams were becoming a reality and no longer felt like they were unreachable. They were within your grasp, your desire for the end product at your fingertips.

Lessons with Taeyong didn’t cease, even with how far you had come. On the contrary, they morphed into sessions to hone your creativity and enhance your abilities. Instead of repeating the days lessons, you would craft dances on your own, either freestyling to whatever random song Taeyong chose or developing a choreography with Taeyong’s help to improve the layout of the steps and flow of the body.

Some days, you were dancing by yourself, putting the steps to the test while Taeyong happily filmed it, the two of you collapsing against a wall and munching on some snacks while watching the playback. Ideas bounced between the two of you on how to improve the dance until you were content with the outcome. Taeyong would share the final video with his children - well, his members - and each time, they were impressed with what you had come up with.

Other days, you would dance with Taeyong, twisting and turning to the same beat as the man you admired for so long. The gentle caress of his fingers running along your waist from where your shirt rode up when your arms rose. The warm, tingly sensation they left along your skin. The feeling of his body.pressed against yours as he held you close, your hips sway in unison. Your legs tangled but never causing you to falter as you spun across the hardwood floor.

Every bit of dancing with him was memorable, and it only made your obviously feelings grow more until your heart was beating not from the intensity of the workout you were undergoing, but the pleasure he offered just by being by your side.

Tonight was one of those nights. You found yourself in the studio late with him. Most of the staff and other idols had left, the clock nearly an ungodly hour. The sky outside was dark, dotted with stars and a crescent shaped moon hovering overhead, not a cloud in sight. But you didn’t care about the darkness. The lights overhead in the dance studio were more than enough to keep you awake, unaware of the minutes that ticked by while focusing on the duo dance with Taeyong you had begun crafting since the earlier parts of the evening.

Compared to other dances, it was more sensual to you. The song Taeyong put on was Say You Won’t Let Go from James Arthur, and it led to you being closer to him than any other dance. Taeyong propped up his phone to record your practice as you decided on moves, piecing them together until you had a section you were proud of.

The entirety of the song, you found yourself in his hold, allowing him to spin you around until you were pressed to his chest. Your feet would slide across the ground before separating from each other, dancing individually, but completely in unison. It always amazed you how he could get your steps to sync perfectly, each body roll to match in time. It made the image you were going for complete. There were lifts and hugs as he spun without issue on the balls of his feet, your heart pounding at your chest the entire time. You always held your breath when your feet left the ground, your arms sliding around his neck as you hugged him close you prayed he wouldn’t feel the thumps of your heart against his tone torso. You never failed to laugh when his hands would find your waist from behind lifting you for a walking motion through the air, enjoying the weightless moment of being in his hands.

The ending of the dance was an accident - but worked in your favor. You were going to turn off the camera after the air walk, Taeyong having slid to the ground in a very Regular-esque move, too flustered to continue. But he moved forward, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, face buried in the side of your head. Reacting on instinct, your hands moved up to clutch at his bare forearm, feeling the veins that ran along them from the extreme workout. Burying your face in his arms, you smiled, letting your eyes close. Taeyong, himself, couldn’t stop from smiling, inhaling your sweet scent.

The second he saw that on camera, he knew that was how you had to end. Thus, every time you repeated the dance, wanting to perfect it, you wound up in his arms, uncaring about the heat of the room. His warmth was comforting, and you wouldn’t reject that, even if your heart thundered away inside you.

You were panting from the latest go, Taeyong stopping the music when you broke away from his hug. You grabbed your water bottle from your bag, pushing back the beet red blush along your cheeks as you sipped the cooling liquid. Your limbs were aching and your body was slick with sweat, clothes clinging to your frame. Your hair was knotted and messy from the thrills you had.

Sparing a short glance at the blue-haired idol, he was in a similar state. Dark eyes were glued to his phone, probably watching the latest video, or checking his texts from his members. His loose black shirt was no longer that - it was clinging to his lean body, untucked and wet. When his hand unconsciously moved to ruffle his locks, he sticking shirt rose with his stretched skin, showing off bits of his toned stomach and scar on the right side of his abdomen. His boxers were peeking from his shorts, the dark bank contrasting the red athletic bottoms he had on.

A low sigh left your lips. You couldn’t but to admire him. He was handsome after all; but your ever-growing affection stemmed from more than his looks. He was everything you wished for - and more. Staring at him became second nature because he was always on your mind. Your heart would beat unevenly with a single glance, a knot balling in your stomach from the rampaging butterflies you felt. Your cheeks heated once more, turning away before he caught you staring.

“Did you realize how late it is already?” he spoke. Light footfalls made their way over to you, the man snatching your water bottle from you. Your face lit up when you saw him take a sip, but you didn’t protest.

“Is it?”

“Yeah. It’s nearly midnight,” he told you, showing his phone. He wasn’t lying; the white numbers read 11:37 PM.

“Damn. I didn’t realize it was that late.”

“Yeah. Must have been too focused on this dance,” he snickered. “How early is your lesson tomorrow?”

“Not till ten luckily,” you told him, retrieving your water bottle and replacing it in your bag.

“So,” he began, pursing his lips. The evil grin you had come to know grew, the man leaning forward slightly. “We have time for one more run before we have to get going.”

Your eyebrow rose, but you giggled, nodding after a second. “Fine. One more run.”

The music began, your steps following the beat together. He held you close, the two of you sliding across the entire studio while the music flowed. A heat was radiating between you both that you hadn’t really noticed before, making it a bit hard to concentrate. However, in Taeyong’s arms, you felt like everything was effortless. The lifts, the kicks, the twirls - everything felt natural.

When the final move came, you didn’t realize how unprepared for the hug you were. Something about it felt different, and yet, you found yourself sinking into his grasp. Neither of you cared about the sweat that coated your skin, or the way your bodies stuck together from the wet clothes. Neither of your cared when the music died away, the camera still rolling. Neither of you cared about the late time, or the exhausting that would soon hit.

In that moment, it was just about you and him. You and Taeyong.

Turning slowly in his arms, your hands slid down neck to his shoulders, and finally finding home resting on his chest, feeling it rise and fall with heavy pants. He watched you silently, slightly parted pink lips gasping for air. You didn’t look up at him, keeping your eyes forward, memorizing the Adidas logo on his shirt. His hands sat comfortably on your hips, itching to move, fingers curling slightly against your skin.

Slowly, one hand moved to push back a stray strand of hair that escaped the rat’s nest you called a ponytail. His fingers lingered, hesitating before tilting your head up to look at him Your eyes bore into his dark orbs, watching them glisten and twinkle. The heat around you intensified, but it was nothing compared to the blush that warmed your face when his fingers caressed your cheek softly. The touch singed you, the skin tingling violently from the simplest graze.

His eyes darted in different directions for a moment before he finally leaned down, connecting his lips to yours in a soft, sweet kiss. His eyes closed, yours shortly following from the eruption of pleasure you felt. The kiss was gentle, almost as if it wasn’t real. The connection was short, leaving you with a prickling sensation along your lips. Your lips rubbed together, wanting to confirm if that was real or not.

He tasted like cherries.

His eyes cracked open to look down at you, finding your lips puckered slightly, eyes still closed. Seeing that, he couldn’t stop himself. The hand on your waist gripped tighter. The hand on your face got a better grasp, thumb smoothing across your cheek while the rest tangling in your messy locks. He leaned back down, more pressure into the kiss this time. His head tilted, hadn’t stopped rolling, meshing his lips perfectly with yours.

And honestly, truly, you didn’t want to stop him. Your hands curled into his shirt, pushing up on your toes to return the kiss that you were hungry for. Your bodies pushed closer together, the world around you ceasing to exist in that moment. It was just about you and him.

You and Taeyong. Kissing each other like you were made for each other.

The camera hadn’t stopped rolling, something Taeyong would be grateful for later as he relived the moment the rest of the night, a pale pink blush on his face.

Taeyong frowned to himself, nibbling at his thumb nail anxiously. His eyes were glued to your form, not hesitating in his multiple notes of sluggishness and sloppiness. Rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, he could only ponder why you had a sudden one-eighty before him. All the progress you had seemed to be dumped unremorsefully into the garbage, forgotten and abandoned with ease. The intimate dance the night before seemed like it never happened, though in his heart, he couldn’t forget the memory he held from it.

He was forced to watch your once dominant presence recede to the background once more. Your powerful stance was lackluster, and your willful eyes were dull. You followed others almost lazily, unable to keep up with the same choreography you had easily master days prior. His heart wrenched solemnly at the sight, gritting his teeth against his nail and squeezing his eyes shut unhappily.

It felt like day one all over again took form.

He hated that.

Once the music ended, all the trainees, including yourself, were hunched over, panting and sweating profusely. You ignored the tingle that came from Taeyong’s piercing gaze, knowing his eyes were locked on you. Pulling your lower lip between your teeth, your head fell further than before, tears welling in your orbs and clouding your vision.

You couldn’t deny that you were disappointed in yourself with your performance, but your body was incapable of performing at its peak. The nagging voice in the back of your head kept echoing through your mind, the doubts you were used to having resurfacing at an amplified rate. Random cases of insecurity, seemingly unrelated to your current predicament, snuck in as well, aiding to your rapid descent to your day one trainee days.

“Alright, let’s call it a day everyone,” Jihun called, gathering his belongings. “It’s already getting late out, and I’d like to make sure you all can get back to your dorms safely. Thank you for a wonderful class today.”

“Thank you,” everyone repeated in unison, your voice quieter than the others around you. The group began to separate, picking up their belongings while conversing with their friends. With a heavy sigh, you trudged over to your bag, white knuckling the strap. You were ready to run away, locking yourself in your dorm so you could wallow in peace.

“Do you have a sec?”

Your eyes darted to the sorrowful brown ones of Taeyong. His hands were tucked in the pockets of his tight black jeans hiding the evidence of his anxious gnawing on his pristine nails. The toe of his Nikes was dug into the hardwood dance floor. Slowly, you nodded in response, Taeyong’s frown deepening at your silence.

Once the last person left, Taeyong’s gaze narrowed on you. A shaky breath left his pink lips, voicing the thoughts that had plagued him since the music started. “What’s going on with you today?”

“Taeyong, I…”

The idol pouted at your weak voice. “I’m sorry,” he quickly apologized. “I’m just really confused, Y/N. You were doing so well. You showing everyone just how good you really are. All this confidence you had, being in the front during practice and learning the choreographies quickly and precisely, seems to have vanished. Everything that I’ve seen you do is gone and it’s like you are back at day one.”

“Tae-”

“I just want to know what’s going on,” he whispered. “What happened for you to suddenly regress to this stage? What happened for you to lose everything you had worked on?”

“Taeyong, I just…”

His head tilted, eying you quietly. He noticed the way your cheeks reddened and you avoided looking at him. It clicked in the idol’s head. Hesitantly, he pulled his hands from his pockets, wiping them free of sweat before taking your softly. His grasp was warm, giving a reassuring squeeze. The idol tugged you forward, closing the gap between you both. Glancing up, you met his stare and gentle, yet somewhat sorrowful, smile.

“Is it because of me?” he uttered softly. “Am I making you nervous?”

Silence.

“Is this… because of last night?” he asked again.

Silence.

“Is this because I kissed you?”

You blinked back tears, letting a shaky breath out. “I-I’m just nervous, I guess,” You told him. “Last night was amazing but… I can’t help but ask myself why. I wonder why me and I can’t help but to feel like I’m not good enough. You are just an amazing idol and I’m just me. I’m this pathetic trainee. I felt myself getting nervous and scared, and I just didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to think or to act, and I guess it got inside my head. I couldn’t remember anything from the second I walked in, despite all our practice, and I just felt shy in front of everyone again knowing they would judge me for this. I guess… I just lost confidence in myself.”

“Y/N, you're not pathetic at all. You know that. But, why didn’t you just say something? You know you can tell me anything” he asked with a light chuckle.

“Because I’m nervous,” you admitted.

“So am I. But I can tell you this flat out,” he hummed. “I wouldn’t have kissed you if I wasn’t sure that I liked you. I like you a hell of a lot, Y/N. You are talented, funny, smart, beautiful. I love being around you. I’ve never felt so connected to someone before, but with you, it’s easy because I see so much of myself in you. It’s so easy to be with you because you put me at ease with myself. I want to spend every waking second I can with you, seeing you succeed by my side. And honestly, all I want to do is kiss you again.”

“You like me?” you asked.

Taeyong laughed, pulling you into him. Arms wrapped around you, hugging you to his chest. “You have no idea,” he let out. “I like you so much and I don’t want to see you lose yourself to your nerves. I want to see you succeed and I want to be by your side when that happens.”

“So, what are you saying?” you asked, an embarrassed smile grow to match your flushed cheeks.

“What I’m saying is that I want to be with you,” he hummed, “Because I wouldn’t have kissed you last night if I wasn’t sure that I completely and utterly had fallen for you.”

“Tae-”

“But I will only accept you as my girlfriend on one condition.”

“Oh?”

Taeyong smiled, leaning down until his lips were nearly upon yours. Your skin tingled from the ghostly touches. “You won’t let your nerves get to you like this again. I’m sorry I made you nervous and doubt yourself, but I don’t regret kissing you. I want you to promise me that you won’t give up, you won’t let your stinking nerves overwhelm you again, you will be number one and you will debut as an idol someday so we can perform together in front of our fans. I want to be able to sing and dance with you in front of everyone so they can see just how amazing I know you are. Deal?”

“Just kiss me, you fool.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He knew your answer the second you demanded his lips to press against yours perfectly, your bodies pressing even closer than before. His foot snaked between yours, leg sliding between yours to sit comfortably. His arms hung from your waist while yours encircled his neck, your heads tilting in opposite directions. An exhale of relief made your nose flare, but that didn’t stop the passionate kiss between you.

You mind buzzed the rest of the night. Hand in hand, you walked to Lee Soo Man’s office to tell him the news, agreeing to keep your relationship strictly private to avoid any scandals. Neither of you minded, wanting to avoid the news as much as possible. It meant more than you were allowed to date such an amazing idol - a man you and idolized for so long for his unique talents.

Sending him a sideways glance as you walked down the hall, hands clasped together, you set forth your own conviction. Giving his larger hand a firm, loving squeeze, you smiled to yourself.

I will never give up on this dream. I won’t let you down, Taeyong.

He didn’t realize how fast his feet were carrying him down the nearly empty hallway the second he told the rest of his members that practice was finished. He didn’t stick around long enough to hear their cheers, nor their snickers at his overwhelming exuberance. The male idol had checked his phone briefly between songs, the water he was about to sip to wet his parched throat forgotten.

Come to the normal practice room when you are done with the members. I want to see you, and I have something important to tell you.

His grin broke out, dropping his phone in his bag and zipping it shut. With a short call to the others, he was out the door, making a quick detour to the cafe before heading to his practice place - your practice room. The halls were nearly barren aside from some trainees headed back from their vocal lessons and some idols idly headed towards the exit to head back to their dorm.

Taeyong knew the sky outside was pitch black aside from the lights of Seoul twinkling light stars. Practice had started later than usual because he had other matters to handle before calling the rest of 127 to their normal studio to do their normal routine in preparation for their upcoming performances and company activities. Better to start early than later, he always told them. The plan was to stay as long as their bodies would allow.

But, duty called. The others knew that from the bright shine in his dark orbs.

With two iced coffees in hand, he was pushing his way into the practice room, pausing to close the door quietly behind him with his foot. The straw for his coffee rested between his lips, the man sipping at it quietly while keeping his eyes trained on you. You were occupied when he entered, soft music playing through the speakers as you danced strongly.

It felt like an eternity since he had seen you dancing, despite the amount of time you spent together due to your strong relationship. Since starting back up with group activity, his time with your class had petered off. When the day came that he said he would no longer be joining for dance lessons, it was a solemn goodbye from the trainees, each one thanking him for his time, expertise, knowledge and sharing his experiences in hopes that they would one day, too, make it as he had. You had given him the longest, most heartfelt hug, his hand running along your back before he whispered cheekily that he would see you that night for dinner at the dorm.

He hadn’t really seen you dancing since that day. Your time together was more relaxed, spent cuddled together on the couch or in bed, watching silly shows, listening to music, or just doing your own things - Taeyong writing lyrics or planning choreographies while you prepared for upcoming lessons and evaluations. Occasionally, you would play games together in his dorm room, his solo dorm a blessing for times like that.

And… other things too, of course.

He felt a smile grow on his cheeks as he watched your smooth but powerful movements. His heart was racing. He always knew you were talented, but in the time apart, he was happily surprised at how much you improved. Your steps were firm, sliding across the polished hardwood without difficulty. Your arms extended into perfect lines. Your pirouettes rivaled those of the best dancers in SM that had trained in ballet, stopping on a dime without even the slightest wobble. Sweat made your face glisten, the man’s heart beating faster and a hot blush residing on his cheeks, running down his sharp jawline to his neck.

You didn’t notice him until you caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. Tumbling to the side with a yelp, Taeyong let out a hearty chuckle, moving to place the drinks he brought down, sliding his bag to the floor next to yours. Unlocking your phone, he stopped the music, the noise in the room replaced with your quiet grumbles.

“You know better than to sneak up on me,” you huffed angrily, grabbing the coffee he held out for you.

“Didn’t mean to, baby.”

You snorted at him, shaking your head with a ghost of a smile. “I know,” you let out. “I didn’t expect you to get here so fast. You said you guys were practicing late so I figured I had some time to work on this choreography I’ve been thinking of.”

“You designed that?” he questioned, shock on his face.

“Yeah. Was it bad?” you asked, pouting.

Taeyong grinned, grabbing the towel from your bag. Running the towel along your skin, he dried off the sweat that dripped along your face and neck. You giggled when he pat your chest dry as well, red cheeks from the sight of your sports bra clad features. When he dropped it back to your bag, his hands immediately turned to cup your cheeks, pulling you into a tender kiss.

“It was beautiful and I’m so proud of you,” he murmured.

“You’re too sweet, Yongie,” you cooed, placing your lips on his again in a brief connection.

“Only to you.”

“That’s a lie.”

Taeyong huffed, pulling you close by the waist. You both swayed silently for a moment until he broke the noiseless minute. “So, what did you need to tell me? You said it was important. Is everything alright, babe?”

You happily sighed at his nickname for you, hugging him close. “Yeah, everything is fine. I just got some good news today and I couldn’t keep myself from telling you. The second I found out, I could only think of you. I wanted to tell you right then and there, but I couldn’t.”

“I don’t know if this is a good thing or a bad thing,” he chuckled. The man ruffled his hair with one hand, giving a toothy grin. “Well, if that’s the case, I have something to tell you as well. Well… more like ask you, I guess.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. But, please, you go first. You seemed really excited about this so please share, baby. I’m all ears.”

You let out a heavy breath, nodding your head. “Alright. Well, I had a meeting this morning with Lee Soo Man and Jihun.”

“I don’t know if I should be worried or proud,” Taeyong cut in with a laugh. Scowling, his laughter only got louder with the light smack you gave to his chest.

“Shush you,” you scolded. “As I was saying, we had a meeting this morning before I had to head to my vocal lessons. And they said some stuff about me and how I was doing in my training. And…”

“You said this was good news,” Taeyong exasperated.

“I know, and it is!” you giggled. “Jihun mentioned how I have become such a leader amongst the group of trainees I am with, and how much I have improved since I started months ago. He showed some videos of our trainings and of my evaluations. And Lee Soo Man was very impressed with what he saw. And they said how they’ve been talking about it for a while now. And…”

“Babe,” Taeyong whined. With his arms draped around you, his face buried into your neck, his soft breath hitting your fiery skin. “Stop tormenting me. I can’t take it anymore. I need to know what’s going on!”

“You’re so impatient,” you giggled at him. Prying him from your neck, your hands cupped his cheeks, thumbs smoothing across his delicate features. “I’m no longer a trainee, Yong.”

The man blinked. “Wait, what?” he mumbled. “Does… what do you mean exactly?”

You smiled. “Thanks to you and all of that extra training, I’ve been accepted as one of the next SM Rookies. Because you never gave up on me, and you helped me when I was feeling like I couldn’t do this, I’ve managed to take that blank slate and write my own story on it.” Your fingers curled against his cheeks, a few stray, happy tears sliding down your cheeks. “Just like you, Yongie.”

“Oh my god,” he breathed, holding back his own tears. He wiped away the drops that stained your skin, pulling you forward into a deep kiss. “I can’t believe it, baby. You did it. You really did it.” His arms pulled you close, embracing you in a tight, but warm, hug. Your face was trapped against his chest, burrowed in the soft fabric that smelled slightly of Febreze. “I’m so proud of you. I knew you could do it. I’ve always known you could, but now, it’s so much more real. You’re going to make it big, Y/N, and I can’t wait to see that happen.”

“Thank you, Taeyong,” you breathed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“Sure you could-”

“No, I couldn’t. It’s because of you that I was able to get better. It’s because of you that I had the push to keep trying and get better. If you weren’t here, I would have given up and quit weeks ago. But you wouldn’t let me. And because of that, I knew I couldn’t let you down. I told myself that I would make you proud and one day, I would stand beside you on stage as your equal. You’ve given me so much inspiration just by being you and I want to do that too.”

“And you will,” he breathed, smiling widely. His words confused you, making you raise a brow at him. “Let’s just say that you aren’t the only one that had a meeting with Lee Soo Man today.”

“Oh? Pray tell, what happened to you today, my sweet boyfriend?”

“Mmm. Say that again,” he cooed.

Rolling your eyes, you complied, pushing up to whisper against his lips, “Boyfriend.” The second the word left your lips, he pressed his lips to yours in a sweet kiss, molding his mouth to yours.

The connection made you mewl slightly, allowing yourself to be pulled closer by the normally awkward idol. He wasn’t one to show affection often in public, but in private he had trouble keeping his hands to himself. Delicate fingers danced along your bare sides, tickling the skin until goosebumps rose under the tips. His head tilted to deepen the kiss, pushing passed partially parted lips so his tongue could teasingly play with yours.

Before things could get more heated, you pulled away from his kiss. A whine of annoyance left his lips, wanting to taste more of your lips. Yet, he held back.

“Finish what you were going to say, baby,” you told him.

“Fine. But only if I get more kisses afterwards,” he pleaded.

“I think we can arrange that.”

“Good,” he said. “So, before practice today, I had a meeting with Lee Soo Man, the managers, the other group leaders about the upcoming SM Town in a couple of months. I’m guessing my meeting was after yours since I didn’t see you around and you were already at practice by the time I got out-”

“Focus, Yong.”

“Right, right,” he nervously laughed. “First, I have to say that you are bound to not say anything about this right now until they talk about this to everyone. But, because this impacts you, I was given permission to say this.”

“Go on.”

“I’m going to have my own solo stage during the concert,” he confessed.

“Oh my god. Taeyong! That’s amazing! I’m so proud of you,” you hollered, hugging him tightly. “You definitely deserve it.”

“Thanks,” he shyly let out, cheeks heated. “I’ve been working on this song for a while. I’m actually going in tomorrow to record if you are free and want to join.”

“We’ll talk about that after.”

“Right. Well, I’m basically set to do two performances - one more of a dance performance and one a rap and dance. And when we were discussing ideas...” he paused, pursing and wetting his lips with the dart of his tongue. “I asked if I could do them… with you.”

“Wait, what?” You asked. “Why would you do that? You didn’t even know that I was a Rookie. I was still a trainee, but you still requested that?”

“Well, it makes more sense why they were willing to comply,” he snickered. “I asked because I wanted to be able to dance with you - to perform with you. And I’m not just saying this because you’re my girlfriend. I asked because you are a talented young woman and I want to be able to perform these with you. What I have planned only works in my mind with you. And I think you’re ready to be up there with the rest of us. They said that they’d allow it… if you agreed.”

“Taeyong…”

“It’s just two songs. One will be a collab vocal and dance, more focused on the dance than anything. Then the second one will be a dance for you while I do my solo song. I’ve been thinking about the choreography for weeks now and I can only pull it off if you are by my side performing it. So please, I’m just asking you right now to consider it. You have every right to tell me that you don’t think you are ready and want to wait. But we only have so much time to practice if you do want to do it…”

“Then, when are we meeting?”

Taeyong silenced himself, blinking a few times to process your words. His eyes bore into yours, a grin slowly forming. “Wait, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“I’ll do it,” you told him confidently. “I’m nervous as all hell because I don’t want to ruin your stage, but I want to do it. This is what I joined SM to do. If I back down now, when will I be ready? When will I have the chance again? And, with you there, I’m sure I can do anything.”

Taeyong smiled, tugging you into another hug. “You have no idea how happy you just made me,” he whispered. “Though you know you make me happy every day, right?”

“I could say the same about you,” you giggled. “So, when should we start?”

Taeyong hummed for a moment before choosing you back you up, your back hitting a wall. His hands trailed down your sides slowly, passing over your backside before coming to a rest on your thighs. With a swift motion, he lifted you up, your legs instinctually wrapping around his waist, using the wall as leverage to keep yourself upright. Your arms hung around his neck, playing with the loose blue hairs on the back of his head.

“We can worry about that later,” he breathed, leaning in until he was almost touching your lips. “I think for now, you owe me a little kiss.”

“Are you really wanting to start a make out session in the practice rooms?” you teased.

“Why not?” he mused. “It’s late. No one is here.”

“You know, sometimes I think you are this sweet and careful man. Then I remember that you aren’t,” you joked.

“Is that a no?”

“That’s an invitation to hurry up and kiss me before someone does walk in on us.”

Taeyong chuckled before pressing his lips to yours hastily and hungrily. Your hands, tangled in his silky locks, pushed his head closer to yours, not caring that your noses squished a tad or your teeth clashed slightly. His hands roamed your thighs, glad you were wearing shorts in the moment. The kiss was open-mouthed, his tongue tangling with yours between your cheeks. His body rocked against you subtly, pressing your chests and groins together. Heat radiated between your forms, drawing you together like magnets.

The room filled with lip smacking and quiet groans. Every time a kiss a broken, your lips would let out a wet noise, Taeyong giving a second to breathe before delving back in for another kiss. Your mewls of contentment were swallowed, the sounds reverberating inside him. His fingers dug into your skin, squeezing at your thighs and sides happily. His own groans came from your dancing of your tongues and the sting from the tug on his hair that he enjoyed.

Never in your wildest dreams did you think you’d be sharing such a fiery kiss in the middle of a practice room. But you weren’t going to argue the occurrence in the slightest.

You didn’t know how long you stayed there with him, but you were sure to enjoy the time.

The alarm on your phone blared from the side table, the room dark. You struggled to reach for the noisy device, your body restricted by the fluffy blankets and clinging boyfriend on your side that barely stirred from the blasting sounds in his dorm room. Letting out a sigh once the alarm was stopped, you glanced down at the sleeping bluenette, seeing his snuggled against you happily. His arm was clung to your waist, your legs tangled under the blankets. His face was buried against the side of your chest, gentle breathing fanning against the bare skin of your chest.

Fingers raked through his locks, trying to urge him awake. “Yong, you have to wake up,” you cooed sweetly at him.

“No,” he grumbled huskily, curling deeper into your side. Despite his protest to wake up, you stirred at the feeling of his lips against your chest, kissing at the side of your bare breast.

“Is that so?” you whimpered at him, writhing slightly when his kisses increased. He smiled against your soft skin, trailing lazy kisses up to your perky nipple. “Really, Taeyong? You want to do this now?”

The man stayed suckling at your supple breast for a moment before pulling away with a subtle pop. You could faintly see the lazy grin on his face through the darkness.

“Can’t blame me,” he rasped, nuzzling his face between your breasts. “I just love you so much.”

The words made your heart jump, smiling down at him. “I love you too. But we have to get up. It’s the SM Town performance today, baby. We have to be there by noon to start getting ready. But you promised your members that you would make breakfast.”

“Can we just snuggle for a bit longer?” he asked, glancing up with a sleepy pout.

Placing a kiss to the top of his head, you laughed. “Fine. But just a little bit longer,” you conceded. “But…”

“But?”

You forced him off your chest and onto his back beside you, twisting your legs between his and slinging an arm across his smooth stomach. Your fingers ran along his milky skin, smiling to yourself. “I get to do this.”

Taeyong laughed, adjusting his position to drape his arm behind your head. His free arm moved behind his head, propping himself up to look down at you better. He watched you skim your fingers along his stomach, the blanket pushed down to his hips. The tips of your fingers circled his belly button, pressing against his lean muscles.

“You have such a nice, smooth tummy,” you mumbled. Taeyong laughed at your words, shaking his head.

“Is that all you like about me?” he asked jokingly.

“Yup,” you teased. “That and your amazing personality, caring nature, mean dance and rap skills, and just overall you.”

“Well, I appreciate that,” he chuckled. Resting your chin on his naked chest, you traced your fingers up his body until you found his arm. You traced along the tattoo on his elbow, the word reading “Under” in contrast to the “Stand” on the arm behind your head. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Of course,” you hummed. “I just love feeling your body. You have the softest skin, Yongie.”

“I work very hard to keep my skin healthy,” he told you.

“Nothing beats your tummy though,” you giggled. “Your outfit tonight is going to drive me crazy. You wearing a see-through shirt? With your stomach showing? How am I supposed to dance and sing while you are looking like a snack?”

“Snack? Really?” He chuckled. “What about you? The dress you wear? I love the design they went with for it. You’re going to look so good.”

“I hope so.”

Taeyong remained quiet for a second before kissing your forehead. “How are you feeling today?” he asked seriously.

“If I’m being honest?” you hummed. “Nervous as all hell. I can’t believe this is happening. Today is the day and I just… I don’t want to screw this up.”

“You’re going to do great,” he told you making you look up at him. “We’ve practiced so much. You know the song. You know the dances. You just can’t let your nerves get to you.”

“How are you not nervous?” you asked, frowning at him. Taeyong laughed, ruffling his already messy bed head.

“Baby, I’m always nervous before a performance,” he admitted. “But I know it’ll be worth it to perform because I know the fans will enjoy it. And as long as I try, I give it my all, and I have fun, I know it’ll be worth it. Being up on stage, all those people watching you, is the most nerve wracking but exciting feeling. But I guarantee once you are out there, seeing all those light sticks shining in the sea of fans, hearing their fan chants and their cheers for you, you will love it.”

“You better be right,” you scowled, escaping his grasp. Hovering over him for a moment, you placed a tender kiss to his lips. “If you aren’t, then I will…”

“You will…?”

“I don’t know right now,” you huffed. “But I will be very mad!”

He watched you climb out of bed, finding a pair of clothes to wear from his drawers. He smiled to himself. “You’ll enjoy it. I just know it.”

“I’m sure you’re right. You always are,” you confessed, glancing back at him over your shoulder. “Now, get up and get dressed. We need to make breakfast before Mark comes knocking asking for food.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Mere hours later, after a rowdy and loud breakfast, you were whisked away to the Seoul World Cup Stadium in preparation for the performances that night. Taeyong gave you a sweet smile, yelling ‘fighting’ before he was dragged away for hair and makeup with his group members.

You were escorted in the opposite direction, placed in a chair while your face was dusted with makeup and your hair was pinned up stylishly but elegantly. Your eyes popped and your lips looked vibrant. You couldn’t believe how good you looked when they stepped away, allowing you to stare at your reflection.

After dressing in your dress, a low-cut black dress that shimmered with sparkles, ending at your thighs and a pair of shorts underneath due to the performance at hand, and a pair of glittery silver heels adorned on your feet, you stood on the side of the stage watching the NCT performance going on. A stage hand was preparing your headset for the duet you would shortly perform with Taeyong, placing the earpiece in your left ear to hear yourself as you sang. You shuffled in your spot, feeling the anxiety bubbling up inside you. Your hands rang together awkwardly, trying to avoid gnawing at your lip to ease your stress.

“I can do this,” you told yourself repeatedly, letting out a shaky breath. “I trained for this. I’m ready to do this. I can’t give up.”

I can’t let Taeyong down.

As the music on stage came to an end, the vibrations fading away with the last chords, the eight boys of NCT 127, apart from Taeyong, fanned off the stage, leaving the solo idol in the center of the large platform. The lights were beating down on him, the black, sheer, long-sleeved shirt twinkling to match your dress. His black skinny jeans hugged his hips and legs, neatly shined black boots on his feet. Despite the cheer of the fans throughout the stadium, he remained composed, face turned to the ground to prepare for the song.

The gentle beat of the music started, a familiar tune of Senorita coming through the speakers. You were given the cue to proceed, just as you had rehearsed the day before. With one last heavy breath, your feet carried your forward confidently, stepping onto the stage and under the bright colored lights in front of thousands of fans for the first time.

Taeyong slowly turned to you as part of the dance, your slow, near sensual steps towards each other bringing you face to face. You wanted to crack a smile at him, but you remained focused, watching him step aside as you started to sing. Your solo dance and vocal section came first, showing precise steps, powerful moves, and sexy curves and shimmies of your body.

Taeyong’s section came next. He stood across the stage from you as he sang, showing his handsome yet talented self. Every move was perfection, the man a natural with the dance. It was more sensual than his normal dance moves, but he had no issue rolling his body to the beat, a hand running along the length of his chest to his covered groin.

Your duet was next - your bodies came together, arms encircling one another as you danced together for the first time. His hands held your gently yet firmly as you moved your bodies against one another, Taeyong twirling you around, dipping you gracefully, and spinning you into his arms before grasping your leg, bringing it up his side.

You broke for a solo portion once more, repeating the process of dancing to your portion of the song before Taeyong had his own section. You couldn’t help but marvel when he danced, almost forgetting to do your part before you came together for the last portion of your dance together.

When you came together once more, you were elated with how the dance turned out. Your steps were perfectly in sync, never missing a beat with one another. Your bodies fit against one another seamlessly with each roll of your figure or advance on one another. Taeyong fingers grazed your carefully when he would trace along your body, leaving a trail of fire along the way. Your heart pounded the entire time, but you loved the feeling of being there with him.

The dance ended with you forms back to back. The music died down, but the thumping in your ears didn’t. You didn’t even register the screams of the crowd as you walked off briskly, swapping shoes quickly and pulling on a sparkly black leather jacket. Taeyong was beginning his new solo song, his voice fading away for a short interlude. That was the cue for you to rejoin his side, his own black jacket in hand.

You helped him slide it on, his hand resting on your side briefly once it was on. This time, you didn’t hide the smile on your face, his own smirk rising. Your bodies separated, turning to face the crowd. Your eyes scanned the seats, inwardly grinning while eyeing the waving light sticks and cheerful fans. Your eyes rang with Taeyong’s voice, his rap beginning to pick up.

With the start of his song came the start of the dance. The style was completely different than your first dance, the current dance being higher paced, along the lines of a hip-hop style. Your body popped more than before, feet swiveling on the stage - you were thankful for the switch for the sneakers over the heels. You still managed to match Taeyong’s moves perfectly, never missing a beat or disconnecting from his steps. The dance was more fun to perform, but still help a passionate edge when you got to pull him closer, standing chest to chest with the man of your dreams, or when he spun you around into his arms, his long fingers ghosting down your arm until he was holding your hand, sparks from his fingertips leaving goosebumps along your clothed skin.

You stepped away briefly before stepping together one last time. The song closed, you both turning to the crowd. As the music ended, your bodies heaving with heavy pants for precious air, they erupted into a sea of screams that consisted of not only Taeyong’s name, but yours as well. You saw people standing from the seats, bouncing on the balls of their feet as they chanted, waving the various colors in the sky.

You wanted to cry. You wanted to cheer. You felt overwhelmed from the validation.

But you held it in as you and Taeyong rushed off stage for the next performance. Your head was pounding, and you were dripping with sweat from the heat of the stage, but you were thrilled. Your quick steps came to a halt as soon as you got backstage, away from the camera and fans. Turning to face the popular idol, he was giving you a smile, two hands raised to give you a high five.

You smiled, slapping your hands to his. You remained in that stance for a second, allowing everything to sink in. After the second passed, Taeyong pushed forward, his arms dropping and wrapping around your waist instead. You were lifted from the ground, your arms instantly flinging around his neck and hugging him close. Spinning in circles, you both laughed joyously.

“You did it!” he cheered, hearing you laugh more.

“We did it,” you corrected.

Taeyong placed you back on the ground, pushing a few strands of loose hair back. “No. You did it. This was your first performance and they loved it. They loved you, Y/N. They were chanting for you, they were cheering for you. You were amazing out there and they saw that.” He hugged you once more, lifting you back off the ground. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Taeyong,” you whispered, burying your face in his neck. “Thank you. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“This was all you, Y/N,” he said. He placed you back down, sticking his tongue out playfully. “Welcome to the big leagues now, idol. It’s good to have you with us.”

You grinned, smacking him jokingly. “It’s good to be here. I’m glad I can join such an amazing group of people to work with.”

“The world should be ready to see more of Y/N. Because this was just the beginning.”

You smiled at him, dragging him away. “You’re right, Yong. Because I’m never giving this up.”

Taeyong smiled, stealthily slipping his hand in yours as you walked towards wardrobe to change for the final stage, everyone sporting the same SM Town shirt. “That’s what I like to hear.”

You were high from the adrenaline, but you knew this is where you were meant to be.

You returned to the NCT dorm with the boys after the concert ended, all nine spouting off about wanting to celebrate. However, the last thing you really wanted to do was party, and it was evident the others were just as exhausted. Feet trudged along to the door of the large dorm, holding it open for you to walk in. Taeyong stood behind you, his hands on your hips as he slouched forward against you.

Despite their reckless desire to celebrate the night, all the boys went their separate ways, bidding adieu on their way to their respective rooms to collapse. A few stopped into the kitchen to grab a snack before disappearing to their rooms. Taeyong led you to his room, opening the door and allowing you to enter first.

He chuckled lowly when you collapsed to the bed, letting out a heavenly sigh of relief. “Who would have thought that being a rookie idol would be this tiring?” came your muffled voice, face smushed in his pillows. The bed dipped with his weight when he sat beside you, rubbing a soothing hand along your back.

“Just wait till you actually debut and start touring and performing more often. It gets…” he paused, pondering his words. “Tiring.”

“I’d bet.”

“How about,” he hummed, turning you onto your back so he could hover over you better. He carefully reached out to pull a few pins holding your hair up carefully from your stiff locks, “You go take a shower first and relax a bit. I will shower when you are done.”

“A shower sounds nice,” you mumbled, taking his hand in yours. “But you can just join me?”

The phrase came out as more of a question, but it didn’t catch Taeyong off guard.

“You know I’d love to, but the others are home…”

“And they’re in their rooms, probably already asleep. You have your own bathroom. And it’s just a shower, Yong.”

Sucking his lips between his teeth, he tugged you up, stifling a laugh at the groan you let out even though you allowed him to drag you away. The light flickered to life, Taeyong pulling you in and closing the door behind your forms. He pulled two towels from under his sink, placing them aside. Your eyes followed him as he made for the shower, turning on the water to allow the heat to build, soft wisps of steams floating through the air.

The lean idol stripped his head over his head, placing it neatly aside for him to hang later. Turning to you next, he helped to pull your shirt away from your form, placing it with his. Nimble fingers made quick work of the button and zipper on your jeans, your hands resting on his shoulders while he kneeled low enough to slide the dark denim from your legs.

Being the gentleman he was, he turned to allow you to finish undressing yourself, though it wasn’t anything new for him to see, and step into the shower before him. You did so wordlessly, a glowing smile upon your cheeks the entire time. Stripping free of your bra and underwear, you stepped through the glass door into the scalding watering. A giant sigh of delight escaped, almost the sound of a low moan.

Taeyong joined you shortly after, staring at you for a moment under the water. He admired the way the droplets cascaded down your body, your head dipped under the waterfall of water, allowing it to wet your hair. Your hands scrubbed at the makeup that caked your face, revealing your natural beauty that was one of the things he loved about you.

He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around your waist and hugging you against his bare form. You smiled happily, leaning back into his grasp, your head resting on his shoulder. The water fell over your forms, the heat helping your bodies to relax from the stress and strain of the day. He held you for what felt like an eternity, just allow you to rest in his arms.

The idol grabbed the shampoo from his neatly organized shampoo ack, lathering a few drops in your hair gently. You did the same to him, using the hair treatment shampoo for his colored hair. Repeating the process with conditioner, you moved on to soaping up your bodies, cleaning yourself of any sweat that clung to you still and any remaining makeup that was dusted to your skin.

The soapy suds circled your feet as it was rinsed away, spiraling down the drain. Taeyong hugged you close to him as the last of the bubbles vanished. His fingers ran through your hair, your head tilting up to stare at his handsome face. Your eyes traced along the sharp jawline and dark eyes, slowly pushing up to press your lips to his soft pink ones in a supple kiss.

His arms tightened around you, eyes fluttering closed while responding with his own force. He pressed into you, returning the kiss thoughtlessly. His head tilted to the side to allow himself more access, lips parting to share a steamy open-mouth kiss. Your tongues tangled together between your cheeks, lips dragging against each other. Each separation caused a low smack to resonate around you, amplified by the glass walls and heated air. Taeyong would then dip back down to repeat the actions, each new kiss growing more passionate than before.

Slowly, his lips began to drag down your jaw to your neck, placing loving kisses to your skin. A low moan escaped your lips before you attempted to seal them together, not wanting to alert the others of what was going on in the dorm. The idol didn’t seem to enjoy that. His frown was evident against your neck, and his actions portrayed the dissatisfaction from the lack of noise. His hands began to roam your body, thumbs brushing against your pert nipples and tracing the round curvature of your breasts.

“Taeyong,” you let out quietly. “The others-”

“They won’t hear,” he rasped. “You even said it yourself. They’re in bed. And if you are worried, then you should keep quiet.”

“You’re mean,” you fake cried.

“But you love it,” he cooed teasingly, his head traveling lower, kissing you along the way. “We’ll keep this short.”

Those were the last words he managed to utter before he connected his lips to your chest, suckling to your hardened bud. His hand toyed with the other breast, squeezing at it firmly. Your hands wound through his blue locks, low moans filling Taeyong’s ears. The attack of his mouth to your mound increased at the new noises, nipping and kitten licking at the tender skin of your chest. His tongue flicked at the nipple before tugging at it with his lips and teeth, a pop echoing in your ears.

The same process was repeated to your other breast, the idol leader playing favor to suckling at the nipple, latching onto it to give it plenty of attention. When he finally disconnected, the man sunk to his knees, gently parting your legs for him to settle between. You used his shoulders to stay upright, sighing contently at the feeling of his hot breath against your core.

He wasted no time pressing his lips to your center, dragging his tongue through your folds and into your throbbing pussy. Nails dug into his pristine skin, a short gasp of ecstasy released at the feeling. He lapped at your core, circling the wet article inside you for a bit before taunting you by pulling it in and out occasionally.

When his mouth finally met your clit, you moaned louder than before. A grin grew on his face, suck at the nub harshly. A hand slid up your leg, disappearing between them. Two fingers circled your entrance before pushing into you. The thrusts started slow at first, focusing more of his effort on his mouth attached to your clit, but the pace gradually picked up. The tips of his long fingers curled, scratching at your inner walls with each thrust.

You moans picked up, one hand covering your mouth to shield the volume before you were screaming through the dorm for the other members to hear. Your body was on fire from how he made you feel, a knot growing inside your lower abdomen. The knot tightened severely when the curled fingers brushed to your g-spot, causing your body to jerk forward with a short call of his name.

His licks got faster, his fingers speeding up until he was knuckle deep, pounding you furiously to get you to your high. Your own fingers curled back into his wet hair, giving it small tugs that did nothing to ease the smoldering fire within. Your heart was racing, thumping loudly in your ears. Your walls were clenching and unclenching alternatively, trying to hug at the digits inside you. Your stomach tightened at the overwhelming feeling of arousal that was washing over you.

“Yong… Taeyong,” you gasped through your fingers. “I’m…”

He nodded in understanding, flicking quickly at your clit, aiming for your g-spot with his fingers as often as possible to get you to the turn. Your sight went white for a moment when the knot unraveled, walls clinging around his fingers and spilling your essence around them. Some drops escaped and trickled down your leg, washing away with the cooling water that still fell from above.

Taeyong’s mouth detached from your core, licking through your folds a few times before standing upright, pulling you against him. Any juices that were on his hand washed away, his clean hand tracing up and down your spine to soothe you through your climax. His lips pressed to your forehead, uttering a short ‘I love you’ before pulling away.

“I will leave you to finish. Take your time, alright? I will leave you some clothes on the counter.”

You nodded at him, hazy eyes watching him leave the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist and disappearing out the door, hearing a near silent click when it shut. Your eyes closed, allowing yourself to relax for a few minutes, your mind still buzzing from the aftermath of your orgasm.

You dried and dressed in one of his long sleeve shirts, a pair of shorts you had left in his room hugging your waist. You ran the towel through your hair as you walked back into his room, spotting him at his desk - dressed and comfortable a simple white tee and lounge pants. His hair was still wet, his eyes focused on whatever he was working on. His fabric markers were strewn across the top of his table. Soft music played from his phone, the man humming along to the Post Malone song. Your clothes had been hung up, ready for the wash. His hair dryer was plugged in beside him, resting on his desk with other random belongings.

He didn’t flinch when your hands met his shoulders, running down his arms slowly, feeling the goosebumps that prickled along his arms. Trickling your fingertips back up, one hand laced through his wet locks, the other moving to grab the hairdryer. Cautiously, not wanting to burn him, you clicked the machine on, threading your fingers through his hair as the heat penetrated them, the wet strands fluffing and drying. You were careful not to get to close to his ears or scalp, scratching at it lightly and soothingly.

When he was fully dried, you proceeded to dry your own hair, watching him doodle on two pairs of white shoes. Each pair had the same markings, from words to pictures. The other difference was one pair had his name, the other pair not matching the elegant lettering on the side. The machine buzzed to silence when you turned it off, putting it down and unplugging it. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you rested on his shoulder, watching him closely.

“What are you working on?” you asked. Taeyong turned his head towards you, smiling sweetly, a bright blush on his cheeks.

“You weren’t supposed to find out until they were done,” he huffed playfully.

“Well, you’re the one that was working on them knowing I was just in the bathroom.”

“I know,” he mused. “I wanted it to be a surprise, but I also can’t keep anything from you. I’ve wanted to let you know about this little project for a while.”

“So? What are you up to, Lee Taeyong?”

“I was designing a new pair of shoes… for both of us,” he mumbled, almost embarrassed. “You know, a matching set for us to wear. As a…”

“As a couple?” you asked, the idol nodding. You smiled at him, placing a tender kiss to his cheek. “That’s sweet, babe. I love that so much.”

“You do?” he asked meekly.

“Of course,” you giggled. “Plus, they are coming from you. Why wouldn’t I love them?”

“I don’t know…”

“I think it’s sweet,” you hummed, hugging him tighter, peppering the side of his face in kisses that made him smile and laugh. “I can’t wait until they are done so we can wear them together.”

“I’ll have them done soon,” he told you, turning to stare at you. Without hesitation, he pressed his lips to yours in a simple kiss that didn’t last long, though a tingling sensation was left behind after your separated. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Yong.”

He grinned, kissing you again swiftly. The kiss didn’t linger long before Taeyong had broken away, hand scouring the desk for the polaroid camera you had gifted him one day. He used it regularly when he was with the guys and yourself. The pictures he took were lining his shelves on a string, and he was more than happy to add to them. He had mastered the art of taking a selfie with the polaroid camera, swapping it to aim towards you.

Your face nuzzled against his, pressing your cheeks together. You each gave a toothy grin before the shutter went off, picture printing from the camera. Taeyong took the newly printed image, placing it aside to develop before aiming the camera again. This time, he turned to you, eyes closing as you shared a loving kiss. Your own eyes fluttered closed, relishing in the feeling he gave you.

Even when the camera went off and the picture printed, you didn’t separate, allowing Taeyong’s lips to drag against yours. His lips completely covered yours, meshing together perfectly, giving them a soft, wet pop when he eventually pulled away. You instantly pulled him back in, sharing a heated open-mouth kiss that left him whining softly, shuffling in his seat.

You pulled away from him, taking the developing pictures from Taeyong’s desk to hang them up. He put the camera away, gathering the scattered markers in one spot beside the two pairs of white shoes. Spinning in the chair, we chuckled as he watched you struggle to hang up the pictures, your tongue sticking out upon figure out where to place them. You managed to hang up the first photo of you both smiling before Taeyong joined your side, taking the second photo.

“I think this is my favorite one of us,” he spoke, admiring the photo. “I should frame it.”

“You’re a dork,” you laughed, kissing his cheek.

“Don’t laugh at me. It’s cute!” he scowled, choosing to hang the photo in the middle of the line, adjusting those around it to properly showcase his idol family. He looked proud of his display, hands pressed to his slim waist. “There. It’s perfect for now.”

“For now?” you teased, collapsing on his bed. Hugging a pillow to your chest and curling into a ball, you watched him straighten up his room, giving a few squirts of Febreze to freshen the place before preparing to sleep. Taeyong stood in the middle of the room, glancing in your direction and snickering at the ball cuddled into his sheets. Slowly, his shirt was peeling over his head, placed with the rest of his clothes.

A short yelp of surprise and joy left your lips when he tackled you to the bed, your bodies rolling around the covers until your back was against the small mattress, his body hovering over yours. His face nestled its way into your neck, nipping and kissing the skin. His hands traveled your sides, hips rutting against yours. A low mewl escaped, music to the man’s ears that urged him to push harder and faster, more kisses to delicate skin.

“Taeyong, we can’t wake the others-”

The hands trailing along your sides began to tickle at your skin, making you erupt in laughter. Your body squirmed and writhed, trying to escape his grasp, but you remained trapped by his form. Taeyong moved away from your neck to watch you laugh, joining in on the hysterics when you attempted to tickle him back.

His phone dinged from where he placed it on his bedside table before tackling you. With a deep groan, he paused and grabbed it, reading the message received. You watched him silently, panting to catch your breath from his relentless attack. He snickered slightly before turning it to face you, allowing you to laugh with him as well.

“I told you we can’t wake the others. And here we are, receiving a message from Mark to keep it down.”

The text was a jumble of letters and numbers, obviously derived from sleep, but it was easy to make out the words Be quiet and go to bed already! from the younger rapper. Your hand covered your mouth, shielding yourself from laughing loudly once again. Taeyong put his phone back, biting at his lip to control his own laughs.

The man rolled off you, resting on his side with one arm draped over you. To face you, you rolled onto your own side. Your fingers ran through the soft tendrils on his head, watching his beautiful orbs close. His fingers curled against your side, pushing up the shirt you wore to feel your skin.

“Have I told you how proud I am of you for everything you’ve accomplished?” he spoke slowly, sliding closer until he was pressed flush against you. “Because I am. It doesn’t feel like that long ago that you joined as a trainee and I saw that nervous kitten in the studio. You reminded me so much of myself that I just… I had to help you. But as I got to know you, I couldn’t help just how natural it felt to be with you. I was so drawn to you from day one that I don’t know what I would do if you didn’t make it this far.

“But look at everything you’ve managed to accomplish. All that hard work. You are just so talented, and you finally got to a point where you can show others just what you are capable of. And it’s not because of me. I helped you along the way, coached you and guided you, but it was all you, baby. You never gave up and now you are a rookie. You are up there performing with the best of us. And I’m sure in no time, you will be in a group of your own, touring across the world and doing what you love.

“And I couldn’t be prouder to see how far you have come since that first day. I’m glad I could see how you progressed and how you developed. And I surely can’t wait to see where you go in the future.” He paused, rubbing his lips together. “And I hope I can be by your side along the way. As your company mate. As your friend. And as your boyfriend.”

“Taeyong,” you sniffled. “I know you said that it was all me, but I really couldn’t have done it without you. And you have no idea how thankful I am. And I’m glad that I could make it this far with you by my side.”

You paused, pulling him closer our noses brushed against each other. Your lips were nearly upon yours as you mumbled at him.

“And I never want to give up this dream as long as I have you by my side as my company mate, my friend, and as my boyfriend.” You grinned, pushing into him more. Your legs tangled together, arms encasing each other. “I love you so much.”

He didn’t respond - verbally. His lips pressed to yours, pulling you as close as possible. The open-mouth kiss was steamy from the start, his lips dragging against yours in noisy smacks. Your tongues danced together, a moan caught in your throat. Your bodies rocked against one another, kisses growing sloppier by the second. Your hands tangled in his locks, giving them a tug as the intensity increased. Your legs curled around his, your toes flexing and coiling. His hands roamed your body unforgivingly, selfishly attacking your lips repeatedly until you couldn’t breathe.

His hands pushed at your shirt, helping you to rid it from your torso and carelessly tossing it away. Greedy hands palmed at your chest, keeping you preoccupied and silenced with the numerous, fiery kisses you shared. While you choked on his tongue, moans were trapped in yours and his throats, enjoying the feeling of his hands on your body. Your eager form pushed into him, rolling together against his heated body.

His lips broke from yours, tracing along your jaw leading towards your chin, and finally down your neck. He slid down your form to your chest, repeating the same process he had in the shower not long before. Already botched in red dots from his prior activities, newly left marks were left along your breasts as he roamed your mounds. Your favorite part was always when he found your pert nipples, wrapping his lips around them, tugging and nipping at them all while suckling happy at the sensitive bud. The overwhelming sensation of him attached to your breast, lovingly flicking his tongue around the bud, made you moan his name, coaxing him to continue what he was doing.

His lips broke from your breast with a not so subtle pop, smacking his lips together a few times before returning to your lips. The intense kiss made your stomach tighten, your legs kicking and squeezing in an attempt to relieve the sensation between them. Your reaction to his lips made him twitch with excitement, eager hands tugging at your shorts and panties. He managed to push them down without breaking the kiss, your feet kicking them over the end of the bed. HIs lounge pants and boxers followed, taking an extra moment to leave his long legs when they tangled around his ankles.

One veiny hand was used to drape your leg over his waist, his erect cock pressed between your stomachs. His hips jerked forward, rutting himself against you, making himself twitch and harden more. Your lips broke from his to glance down, the image slightly blurred by hazy eyes. Even in the low light of his room, you could see the swollen red tip of his length between you, beads of precum seeping from the slit. Your mouth watered, core tightening with want.

“Can I?” he asked quietly, somewhat panting from his excitement. “Please.”

“Yes,” you replied shortly, hugging him close to you.

Gleefully, Taeyong aligned himself with your core, careful as he eased his way into you. An echo of low moans left you both, Taeyong enjoying the sensation of your tight walls around him and you relishing in the way his large shaft stretched you as he slid in, burying himself hilt deep. The feeling was raw, unlike your first time when the condom shielded his skin from yours. It was times like this you were glad you were on birth control. The feeling was amplified without the need for the pesky rubber.

Taeyong still inside you, allowing you to adjust to his size, and to not lose control of himself too quick. It didn’t matter how many times he found himself in this position - you drove him crazy every single time. You brought him back up to short kisses, tangling your fingers in his hair as you did. The hand that was on your thigh over his waist squeeze happily, a way to tell you he was enjoying everything.

When your hips jutted forward, telling him you were ready, he broke the kiss, focusing on his movements. Taeyong always wanted to please you. As much as he loved your kisses, especially during intimate moments like this, we wanted to focus on making you feel good. And one thing he learned was that when you felt good because of his powerful and quick thrusts, you were vocal about it.

He pulled back slowly before pushing back in just as calmly. The mewls of protest made him chuckle deeply, steadily picking up his pace until he was pounding into you at a consistently strong rhythm. His hand help you close, clenching you so tightly that veins were beginning to run along his arms. Your hips clapped together, the sweat that produced between you making the noise grow. His large cock filled you completely, sliding along your soaked, sensitive walls and hitting every spot that made your head spin.

He kept hitting the one spot he knew drove you insane. Your hand shot up to cover your mouth, near screaming-like moans leaving your lips, throat vibrating. Taeyong wished he could enjoy the noises, but knowing the others were in the dorm kept him from hearing the music of his angel to the extent he preferred. It didn’t hinder his thrusts, determination growing and more powerful thrusts used to slam him deep into your wet pussy.

He pushed you back until your back hit the mattress once more, the idol settling between your spread legs. His hands held your knees back, your feet left floating in air to flop around with each sloppy thrust. Not having anything to hold, your arms extended up above your head, Taeyong having a perfect view of your blissful face and bouncing breasts. The sight of your tits jiggling with every thrust he delivered made his mouth water, wanting to lean forward to attach to them, slathering them with love.

But he focused on you. He knew you were tired. He was too. He didn’t want to drag out this love making session too long, but he wanted to give you a release. Hell, he wanted a release too, otherwise he wouldn’t be sleeping long that night. His head was spinning with ecstasy, your body burning with love and passion.

He panted, pistoning himself furiously into you. “You feel so good,” he let out as a gasp. “God, I love you so much.”

You couldn’t respond. The tip of his cock kept hitting the sweet spot into you because of the altered angle he was fucking you at. He managed to slide deep into you, directed towards your g-spot. Combined with the pulsing of his cock against your already tight, wet walls, you were a mess. Your core tightened, back arching. You were struggling to withhold as many noises as you could, though many moans, groans and whines filled his room, mixing with the loud slap of skin on skin from your lower halves.

You both felt the fire. Your walls were convulsing around his large shaft, while his cock throbbed, ready to explode. Your stomachs coiled, burning away quickly before the final snap. Taeyong’s trusts were growing sloppier, never one losing their edge. He kept pushing until he could no longer see straight, blinking rapidly to keep his sight clear.

He eventually collapsed forward, placing a determined kiss to your lips. The hug of your walls was too much for him, and his seed exploded out in strands of white. His cream painted your inner walls in heated juice, slowing thrusts allowing each milky strand to shoot out, coating every part of your pussy. The heat of his cum swirling around inside you made you own will break, one final clench of your stomach pushing your own release out. Your walls clung to him, juices leaking around him and mixing with his own droplets that spilled into you. Your core kept him tightly embraced, milking him until every last drop escaped.

With him still burrowed deep inside you, you pulled him into another his, arms wrapped around his neck and tangling through his hair., nails scratching at his scalp. The man let out a breath of relief from the orgasm he had, melting into the sultry kiss. His body nearly collapsed on yours, your bodies rocking against each other happily. Your skin stuck together from the sweat produced from the rigorous activities, but you never minded being close to this man.

You loved him.

And you never wanted to give him up.

You fell asleep in his arms that night, not caring to dress or clean up. You were content enough just being with him, a much-needed restful night shared after the successes you had that one day.

Decorated white shoes squeezed their way down the hall, destination engraved in the owner’s mind. As soon as he got the text, he didn’t need to be told where to go. It was too often he found himself headed in that way after practice or recording. It was like another home to him at this point. And when the door came into view, Taeyong couldn’t help but to smile widely, despite his confused curiosity of why he was facing the practice room.

Your practice room.

He expected to find you dancing when he walked in. He always did. And when you told him not to rush because you knew he was working on writing a new song for his upcoming solo album, he thought you would be passing the time in ways you knew how to - dancing to random songs and singing along in the same voice he fell in love with forever ago.

He was surprised to find you standing in the middle of the room, no music playing, and no shock on your face to see him walk in. You were waiting for him, grinning madly. He inwardly smiled at your appearance, the simple joggers and tank top matching with the shoes he designed for you that were wearing with age. It was nearing a year since you started wearing them and wearing them daily took their toll on the shoes.

His were the same way, after all.

You rocked back and forth, hands behind your back, waiting for him to enter and approach you. He did just as you thought, placing his bag down before making his way over to you. Arms instantly encircled your waist, your feet leaving the ground when he lifted you up. Your arms found their way around his neck, hugging him close and weaving your digits through the strands of hair on the back of his head without a second thought. His lips pressed to yours in a succulent embrace, keeping the kiss short but sweet.

“You rang, my sweet?” he teased, placing you down.

“I did. I’m glad you were able to come so quick too. Because I don’t know how long I could contain myself on this.”

Taeyong hummed at you, tracing his fingers along your sides. “So, something really good is happening then? Otherwise you wouldn’t be this excited about something.”

“Something great is happening,” you hummed. “Take a guess!”

The idol pouted. “You know I hate guessing games,” he pouted. “Just tell me, baby.”

“You’re such a spoil sport,” you huffed. “Well fine then. I had a meeting with Lee Soo Man today.”

“Oh? What happened?” he asked curiously.

“I’m getting to it! Calm down!” you teased. “You know how I’ve been a rookie for about a year now?”

“Yeah?”

“Well… I guess you can say I’m not a rookie anymore.”

Taeyong blinked one, then twice, before his smile grew, eyes twinkling with delight. “Wait. Are you saying what I think you’re telling me?”

“I don’t know. What are you thinking?”

“Are you…” he paused to wet his lips. “Are you going to be debuting with a group?”

You nodded happily, tears begging to prickle the corner of your eyes from overwhelming joy. His smile grew larger than you thought possible, picking you up and spinning around.

“Oh my god. You’re debuting?” he screamed. “You’re really debuting!”

“Yeah,” you cried, burying your head in his neck. Taeyong ceases his spins, hugging your koala-like form tightly to him. “I’m really debuting, Yong. I’m really an idol now.”

“I knew you could do it,” he whispered, not bothering to wipe his own tears of joy. “God, I’m so proud of you. I knew you would make it one day and look where you are now. You’re at the top, baby.”

“It’s all thanks to you,” you told him, moving your head and kissing him softly. “You kept me from never giving up. You encouraged me to be my best and I’m here because you believed in me.”

“It was all you, Y/N,” he mused, kissing you sweetly before placing you down. “You never gave up.”

“I owe it to the best man in the world knowing my worth and giving me that push though. I owe it to the best man for seeing himself in me and knowing I would regret everything if I gave up. I owe it to him for loving me and helping push me to be my best.”

“Don’t flatter me,” he joked.

“I meant Donghae.”

Taeyong blew a raspberry at you before speaking back up. “So, do I get any other details besides you are debuting? Like when? What position? Does your group have a name?”

“How about I give you a yes to everything,” you joked, tapping his nose.

“Well, out with it!”

“Impatient young man,” you laughed. “Well, I’m pleased to announce to you, and only you for now because I was allowed to share this with you, that I will be the main dancer and lead vocal for a new girl group,” you told him. Taeyong gaped.

“Really. That’s so-”

“That’s not all,” you cut him off with a smile. “I’m also the leader of said girl group.”

“Oh my god,” he let out. “I’m so proud of you, Y/N! But you’re not telling me the name. What is my beautiful girl going to be the leader of?”

You grinned, blushing brightly. “Well, it’s been in talks for a while, but I will be joining your family.”

He blinked. “Wha-”

“You are the leader of NCT 127. And I will be joining you as the leader of the new NCT girl subgroup - NCT G.”

He gaped, eyes growing wide. “You mean…”

“I’m joining the NCT family with you.”

He let out a low sob, hugging you close again. You clung to him, petting the back of his head as his face buried in your neck. “You’re doing it, baby.”

“I am, and I couldn’t ask for a better group to be part of.”

He faced you, wet tears along his cheeks. But his smile was vibrant. “Well, welcome to the family, Y/N. We’re glad to have you.”

You grinned, wrapping yourself in his embrace. “I’m glad to be with you guys, forever and always. I’m glad I can be by your side through all of this, Taeyong. But you know, if I’m glad about anything, I really am glad that I never gave up on this dream because if I did, I wouldn’t be here with you.”

“Well, I’m never giving you up,” he joked.

“You better not.”

NCTzens Tag: @brien-odylan, @goldenmndes, @belleknows

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snifflyjoonie · 4 years

Text

Operation: Jimin

In which Jimin is gently reminded that slowing down isn’t a bad thing.

Snz-centric with Jimin as the sickie and OT6 as the caretakers (with a little bit more of a focus on Hoseok and Jungkook just cus).

Word Count: 5165

a/n: Hey guys!!! Is anyone surprised this ended up taking me longer than I thought it would because I’m sure not at this point lol. Regardless, I really hope you guys like this one! It’s a bit longer than some of my normal content (actually it’s my longest fic here yet!) but I had a lot of fun working on it!! Thanks for the request, anon! Let me know what you think! Enjoy!

Jimin wasn’t the type to take breaks. He felt that if he wasn’t giving it his all 100% of the time then he just shouldn’t be doing it at all.

Out of all of the members, injuries and illnesses tended to afflict him most often due to this mentality that he had acquired over the years. No matter what they were doing or where in the world they were, Jimin would push himself as far as he could possibly go; and then, just a little bit further.

It didn’t matter how much the other members scolded him for this, whether it would be one of his dongsaengs or a hyung, Jimin was simply an unstoppable force. To the others, he seemed reckless and stubborn, but personally Jimin just thought it showed he cared. He felt he owed the fans nothing less than perfect. It was the least he could do after all — even if his body screamed at him to slow down.

Because of this, it became a regularly scheduled theme amongst the other boys to check up on Jimin frequently. They’d take turns popping into his bedroom at night, texting him in the morning, going up to him after practice and so on and so forth. Granted, Jimin rarely admitted to any ailments he potentially had when directly asked, but the others still tried to keep an eye on him regardless.

So, when Jimin came knocking on Hoseok’s hotel room door after a particularly grueling concert on his own accord and confessed to not feeling his best, Hoseok nearly fell out of his chair.

“Your head hurts?!” The older boy exclaimed, shock clearly present on his face as he leaned in closer to Jimin, almost as if he was being told a precious secret. “Is that what you just said?”

Jimin nodded, dragging the back of his hand under his nose. “Mmm, yeah.” He admitted with a small wince. “It started about halfway through the show. Do you have any headache tablets at all, hyung?”

Hoseok whipped his head around a little frantically looking for tablets, almost wishing he could just materialize the medicine out of thin air. It was so rare for Jimin to approach them for help that he didn’t want to miss the chance to lend his aid. However, he had absolutely no idea where any type of headache medication would be, or if they even had any at all.

“I’m sorry Jimin-ah, but…” He flashed his dongsaeng a sincere look of sympathy as he let out a tiny sigh. “I didn’t bring any with me this time. Have you checked with anyone else? Maybe the staff? They’re usually pretty stocked up with—”

“It’s okay, hyung.” Jimin interjected with a small shake of his head. His bangs were still a little damp with sweat and they slipped into his line of vision before he raked his hands through his hair, pushing them back into place. “It’s not that big of a deal. I just thought I would ask you, is all.”

Hoseok frowned deeply at this, his bottom lip jutting out in disapproval. He mentally kicked himself for being unprepared, even though he knew deep down there was no way he could have possibly predicted Jimin’s request.

“Well...okay.” He finally said after a moment, choosing his words carefully. “But if you need anything else or it doesn’t go away you let one of us know, alright?”

Jimin nodded, pressing the back of his hand hard into the base of his nose. Hoseok raised an eyebrow.

“You promise?”

“Yeah hyung I—I!! hih!”

Hoseok watched on as Jimin took a sudden sharp intake of breath and squeezed his tired eyes shut. He swiveled ever so slightly away from the other before dipping down with a sneeze that he forcefully tried to stifle against the back of his hand.

“hI’NXgt’huh!—ah, sorry...” His apology came out on his exhale and he blinked hard before clearing his throat and finishing his train of thought. “I promise.”

Hoseok’s brow wrinkled at the new congestion present in Jimin’s voice but he decided not to comment on it, instead choosing to fold his arms across his chest.

“Alright, well...good.” He eventually mumbled, not at all believing Jimin’s unconvincing pledge. “I’m probably going to head to bed, Jimin-ah. Maybe you should, too.” He blew a breath out of his nose before adding, “You worked really hard today.”

“Mmm, thanks hyung. So did you.” Jimin brought the sleeve of his hoodie up to cover his nose and mouth, sniffling slightly into the soft fabric. “Bed sounds like a good idea. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Hoseok couldn’t stop himself from frowning again as Jimin shuffled his way out of the room. Something just seemed off about him, and if Hoseok knew any better, he’d probably bet that Jimin was getting sick — especially if his sneeze was anything to go by.

Without thinking twice, Hoseok quickly pulled out his phone and created a new group chat with the members — one without Jimin — and shot them all a slightly frantic text about what had just transpired.

Just like Hoseok assumed, the other boys were just as surprised as he was by Jimin’s headache confession. It was just so unlike him and instantly made alarm bells go off in each of their heads.

They spent the next few minutes messaging back and forth about what they should do and who should do what when Jungkook pointed out that Jimin suddenly went live on one of their broadcasting apps. Hoseok could barely keep up with the sudden explosion of texts that followed.

Quickly the rapper opened up his app and tuned into Jimin’s broadcast, immediately being met with his smiling, albeit tired, looking face. Jimin was staring fondly towards the camera, Hoseok assumed trying to read the absolute flood of comments that were fervently whipping past the screen at an alarming rate. He was surprised at the sheer volume of people that had flocked to the broadcast as it was nearly pushing 1am, but of course, they had fans located far and wide — time never seemed to be much of an issue to them. Besides, it was just about 3pm in Korea… the fans back home were probably excited to see Jimin go live and hear about how things had been going so far during their overseas tour.

Hoseok sighed to himself and kept watching with a wrinkled brow. He ignored the near constant stream of texts from the group chat as Jimin’s live continued. He knew the others were all tuned in now, all keeping a watchful eye on the dancer as he continued talking about what they had seen and done so far on tour. Hoseok couldn’t help but wonder if Jimin’s sudden live was because he was feeling lonely — or maybe even homesick?

He sighed again. Every few minutes or so Jimin would twist away from the camera to cough lightly into a fist before answering another question or choosing a new comment to read aloud.

“‘Oppa, please stay healthy!’ Ah, yes, thank you.” Hoseok watched Jimin giggle cutely and bring a knuckle up to rest just below his nose. “Staying healthy on tour is important. I promise we all do our best to...to keep our conditions…” He trailed off slowly, his voice low, before suddenly sucking in a ragged breath.

“hA’TSshhiew!”

The sneeze dipped him forward and made his eyes pinch closed. The broadcast shook along with him — due to his inability to keep his phone steady through the sneeze — and made the comment section instantly flood with ‘bless yous’.

Jimin straightened back up and laughed at himself, pressing the back of his free hand against his nose almost sheepishly. Hoseok was just barely able to make out a blush that was starting to dance across Jimin’s cheeks.

“Aaaah, ‘bless you, bless you.’ Yes, thank you…” Jimin giggled slightly, responding to the comments with English before attempting to continue where he had left off. “Anyway,” he cleared his throat. “we all do our best to stay healthy. That’s what I was saying.”

Hoseok’s phone buzzed again and pulled his focus away from the broadcast. Quickly he clicked out of the live and back into the group chat to recap what he’d missed with a tiny huff of frustration at Jimin’s display.

“Is it just me or does he look a little pale?” Namjoon had said.

“Not just you, I see it also.” Seokjin replied. “Come to think of it, he looked sort of pale earlier, too.”

“ARMY is asking him to stay healthy...do you think they’re thinking the same thing we are?” This time it was Taehyung who spoke up.

“Mmm, that didn’t sound too good.” Hoseok could almost hear Yoongi’s disapproving tone at Jimin’s sneeze through his text. “Hoseok-ah might be right, I think he’s coming down with something.”

“I’m going to go in there.”

The four frantic “Jungkook!!!” texts that followed had been what caused his phone to buzz so loudly just a few seconds prior. Hoseok couldn’t help but scoff. Interrupting Jimin’s live was a very Jungkook thing to do. He didn’t think it was such a bad idea, though. If anyone could convince Jimin to shut off his live and get some rest it would be Jungkook.

Hoseok quickly switched back to Jimin’s broadcast in the hopes of catching the maknae’s arrival.

A knock on Jimin’s hotel room door was loud enough to be heard on stream and the man quickly turned his head in its direction.

“Who could that be…?” He whispered under his breath before calling out a slightly hoarse, “Hello???”

There wasn’t a verbal response and instead the doorknob rattled a little ominously. Jimin pushed himself from his bed with a tired sounding “aigoo” and made his way to the door, phone still held in his hand as the broadcast continued on.

He looked through the peephole a little hesitantly, but instantly relaxed when he saw who was on the other side. He threw his head back and laughed, bringing a sleeve-covered hand up to hide his mouth as he did so.

“Jungkook-ah!!!” He yelled through the door, his volume definitely too high for 1:30am, “Yah!!!”

Jimin was playing up his reaction a little bit for the camera, that much was obvious, but he still hoped it would make the viewers smile.

He unlocked his door with haste and folded in on himself with squeaky giggles when he caught a glimpse of the goofy face Jungkook was pulling.

Jungkook wrinkled his nose and smiled wide at the reaction, unable to stop himself from laughing along. Jimin’s laughter was so contagious it was always hard to keep a straight face, especially when the dancer threw his whole body into it.

“What are you doing here?” Jimin eventually choked out as his laughter began to fizzle. He couldn’t stop himself from coughing against his wrist before continuing. “Shouldn’t you be in bed? It’s getting late.”

“I was watching your live.” Jungkook said with a shrug, gesturing to the phone still held up in Jimin’s hand.

“Oh, really?”

Jungkook hummed in affirmation before turning his attention to Jimin’s phone.

“Hello everyone!” He waved with a warm smile. “It’s getting close to 2am here, it’s been such a long day.”

“Almost two?” Jimin sounded genuinely surprised as he whipped his head around to glance at the digital clock on his bedside table. “Really? I didn’t even realize.”

“You’re still on Korea time.” Jungkook joked, “I think we all are.”

Jimin hummed in agreement, even though they’d been in America for a week already. It was always hard to adjust to the new timezones, especially with all the travelling that was involved during a tour.

“...Aaah, maybe I should head to bed?” Jimin mumbled under his breath — mostly speaking to himself as opposed to Jungkook — but the other still nodded in response anyway.

“That’s probably a good idea, hyung. We should—”

“hI’TTSCHhh!”

“—should get some rest.”

Jimin rose back up from his sudden sneeze, the back of his hand firmly pressed against his nose. He glanced towards his phone a little sheepishly, this time choosing to ignore the onslaught of ‘bless yous’ that quickly began racing through the chat.

“Mmm, alright…” Jimin murmured against his hand, letting out a tiny sigh. “I think I better end the video for now.” He paused for a moment and attempted to read some of the comments before adding, “Ahh, I know Jungkookie just got here, but...he’s right. It’s getting late! I promise I’ll log back on and talk to you guys soon, okay?” He smiled sincerely, always endeared by the outpour of love they received. “Sleep well, everyone. I miss you. Bye~!” He jerked the camera in Jungkook’s direction and the youngest member immediately smiled wide.

“Bye~! Bye, bye, bye! See you soon!”

Jimin clicked off the video with a tired sigh and immediately let his shoulders slump.

“I wasn’t paying attention to the time.” He murmured, bringing his sleeve up to rub at his nose. “It’s...pretty late, huh?”

Jungkook hummed in agreement as he folded his arms across his chest. He looked Jimin up and down for a moment, watching as the older boy fidgeted under his gaze.

“Are you feeling okay?” He asked after a second, fully expecting Jimin to brush him off like he normally would. Instead however, Jungkook couldn’t stop a look of shock from creeping onto his face as Jimin rubbed circles into his nose with a single knuckle.

“Actually, no.” He admitted. “Not really.” When the other didn’t immediately say anything back Jimin quickly explained himself. “It’s just been a long day, you know? I have a headache and my throat is a little sore, but I think it’s just from the concert.”

“And the sneezing?”

Jimin blushed. “It’s uh...allergies, I think.”

Jungkook pursed his lips but didn’t argue further. He shifted his weight from one foot to the next.

“Well...make sure you get some sleep, hyung. Don’t stay up anymore, okay?”

Jimin nodded, a sleeve-covered hand once again cupping his nose and mouth.

“Are you going to head back to your room?”

“Huh? Oh I mean...yeah I was planning on it.”

“Okay, well...Goodnight Ggukie.”

Jungkook blinked at him for a moment, still half standing in the doorway. Jimin really did look run down, and if Jungkook wasn’t mistaken, he had almost sounded...disappointed. It was like the idea of Jungkook leaving upset him.

“...I can stay here tonight, hyung.” The singer spoke up after a moment, doing his best to catch Jimin’s eye. “If you want me to.”

“Oh, I mean, would you want to?” Jimin asked with a wet sniffle, poorly hiding the way the suggestion instantly made him perk up. “I mean you’re already here, and it’s late, and I’m sure you’re tired, so maybe it’s a good idea…?”

Jungkook nodded, chuckling slightly. “It’s settled then. Let’s go to bed before it gets any later.”

Jimin smiled wide with a quick nod and scurried off to get ready as Jungkook pulled out his phone. He opened back up their group chat, scrolling past the others texts about Jimin’s second broadcasted sneeze, and hurriedly typed up a message.

“Something is definitely up. I think he might’ve caught a cold. He told me his throat hurts and he still has that headache...I’m going to stay here tonight and keep an eye on him. We’ll see you guys in the morning.”

His phone dinged with responses from the others; praise from Seokjin for getting him to turn off the live, worry from Hoseok who had also seen the state Jimin was in earlier, approval from Namjoon at his choice to stay with him, etc.

Jungkook clicked off his phone with a small huff of breath and shuffled his way further into Jimin’s room. He briefly stared at the cot that sat tucked to the side of the hotel wall before ultimately making his way to Jimin’s king bed and climbing in. They’d shared a bed in the past so he wasn’t too concerned, and when Jimin crawled in next to him without a word of protest a few moments later, Jungkook knew he wasn’t too concerned about it either.

“Thanks for staying, Ggukie.”

The younger boy heard his hyung mumble, his voice low and crackly with sleep and hoarseness.

“Mmm, yeah hyung.” Jungkook murmured back, rolling himself over and extending a hand out to rest between Jimin’s shoulder blades. “Sleep well.”

He listened for a response but instead was met with tiny, congested snores. He smiled to himself and wiggled just a little bit closer to the other, draping his free arm across his thin waist before letting himself slowly slip into a deep and comfortable sleep.

Jungkook blinked his eyes hard as he shifted himself over, vaguely aware of the presence of someone lying next to him. Still foggy with sleep, it took him a full minute to remember he had spent the night in Jimin’s bed.

Slowly he opened his eyes, squinting against the bright rays of sunshine that poured into the bedroom. Jimin was turned away from him, still snoring lightly as Jungkook stretched his arms above his head and did his best to stifle a yawn.

Normally, Jimin was an early riser. He enjoyed the morning time, and was one of those rare types of people that felt more happy and energized the earlier they got up. He tended to spend a little extra time on his appearance, more so than some of the others, so waking up early was a must if he didn’t want to end up late. (Easier said than done normally, but the thought was there.)

When Jungkook checked the digital clock next to him and saw 9:23am flashing back, he felt nervousness start to bubble in his gut. Normally Jimin was up long before nine. In fact, he was usually the one to come knocking on hotel room doors during a tour, especially for the more slow moving members — namely Taehyung and Yoongi.

“Mmm, hey...Jimin-hyung…” Jungkook’s voice was rough with sleep as he placed a hand onto his bandmate’s shoulder. “You okay? We should probably get up…” He shook the other gently, being met with a low, protesting groan in response.

Jungkook let out a breathy chuckle at first — Jimin wasn’t one to whine in the mornings usually — but abruptly stopped when Jimin’s groans morphed into coughs that wracked his small frame.

“Woooah, hey, hey, hey…” Jungkook, now wide awake, quickly moved his hand from the other’s shoulder and instead started to pat his back gently. “Sit up, hyung…”

Jimin did as he was told through his coughs, flipping himself onto his back before hoisting himself up into a sitting position. Jungkook sat up with him, doing his best to hold the man steady as he directed his last few coughs into a balled up fist.

Jungkook couldn’t stop himself from frowning as he finally got a good look at Jimin’s disheveled appearance. He looked worse off than yesterday, his skin tone much paler than usual with dark circles that clung hauntingly beneath his eyes. There was a distinct wet sheen on the underside of his nose and the very tip had started to turn a light, delicate pink.

Without saying a word, Jungkook carefully slipped his hand beneath Jimin’s bangs and pursed his lips at the heat he felt.

“Hyung...you’re kinda warm.” He murmured.

For a second it looked like Jimin had something to say back, but instead his eyes lazily fluttered shut and he sucked in a sharp, ragged breath.

“hA’TChiew! ‘PSHhiuew!—huuh.”

He tipped forward into his lap, barely giving Jungkook enough warning to pull his hand away before the pair of sneezes came tumbling out of him.

Jungkook couldn’t stop his forehead from wrinkling with concern as Jimin sniffled noisily against his hand.

“Sorry, Ggukie.” He grumbled, clearing his throat. “‘Scuse me.”

Jungkook shook his head. “No, no hyung it’s really okay, you didn’t get me. Honestly I’m just worried about—”

“It’s 9:30am already?!” Jimin quickly cut Jungkook off when he caught a glimpse of the digital clock. He leapt out of bed before Jungkook could object and rushed into the bathroom to shower and start getting ready for the day.

Jungkook puffed out his cheeks and let out a long breath as he listened to Jimin occasionally cough from behind the bathroom door. He groggily reached for his phone and flicked it on, immediately being met with a multitude of texts from their makeshift group chat — appropriately renamed “Operation: Jimin” overnight by Hoseok.

He took a brief moment to catch up on what he had missed as he raked a hand through his hair. Most of the texts were questions about how Jimin was doing, if things had gotten any better, if they were awake yet, etc. It even seemed like the others had made a plan on what to do if his condition hadn’t improved overnight. The texts made Jungkook crack a small smile; the energy their bandmates brought when one of them was feeling under the weather was always admirable and sweet.

Quickly Jungkook typed up a reply, filling the others in on what had transpired so far that morning as well as letting them know about the dancer’s new budding fever. He wasn’t too surprised when a flood of replies started coming in — the others clearly having been waiting for some sort of update — and put his phone down when the messages started to get a little overwhelming. He still wasn’t fully awake yet and besides, the others already seemed to have some type of plan; all they needed to know was that him and Jimin had woken up.

With another small sigh Jungkook finally rolled out of bed. He rested his hands onto his lower back and stretched himself out, grunting a little in the process when a sudden knock at the door made him pause. He raised an eyebrow in questioning and glanced first towards the bathroom door. He could still hear the shower running and didn’t want to rush Jimin, so he made his way over to the door to see who it could be for himself.

Jungkook glanced through the peephole curiously, unable to stop a smile from creeping across his face at the sight he saw. Both Namjoon and Seokjin were hovering outside of Jimin’s room patiently. A large plastic to-go bag was clenched tightly in the eldest’s hands and Namjoon had two drink carriers in his. Both boys were dressed comfortably; Seokjin in a pink hoodie with the hood pulled up and his glasses on and Namjoon in an oversized black t-shirt, beanie, and shorts.

Jungkook hurriedly pulled the door open without hesitation, greeting the two boys with his giant, bunny-like smile.

“Hey, Ggukie.” Namjoon smiled back, extending one of the drink carriers in the youngest’s direction. “Would you mind grabbing this?”

Jungkook quickly obliged as Seokjin walked past him into the room and immediately began pulling out to-go boxes from his bag.

“What’s all of this?” He asked inquisitively, his gaze following Namjoon as the rapper made his way inside, setting the drink carrier down carefully.

“Did you read our texts?” Namjoon asked, searching through the drinks for his own.

“I...skimmed them.” Admitted the younger as he set the second carrier next to the first. Namjoon reached out and ruffled the maknae’s sleep-tousled hair as he pulled his vanilla latte from the second carrier.

“Jin-hyung and I went and picked up breakfast like...what, hyung — thirty minutes ago?”

“I’d say so.” Seokjin agreed as he continued to arrange the various banchan they had ordered neatly around Jimin’s small hotel table. “Give or take ten minutes.”

“We were just waiting for you two to wake up.” Namjoon explained, extending a warm matcha latte in Jungkook’s direction to which the other gratefully accepted. “Hopefully the food’s not cold. Hyung…?”

“Nope, it’s perfect.” Seokjin answered with a smile as he began rummaging through the bag for utensils. “The boxes were insulated well.”

“Perfect.” The leader nodded, his dimples creeping cutely onto his face before he took a small sip of his drink. “We sent the other’s out for medicine. They should be here in…” He squinted down at his watch. “Well. Now, actually. And...Jimin?”

“Oh, he’s in the shower.” Jungkook hurriedly explained, setting his drink down to go and help Seokjin. “I’m sure he’ll be finished soon. I think he feels badly about sleeping in.”

“Yaah, that boy.” Seokjin tutted, handing Jungkook a wrapped up container of warm jjigae to open. “Leave it to Jimin to feel badly about getting sick.”

Jungkook hummed in agreement before another knock at the hotel room door pulled him from his train of thought. He glanced over just as Namjoon pulled it open and the three final members shuffled their way inside.

“Hey guys, Jin-hyung’s almost finished setting up breakfast. I have everyone’s drink orders just on the side table there…” Namjoon explained, patting each of the members on the shoulder as they walked in and taking the plastic medicine bag from Hoseok. “Did you find all the medicine okay? Any issues?”

“We found everything on your list, hyung.” Taehyung smiled happily as he pulled his banana smoothie from the drink carrier and handed Yoongi his iced Americano. “Hyung’s English has improved a lot.” He added, gesturing to the oldest rapper who flushed slightly at the compliment.

“I wouldn’t go that far…” Yoongi mumbled sheepishly, taking a long sip of his drink as the others giggled at him.

“Where’s Jimin?” Hoseok asked as he looked around the room expectedly, his caramel macchiato gripped tightly in one hand. Aside from Jungkook, he had been the only member to have actually seen Jimin the night prior. It left him with pangs of worry most of the night, and he didn’t sleep very well because of it. He wouldn’t admit it to Jimin when he finally saw him, but everything the group had organized for this morning had actually been his own idea. Jimin was usually the first to catch on whenever he wasn’t feeling well himself, so Hoseok felt it was the very least he could do to show his gratitude. Especially after feeling like he had failed Jimin the previous night when the other had come to him during his search for headache tablets.

“Oh, he’s—” Jungkook started to re-explain Jimin’s absence, but was abruptly interrupted.

“Hh’ITTCHhiuew!”

All six boys turned in the direction of the sneeze to find Jimin standing in the bathroom doorway still bent at the waist in the aftermath. His hands were cupped tightly around his nose and mouth and his hair was still damp from his shower.

“—Uh, right there, actually.” Jungkook finished as Jimin slowly rose back up with a congested-sounding groan.

The members all stayed quiet as they watched Jimin scrub tiredly at his nose, his eyes squeezed shut in irritation. It took a full beat before the dancer finally opened them, his expression instantly switching from that of irritation to one of surprise as he realized everyone was gathered in his room. It would have made the others laugh if it weren’t for the circumstances.

“Oh? Hello?” Jimin blinked in shock, his eyes darting between each member. “What’s going on…? Jungkook?” He turned towards the maknae but Jungkook simply shrugged in response and took a long sip of his drink.

“Hey,” Namjoon began with a smile as he made his way over to the dancer, extending the last drink in his direction. “This is for you. Honey-Lemon tea. It’s good for a sore throat.”

“Oh, uh...Thank you.” Jimin murmured shly as he accepted the drink. “Did...Jungkook tell you that I-I-I’m—hh!” Quickly Jimin fumbled his drink back into Namjoon’s hands as his breath began to catch. He twisted himself as far away from the rapper as he could possibly go before dipping down into his hands with another sneeze that he did his best to suppress.

“hh’NGXt’shiew!”

“...Yeah, he told us. Hoseok-hyung did, too.” Namjoon smiled sympathetically. “Bless you.” He offered in English, passing the tea back to the other once he had straightened himself up.

“Ugh. Thank you, sorry.” Jimin grumbled as he scrubbed at his nose with his free hand. “You all didn’t have to do this...I know everyone is so busy and we have a lot to do and I just—” He sighed, defeated. “I think it’s just a cold, that’s all.”

“Well I mean, it doesn’t matter if it’s a cold or the flu or if you’re just feeling run down.” Yoongi spoke up, crossing his arms across his chest. “If you don’t feel well, you don’t feel well. It’s not your fault for that.”

“Mm, yeah, hyung is right.” Taehyung added with a nod. “I think it’s important to know when to slow down, regardless of the reason why. It’s a hard lesson, but one I think people should take the time to learn, anyway.”

“Myself included.” Yoongi scoffed, being met with a few “me toos” from some of the others in response.

“A lesson we could all learn.” Seokjin reaffirmed, turning his attention back to Jimin. “Jimin-ah. I bet you’re hungry.” He smiled when the other gave a small nod in response. “What do you think? Should we all eat up? Before the food goes cold?”

“That...would be great, hyung.” Jimin smiled in appreciation, his eyes crinkling up into crescent moons. “Thank you, guys. Really.”

The others all made noises of approval at his response before clamouring their way to the food table. It had been awhile since they had eaten Korean food due to being on tour and they were excited to see Seokjin and Namjoon had found a place to order from near the hotel. Jimin was especially looking forward to it, because on top of everything else, he was feeling a little homesick. He always tended to get a bit homesick on tour, and if he managed to get himself sick that feeling would only amplify tenfold. Eating Korean food may not have been the cure for his cold, but it would definitely help cure him of his homesickness.

“Jimin-ah?”

Jimin turned in the direction of his name to find Hoseok standing before him, a small package of medicine held tightly in his hand.

“Hyung? Are you going to get some food?”

Hoseok hummed, “Yeah, in a second. Just...here. I wanted to make sure I gave you these.”

Jimin glanced down as Hoseok handed him a pack of headache tablets and smiled to himself.

“We bought a few other things for you that I want you to take later, but…” He trailed off, and instead threw a hand around Jimin’s waist. “For now? Let’s eat.”

“Yeah.” Jimin echoed with a warm smile. “Let’s eat.”

#this one is a DOOZY #but i really really enjoyed writing it #i hope you all like it too!!!!#mine #bts sickfic #sick!Jimin #bts snzfic #bts snz

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cantdwellonanyofit · 3 years

Text

Fic Dedicated to Stolperzunge - Ch 2.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28770078/chapters/70548765

Gene felt as if he’d been in line for days when he finally reached the ticket counter. As he spoke the words ‘New Orleans’ aloud, purchased his ticket, and turned to sit and wait for the train, he finally realized he had no idea where he was headed. Or whether Snafu even still lived in New Orleans. But he had come too far to turn back now. He couldn't imagine returning home. Couldn't imagine explaining, 'You know, I forgot I had no idea where my long-lost love lived,' to Sid without confessing the entire truth. He had nothing to return to anyway. Perhaps this could be good for him. Maybe just walking the same streets Snafu had walked would fill some of the gaping holes left in him from the war. Maybe coming home from the war had been so hard because he tried to return to his old life. The life he had before he ever met Snafu. It would be impossible for him to ever be the person he had been. Trying to fake it wasn't doing him any good.

When the train finally pulled into the station Gene had talked himself in and out of the trip about a dozen times. But he was doing this. He wasn't a quitter. He handed over his ticket and stepped up the platform onto the train. It wasn't the glamorous train they had ridden home from the war. It was cramped, and people were everywhere. Gene felt as though he couldn't breathe. He tried to take note of every exit available to him in case he needed to escape. He was catching pieces of conversations. Families trying to stay together. Men on business trips. Screaming children. It all slammed into his consciousness at maximum volume as his breathing sped up. He rushed past the seats trying to find somewhere he could be alone. Touching each seat as he passed and propelling himself forward. By the time he reached a compartment that was quiet, he had nearly reached the end of the train. He sat down in one of the empty seats by the window, and immediately propped it open. The mid-September air was still warm, like it always was in Alabama. But there was a gentle breeze that brought him some relief. He gulped it down like fresh water. He wished he had thought to bring a book or magazines. He was going to spend a day and a half with no one else for company but his own mind. This was going to be bad. He nearly bought a newspaper to read but thought better of it. He didn't want to risk reading about the war.

He sighed heavily and leaned his seat back to lay down. Then immediately regretted it and sat back up. He didn't like the feeling of not being able to see his surroundings. There were too many people around. He resigned himself to imagining what it would be like to see Snafu again. Those blue eyes. That sly smirk. He wondered what it would feel like to see Snafu outside of the battlegrounds. In America, in Louisiana, in his hometown. Wherever that may be. Gene had been a fool not to ask for Snafu's address before they boarded the train. They were all just so exhausted and ready to return home. They didn't much think about life beyond that. They had survived. It was inconceivable, unwanted, and unnatural.

Gene suddenly remembered a story Snafu had told the night of their drunken celebration with Burgie. Snafu had mentioned getting into trouble with the Baton Rouge police. Snafu had been pulled over for speeding, and when the officer approached the car window, he was met with Snafu's, “pale white ass against the glass.” As he had poetically explained it. Burgie and Gene had howled with laughter. Gene wasn't sure how Snafu managed to escape being detained, but they had been too drunk then to question it. If he were honest, Gene had been bordering on black out drunk at that point. His consciousness black spotted and stuttering like a worn-out filmstrip. He couldn't believe he remembered anything from that night. It boosted his spirits to know he had a starting place for hunting down Snafu.

He wondered if he was crazy. Obviously, Snafu didn't see fit to seek Gene out, but he didn't know what that proved. Considering Gene had just now boarded a train destined for New Orleans 7 months later. He couldn't believe 7 months of his life was already gone. It seemed he hadn't moved since disembarking the train home in February. Yet here he was, back on a train. Headed for great things or tragedy. He tried not to focus on the potential embarrassment of being rejected. What if Snafu pretended he didn’t know who Gene was? What if he was disgusted by Gene’s longing for him? And he had no choice but to accept that whatever connection he thought there was had been imagined. God would humiliate and ruin him again. He wasn't sure he could accept more of it. Maybe he'd die right there on the sidewalk in his several day-old clothes. Maybe people would just step on him as they walked by. Their feet passing through his ghostly form. The final indication that he never made it off Okinawa. And all the past several months were just the beginnings of his eternity in hell. He closed his eyes and tried to shut out the worst-case scenarios. Snafu had already rejected him once; he could surely live through it again.

---

As the train neared the terminal at New Orleans, Gene could feel his heart thumping in his throat. It didn't matter that he would just be stepping off the train to board a bus to Baton Rouge. He was virtually in the same city Snafu might be in. He may see Snafu again. He spent most of the train ride alternating between watching out the window, and fist fighting his brain into submission. Several people filed into the seats around him, and it made him more restless with every person that joined. Luckily, the person next to him had brought a surplus of reading material and offered him a book. 'Mind At The End of Its Tether," which had distracted Gene for a good half hour. And then another couple hours when his mind pondered if the book had been right. Maybe humanity would cease to exist. This aligned with his assumptions that God had expected both the Japs and Americans to die. War was everywhere. The world was on fire. And here Gene was, chasing a boy that might not want anything to do with him. What else was a guy to do during the apocalypse? He might as well get his first kiss before the world ended. Ed had poked fun at him for keeping his virginity throughout the entire war. But Sledge had also been a bit surprised and fed up with it. He wanted to forget. And he knew no better way than to give in completely to sin. The elderly woman next to him shifted in her seat, and Gene blushed. He sure hoped she couldn’t read minds. He carefully returned the book to her and thanked her.

Gene waited in line, boarded a bus, and did more waiting. Became more restless. He hadn't showered in days. He was still wearing the same clothes. At least if he ran into Snafu now, he'd be recognizable. He looked just as disheveled as he had in the war. He was buzzing with energy. Even though he hadn’t slept more than four hours both nights, he had never felt more alive. He was bordering on giddy. Finally, he stepped off the bus and into Baton Rouge. He was immediately met with traffic, people, and bright lights. His eyes landed on a Sears, and he decided he'd stop in for some clothes. He tried to imagine what Snafu would find attractive, but he had no idea if Snafu even liked men. Or him. He must've looked helpless because it wasn't long before he was approached and assisted. He considered asking, “Picture this, you decide to chase down the man of your dreams. But only after finally accepting you might perhaps be homosexual, and it took losing your entire identify in a hard-fought war to reach this conclusion. What would YOU wear?” But thought better of it.

"I'm trying to find clothing that would impress….someone." He finished lamely. He knew he looked ragged. It made him feel even more unsure of himself. "Delightful! Come this way, I know exactly what you need." Before long he was handing over money for several sweaters. Some had a chain-link pattern across the chest, while others were knit vests he could wear over the collared shirts he’d purchased. He bought suspenders, a gabardine jacket, cream trousers, and several brown and maroon pants. He delightedly purchased a couple of fountain pens and paper as well so he could write to Sid. He tucked the receipt in his pocket with the others so he could track how much money he owed Sid. There was no way he wouldn't pay back his friend. He stepped back out into the light and looked around. He needed to find a motel to stay in. He desperately needed a shower. He walked several blocks until he spotted a hotel called the 'Grouchy Hotel,' and stopped in his tracks. No wonder Snafu was the way that he was, the entire city called it like they saw it. Gene's arms were nearly numb, and he decided this would have to do. Grouchy personnel or not, he'd be delighted to check in.

Checked in, and successfully in his room, he dropped his bags all over the floor and immediately stripped off his clothes. He lingered in the bathtub, soaping up several times before feeling clean. If he was going to see Snafu, he wanted to be presentable. He toweled off, put together some of his new ensemble, and then felt at a loss at what he should do next. How was he supposed to find Snafu in this huge town? He had no idea if he had even chosen the right place. It had been one story Snafu had told while blindingly drunk. Gene’s stomach growled and he checked his watch. It was nearly 1600. He decided he’d venture back out in the street for a meal. He hadn’t eaten much the past few days. Mostly due to nerves, but he also had no idea how long he would be paying for a hotel, and they weren’t cheap.

Gene stopped at the front desk for some food recommendations then made his way out into the street. He headed towards the water, as he was told to. He hoped he would find it relaxing, and not an unpleasant reminder. He had a tumultuous relationship with water since the war. He used to love swimming, or the sound and feeling of fresh rain. But after spending months soaked to the bone, he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to be wet again. He followed his nose until he had reached a pizza shop. His stomach groaned in excitement. Before long, he was seated and reviewing the menu. Contemplating whether he should buy one of everything. Suddenly a worker emerged from the kitchen walking backwards while he spoke to someone in front of him.

“I can’t thank you enough Mr. Shelton, you do great work.” Shelton, Gene thought, must be a popular surname around these parts. Great. It wasn’t already going to be hard enough to find Snafu. The odds continued to mount against him. It was likely he’d spend all this time, money, and return home just as lost as he’d been before he left. He was like a mistreated dog, returning to the only home he ever knew even though it would eventually kill him.

“It was nuthin’, Mr. Alesce. You enjoy that cool air, now,” Gene dropped his drink and didn’t even register when the glass shattered against the table, and then the floor. His Coke splattered all over him.

He’d know that voice anywhere. His head turned so fast to the side it cramped. He stood up and his chair tilted before it clattered to the floor. Time slowed; his blood rushed to his head. He was going to pass out. He turned and stared directly at Snafu, who had a faraway look to his eyes. The shattering of glass must’ve startled him. Or perhaps seeing Gene had caused the wild look in his eyes. Maybe Gene was the last person he ever wanted to see again. But in true Snafu fashion, he shook it off faster than Gene could. Someone rushed over, apologizing to Gene as if it had been their fault the glass shattered. Gene was standing in shards of it when he locked eyes with Snafu.

Those fuckin’ blue eyes. They were the same as the last time he saw them. Somewhat darker underneath from lack of sleep, but so beautiful. They stood staring at each other. Seconds, minutes, potentially hours passed. Maybe this was Gods final act. He’d let Gene have this moment for as long as he needed it, and then God would plunge him back into his home in Mobile. His chance at freedom ripped out of his hands. He’d be clawing his nails raw at the door, begging for another glimpse of the life he would never have.

Snafu was walking towards him. Gene backed up and hit the wall behind him. Then, as if the walls were made of rubber, he propelled himself forward and began walking towards Snafu. They met in the middle. Gene thought it funny that they were always doing that. Meeting each other halfway in every situation.

“You look like shit, Eugene,” Snafu smiled his stupid damn shit eatin’ grin. His attempt at a lighthearted hello.

“You—You fool. You fuckin’---Damn, piece of----. You absolute piece of---. You fuckin’…. Damn fool!” Gene’s voice was rising, and he couldn’t stop it. He knew he shouldn’t be causing a scene. He just kept hurling insults and growing louder. This is not how he imagined reuniting with Snaf’. Snafu’s smile dropped. He began pushing Gene towards the door. Gene was fighting him off. Hitting him with one closed fist, right in the shoulder, and then the other hand joined in.

“You have a great day now, Mr. Alesce. Ouais, t’inquiète! I got this handled. Merci, beaucoup. Naw, it’s on the house!” Snafu continued pushing Gene until he was out the door and on the sidewalk. Snafu grabbed Gene’s hands and dragged them behind his back until Gene was in front of him. Snafu held a tight grip on both of Gene’s biceps. “You gotta calm down, cher.”

Gene nearly fought his arms free so he could wrap both hands around that tanned throat. Cher…who the hell was he calling cher when he left Gene. Abandoned him. When Gene needed him the most, he just walked out. “Don’t you sweet talk me, you asshole,” Snafu chuckled.

“I’m not kiddin’ with you, Snafu! Why didn’t you wake me up? Why?!” Gene tried to free his arms but realized immediately it was pointless. All he managed to do was swing both men wildly from one side then the other.

“I don’t know. I didn’t think it’d matter so much to you. Just…thought you’d move on.” Snafu responded.

“Excuse me, is that supposed to calm me down because now I’m extra fired up.”

“What are you doing here?” That calmed Gene down. What a good question. What the hell was he doing here. Talking to this man who obviously didn’t think walking out of Gene’s life was much of a big deal. It seemed to measure up to swatting away a pesky fly to Snafu. He washed his hands of him, and then just continued his life as it was. While Gene’s life had completely stopped. Right up until the moment he locked eyes again with Snafu. Surely, he had broken the spell, and time would begin ticking again for him. Gene stopped struggling, and said in an icy tone, “Making a huge mistake, apparently. Let me go.”

“Now wait just a second, Eugene. I didn’t mean it how’ya heard it.”

“I heard it just fine. Let go of me.” Gene wrenched his right arm and swung both men to the right. Dangerously close to the road.

“I don’t want to.” Snafu said, matter of fact.

Gene laughed. “That’s rich. You did such a beautiful job of it the first time.” Snafu twisted Gene around so he was facing him. “Don’t mistake my absence for indifference. I-“ Snafu seemed to be bracing himself. “I’m incredible at fucking up my own life. Don’t take it personally.”

Gene hadn’t expected to hear such honestly. His mouth hung open as he tried to think of a response. He eventually just closed it. Did Snafu really think leaving Gene had fucked up his life? He seemed so aloof about it. Gene didn’t understand how Snafu could hold so much regret, and then just act like nothing was amiss when they met again.

Snafu twisted Gene back around, placed a hand on the small of his back, and began steering him. “Where you staying at? How long you been here? You really fucked up your clothes, man. I hope you got more.” Gene was barely registering his movements as he walked both men towards the direction of his hotel. His clothes. What a waste of Sid’s money. Maybe he should just walk them both to the water and jump in. Kill two birds with one stone. Clean his clothes, and the sin off him.

“I’ve been here for…Maybe a couple of hours.”

“No shit? Ain’t that somethin’. You got lucky; I’d been procrastinating this job because the bus ride here is a bitch.” Gene couldn’t believe his luck. The utter fate involved in his reuniting with Snafu. It was almost as unreal as their chance to meet in the first place. If the war had never happened, what would his life be like right now? Would he be continuing to force himself to go on dates with girls? Would he still listen to all the guys around him talk about the things they did with girls in the dark? While Gene continued to hope his innocence protected him from questioning? While Sid continued protecting him from questioning? Before long, Snafu and Gene reached the hotel. Snafu dropped his hands from Gene’s back.

“You know what brought me here? I remembered that damn story you told about mooning that police officer. That’s why I chose Baton Rouge.”

Snafu laughed loudly, “Aw, Gene, I can’t believe that. I made all that up!”

Gene nearly started laughing hysterically. Instead, an anguished cry ripped out of him and he began sobbing. Snafu was here. He recognized him. He had walked him back to his hotel. He regretted leaving Gene. Snafu looked incredibly startled and vulnerable. Like the face he wore when Gene threated to cut that Japs teeth out.

“Eugene, I’m sorry. I’m real sorry. I shouldn’t have made that up.” Snafu offered.

Gene laughed as tears slid down his cheeks, “That’s not why I’m upset.” He quickly wiped away the tears, embarrassed at losing his composure, “I don’t even know if I am upset. I just can’t believe I found you so quickly. My life stopped the second you left me on that train. I haven’t breathed in months. I feel like I died on that damn train, Snaf.”

Snafu looked genuinely confused. “Why? You have a great family. I thought….. A good home. Friends….” He trailed off. “You have so much good in your life.”

“I don’t care about any of that. They don’t understand. They can’t accept who I am now. That I’m not me anymore, and I might never be again. You were the only person to understand.” Gene paused; lowered his voice in case anyone walked by. They were in public after all. “You’re all I think about. All of the time.”

Snafu continued to look perplexed. Gene left Snafu’s side and opened the door for them to enter the hotel. “Let’s talk inside,” he offered. Snafu slowly nodded.

“Bienvenue, messieurs!” The man at the front desk called fondly. “Merci bien. Bonne journée,” Snafu responded. Gene smiled politely at the man. He was really going to have to pick up some French while he was here.

They remained silent as they walked to Gene’s room. Gene opened the door for Snafu, then quickly turned to close and latch it. When he turned around again, Snafu was on him. Pushing him against the door and touching noses with him. Snafu’s breath was a breeze against Gene’s lips. Gene forgot everything he was going to say. Every moment of sadness and despair. He forgot his own name. All he could think about was Snafu’s mouth on his.

Gene reached both hands towards the sides of Snafu’s neck. Gently touching his fingertips to his skin. Gene pressed, bringing Snafu toward him, and closed the gap. It was like dunking his head in ice cold water. He’d never felt so alive in his life. His heartbeat sped up. Warmth traveled from his mouth, down his throat, filling his chest, butterflies bounced off his stomach, and a ball of heat shot straight into his groin. He moaned in Shelton’s mouth. Snafu positioned both his hands firmly on Gene’s hips. Pulling him towards Snafu until Gene’s sticky clothes rested against Snafu’s. Gene wanted to chastise him. ‘You’ll get your nice work clothes all dirty,’ Gene thought. But he didn’t dare stop to voice his concerns.

Gene was softly rubbing his fingers along the back of Snafu’s neck, then he dragged his fingertips up along the sides. Landing in Snafu’s hair behind his ears. The curls were as soft as he imagined they’d be. He opened his mouth wider and slipped his tongue into Snafu’s mouth. Snafu moaned. Responding by sucking on Gene’s tongue and tightening his hold on his hips. Taking control of the situation. Of Gene. Gene was overheating. This was better than any fantasy he ever thought up. He must’ve said as much because Snafu chuckled.

“You think about this often, boo?” Gene brought Snafu in for another slow, open-mouthed kiss. When Gene broke off the kiss to respond, Snafu caught Gene’s lower lip in his teeth and sucked. Gene moaned and took a deep breath. “I can’t believe you left me. Left this.” Snafu seemed to be thinking before responding, which was a real first. “I thought it’d be better. For you. I couldn’t-“ Snafu struggled again to find words.

“I couldn’t stand bullshitting with you like we did with Burgie. I’d have asked you to come home with me. And I ain’t—Eugene.” He opened his arms wide, “I ain’t got shit to offer you here.”

Gene stared pointedly. “What do you think I need other than you? Just you. It’s simple as that.”

Snafu was shaking his head in disbelief, “I don’t understand you, Sledgehamma’. You got the whole world in your hands, and you’re just gonna keep chasing the one thing you think you’re missing.”

“I don’t understand you neither,” Gene retorted. “You claimed leaving fucked up your life, and you just walked away. Like you left one of your bags on the train. As if you might be able to just replace what you lost, so there’s no need to go searching for it.”

“I wasn’t interested in replacing it. I was just gonna add it to the list of irreversible mistakes and leave it at that.” Snafu reasoned.

“Why?” Gene’s eyebrows knit together in confusion.

Snafu shrugged, “I told you, I don’t know. I just thought it’d be better for you.” Gene scoffed, “Well you got a lot to learn about what’s good for me then. I can take care of myself. You just stay out of making decisions for me from now on. I’m a big boy. You should’ve at least given me the option. I’d have come home with you if you had asked.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Snafu responded quickly. “That I’d hold you back. From moving on. From being happy. Starting over--” Gene interrupted, “There’s no startin’ over unless it’s with you.” Snafu smiled slowly, his eyes half-lidded, “You’re a real sap, Eugene.” Gene laughed. And it felt good. His stomach groaned loud enough for both men to hear it.

Snafu finally turned to look around the hotel room. Gene had left his bags scattered everywhere from earlier. “You get robbed while you was out?” Snafu teased. Gene started removing his clothes. Snafu went a bit red and turned around to offer Gene some privacy. Gene had to bite his lower lip to keep from laughing. “What’re you doing? You just had your tongue halfway to my tonsils, and now you’re protecting my modesty?” Snafu’s laugh burst from him. Gene’s grin nearly split his face. He missed this. The teasing, the laughing. It felt so good to be safe with Snafu. They could just be men. Boys. War had aged them greatly. Mentally and physically. But they still reached in and yanked out each other’s youthfulness. Their innocence. This is what he had desperately been missing.

“Shut up and get yourself cleaned up. I’m going to take you to dinner. Isn’t that how this works? Take you to dinner first before I take you to bed?” Snafu said it so matter-of-factly it was Gene’s turn to blush. “You’re an animal.” Gene kidded, and Snafu chuckled. “You chose this life, Eugene. Got no one to blame but yourself.” Snafu had no idea about the implication of those words. How true they really were. Gene had brought everything upon himself. The war, the anguish, the brokenness. But also, the joy, love, and growth. He didn’t want to imagine what his life would’ve been like without the war because then he wouldn’t be right here with Snafu. And that was a life he already tried to live and couldn’t. Gene changed out of his clothes and dropped them in the tub with some water. He soaped them up, but he doubted it’d do much. He might as well try, he figured. He quickly washed the stickiness off himself in the sink, redressed, and did a 360 turn for Snafu, who laughed. He was sitting on the bed, practicing patience as Gene tidied up. "You ready? Before the entire town closes down?” Gene crept up and stood between Snafu’s thighs, dropping a gentle kiss to his lips before standing and heading for the door. “Lead the way.” Gene had already followed Snafu to hell and back. He’d be delighted to follow him anywhere for the rest of his life.

#smutty #Whoops #Sledgefu #Eugene Sledge #Snafu #stolperzunge #*stresses out about my snafu characterization #Translations and comments are in the AO3 link #I'm too lazy to repeat myself

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misplacedxeggos · 4 years

Text

Warmth

request: “a wyatt fic please where he plays baseball and reader plays softball in the same school and they steal each others jerseys all the time and everyone including their coaches think theyre dating but theyre just besties until one day that changes thank you!!”

A/N: I made this a stanley fic because I don’t write about the cast. The fics on my page of the cast are written by my friend and she’s going to rewrite them into character form. Hope you enjoy either way!

words: 1.5k

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You clenched your softball bat tighter as you looked out onto the field. The scoreboard showed that it was all tied up, and there were teammates on all bases. Even if you couldn’t get a home run, you just needed to get to first base as time ran down.

You hit the home base with your bat twice and brought it up in a hitting position. You watched as the pitcher wound up and released the ball.

Strike one.

You moved your arms to get looser and not focus on how well you needed to do. The pitcher wound up again and threw it underhand. You moved your softball bat forward, and the aluminum material met with the softball to fling it through the air.

You threw your bat to the ground and took off running while keeping an eye on the ball. You passed the first base and saw the ball fly over the fence. While you could’ve slowed down and walked the rest of the way, the adrenaline kicked in, causing you to speed up.

In only a couple of seconds, your team engulfed you in a group hug and bombarded you with words of praise. You took in all of the compliments and quickly took off in search for Stanley in the crowd.

You caught a glimpse of curly blond hair and before you can go look for him, you felt his arms snake around your waist from behind. He twirled you around until you twisted in his arms to face him.

“I’m so proud of you.” Stanley gushed as he pulled you into a hug.

Once you pull back you see your softball away jersey.

You tug on the shoulder material, “This is theft.”

“Pretty sure you gave it to me,” Stanley commented with his arms still laying on your waist.

“Okay, lovebirds break it up. I wanna hug too.” Richie pulled you away from Stan and into him.

You rolled your eyes as you were used to Richie constantly trying to get you to tell him that you and Stan were together. You wished you could tell him what he wanted but it didn’t seem to be in your favor yet.

You were oblivious as to how Stan’s eyes lit up when you entered a room and how he always insisted on greeting you first. It seemed like second nature now to sit on his lap when there weren’t any open seats and whisper comments in his ear to make him laugh.

God his laugh was music to your ears.

After pulling back from Richie’s arms you went over to your rightful place next to Stanley.

“Party at my house!” One of your teammates yelled in the middle of the field.

“After I change can you drive me?” You looked up at Stan.

He gave you a small nod along with a smile. You went into the locker rooms and went to take a quick rinse-off shower. Afterwards, you pulled out Stanley’s home baseball jersey and loosely tucked it into a skirt.

“I see you’re still denying you like him.” You teammate commented while changing.

“And I see you’re still poking your nose in other people’s business.” You fired back while gathering up your items.

You didn’t want other people’s opinions on yours and Stanley’s relationship. You worried that if too many people commented that they thought you were together then he would be repulsed by the idea of you.

“My god, could you have taken any longer?” Stanley teased as you got into his truck.

“You don’t want me to stink up your truck do you?”

“I don’t think a shower fixed that.”

You playfully laughed and hit his shoulder in retaliation. Your brain glazed over and didn’t take in the slight blush that spread across his cheeks when he saw you in his jersey. You simply thought that he had got too much sun that evening watching your game.

Songs on the radio softy played in the background as you looked out the window and admired the small town scenery of Derry. Occasionally you would hear Stanley either mumble along with the song or softly sing. After a while of trying to find parking on the crowded street and finally deciding to park at the park then walking, you had made it to the party.

People started to shout your name as soon as you passed through the threshold. A wave of people pulled you away from Stanley and straight onto the dance floor. Stanley went to go get you a drink since you knew that though you were somewhat of a people person you could get overwhelmed easily.

When he came back to the living room where the makeshift dance floor was, he found you swaying to the music and admired how carefree you looked. Of course, Richie had to find Stan staring at you and make fun of him.

“Oh don’t worry a lot of good is going to happen tonight.” Richie winked at Stan and made his way to the punch bowl for the third time that night.

Stan had gotten used to brushing off things Richie said under the influence and just on a normal day to day basis, but for some reason, he couldn’t help to think of what he had meant. He didn’t have to think for long as Richie had made his way to you on the dance floor and started to pull you to where Stan was.

“Y/n, do you have something to say to mister Stan the Man?” Richie slurred out as he looked expectantly to you while you reached out to take your drink from Stan’s hand.

“Um, thanks for the drink?” Your thanks came out more of a question as you didn’t quite know what Richie was going on about.

“Come on Y/n you can do better than that, just tell him what you told me last Monday during math, about what you really think of him.” Richie gave you a knowing smirk and waited.

Your eyes grew in realisation to what Richie was talking about. During the boring lecture in math, he asked you what you thought about all the losers. You had stupidly thought that Richie was too hungover and stoned to remember anything that had happened that day, so you confessed your feelings for Stanley. You let out everything you had been thinking for years.

That you felt like you were floating on air around him, he felt at home with him, a certain warmth of comfort spread through your chest seeing him and that you couldn’t grow a pair and ask him out.

You let out an uneasy laugh and disregarded what Richie just said. You prayed that he wouldn’t bring it up the rest of the party and he didn’t. Through the whole game of truth or dare, he avoided asking you about it but still had a light in his eyes that said he could whenever he wanted to.

You were tense for the rest of the party and decided to leave early. When you told Stan this he got out of the conversation he was in with Bill and told you he would take you home.

An awkward presence that you had never felt with Stan was very apparent the whole drive to your house. Stanley was scared that you were suddenly going to come out and say that you didn’t want to be friends anymore. He had thought about this almost as much as you saying that you had feelings for him.

He would go back and forth in his mind about how you would react if he asked you out. Seventy-five percent of the time you rejected him and the other twenty-five percent you agreed to go out.

While he was in his head that you were going to dump his friendship on the curb, you were swamped in thoughts that he would ask you about what Richie had said. If he did what were you going to say? You could come out and say the truth to finally get it off your chest or you could deny it and potentially hurt your closest friend.

Stan parked his car in front of your house and sucked in a deep breath. You both tried to talk at the same time and after a few awkward hand gestures, you both decided that you would talk first.

“So hypothetically speaking, would you ever date a close friend? Cause I think that I would and I didn’t know if that was normal or if it mattered on the situation you were in or-”

Stanley cut you off with a short and soft kiss.

“So you’re not into Bev?” You joked as Stanley leaned forward for another kiss.

“Man you are oblivious.” Stan chuckled.

You had Richie to thank for bringing up Monday math class and the fact that you had met the perfect guy that always made you smile and feel warm throughout.

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taglist: @fiantomartell

#stanley uris #stanley uris imagine #stanley uris x reader #it #it movie #it2017 #wyatt oleff #stan uris #stan uris imagine #stan uris x reader

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poptod · 4 years

Text

Who The Stars Belong To (Joe Mazzello x Reader)

Description: You’re an angel. Congratulations! Now you’re a fallen angel and you crash land through the roof of a building and right into a man’s apartment.

Prompt: Innocent Notes: I don’t usually do fics with real people. I wrote this one a very long time ago and never finished it, but it’s been a bit since I’ve posted (I’m working on something) and this was the best of my unfinished fics :) I mixed a LOT of religions into this. I hope I don’t offend anyone - I myself am not highly religious, but some of my beliefs are in here. Gender neutral. Word Count: 8.7k

I am a storm. I am an oncoming battle, the thunders of a thousand wars, of a million bloodshed plains. I am the breeze of summer and the wisps of winter frost. I am a god beholden to you but nothing to your universe. And in the dead of night, I am your savior.

All you knew was life in the heavens. Being God’s messenger had its perks and all that, like getting to know a lot of the higher archangels, but you would never know what the earth held. Stories were your staple, and other than God’s word, it was what you existed on.

Before you knew it you were hurtling down to earth a hundred miles an hour, watching your home in the stars disappear from view as your eyes became human. The light of God faded away, the guidance disappeared, and you could feel your halo burn into the sky, dissipating into the darkness. Though panic pulsed through you, fresh blood appearing through once empty veins, your expression was calm. As you pounded an imprint through the clouds as you fell through them your wings began to burn, and you became a falling star, a child’s wish to never be granted.

Once your back hit the hardness of ground, you blacked out.

Drearily you opened your eyes, feeling for the first time something you knew to be pain. It floated all throughout your body, caressing you gently and holding you in a grip so unfamiliar. Your throat burned, eyes tired, and your back ached. Shoulders tense and knees stiff you sat up, letting your vision fully develop.

White walls, firm and rigid in their position, surrounded you. To your right was a glass wall, letting you see the massive buildings outside. They seemed to stretch to the sky, clouds drifting lazily by. Gulping you grasped at the sheets around you, clenching with sore fingers at the roughness they had. To your left was a closed door and an open door, one leading to something that just had to be what you’d been told was a bathroom, and the other one with jackets hanging off it.

You tried standing up, feeling bile fill your mouth at the feeling. Was that normal? No matter - you stood, watching as the world began to spin.

That’s funny, you thought to yourself, before promptly blacking out with a nice, thick thud on the floor.

Upon waking up again, the light above you was dimmer than before, and looking to your right, night encompassed the sky. Blinking slowly you turned your head back to the ceiling, trying to get yourself to at least sit up. You were back in bed, you noticed, with white and blue sheets and blankets once more surrounding you. Grasping at the sheets you pulled yourself up, pulling your legs closer to you from their straight position.

From outside the closed door to your left came noise, a banging of pots and a curse. You raised your eyebrows, having never heard them before, but knowing them nonetheless. It was required information, as an angel. Which you guessed you were banned from being for a little while.

What you might’ve done wrong filled your head, but no matter how far back you went you couldn’t think of a thing. You’d done everything asked of you. Every single thing, even if you thought it to be morally wrong, even if you wondered why you had been chosen for the job, you did it. No questions. No hesitation.

Watching yourself in the mirror across from the bed, you tilted your head curiously to the left. You weren’t supposed to look like that. You were supposed to be… angelic. Strong. A storm, with the power of thunder and the will of hail. That was your form. Not this, with its’ flimsy hair, odd eyes, and dull skin.

Another curse from the other side of the door. You turned, watching as the handle jiggled. For a moment you remained unbothered, before very quickly realizing if this was a menacing force you didn’t have your angelic powers. Not to your knowledge in the least, and testing them out wasn’t really an option. If you used them for anything but official use then they would be taken away.

The door opened, and a man holding a plate came in, a concentrated look on his face, auburn hair falling over his face. He looked the least menacing thing you’d ever seen, and your shoulders relaxed. As the door shut behind him he looked up, smiling awkwardly as he walked forward, setting the plate on the small table beside the bed. You looked at him expectantly, still confused in all essence of the word.

He seemed just as confused, glancing to the side, unable to keep your eye for more than two seconds.

“You’re, uh. You should eat,” he finally said, gesturing with his head towards the plate on the bedside table.

You didn’t need to eat, right? Whatever eating really was it looked awful. Well, you knew what eating was. Sustenance to keep humans going, meant to distract them so they didn’t reach their full potential. Too much time spent doing stuff other than getting food, or getting means for food, would’ve been disastrous.

You must’ve been too quiet for too long as he kept going.

“I made pasta. I’m not great with food, but it’s not awful, I promise,” he chuckled, shifting his weight in his anxiousness. You kept staring. He cleared his throat. “Maybe you could tell me what happened to you?”

“What?” You asked, further confused.

“You know,” he said, clearly excited that you could talk, “why you fell through my roof.”

“What?”

He now looked exasperated that you only knew one word.

“You fell through my roof. I tried to take you to a hospital but you begged me not to. Said you’d, uh, ‘put the fear of god into me,’ if I did. Neat trick you did with your eyes, too,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. He seemed to be more relaxed, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“… details?” You asked further. He paused.

He’d just been home after a late night trip to the store after realizing he was completely out of Windex when you arrived. First was a whistling sound, and he looked up, wondering curiously what it could be. His first thought was that New York was under attack, but quickly proven wrong, you crashed through the roof of his apartment, going through the one empty floor above him, landing in his living room.

Staring at your crumpled form, surrounded by broken wood, dust, and concrete, his mouth fell open, dropping the two bottles of Windex in his hand. The most astonishing part was the fact that you were moving. That, and the giant cuts running down your back, bleeding openly and dripping all over his carpet. The one other surprising thing was the fact that you were entirely naked.

Stumbling only for a moment, he dropped to your side, helping you stand.

“Holy shit, okay, uh,” he breathed out, “what happened to you?”

“Arrghhhh,” you slurred meaninglessly.

“Never mind. Let’s get to a hospital, fast,” he said, and before he could even ask his brain to make the movement for a step forward, your hand was grasping the collar of his shirt, bundling the material in a tight fist, pulling him towards your face.

“I will tear your body apart till nothing remains but your soul and you will remember why you fear God,” you said, and in the moment he heard your voice in double, watching as your eyes rolled up into your head, the red veins glowing against stark white.

“Okay,” he replied immediately, almost dropping you.

He omitted many of these details when reporting this to you, not wanting you to believe him insane.

“You crashed through my roof, and I tried to take you to the hospital but you, uh, obviously said no, and after that you blacked out, so I put you to bed. Hoped you would wake up,” was what he said.

“Of course I did,” you said, miffed, turning to face your reflection once again. It looked… wrong. Where were your horns?

“Not… not of course. That fall tends to kill people,” he laughed nervously.

You swallowed, feeling your saliva burn down your throat. Pushing the sheets off of you you tried to stand once more, watching as the world began to swing into a dance once more. The man stood with a ‘woah there,’ holding his hand over your torso in case you fell. With lazy eyelids your head fell onto his shoulder, not quite fainting but halfway there.

“You’re pretty adamant about this whole standing thing, huh?” He said with a grunt, trying to help you stand on your own.

“I am stronger than the bones your king breaks,” you mumbled.

“I don’t - okay, you’re not hungry, so let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, heaving you across the room and into the bathroom.

The lights blared painfully against the mirror, reflecting directly into your eyes. You moaned, hiding your eyes behind eyelids and his shoulder. Behind you water rushed, falling into the silver and white tub. He sat you down on the toilet, making sure you would stay there, before leaving, promising he’d be right back.

You leaned against a nearby wall, eyelids drooping over burning eyes as you waited for him to return. The water continued rushing, filling the room in a warm haze. You watched as the mirror fogged.

With a creak the door opened, and he came through with a tight smile, putting a towel and a fresh set of clothes on the counter.

“I didn’t want to wash you or anything while you were out. Would’ve been a bit weird,” he mumbled, shutting the door behind him, sticking his hand in the water to test it after.

“Where’d I get these clothes?” You asked in a whisper, and he barely heard you over the water.

“Oh, uh, they’re mine. Yours were ruined.”

“I had clothes?”

“… Yes?”

“Lying is a sin punishable by an eternity of hellfire,” you muttered.

“Okay you didn’t have clothes. Happy? I was just trying to spare you the embarrassment,” he snapped, turning off the water. He glanced at you and in a second, his anger fell from him. “Let’s get you in.”

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling the shirt off your torso and throwing it into a corner of the bathroom. After that he tapped your hips, looking up at you expectantly. You cocked your head to the side, your brow furrowed.

“Lift,” he said, his face reddening with blood. Your nose twitched and, bracing yourself against the lid of the toilet, you lifted your hips. Off came two sets of pants, which confused you greatly.

“Why was I wearing two pants?” You asked, grasping his shoulders tightly as he made you stand, your legs failing you almost entirely.

“That was underwear,” he explained patiently, setting you gently in the warm water. You curled up, pressing your knees to your chest, feeling your rough skin brush against you uncomfortably. With bright eyes you stared up at him, watching him grab various bottles from the counter.

With a cup he poured water over your head, and a pleasant feeling washed over you as it ran down your back and over your eyes. He pressed two fingers to your forehead, tilting your head slightly so it wouldn’t fall into your eyes. He did this two more times, fully soaking your head before popping open a bottle. Out of it poured a white mixture, one he rubbed up against his hands before reaching for you.

You cringed backwards, baselessly fearing what it could’ve been. He paused, drawing backwards and explaining himself.

“It’s to wash your hair,” he said, and as you let him rub it into your scalp, you heard him whisper to himself, “what happened to you?”

You didn’t answer, assuming he didn’t really want an answer, and simply enjoying the pleasure his hands brought. As he dug deeper into your hair you keened upwards into it, letting your eyes close. He let his hands run the full length of your hair once, then twice, before rinsing his hands and pouring water over you to rinse the shampoo from you.

“Enjoying yourself?” He teased as he opened up another bottle. You waited as he turned the bottle upside down, pouring it now over your shoulders. From its cold temperature you shrunk, still letting him do what he thought he needed to do.

He rubbed the white soap into your skin, over your shoulders and neck, up into your cheeks. That was the most enjoyable part - letting him cup your jaw, one hand on either side as his thumbs rubbed your cheeks. Eventually he had to stop, gently washing your nose and forehead.

The silence clearly made him uncomfortable you noted as he washed the dirt off your arms. You, however, didn’t mind it in the slightest.

“Just one more,” he said, holding up the last bottle. You nodded.

This time, unlike the first time, he combed it through your hair. Relaxing into his touch you closed your eyes, once more leaning into him. You couldn’t trust him, not in any way, but…

“Feel better?”

You nodded.

The two of you tried to get your feet to work but they refused, and your wet body flopped uselessly into his arms.

“Sorry,” you said, noticing his own clothes getting soaked.

“It - it’s fine,” he stammered, his face growing hot and red. He held you up, grabbing the towel with one struggling hand and wrapping it around you. Half shivering you sat on the edge of the tub, watching as he leaned over you, draining the sudsy water away.

Eventually, all dried up and in fresh clothes that smelled very specifically of him, you sat on the bed eating the cold pasta he’d given you.

“I can warm it up you know,” he said, watching you eat by the bedside.

You shook your head, the food still hanging out of it. He shrugged, excusing himself for a moment, and coming back with a thin, silver block.

“What -“

“I thought you might want to watch a movie or something,” he said, setting it down and opening it.

Oh, you thought to yourself, marveling at the bright screen. I’ve heard of these computers.

Typing on the board he pulled up a website, clicking quickly on a movie and settling in beside you.

“If you don’t like it I can change it,” he said, allowing you your space on the bed.

White Christmas came up on the screen. The quality was grainy but colorful, the music wonderfully melodic. Music wasn’t a common thing in the heavens. That is to say, the music of the stars would hardly qualify as the music humans knew on earth.

As the movie came to a close he shut the laptop, sliding off the bed, the computer beneath his arm.

“Get some sleep,” he said, watching you shift downwards so your head lay on the pillows. You didn’t really need to sleep, you wanted to tell him. You never had, but for some reason you wanted to close your eyes anyway. As you did, the creak of the door signaled his leave. In the silence of night you wondered how long you’d be allowed to stay.

You didn’t wake again till the next day was halfway through. The man told you so, telling you it was 12, and with your confused face in return, he began to describe time.

“I really don’t understand why you don’t know this stuff. Are you sure we can’t go to a hospital?” He asked gingerly, his head tilted downwards but keeping your gaze.

“If you take me to a hospital -“

“You’ll turn me inside out. I know, yeah…” he sighed, rubbing his face tiredly. “Listen, I’m having friends over tonight. I think it’d be best if you just stayed in here. It’s a bit hard to explain, but I think it’ll be safer, okay?”

Slowly you nodded, half understanding that all you needed to do was stay in the room you were in. You were patient. Millenia of listening to Gods’ slow voice allowed for that.

“They’re coming over in about an hour. This,” he grabbed your wrist, latching a clock around it, “will tell you when that is.”

Examining the silver band, the light above you reflected into the glass, making you shut your eyes tight.

“Don’t do that,” he grumbled, pulling your wrist away from its position.

“Sorry,” you whispered.

“It’s fine. You hungry?”

You shook your head, knowing that you didn’t need to eat. You really, really, really didn’t need to eat, but your stomach growled loudly, your eyes widening as you stared down at it.

“You have no idea how your body works, do you?”

You gulped. How could he ever had found out?

With a sigh he helped you stand, and with his arm around your waist and yours around his shoulders, you limped to the door, heading out into the hallway and the rest of what you presumed was his home. It was nicely lit, with mostly white walls and rather comfortable furniture. You sat on the couch, watching him intently as he prepared some sort of food for you again. He finished, setting the plate in front of you.

“You eat it with your hands,” he told you, already assuming you’d never seen a sandwich before. He went to leave, but you grasped his wrist tight, forcing him to face you. Jarred by your strength his mouth hung open and he gaped at you, confused and alarmed.

“Thank you,” you murmured, staring directly into his eyes.

“Uh… yeah. ‘Course,” he stammered, wriggling free from your lessened grasp. With wary eyes, darting to you in fear, he left the room. Nose twitching, you grabbed the sandwich with your hands, taking a massive bite.

By your last bite, you still hadn’t seen him, but the door had been knocking for several minutes. As time continued the knocking got louder, more furious, till voices came as well, demanding that the door be opened. Pounding footsteps came from the hallway, rushing through the living room till the man, auburn hair flying as he ran past ran straight into the door, ramming his chin against the wooden door.

“Fuck! Ah, sorry, give me a - uh,” he turned to you, still jiggling the door handle, “room?”

“There’s room,” you replied.

“No, go to the bedroom!”

“I can’t stand!”

“What’s going on behind there?” Came the voice behind the door.

“One second guys, just, uh,” he helped you to your feet, “getting dressed.”

“I don’t mind you being naked,” another voice said, drawing a belt of a laugh from the man behind the door.

“They’re… joking,” he mumbled to you, kicking the door open and setting you down on the bed. Though rushed, he tucked you in, fluffing the pillow and quickly turning out the light. Disgruntled, you fidgeted under the covers, keeping your eyes open as you listened to the voices outside.

“I heard two voices,” one of them said, not your man.

“You’re crazy,” the other said.

You buried your nose under the covers. They continued their conversation, talking about things you couldn’t understand, things you knew you would get if you just had your angelic powers back. They allowed you to understand the non-understandable.

“Do you usually eat naked?” One of the men asked, and in an instant you recalled your nearly all-the-way-eaten sandwich.

“No,” your man replied quickly. “That was from a while ago.”

“Someone’s sloppy.”

“Yeah, Jesus Christ, clean up after yourself!”

“I’ll be sure to tell him that when I see him next,” your man said with a laugh.

They resorted once more into language you couldn’t understand, a switch clicking in the room and then the sound of many voices emanating from the living room. Your chest felt restricted, and your stomach still empty, so you dug yourself deeper into the sheets, hoping the uneasy feeling would soon cease.

A few more minutes clutching your stomach and it did not. Perhaps something was wrong with you? You knew very little about the complexities of humans. Maybe you needed to eat more. So, on shaky legs, keeping your arms on the bed you stood, being mainly supported by your arms. Stumbling you made your way to the wall, walking beside it towards the door. He had said not to leave the room, but something felt wrong, so terribly wrong, that you were sure he wouldn’t mind. Your logic was so: he would, most likely, prefer to find you wobbling into the living room rather than to find you dead on the bed. Could you die? You weren’t sure, but chances weren’t a thing you were ready to take.

Walking through the short hallway you kept your hands pressed to the wall, coming up behind the couch that three men now sat on, a large screen on the wall turned on to some sort of entertainment.

Which one was him? None of them were facing you, and you didn’t know if humans all looked the same. Supposedly they didn’t, but to someone like yourself who wasn’t accustomed to their faces, maybe they would all look similar. You went by hair color. The man in the middle had golden hair - that wasn’t your man. The one on the left was taller, with brown hair. On the right was the auburn hair. You tapped him on the shoulder, causing him to look up at you, fear and surprise burning right into your skin through his eyes.

His shock brought the other two from their entrancement with the screen, turning to see you as well. For a moment, everything was silent. They stared at you, you stared right back.

“Give me a moment,” your man suddenly said, jumping over the back of the bed and all but dragging you back to the hall.

“I feel wrong,” you said before he could get angry. He furrowed his brow, confused, but listening. “My chest aches. I feel empty here,” you said, bunching up the shirt you wore and pointing to your stomach area.

He sighed, an exasperated sound, his head falling to your shoulder.

“You’re thirsty,” he finally told you, pulling you with a more gentle touch back into the kitchen and sitting you down on a barstool. He went to grab a glass from the cupboard.

“So, uh, going t’ introduce us?” The blond asked, his voice deep and strange.

“Uh, this is, um,” he tried to say, realizing as he made eye contact with you that neither of you knew each others’ names.

“Mal,” you answered for him. It wasn’t your full, true name, as giving your whole name would give them power over you. That was something you couldn’t find yourself ever doing.

The two men on the couch looked at each other then burst out laughing, making you tilt your head slightly to the left, confused.

“Joey, you could’ve just told us you had a one night stand thing going on, he can join us,” the blond laughed, slapping the taller man on the shoulder. You looked back at your man, supposedly ‘Joey,’ with wide, bewildered eyes.

“Okay first of all, not a one night stand,” he glanced at you, “he’s just a… sick friend.”

“He?” You asked.

“She?” He tried out, but it didn’t help. A silence stretched as both of, utterly perturbed, stared at each other.

“Should we go?” The tall man asked, pointing back at the blond and then himself.

“No, it - it’s fine,” Joey stumbled, handing you a glass of water. “Mal just needs sleep.”

You nodded along. Whatever was happening could be discussed later. He tilted the glass to your mouth, and you opened it, allowing the water to slip through.

“Make sure you’re not breathing when you drink,” he whispered in your ear, quickly jumping back to the couch between his friends. You did as told, almost choking on it but swallowing nonetheless. Feeling your back hurt you stretched, reaching your arms for the ceiling. A sudden burst of pain flooded through your spine, electrocuting your head and tingling through your fingertips.

You let out a strangled, quiet cry, holding your shoulders with your hands. Joey turned to you in a flash, looking at you over the edge of the couch.

“You okay?” He asked.

“Probably,” you answered, shrugging, and gesturing to the screen when he wouldn’t turn away from you. Hesitant, he turned back, watching the delightful characters running around.

Every now and then, over the next few hours they’d go back to the kitchen, grabbing brown bottles from the fridge and downing them rather quickly. You watched from your seat patiently.

“You want one?” The tall one asked, moving to hand you one.

“Uh, that’s probably not a good idea,” Joey stopped him before you could make up your mind, pulling the tall man back by his arm. The man just shrugged, smiling at you, and popping open his own bottle.

“How’d - how’d you two meet?” The blond asked, and by that point you realized that the drink must’ve been doing something to them. They swayed in their stance, their voices clogged and speech dumbed.

“He - she, uh, fell… on the subway. Helped him - her - uh, them, up,” Joey responded, swirling his drink.

“Wait, wait wait,” the tall one turned to you, leaning in close and examining you. You remained rigid. “Are you a guy or a girl?”

“I am the heavens personified. I don’t fall into binary categories that you assign to know the others genitalia.”

All three of them laughed at that. You, on the other hand, found little humor in it. By the end of the evening the three of them became so intoxicated on whatever was in those drinks that you had to convince them, very sloppily to stop, which in the end, they finally acquiesced.

They insisted you come sit with them on the couch, trying to pull you from your seat.

“I want to avoid walking,” you informed them curtly, trying to get them to stop.

“Alright-y then,” the blond said, suddenly lifting you out of your seat and carrying you, laughing and giggling with his friends as he sat you on his lap on the couch. Awkward and confused you shifted, getting comfortable with where you now were.

“Okay okay so - Mal insists on no more drinks, so umm… no drinking games,” Joey slurred, holding his fingers out and counting ‘no drinking games’ on one.

“Beer pong!” The tall one suggested. The blond knocked him on the head as Joey laughed.

“Drinking is literally the main thing in that game, Gwil,” the blond wheezed out. Ah, you thought, so the tall one is named Gwil.

“Uh, Mal knows like, nothing about being alive,” Joey started, and you couldn’t entirely disagree. “So something simple?”

“Truth… or dare,” Gwil suggested in a dramatic whisper, pointing to the blond as he said truth, and to Joey when he said dare.

“What are we, seven?” Joey asked, sticking his tongue out in disapproval.

“You said simple!”

Both Gwil and Joey continued arguing as the blond whispered in your ear, telling you the rules of the game, keeping his voice low to avoid being heard by the other two. You listened intently, leaning into him. In turn, he kept his hand around your waist, keeping you from sliding off.

“Alright, fine!” Joey finally conceded, throwing his hands up in the air. “Do you know how to play?” He asked, looking at you.

You nodded.

“Wow, I’m surprised,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“I just taught him,” said the blond.

“Her,” Gwil corrected.

“Both!” Joey added.

“Or neither,” Gwil and the blond said at the same time, and the three of them broke into childish laughter again.

As it died, Joey asked, “what were we talking about again?” which really only spurred the laughter on further.

The rest of the night proceeded in similar fashion, growing calmer as the drink went through their systems. You never did get to play that odd game.

“Stay the night, won’t you?” Joey asked them, but they refused, saying they got a hotel room in the city.

“Besides,” the blond added, “looks like you’ve got plenty of company.” Along with this he wiggled his eyebrows, winking. Gwil snorted, saying his good byes along with the blond and shutting the door.

“Joey -“

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, stumbling only slightly as he came over to you. Arm wrapped round your waist he helped you up, walking you through the hall, into the room, and into the bathroom to sit you on the toilet seat.

“I’m not dirty,” you stated, watching him rub his face with water running from the sink faucet.

“Should change your clothes anyway,” he said with a sigh, drying his hands and helping you out of his shirt. “Ah shit,” he mumbled, suddenly remembering you needed another pair of clothes to get into. He left the room to look for clothing, door wide open, as you sat half naked on the seat.

Curious as to what your back looked like, hoping desperately that maybe if you just looked you’d get your wings back, you stood shakily, grasping the counter to turn around and look at yourself in the mirror.

Down your back ran two massive tears, open and cracked with blood. Surprised, you reached to touch them, shrinking away from your hand when you did so.

“Jesus,” Joey breathed out, standing in the doorway of the bathroom. You turned quickly to him, wondering if you’d done something wrong. “They must’ve cracked open when you were with me and my friends.”

“What?”

“They looked a little more put together when I last saw ‘em,” he explained, turning your back to him to examine them further. “Not bleeding at least. God…”

His finger traced the outline of them, causing spikes of pain to run through you whenever he got too close.

“You’re sure about the hospital?” He asked.

“I will -“

“Yeah, okay,” he interrupted you, getting your point without your threat. For a few moments more you let him touch you, gently trying to see how bad it was. “I have bandages,” he said as he withdrew. You turned around expectantly.

He sighed, bending down and opening a door underneath the sink, pulling out a long, thin cloth, all rolled up. Slowly, aware of your careful watch, he wrapped the fabric around your chest, starting right beneath your arms and going down to the end of your ribs.

When he finished you grabbed his wrist, tugging him down to you.

“Thank you,” you said.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, slowly realizing that that was just how you thanked people.

In silence he undressed and dressed you, wondering to himself if you’d ever be able to dress yourself. Would he have to teach you? You, on the other hand, were thinking about his friends. They all felt oddly intimate.

He put you to bed after that, brushing the short hair out of your eyes, noting quietly to you that it had grown slightly longer.

“It sure grows fast,” he said, pulling the sheets over your bed. He made to leave, stopped by your grip on his wrist once more capturing him.

“Where do you sleep?” You asked quietly.

“On the couch.”

“Is that comfortable?”

“Yeah, I think it is,” he said with a shrug.

“Alright,” you murmured, releasing him and tucking yourself back into the blankets. He smiled, patting your shoulder and leaving the room.

Routine proceeded from that day on. You would wake up by afternoon, and he would force you to eat and drink, every so often leaving his home, but never telling you why. On those days, he’d usually come back with bags, and oftentimes would help you with bathing.

“You need to learn how to do this yourself,” he told you one day, rubbing soap into your cheeks and neck.

“I like when you do it,” you responded, making him choke on his breath.

“Whatever you want,” he responded, his words rushed out.

One morning when you awoke, he wasn’t there. First you called for him, as he usually noticed when you stirred, but you earned no response. You then stood, walking with a nice cane he’d gotten you a few days ago. ‘Just for now,’ he said, ‘’till you heal.’ Still, no sign at all of him, except a note taped to the door. You couldn’t read it, as all you could really read was Enochian. So you sat. And waited.

It wasn’t long till the sound of his key at the door came, turning the gears of the lock till it opened, revealing him and a man behind him.

“Mal, hey,” he said, opening the door to allow the man behind him in before closing and locking it. In a small motion you waved at him. “This is my friend, Rami. Say hi Rami.”

The man, Rami, glared at Joey (who you’d learned recently was actually named ‘Joe’) before approaching you with his hand outstretched.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, waiting for you to make a move. Hesitating only a second, you slapped his open hand.

From the kitchen Joe snorted, laughing at what you’d just done.

“What?” Looking up at Rami, he looked equally amused and confused.

“You’re supposed to shake his hand,” Joe explained, waking over and demonstrating the proper greeting movement with his friend. Slowly you nodded, shaking Rami’s hand, feeling the warm roughness of his palm.

“You may call me Mal,” you said, looking him in the eye. He chuckled, nodding.

“He’s flown in from L.A. to stay a few days. I don’t -“ he turned to Rami, “- did you get a hotel room?”

“Not yet, but it shouldn’t be a problem getting one if need be,” he said, setting his bags down near the door.

“I only have one bed, but I guess someone could share,” Joe said with a shrug, pulling two beer bottles out of the fridge and relaxing next to you, Rami on the other side of him as he turned on the television.

After a while of being rather annoyed by a plot you couldn’t understand, you nudged Joe, telling him so.

“Take this,” he said, handing you his laptop. “Go wild.”

You fiddled with it, grabbing your cane and walking back into the bedroom. Sitting on the bed you opened it on your lap, immediately coming face to face with a search tool. If Joe had only known what you would do, he would’ve never handed you the laptop, as this was most definitely one of the worst decisions in the world. Instead, he left you to your own chaotic devices, and the first thing you looked up was ‘do i need to eat?’, which lead to ‘how do human organs work,’ to ‘what are sex organs,’ and, one can guess where that led.

Eventually that led only deeper into the Internet, to what drugs were, into drug arrests, and every sinful thing put on the news, to odd songs about sex and drugs simultaneously, and movies about rockstars.

“Hey, you doin’ okay?” Joe asked, his hands on either side of the doorway, leaning into the room. Silently, you turned the computer around to a headline reading, ‘Florida Man bites off his brother’s penis after he walks in on his brother having sex with his cousin on his favorite Dragon Ball Z blanket.’

“Jesus Christ, I can’t leave you alone for two seconds,” he grumbled, shutting the laptop and tucking it under his arm.

“It’s been an hour,” you reminded him helpfully. He ignored you.

“Rami can’t find any affordable hotel rooms, he needs to stay here for the night. He’s got a room for tomorrow onwards,” he informed you, helping you up and back into the living room, setting his computer on the bar counter.

“I told him I can sleep on the couch but he won’t listen to me,” Rami said, tapping his fingers on the back of the couch, watching as you sat on a barstool.

“Absolutely not. I won’t stand for it,” Joe responded, flopping onto the couch to sit beside his friend.

“Then where’s your friend going to sleep?” He asked, gesturing to you.

“We’ll work it out. It’s late, you’ve got work to do in the morning,” Joe said, tugging Rami off the couch and pushing him to the bedroom.

“Right, of course Mom,” he grumbled as the door shut loudly behind him. You simply watched, stoic and silent, as Joe returned into the living room, hands on his hips.

Mumbling mostly to himself, he helped you over to the couch.

“Are we sleeping together?” You asked as he stood. Stammering, he attempted an answer.

“Uh - sort of I guess? I mean, you - you don’t have to, you’re always talking about how you don’t need sleep, but I still think you should, not necessarily with me, but I just mean you need to sleep, and I guess since there’s only the couch left you could sleep there and I’ll just… sleep on the floor?”

“Is the floor comfortable?” You asked.

“Um, not really?”

“Then sleep on the couch,” you said, pulling the back cushions out to make room for him.

“Uh….”

You patted the couch and, stumbling only a second, he sat beside you. Reaching behind him, you grabbed a pillow from off the edge of the cushions, setting it up for his head on the end of the couch. Gently, you made him lie down, wrapping him up in a blanket hung over the back. He stuttered something incoherent, watching and only protesting mildly as you stood, taking the short trip to the light to turn it off. Setting your cane down, you crawled in next to him, pressing your body against his in the tight space.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he said, his voice cracking as you put his arm around you for your own comfort, “where did you come from? Do you even remember?”

“I was an angel,” you answered honestly, fully believing that he’d take your word. What you didn’t expect was for him to hold back a laugh, looking down at you.

“Really?”

“I fell from heaven. My form changed. I’ve never been to earth before now.”

“Well that certainly explains a lot. If it was believable,” he muttered, shifting under the blankets you’d gotten to be more comfortable.

“It’s the truth. I am bound by ethereal powers to never lie so -“

“You could just as easily be a person lying,” he interrupted, now unwilling to meet your eye.

“Ask me a question about God, or the world... something you’ve always wondered,” you tried, hoping he’d ask something you knew about.

He waited, his head now facing fully away from you as he thought. Outside a storm grew, but the only thing you could think about was him.

“Which religion is right? Is it the Christians?”

“All of them are right. Every god or goddess to ever be told of exists. They congregate every now and then. I sit by Gods’ side during those meetings. The god Jewish, Muslim, and Christian people believe in, that is.”

“What happens when we die?”

“Whatever you think.”

“What?” He turned to you.

“If one believes they will become the clouds, they will become the clouds. If they believe nothing happens, they die. Their consciousness is wiped. There is a heaven, reincarnation, and a hell, but not much happens in hell.”

“Wait, what happens in hell then?”

“I haven’t been there often,” you said, recalling the last time God had a meeting with their son. “Lucifer is actually rather calm. It’s just… imagine if a bunch of criminals and people who thought they were awful were put into one area. There isn’t any torture or demons, just people who believed they were going to hell.”

“Okay, lots of questions about that -“ he laughed, “- so it’s basically Afterlife Australia?”

You shrugged. In honesty, you had no idea what Australia was, but he was probably right. You trusted him as far as you could.

“And if someone who was a good person, but just really hated themselves and thought they would go to hell, would they go to hell?”

“That’s what the angels Kiraman Katibin, Phanuel, Nakir, and Abathar Muzania are working together for,” you said, and in that moment you realized you probably shouldn’t be trusting this information to a human. Nonetheless, you continued. “They… judge, sort of. Like Ma’at and her 42 judges for Egyptian afterlife, for those that believe in that.”

“… interesting.”

He left it at that. You snuggled in closer, his breathing grew harsher, but the both of you fell into easy sleep. By morning, he awoke first, jostling you awake when he reached for a note on the table. Leaning over to look, your cheek resting on his shoulder, you asked what it said.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, his face warm. “Jus’ that he’s left already.”

“Oh.”

“God, I need to get off my ass,” he muttered under his breath to himself. He stood, stretching his hands to the sky, before releasing the tensions with a deep sigh. Plodding into the kitchen, he turned on the sink, pulling down another glass and drinking from it once it filled to overflow. You picked the cushions back up off the floor, putting them back into place.

Making his way back over to you, he collapsed back onto the couch, relaxing into the cushions.

“Really hoping you don’t kill me for saying this, but I’m half convinced you’re insane,” he sighed, rubbing his forehead. The whole situation with you was clearly stressing him out - even you could tell.

“How may I settle these worries?”

“Prove it. But if you’re fallen, you probably don’t… have any powers, or whatever.”

“I have scars down my back from my wings,” you reminded him.

“It could just as easily be that you were tortured, badly, and to cope with it you’re imagining that you’re an angel. All this information you’re giving is just personal beliefs. Stuff you could look up on the internet.”

“I… don’t know if I have any power left,” you said quietly, and your heart began to ache, weighing heavily through your body. Your touch possibly had power - humans loved to touch. It was essential to their lives. Maybe, just maybe, your touch had power.

“You think of ways to get the truth. I’ll make breakfast,” he said, grunting as he stood and patting your knee.

You sat, the crackle of frying eggs in the background as you buried yourself in thoughts. Your wings and halo were gone, you knew that for absolute sure. The feeling of them leaving you, how it tore you from yourself, stretching and pulling till it finally ripped, burning as everything you knew evaporated away. What was left when all was taken from you? Even your eyes, the ones that allowed you to look upon Gods, that let you return home and fully see the truth, the heavens and all that you loved, they were gone too.

Your soul. You still had that, didn’t you?

Grabbing your cane from the fallen position it had taken on the floor, you came to stand behind him, tapping him on the shoulder. He turned down the heat of the stove, turning around to face you, jumping back when he saw how close you were.

“I still have my soul. I’m… I’m not sure what I can do with it, but,” you looked up at him, eyes glittering a very suddenly bright blue, a change from your usual color, “can I try?”

“Af-after breakfast. Eat something first,” he stammered, grabbing plates from behind him, filling them with the eggs and toast, before setting it down on the table and sitting down. Your nose twitched once, but you sat down across from him, eating what he’d prepared, all the time wondering what would happen.

As the two of you finished he grabbed your plates, and from then on, essentially ignored you. Dodging you, not speaking to you, telling you to get more sleep, all of it you knew was more of an avoidance of the subject of your soul. In your weakened state, there was little you could do but let him force you to sleep.

So you slept. Into the next week, you slept. By the second day when you hadn’t woken up Joe began to worry, sitting at your bedside, making sure you were still breathing. Every evening his friend Rami would come over, asking where you were, and he would say you were sleeping.

“You should take them to a hospital,” he said, worry lacing his tone though he did not know you.

“I want to, but whenever I suggest it they pretty much make death threats.”

By the time you woke up, he was prepared to call the hospital, and Rami had already left, heading back to L.A.

“What are you doing,” you asked, monotone as you sat up, watching him about to dial the number on his phone.

“You’re awake!” He exclaimed, dropping his phone and rushing to hug you. “I thought you were dying!”

“I can sleep for extended periods of time. It’s to accommodate for my life span,” you informed him curtly, your arms plastered to your side as he squeezed you.

“That’s called a coma,” he spoke right into your ear, sighing as he released you, sitting beside you on the bed.

“Sounds like your problem.”

“It certainly feels like it. Why didn’t you warn me?”

“You were trying to get me to sleep, so I did.”

He glared at you, mentally noting to himself that you were petty in a very special way. Helping you out of the bed, cane forgotten, he kept you upright, leading you into the living room and onto the couch. From there he fed you, made sure you drank, and suggested a bath. You agreed.

Hoisting your arm around his shoulders, the two of you made your way slowly to the bathroom. There he did the usual; undressing you, filling the tub with warm water, and pushing up his sleeves to his elbows. Helping you into the tub, he sat on the edge, pouring shampoo onto his hands.

“You’re sure you’re okay with me doing this?” He asked, still unsure about the whole nudity you had.

“It seems to me you’re the only one bothered by it.”

“Wow, okay. Called out,” he said, chuckling to himself. “The tea is scorching.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said with a snort, still smiling to himself as he rubbing the shampoo into your scalp. You let yourself enjoy it, pushing into his touch with a blissed out expression.

“You should join me,” you mumbled as he pulled away. He halted, staring wide eyed at you.

“I should what?”

“Join me,” you repeated, watching carefully as a sudden smile grew on his face. He turned away, shaking his head, but still smiling in a dumbfounded way.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said, ignoring your request to rinse his hands, “considering how little you know about human etiquette. Wouldn’t be too surprising if you never visited earth.” He mumbled his words, voicing his thoughts in an airy fashion.

“If you would just let me show you -“

“Mal,” he interrupted you, facing you with a sudden seriousness. “If souls are real, and if what you’re saying is real. Don’t you think it’d be dangerous? I don’t know what you’re planning, but using your soul has to be dangerous.”

“Might be. I need your trust,” you pleaded. “I will go to great lengths to get it.”

“Why?” He asked simply, tired of wondering quietly.

“Just for a moment, believe me,” you asked of him, and he nodded. “As an angel, we are built to never make our own decisions. God’s guidance is bright, and our halos blind us. Physically, we can trust no one but our God. When I fell, I… I was left alone. No longer blind, but able to make my own decisions, but in the way that I’d never done that before, I was still blind. Wh-What I’m trying to say is, I’m not built to trust anyone other than God. Joe, I trust you.”

Sometime in the middle of your speech he had stopped breathing, staring at you as unmoving as you usually were. Knowing his silence was filled with his thoughts and not his passiveness, you waited, watching for his movement.

“Okay,” he said. “Prove it.”

Moving slowly, you sat on the edge of the bathtub, naked as the day you fell from the sky. You reached for him, starting at his hand and moving up. Breathing unevenly, he kept his eye on your hand as it moved, up to his shoulder and up his neck, resting on his cheek. Pushing your other hand underneath his shirt, you came up to where his heart would rest. Closing your eyes, you let your head rest on his shoulder, pouring all the energy you could right into where your hand was.

In an instant you could feel his heart beat harshly through his skin, fast and powerful. Intaking a deep breath, you continued to try to intertwine your souls, or to at least let your own soul burn through his skin, enough to leave a mark. Anything to prove yourself.

As you withdrew he finally began to breathe again, taking deep breaths as you drew your hands back into your lap. Slowly he raised his shirt, having felt the intensity of what you’d just wrought, showing a soft golden glow emanating from his chest. His breathing started to pick up, growing faster as he realized you were telling the truth.

“I -“

“Don’t scream,” you said as his mouth opened wide.

“I wasn’t gonna scream,” he said, his voice choked and tight.

“… do you believe me now?” You asked softly, looking up at him earnestly.

“Don’t think I have a choice,” he murmured.

As his breathing slowed, an urge ran through you, one you allowed. Hesitantly, you moved closer, resting your forehead in the crook of his shoulder, closing your eyes and relaxing your muscles. He wrapped his arms gingerly around you, letting you lie still in his hold, running his touch down your spine.

“You’re really an angel, then?” He whispered, a rhetorical question you both knew the answer to: yes.

“I was. I’m human now. I belong to you,” you mumbled against his skin, your lips warm from the heat radiating off the soft skin of his neck.

“You belong to yourself, now. No one can take that away from you, especially not me.”

You remained silent, contemplating your words as you matched your slow breathing to his, your hand pressed against his chest.

“I want to belong to you.”

Moving from your position against his shoulder, you met his eye, close enough to feel his breath. He waited for you, patient as your gaze flickered from his lips and back up to his eyes.

“I need to be yours,” you murmured, leaning further in, a distance he met you in the middle for.

It was a strange sensation, his lips moving against yours - alien and familiar all at once, and when he pulled you closer to him you could feel yourself melting. Your chest shuddered with the force of your emotion, one you might’ve identified as love, had you known the words’ meaning.

I love you, he murmured against your lips, loathing to part from your warmth, but the desperate need to speak his mind overpowered his hate. You hummed when he kissed you again, cradling his jawline in your hand and rubbing your thumb over his cheek just as he’d done to you.

And in every way you allowed yourself the comfort of belonging, just as he held tight the reverence you gave him.

#joe mazzello x reader #joe mazello imagine #joe mazzello #female reader #male reader #gender neutral reader

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mister-lady · 3 years

Text

I did fic gmkfkdkfr. And it what, only took me several weeks to write a fic for Dice? Mvgkdkkf. This was still fun and I liked it :3 and sorry if ttheres a lot of typos, I only seemed to be able to write this before I went to bed or before I woke up so it might be a little sloppy fkdkdkdk this was also a lot longer than I intended so ubm,, sorry about that

AU: uhh.. I dont know if theres a proper au name? Store clerk au? Idk but you'll get it cjfms

TW: talk about food, mention of blood, mention of looking like someone got murdered, talk about sharks eating someone

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Matt had a party he was invited too, and for Matt this was a special occasion, so he decided to go out and get some formal wear! He had a few dresses and such at home, but he wanted something with a newer and fresher feeling. Lucky for him, there was a nearby tailor shop that he knew about. He's never been to the tailor shop because he's never really needed anything from the place, so he was a mixture of excitement and nervousness at going. Thankfully for him, the nervousness wasn't too overwhelming this time.

As Matt stepped into the tailor shop, he was quickly hit with the smell of strong perfume- or was it cologne? Either way it was powerful enough to give him a small headache the second he walked it. He couldn't help but notice the small bell that jingled as he walked in, and smiled at the noise. Matt decided to look around, and caught a glimpse of a perfume stand that had it's own counter and shelf to it. Matt could only guess that's what was causing his headache. He couldn't help but also notice how big the store was too. He expected it to be some small tailor shop like the stores you would find inside a mall, but this once mind as well be the mall. He could only imagine how much money this place was gaining to be so big, and the concerned him because that normally ment it was pricey, and Matt wasn't really in the mood to go 50 miles elsewhere because he was a broke sucker. The interior had bright white walls and white floor tiles too, and the lights made the whole place seem to glow, only contributing to his minor headache. Though, it did make sense that they would need good lighting if it was a tailor shop, which seemed to have mini stands inside that sold other stuff, like the perfume one he had spotted earlier. Matt walked further in to get a better look and saw some other people that were presumably with store clerks that were taking their measurements or picking out clothing that would work with them. Matt also noticed that the majority of customers were females, which made him grow a little self conscious and contrary to what the website said, he almost started to doubt if this place had items for more masculine customers like himself. Matt hadn't gotten too far into the store before being abruptly stopped by someone. Matt shrunk a little, the person that stopped him looked rather intimidating, they were wearing mostly black clothing that hugged his body and had a scarf wrapped around his neck even while indoors, and also had a pair of shaded circle glasses that made it harder to see his eyes, again, while also indoors.

"And what brings you here?" The mystery person had asked.

Matt quickly scanned the person for a nametag, and found one on his chest with his name written on it. "Uhmm… I came here to maybe find an outfit for a party I need to go to later?" Matt was debating if he should bother using the person's name, as he wasn't ready to potentially butcher it.

"A party? Tacky; but fine. Come with me I'll help you pick out something." The man waved his hand, signaling Matt to follow him.

"T-tacky??" Matt blurted out before wishing he hadn't spoken up.

"Uhm, yeah. Tacky. We sell things like dresses and suits, not poorly colored and terrible silk clothing for a party no one is going to remember." The person didn't even turn around to face Matt while speaking, and kept walking.

Matt was left speachless, he didn't even know how to respond to that, especially because it was a slightly true statement. After a few minutes of Matt not knowing what to say, and feeling stupidly shy, he decided to at least look around and see if anything caught his eye. Matt didn't realize that the person he was following had stopped, and almost bumped into him.

"Here, stand on this stool." The guy pointed to a small stool that was set infront of a mirror against a wall.

Matt obeyed and stepped onto the stool. He looked at himself in the mirror before quickly looking away for several reasons.

"Stand up straight." The idiot wearing glasses indoors ordered.

Matt quickly shot up and fixed his posture and stretched his arms out straight and was quickly filled with embarrassment. The worker pulled out a tape measurement and quickly started taking Matt's measurements. Matt, like the dork he is, felt his cheeks flush at someones hands being so close to his body, especially when taking measurements for clothing, which that normally required waist and bust measurements. Matt looked away, avoiding eye contact like it would kill him. He was probably making the situation seem worse that it probably was. The worker stood up and put the tape measurement back into his pocket before seeming to think about something.

"Don't you need to write the measurements down?" Matt shyly asked.

"I do this every day as a job, I have it in my head." The worker spoke with a tinge of sass in his voice. "What are you particularly looking for, anyways?"

"Uhm.. well, I was mostly looking for a suit, though I normally don't wear the overcoat with it so maybe just a fine button-up shirt with a tie?" Matt had subconsciously reverted back to being slightly hunched over and his hands were fiddling around with the cuffs of his sleeves.

"I'm sure I can find something for that. Any particular color you're looking for? And what type of tie? Are you allergic to any fabrics? I need all the details."

Matt was overwhelmed by the sudden burst of so many questions and almost immediately blanked on anything he was just asked. "Oh I uh.. I'm not allergic to anything, uhm.. I'm not too picky about color, and I'd prefer a bowtie."

"Very specific, aren't we?" The worker teased.

"Well I don't want to seem too picky, I mean I don't want anything too expensive." Matt stumbled over his words.

"Darling, being picky here is what we need. Lucky for you I'm not someone that just throws anything on you for money."

"Ah yes, how lucky I am." Matt muttered sarcastically.

"So, are you sure you don't have a preference? Becuase I don't want to pick soemthing for you and you go complaining."

"I won't complain!" Matt stubbornly said.

"Fine, fine. You're words not mine." Then he walked off, probably to go and find something for Matt.

Matt couldn't help but think how oddly the place was ran. Matt didn't expect it to be that they pick something for you, he thought it'd be like any normal clothing store, where he could pick out what he wanted to wear. Of course, if a customer pointed out something they liked then the worker would probably get it for them or allow them to look around, but Matt would rather die than speak up like a normal person. Plus, this guy seemed to know what he was doing anyways, so Matt didn't mind too hard. While Matt was thinking about looking around he decided to see what was around him anyways. There was a small jewelry section nearby which probably had necklaces and earrings and chains and bracelets. There were also shelves on either side of Matt, not too close to him, but if he stretched out both of his arms fully, he could probably touch the two shelves. They looked like they would be shoe wrecks, but actually had folded clothing on them. Matt noticed an orange Hawaiian shirt with pineapple print all over it and three white buttons extending down from the collar of the shirt. He couldn't help but giggle as he picked it up, but made sure to not unfold it in the process. I mean, it was a party after all, right? Not some elegant ball. And it's not like a silly pineapple shirt hurt anyone anyways, right? He carefully set it back where he had grabbed it from, and eagerly scanned the shelves for anything else that might catch his interest. Most of the things on the shelves, as for the rest of the store, were all silky material stuff or fancy and were probably meant for more special occasions rather than a party that Matt was going to sit out in the bathroom all night. Yet… something felt different about the clothing on these shelves. Most of the shelves were a beaming white, and only had three or four shelves near the bottom for shoes and some folded pants or socks and stockings, and had hangers at the top for skirts and dresses and shirts and gowns and such. The shelves near Matt were brown and only had folded clothing on it. And Matt just noticed the prices were a lot cheaper too. It was like he found the discount regect section of the store. Though, Matt didn't mind it too much because he found a shirt he liked.

Matt was so lost in thought, he didn't realize his "buddy" had already came back. Matt actually didn't even know until a shirt got tossed at him, causing him to almost drop it. Matt held it up and examined it. It was a green button-up shirt with black buttons. Matt glanced up at the worker, like he was expecting him to say something, which just lead to them kinda blankly looking at eachother for a little bit.

"Well?" The worker prompted.

"Well what?" Matt echoed.

"Do you like it? I found a pastel purple one too, and you could maybe wear brown slacks with them, but I think black would better suit you."

"Well I don't mind it, than sounds fine."

"Don't mind it? We need something you'll love, not just feel neutral towards." The worker said it as if he was offended. "Did anything catch your eye maybe while I was gone?"

Matt hesitated for a moment, and shyly glanced at the pineapple shirt and pointed at it as if he wasn't allowed to touch it.

"Really? That?" The worker questioned and furrowed his brows.

"W-well you did ask…"

"Yeah it's just… theres a reason it's in a separated section from everything else."

"I assumed so, but it's pineapples.."

"But you'll look like a a torrist that got lost."

"Ouch, thanks."

"Look, I'm trying to say it nicely, but you'll look like a complete dork."

"No dorkier than your name."

"Hey! My name is not bad, if anything it's plenty better than whatver yours is."

"I didn't say it was bad! I said it was just dorky." Matt said defensively. "I like dorky things. I am a dork." Matt added.

"Yeah, uh, you do realize normally dork isn't a compliment, right?"

"Emphasis on normally."

"Look, if you like my name I'm not going to complain, alright?"

Matt huffed out a sigh. "I just wanted a shirt how do these situations happen to me."

"Here, I found this too." The worker said and tossed another shirt into Matt's arms.

"Jesus christ." Matt muttered.

"What?"

"Dice- can I call you that? I mean it's your name but..- Anyways, this shirt stinks."

"How? I mean if you think it's bad you don't have a sense of fashion."

"I mean, I don't but…anyone looking at me far away will think I got stabbed."

"And then they come up, see what it really is, and want to try it themselves. It's perfect."

Matt shook his head in silence. The skirt was white, but it had big flowers on it that were a deep red color, making Matt look like someone tried to shank him all over. Matt loved flowers but this was just asking to mess something up.

"If it helps, it's better than your pineapple shirt that you wanted." Dice said, like that was supposed to help somehow.

"If you don't like the pineapple shirt so much, cant I just buy it then?"

"No, I'm trying to save you."

"Save me? The only saving I'll need is from when someone calls the paramedics cause I look like I swam with some sharks."

"Oh yes, because being dressed like a fruit helps. It's not even a floral print it's a pineapple. I don't even need to explain what's wrong with that."

"Do you do this with every customer or?.."

"No, just you."

"Wow"

"Theres so much good clothing in here like suits and dresses and better patterns and nicer clothes and things that compliment you, than some pineapple shirt you can get at a Dollar Tree store."

"Y'know, you almost make me want to thank you."

"Well, you should be thanking me."

"I'm not going to." Matt made sure to say this in a rather playful tone, even though most their conversation had been teasing banter.

"Here, how about we just find something we can both settle on?"

"You're best idea yet. That sounds fine."

"Good." Dice walked off to go and look for something for Matt, but this time Matt decided to follow him as well.

It didn't take long for Dice to spot something and show it to Matt. "Here, how about this?" Dice offered.

Matt recoiled a little bit when it saw it. "It's not bad but..-"

"But?" Dice cut off Matt.

"Well.. it's so scratchy looking!"

Dice looked over Matt as if he was trying to check if Matt was being genuine or not. "You haven't even tried it on yet!!"

Matt timidly reach out a hand and rubbed it across the shirt before cringing back a little bit. "No."

Dice sighed before putting the shirt back and going off the hunt for something else suitable for Matt. Matt glanced around, he felt a little bad and a little afraid that he was being annoying, but he tried to push it away. Matt let in an excited gasp as he spotted something, before scampering off to go and pick it up.

Matt picked it up with a wide grin and held it up to show Dice like he discovered something new.

"That one?" Dice questioned.

"I am not letting you talk me out of this one! It has a space theme and that is final." Matt pointed at the shirt he was holding up, which had stars and planets all over it.

Dice held up a hand to his chin and looked over the shirt like he was considering it. He ended up giving in. "Okay, it's not too bad and I suppose it's better than that pineapple shirt…"

"I don't know what's with you and pineapples but I'll take it!" Matt was beaming and was bouncing on his heels from happiness.

Dice gently took the shirt from Matt's hands and checked for a price tag. Matt frowned a little, he completely forgot that prices were a thing since he was so caught up in his excitement. Dice glanced around and snagged a pair of long purple jeans and handed the clothing to Matt.

"How much will it cost?" Matt asked, almost not wanting to hear the answer.

"....I'll just say fifteen dollars." Dice responded.

"For both?" Matt asked, surprised.

"I want to help you pay for it."

Matt was surprised by the answer. "Are you sure?"

"Mhm."

"Isn't that illegal in a way though?.."

"Maybe if you want to look at it like that, but you're cute so I'm letting it slide."

Matt felt himself get flustered at the comment, whether it was supposed to be flirtatious or not. He decided to not respond and just shake his head in response, though he was pretty sure Dice had noticed anyways.

As Matt ran up to the nearest counter to pay, he couldn't help but feel the need to Wave goodbye to Dice. Things like that happen when you become attached to people after five minutes. Matt was oddly surprised to see Dice wave back but was warmed by the feeling. As Matt ran off to his car so he could try on his clothes sooner, he noticed a small paper hanging out the pocket of the shirt he had just picked out. He grabbed the paper before it could fall out and got deeply flustered and joyous at what was written on it. There was a small drawing of a single die cube, and a phone number written next to it. It didn't take long for Matt to quickly punch the number into his phone and pray it wasn't some rouse. He decided to just send one small message saying "hi :D". Right as Matt went to put his phone back into his pocket, it buzzed signaling he got a new notification. Matt checked it and tensely checked if it was what he was truly hoping for. He read the message so fast he had to read it a second time after not picking up what it had said. It read:

Already texting me right as you just left? Someone's clingy and in love.

Matt sighed and smiled and stuffed his phone back into his pocket. He had a feeling this was going to end up being something he needed to buckle in for, but whether that was necessarily a bad thing? He didn't think it was.

#geez what is wrong with my TW section for a store au- JDJGKFKG #future edit: i scanned over it and my gosh its littered with typos hhh #im too lazy to fix it sorry gkkgkg #:||D #decided to show a bit of my saltiness which u might not see a lot of gngjfjffk #yyeyeyee :D!!!!!💖💖💖

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lilywoood · 4 years

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All I want Part 1/1

Hey guys I’ve been feeling a bit low this past few days, felt like my muse was leaving me, felt a bit insecure too I won’t lie but I’m back, my muse came back and was bugging me with that little fic idea, so here it is hopping you’ll like it and to those who sent me prompts don’t worry I’m almost done and I’ll post them either Tuesday or Wednesday 💋💗

Tagging: @felicitous-one @cherishingstydia @gxtop @diazbuckleysworld @hardychick89 @impossiblealice

Words count : 1374

Song : All I Want - Kodaline

He was emotionally drained, he didn’t want to feel anything anymore, because feeling meant acknowledging the fact that he had hurt him, the fact that he was more than just a friendly hookup, it means that he had developed feelings for him, that he genuinely cared for him, that he liked him, it meant that pushing him out of his life was probably a mistake and TK wasn’t ready nor did he wanted to admit it because even though the mere thought of Carlos with someone else killed him he felt like he made the right choice. He came to regret it sooner than expected though.

TK never expected to feel that way when he saw them dancing together that night, he wished that the voices in his head wouldn’t point how well they fit in each other’s arm, or how beautiful his laugh was, how he seemed happier and carefree in his hot date embrace, he wished for his heart to stop hurting, to stop beating, for his blood to stop boiling and for his soul to stop dying every time he had to saw them together.

His chest was aching, he felt his heart breaking even more, regret and remorse tearing it down, he needed a drink or several, he needed to leave the room, he needed fresh air because he wasn’t sure he could stay there and listen to Michelle talking about Carlos and his new hot date even more without breaking down.

They were kissing now, the hot date looking at Carlos with so much love in his eyes that for one second just a second he wished he’d never rejected him, his mind was screaming now, the bad thoughts winning against his reason, envy blinding him making him want to march toward the happy couple and ask for an explanation, but he made his bed and now he had to accept his decision and let Carlos move on, even if it was tearing him apart.

He felt like choking, his shirt was starting to get to tight and his heart was beating so fast he was almost sure everyone could hear it, his palms where sweaty and his hands trampling he really needed a drink and a smoke, so he left the bar, he needed to think, needed to breath, needed some fresh air.

He let out a long sigh before digging out a pack of cigarettes from his inside pocket, his hoodie still smelled like him making him laugh crisply, he struggled a bit to lite his cigarette the wind was blowing a little bit too hard they were close to autumn now, he wondered if it was windy in New York....

Terrence was nice, he was funny and understanding, he didn’t have an emotional baggage and he wasn’t prone on getting himself in trouble, Terrence was boyfriend material, his team liked him, Michelle though he was interesting and his mama wanted to meet him.

Terrence was perfect, he was everything he could wish for in a potential boyfriend except that Terrence wasn’t TK, he wasn’t frustrating, he didn’t make him shiver in want and need, he didn’t make flower bloom in the pit of his stomach, his touch didn’t set his skin on fire, it was too calm, too quiet , it was disturbingly perfect and that wasn’t what Carlos wanted, it wasn’t who he craved.

-You should go, Terrence smiled sadly after their last dance

-What...what do you mean, Carlos demanded slightly confused

Terrence took a deep breath stroking his cheek softly, repressing a chuckle.

-You kept on fixing him, he explained, you were shying from my touch, he pursued, I know I’m not the one that you want Carlos, he breathed, I’m freeing you, he declared.

-Freeing me, Carlos frowned.

-Yes freeing you, Terence retorted, it’s been a nice two months and I won’t forget you, he smiled, but I’m not a masochist I know you don’t like me, he stated, and to be honest I don’t feel it with you, he lied, so go find your lover boy, he laughed pushing him toward the door.

It was too cliche for his own good, rain was falling down, it was raining so much it looked like a flood, people were trying to find shelter but not him, he was busy running to the Strand house without caring if he was wet, without caring of the distance between the bar and the Strands.

He felt as if the rains drop were washing away the sadness, the nostalgia, the sorrow. He didn’t care of getting wet, he didn’t even care that he could get sick he kept on running, he was rebirthing, reliving, he felt as if a huge burden had been lifted out of him.

He was on mission, he had to find TK, had to tell him how he felt, had to fight for him, for them, he couldn’t give up, he wouldn’t give up.

He felt nothing...Nothing but heartache, Carlos had been the best thing that happened to him and he lost him, his stubbornness to keep on clinging to his past costed him what could have been a sane and uncomplicated relationship and he lost it, ruined it, letting him with nothing but the fact that he had to cope with the hurt it brought him, so that why he didn’t wants to feel, so that’s why he decided to tune out his emotions.

He was still mourning the end of something that never had the chance to began when he heard it, his famous knocking, he didn’t want to believe it, didn’t dare to hope that Carlos had come back to him, that he was willing to give him a second chance, that he liked him enough to abandon his hot date.

-TK please open the door, Carlos muffled voice begged, I know you’re there please open, he demanded knocking once more.

He couldn’t move, his body felt suddenly so heavy, the voices were back and getting loud, telling him how he wasn’t worthy enough for be with Carlos, how the other man deserved better than an addict mess, once again fear was paralyzing him keeping him from getting his happiness.

-I’m sorry but I can’t, he croaked marching toward the door and caressing it as a substitute of Carlos strong body...I know you want painless and easy love, you want someone that stays, someone that won’t throw a petty tantrum because of dinner, he chuckled drily, because they’re a mess, he breathed

-You’re wrong,.., you’re wrong to think I want easy,Carlos retorted caressing the door, I don’t want easy, I don’t need it,he vehemently denied, the only thing I want and need is you TK, he declared

-But I’m a mess, TK cried passing a hand on his face.

-So, he heard Carlos retort, I’m a mess too does it means you don’t want me, he asked in defiance

-I left you, he croaked letting himself fall on his knees.

-So did I, Carlos responded taking another step toward the door, TK, he called tiredly, can you open, he croaked his shoulder hunched, I need to see you, he whispered.

-I don’t deserve you, I don’t deserve to be liked by you, you don’t deserve to be with a mess, a disaster like me, he teared, why don’t you hate me, he demanded opening the door and throwing himself at Carlos.

-I’m a mess too you know, if only you knew how broken I am, if only you knew how much of a disappointment, how disastrous it’ll be to be with me, Carlos started, ask Michelle she’ll tell you, he added softly stroking TK’s cheeks with his thumb, if there is one of us who deserve better it’s you TK not me, he grinned, but I’m selfish and idealist, I keep on trying even though I know I don’t deserve you, I like you too much to not try, he avowed in a whisper.

-I like you too, TK breathed tears streaming down his face, it’s frightening how much I like you, he chuckled.

-Yeah ? Carlos beamed kissing his forehead.

-Yes you jerk, I like you, TK confirmed taking his hand and guiding him inside.

#tarlos #tk x carlos #carlos x tk #mutual pining #hurt comfort #carlos reyes #tk strand #911 lone star #lone star #carlos x original character #angst #jealousy #tv 911 lone star #lone star fic #tarlos fic

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saikagerights · 4 years

Text

A New Possession- Entry #10

Hello once again Saiino nation!

I'm back again after a few days with my next entry, this one being a whopping 1k words. It's been a while since I wrote an entry of this magnitude. It also covers a personal hc that I have a large connection to.

I had the weekend off of work, but this upcoming week is going to be rather busy, so I am not sure how that will affect my entries. There has also been a plot bunny that has cropped up in my mind. The catch is that it really doesn't have a plot, only small drabbles that revolve around one concept that I might put together into a small fic if I have enough inspiration, so be on the lookout for that.

Anyway I hope you enjoy this one!

Also available on AO3

February 8th

Sakura enjoys talking about her work overseeing the therapy center. It’s been the main focus of some of our most recent conversations. She had explained in enormous detail about the amount of work her and Ino had done to establish the center, and it shocked me that it was accomplished by only two people with very little assistance. Their personal mission to rehabilitate struggling youth had been a commendable one, as well as being something I personally connected to.

As someone who’s youth was affected by the hands of shinobi, I naturally empathize with many children who find themselves patients in the therapy center, and identify with their paths towards healing.

Especially now

Sakura had soon approached me regarding the treatment of 37 children that were once a part of ROOT’s training program, lamenting over their progress.

“We haven’t made any progress. The specialists are at their wits end.”

Sakura looked completely drained. Between lending her services at the hospital and opening the therapy center, Sakura had been difficult to reach. Ino had mentioned how much she had been working recently and how she constantly tried to “drag her ass out of her office just for a few minutes”. I couldn’t help but sympathize with her

“Well, it’s very hard to trust others when you were trained to trust no one to begin with. It will take time for them to open up, but they will eventually.” I tried to give her my most endearing smile to encourage her. She didn’t meet my eyes, but I watched a sad smile grace her face “Sai, that’s some really good advice.” Suddenly her head raised, a wild grin spread wide across her face. “Sai! You should speak to these kids! You know how to connect to their struggle, this could help them!”

The thought of counseling set panic into my mind. I’m far from being a professional. I hardly know how to speak casually with friends, how would I be able to give advice to a group of children?

How could I help these kids when I have hardly helped myself?

I tried to convey this to Sakura, but my pleas fell on deaf ears. “You would be fine. You would be accompanied by a specialist of course, so it’s not as if you’d be alone.” I wouldn’t be able to change her mind when she was so convinced.

“Please just consider it, Sai. You could really change the lives of these children.”

I couldn’t help but assume that Sakura had specifically fabricated that conversation to try and persuade me to lend my services. It’s not as if I didn’t want to help them. I am just not sure I am the right person to help them. Although I understand their pain, I don’t think it is my place to tell them how to use their newfound freedom. Sakura had also suggested that my Choujuu Giga could assist me, but I waved that idea off. I have used my ninjutsu to entertain children before, but ROOT children are not raised to be enthused by some drawings.

This afternoon, I visited the center to gauge the situation for myself. I was informed by one of the center’s hired professionals that the children were separated into two groups for their treatment. The group of children still paired with their siblings, and the group of children that had been admitted alone. They received different forms of treatment, but were kept on the same floor together. Siblings roomed together while those isolated were paired off to try and stimulate a new bond for them. I was told of one older boy that had refused this arrangement and roomed alone.

The specialist that showed me around handed me a clip board with the roster of children. It listed their approximate age, blood type, and chosen name. When they had first arrived, they were given the option to select a name for them to be addressed as. I was told that many of them selected previous code names they had once been given by Danzo-sama.

During the day, all of the children were coaxed into a large room with various amenities for them to pass the time as they awaited individual talk therapy sessions. Supposedly they were anti-social, never speaking a word to any of the therapists.

“We aren’t even sure if they speak to each other”. The specialist guided me down the hall. I had hardly spoken a word to her, part of me wanting to listen, but another part of me trying to get a hold of my thoughts as my mind drifted in and out of focus. -but from what Haruno-senei has told me about you, it seems that there may be hope for them.”

Grabbing my attention with her words, I couldn’t contain the smile I gave her. “I hope that’s true.”

Entering the room, I suddenly felt 37 pairs of eyes trained on me as if I were a target. The gazes were intense regardless of how empty they looked. I couldn’t help but wonder if this is how I appeared to others when my allegiance was still with ROOT.

Do I still look like that?

Observing the room, the children were scattered, keeping a safe distance from each other. This of course excluded the sibling groups that were compacted together. I suddenly remembered hearing that when they had learned of ROOT’s barbaric trial, those who had nearly lost their close comrade had experienced issues with separation. They rarely were seen apart from one another.

My eyes then drifted to the children who sat alone, lost and empty without the one they knew more than anyone, even themselves. The one they once devoted their life to, but in an act of survival, had to give up that very life to appease the command of their master. Similar to me in most ways.

“Children, there is someone here who wishes to meet you.”

The voice of the specialist was gentle, but it was sharp enough to pierce the silent air. It seems my research of vocal inflection has paid off, because I had noticed how the word “children” was stressed more than the others for the benefit of reminding them that they were indeed still children.

She received no verbal response from them, but I had figured they were well aware of my presence as they were still glaring straight at me.

“This is Sai.” She gestured to me. “He was also once from ROOT like you.”

Now that more attention was brought to me, I raised my hand in greeting, cocking my head to one side and trying to smile as genuinely as possible.

Though it doesn’t really matter how convincing it was, I seriously doubted they would be capable of distinguishing it. I felt the need to swallow when I allowed my eyes to slip open and realized that there had been no noticeable reaction.

I spent the rest of my time at the center in a quiet conversation with the specialist regarding future visitation. She also apologized to me about the atmosphere, saying that it has frightened a few of the other therapists.

I’m not going to say that I was afraid of a group of children, but a certain feeling set into me then that I believed to be nervousness. Yes, the therapists and staff at the center wanted this group of children to remember how old they really are, but from experience that is very difficult to remember who you once were when it is drilled into your mind that your existence is meant for the will of another.

I lag behind my own peers in “life experience”, since most of my life was spent existing through the control of Danzo-sama rather than living. But now I can say with certainty that I have the potential to live like any other man from this point onward. And these children have a better chance than me of achieving that. They just need the proper guidance and a few good friends to help them along.

As I read this back to myself, it seems like perhaps I could be cut out for this sort of thing, but I might need a little more “life experience” before I can be more successful.

Thanks for reading! I hope you want more from this, because I will follow this up for sure. I just need some fluff in between before I can add onto it.

I personally enjoy getting to talk about ROOT because I feel like I can really get into Sai's head because of it. Alas, it is very difficult to provide information for a group that was hardly elaborated on within the source material, so all I can do is provide little bits and pieces. I think this storyline will be able to satisfy this for me. Another thing I like about this hc is that we do see Sai in Boruto successfully lending guidance to people like Sumire, that had their lives controlled by the will of ROOT. It also shows off Sai's development as a character perfectly, effectively being the reason why I like the first arc of Boruto so much.

Anyway, I hope you guys are looking forward for more, because I will give you more. I don't know what is coming up next, but I do have a bit of an idea. And as always, comments and criticism are appreciated

Until next time -Saikage

#Sai Journal #saiino #sai yamanaka #si fanfic

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barisifictionarchive · 4 years

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Author: Juniperhoot

Preferred Name: Jenny

Have any events in your personal life ever influenced the things that you've written? Absolutely. STRAP IN.

Sometimes I rework something that happened to me, or to someone I know, and use it as a template for filling in personal details. See also: Carisi’s tale of molten aluminum burning holes in his ma’s kitchen flooring. That’s something that actually happened to me (well, it happened to my second husband, who got distracted while playing CounterStrike and let the pan boil dry). In one of my Stony stories, Steve tells Tony about a comforting gesture he learned from his mother - three squeezes of the hand, to silently say “I love you.” That’s something I learned from my Mema.

Beyond those bits of color, there are things that have made their way into my writing that come directly from my experiences. My interest in Sonny as a queer Catholic who once considered the religious life is something deeply personal to me, because that was my life, too. Even though I’m an atheist now, the church still holds some fascination for me, and I’m keenly interested in people who find a way to walk that line, and retain some belief while also retaining their autonomy and sense of self. The way I write Sonny is, in many ways, the way I think I would be, if I still believed. Okay, if I still believed AND were also a tall, noodly, bisexual man.

The way I write Rafael’s overthinking interior life is partly me, partly the things I’ve observed in people I’ve loved. The carefully chosen words, the moments of retreating from revealing too much of himself, the guardedness and tendency toward self-preservation that comes from growing up in an abusive home… all very relatable and possibly part of why I mostly write from his perspective, even though I generally consider myself more like Sonny. The shadows in Rafael’s heart are in my heart, too. My empathy is built on those shadows.

I wrote a Stony breakup fic years ago during a difficult time in my life. I’d reached a point where I had to remove some people from my life, because my priorities and theirs were so radically divergent. It felt like a big breakup. It reopened some feelings from my second divorce, and compounded what I was going through with another more recent breakup. Somehow, I used the pain and disillusionment of all that to write about two dudes in love, who found themselves in a crisis of trust and faith in one another. Of course, I also wrote them coming back together, and the work it takes to do that, because in my heart, I want to see good people work things out, if possible. And at least in my story, and in the way I view both of those characters, they ARE good people. In real life, some people really do need to be cut loose, when their values are wholly incompatible with your own. Some relationships can’t be mended. Some friendships turn out to be mostly one-sided. But hey, if they can be mined for material, they were worth it, right?

I’m in a less volatile emotional space these days, so my fics tend to reflect that. I’m the queen of domesticity and cute banter, and love that I’m getting to explore the quieter side of drama. I know I’ve said this before, but it’s worth saying again. It’s not all slamming doors and WE’RE THROUGH!, you know? There’s a marvelous sense of drama in the ways we try to negotiate cohabitation, or meeting the families of our romantic partners. There’s drama in supporting one another’s goals and ideals. At least, I think there is? And I hope my stories achieve that.

Do you have a favorite movie? I have a few, and they’re very different movies, because they reflect different aspects of my heart.

Pee-wee’s Big Adventure (1985) is one of the most ridiculous things I have ever seen, and it still makes me laugh, 35 years after its release. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve seen it. The stupid characters, the kitschy aesthetic, the score… it’s so very silly. I love it.

Singin’ in the Rain (1952) is, in my opinion, the most perfect Hollywood movie musical of all time. Everything about it works. The entire cast is outrageously talented, and attractive, and the songs are all memorable. The title song and dance routine never fails to elicit chills and a thrill of giddy joy in my heart. When Gene Kelly does that spin in the street, with the umbrella held out before him like a dance partner? Aaaaaiiiieeee. This is the movie that makes me wish I could dance.

A Room With A View (1985) is the sort of quiet, clever, understated romantic (in every sense of the word) movie I turn to again and again. It’s a gorgeous adaptation of a really smart, surprising book that left a mark on me when I first encountered it in high school. The score is lush and inviting, the cast is beautiful (and oh, those costumes!), the script is just fucking delicious, and of course, the scenery, from Florence to Kent, is exquisite. Plus, we get interplay between sincere humanism (the Emersons), religious belief (the Reverends Beebe and Eager), and the religious-by-default stances of so many of the other characters, whose participation in the religious life of the community seems to be more for societal expectations than anything else. It’s just beautiful, and one of the only movies I urge everyone to sit through to the very end, not because there’s a post-credits scene, but because the closing track that plays over the credits is fantastic.

Who is your favorite author? E.M. Forster, partly because of what I said above about A Room With A View. The novel is short, but crammed with interesting ideas and engaging dialogue. He has a unique voice that spoke to me as a teenager, and my appreciation for his writing has only increased over the many years since. Read Howards End. Read Maurice. Read Where Angels Fear to Tread. Read A Passage to India. But start with A Room With A View.

I know a lot of people would say Howards End is his masterpiece, and they’re probably right about that, but I’m telling you, the book that has meant the most to me over the years is A Room With A View. I’ve kept a copy of it with me since I first read it in 1985, and it’s traveled with me from Minnesota to Seattle and back again. Lucy Honeychurch’s ongoing muddle is something I’ve lived, and survived, and it means more to me every time I read the book. More than anything, it’s a book about authenticity vs hypocrisy, and that just fucking speaks to me, you know?

How did you start getting involved in fanfiction? Several years ago, I read a Sherlock fic called “The Road Less Traveled.” It was during the long, painful, post-Reichenbach Fall hiatus between series 2 and 3, and I found myself looking for something to read that would fill the gap. I’d never had much interest in fanfic before, but this thing did something to me.

I didn’t start writing fanfic until I saw an episode of Supernatural that I found upsetting. (Don’t get me started…) I started writing a little thing to try to fix the stupidity. I wrote a couple of things, but the show did everything in its power to kill my interest in it, so I drifted away. (That said, I am very proud of my short Destiel Christmas fic, which I still think is very cute and makes me wish things had played out differently.)

From there, I started writing Stony (Steve/Tony, mostly based on the MCU, but with some elements of various Marvel comics I’ve read over the years). I wrote several things in that fandom, and most of it was extremely stupid, but there are bits and pieces that I’m still rather fond of. I still want to finish my long fic that’s been gathering dust for a couple of years now. Oops.

How did you get involved with Barisi? Barisi is probably the first fandom that I’ve written for that really seemed to embrace me and encourage me to keep doing this. A friend of mine has been watching SVU forever, and would reference things occasionally on chat while she was watching it. (See also: SEX PARTY MEASLES BABY, an intriguing statement that I didn’t actually understand for YEARS.) I started watching SVU off and on, a few episodes here or there, sometime in 2018. I started at the beginning, and worked my way through the whole thing. When I started it, I was mostly in it for Olivia Benson. But I knew Raúl Esparza had been on the show at some point, and at the time, I was in the “oh, I think I remember seeing him in something, he’s good” camp.

It wasn’t until I got to season 14 that I lost my mind over the show. Rafael Barba is one of the greatest characters ever written for tv, and I’m so thrilled he came along and blew my frickin’ mind. My appreciation for Raúl Esparza went through the roof, and it made me go look for him in other things, which fed into my spiraling appreciation.

Fast forward to season 16. Sonny Carisi walks in, and is… a beautiful, mustachioed mess. I love him from the moment I see him, and I say, “Oh shit, this is the love of Rafael Barba’s life, isn’t it?” This is even before they’ve shared a scene. This is before they’ve blatantly checked each other out. This is just me recognizing the potential, and craving it. Then he shaves that stache and starts dressing better, and he’s shadowing Barba and they’re working cases together and Barba’s being KIND TO HIM? COME ON.

Naturally, I started thinking about writing them. And it wasn’t coming from a place of “I need to fix this episode” or “I need to work out a recent trauma” driving me. It was just “ugh, they have an amazing dynamic and I want to explore it and I want to see what their home life would look like.” That’s how I ended up writing Carisi’s Goddamn Legs. Suddenly I was being bombarded with thoughtful comments from readers. In one such comment, Maxi (mforpaul) asked me where I could be reached on other platforms, and messaged me privately about the story, and made a big deal out of tracking me down on Twitter, introducing me to the rest of the fandom. And that fandom turned out to be filled with really amazing people, who think about big issues like justice and queerness and representation. Those same people are also wonderfully silly and down to earth. The power of this fandom!

What inspires you to write? Lots of things. Life, because it is weird and messy and wonderful. My closest friend, who is a springboard for a lot of my nonsense, is always eager for me to write something new. My love of a ridiculous turn of phrase. The quest for dialogue that sounds in-character and natural. Sometimes, it’s just the seed of an idea, a thought that won’t leave me alone, like, “I bet a short king would be obsessed with those long, noodly legs.” Because I, a short queen, am similarly obsessed.

Sometimes, when the writing fever is upon me, it’s hard to sleep, hard to think of anything other than the story I’m working on. I just want to get it all out and done. If I’m writing something that I really enjoy, or feel very closely connected to, I physically tremble as I write. When that happens, I know I’m on the right track, and I don’t want to stop writing. I just want to inhabit that space, and wallow in that feeling.

What is your favorite fic that you have written? Carisi's Goddamn Legs is really something. The pining, the uncertainty, the slowly dawning realization, but most of all, that scene at Lorenzo’s, where it all comes to a head and the way it creeps to the edge of intimacy and then is interrupted by Lorenzo and a retreat to the casual, only to be sent right back to the edge… I’ve re-read the damn thing several times since I wrote it, and that scene gets to me every time. I really like it a lot. I like the dynamic between them so very much, and the way the truth tumbles out of Carisi literally makes me shake.

What is your favorite quote from a fic of yours? Ooh, yikes, this is hard. I have a couple of lines I really like. One is short, one is longer. Just like Barisi.

One of them (from Carisi's Goddamn Legs ) was something I gave to Olivia, as she tries to counsel Rafael on his worries that his emotional armor isn’t protecting him the way it used to.

“Wear and tear, I guess. Armor was never meant to be worn all the time.”

It’s a line that means something to me, personally, because I spent a substantial chunk of my life in armor, hiding who I was and trying to settle for “the best you can expect” rather than my actual heart’s desire. When I dismantled that wall, things got chaotic for a while, but I also realized I was capable of emotional depths and soaring heights I didn’t think possible for me. It’s something that the Jenny of today wants to whisper (or shout) at the Jenny of 25-30 years ago, and it’s that part of me that relates to Rafael’s journey from a lifetime of SHIELDS UP! to embracing vulnerability and intimacy. (I actually really like that whole scene between them, because I love their friendship and think it’s beautiful, and crave more of that dynamic. Platonic intimacy is gorgeous, and woefully underappreciated in most entertainment. I could go on for hours about that, but I won’t. Not right now, anyway.)

And from Staten Island Serenade, this passage of Rafael gazing at a sleeping Sonny really gets to me.

“As hard as it was some days, Rafael knew without question he wanted to be right here with him, because Sonny was worth the effort. He was a bewildering mess of contradictions and weirdness, too smart for his own good but capable of saying the most ridiculous shit Rafael had ever heard. Somehow everything about him was beautiful, and inspired something in Rafael that felt pure, and almost holy, or would be if he believed in holiness. Like Cymon of old, transformed in every way by the exquisite sight of sleeping Iphigenia, Rafael found himself similarly transformed; ennobled by the nearness of Sonny Carisi, someone so decent, so kind, so truly beautiful inside and out that it would have been a sacrilege not to strive to be a better man.”

What is your personal favorite fanfic?

Again with the hard questions. I don’t even know where to begin. I honestly can’t point to ONE and say, “This is it! THE FAVE.” I’m so sorry I’m not able to narrow down my faves on anything. I’m terrible at this.

There are several Sherlock fics that I’ve read and re-read over the years, which I think really nailed their voices and their characters, and gave me things to think about. The Road Less Traveled will always be a favorite of mine, because it was the first, and because it is beautiful.

Pass Here And Go On by abogadobarba hits all the right notes for me. It rocketed to the top of my list the moment I read it. I’ve read it about ten times so far. I am ridiculous.

So Far in a Few Blocks by PhillyStrega is one of the only AUs I’ve ever read and loved. I’m not really an AU person, but shut UP, I love this story.

You Made Them Feel Like They Had the Devil Inside Them by cypress_tree really got to me. It’s about one of those issues that hits very close to home, and I think it’s a beautifully-written story about something that matters.

Anything else you would like to add?

I just want to say how much I love this fandom. I love my fellow inhabitants of Barisi Nation. I love that I get to obsess over things like the intersections of faith and queerness and humanism and sex and domesticity and justice and goodness. Even if nobody else wanted to read my stories, I think I’d still be over here, writing like mad, because I love these characters and it’s a genuine joy for me to spend time in their heads. But gosh, it’s gratifying to know the hours I spend on this silliness actually pay off for other people, too. I love hearing from people who’ve read my stories and found something meaningful in them, or giggled at something ridiculous Sonny said, or thought a sex scene was… well, anyway. You know.

I’m so grateful to get to do this. And I appreciate the hell out of all you lovely humans. You make me happy.

#barisi #Author of the month #Author recommendation #Juniperhoot

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cinnaminsvga · 6 years

Text

Zemblanity | Jimin (M)

→ summary:

“I’ll write a song for you, Park Jimin,” you say, unaware of the weight of your promises slowly finding its way around your neck.

”Pinky swear?”

The noose tightens. “I swear on my life.”

→ genre: fan!jimin, idol!reader, horror/thriller, angst, smut || part of this collab!! → warnings: major character death, non-graphic descriptions of rape and sexual harassment, psychological + physical torture, physical violence, and obsessive behavior → words: 11.8K → a/n: this physically hurt to write, mostly because i was drunk 99% of the time. also a lot of triggering material in this, so be warned. and i’m sorry jimin for always making you the bad guy... some day, i’ll write a soft fic for you. (special thanks to @seokkbuns for supporting me the whole way... love you)

Sometimes you wished the universe would congratulate you for being a decent human being. Sure, that would defeat the purpose of giving awards in the first place, but can you really help that you wanted to be recognized for your mediocrity, occasionally? Maybe a little ribbon for opening the door for a stranger, or perhaps a coupon from Mcdonalds for not parking in the handicap spot. You weren’t asking for a lot.

Hell, where the fuck was your Nobel Peace Prize for not absolutely decimating your annoying, hoity-toity, bitchass, toe-sucking CEO? If you could somehow convert the anger slowly seeping its way through your veins into renewable energy, you could probably power the entirety city of Seoul at this point.

“Y/N. How difficult can it be to produce one fucking album?” President Kim Namjoon groans, gesticulating at the air madly like the buffoon that he is. All he needs is a banana and unicycle, and his Harambe cosplay would be complete.The ridiculous mental image hardly calms you down, dumbfounded by the absolute audacity of his question.

“Are you seriously asking me that question, or are you just pretending to be an idiot to make me angry?” You seethe, teeth gnashing in a way that would probably make your dentist cringe. Namjoon is not fazed by your reaction. Instead, he reaches into his desk drawers and pulls out a thin stack of papers. You can’t see any of the text, but you have a good idea as to what it was about.

“This is a compilation of news reports written about you and Serendipity over the past year,” he emphasizes, slamming a page filled with graphs and jargon whose meaning escape you. He jabs a finger at one of the angry red graphs, and you can see that he was pointing at what appears to be a significant drop. “As you can see, there haven’t been many reports, if at all.”

“So? That’s what happens when an idol group is waiting for their next comeback.” You shrug your shoulders, kicking a leg up onto his table just to piss him off. Namjoon is quick to stab your ankle with a pencil in retaliation, causing you to pull back with a yelp. “Yo, what the fuck! That hurt!” You exclaim, rubbing the reddening spot sullenly.

“It’s like you’re purposefully being difficult, Y/N.”

“So you’ve noticed?”

Namjoon heaves a sigh, and you speculate that it might have been his thirtieth one within the past hour. A tense silence befalls the two of you, and you watch as the older man rubs his temples in frustration. You can’t help but notice the age lines beginning to form on his forehead, and do your eyes deceive you? Were those wrinkles under his eyes?

“You’re getting old, chief,” you comment, grabbing one of Namjoon’s numerous pencils to poke the lines away. He swats at you tiredly, but it is clear that he knows it is useless scolding you. If getting mad at you would produce results, you would’ve bended to his will ages ago. As it is, the man looks ready to drop dead in his seat. He slumps over his desk, eyes closing in meditation.

“No thanks to you, I assure you,” he mumbles back, voice muffled from his table. “Why can’t you just be like Hoseok? He writes music like it’s his only drug.”

“That’s because that kid is literally always on drugs, chief.” You snort, crossing your arms. “And at least the drugs help him with inspiration. Me? I’ve been stuck in a ditch since January. You know this, Joon.”

“I know. It doesn’t make it any less frustrating. What happened, Y/N? I’ve given you almost everything you could ask for.” Namjoon says, lifting his head up to stare back at you. He appears as dejected as you feel. “Why isn’t that big head of yours making music like it used to?”

“You haven’t given me everything I could ask for.”

“What else do you need? You have the studio, the resources, the funding…”

“Time. You haven’t given me enough time.”

Namjoon sighs his thirty-first sigh. “That’s simply a request that even I cannot grant, Y/N. You and I both know that this industry… it moves quicker than any of us would like. Soon enough, people will forget your name. Your members will be left in the dust. Do you want that, Y/N? Are you willing to succumb to your writer’s block in exchange for your members’ livelihoods?”

The two of you already knew the answer to that. You could only glare back at him, irritated that he had used the only weakness you had, the only people you were willing to risk a limb for.

He smiles sadly back at you. “Three months, Y/N. We need an album by December, or else your group is gone. I don’t want you to fail, believe me.”

Oh, I believe you, you think bitterly to yourself, slamming the door to his office with more force than necessary. Of course the bastard doesn’t want you to fail. Other than Hoseok’s group, Serendipity was the only other money-making group in the company. Rookie group after rookie group have debuted in the past, but none of them have stuck out to the public. They were all waiting for you to come back, whenever that may be.

“Maybe I should just go solo,” you whisper wistfully to yourself, but the image of your three other members staring at you in betrayal is the only thing holding you back.

It would have been easy, too. As the main vocalist in the group, you could potentially survive if your group were to disband. With numerous songwriting and producing credits under your belt, you could definitely stay afloat for another year or so.

These thoughts have been burdening your mind for months now, but you have tried your best to hide this from your members. Perhaps the stress of speaking with Namjoon is what allowed your walls to crumble, making your internal conflict clear as day on your face. Contrary to how you had acted in front of your superior, you actually did feel the strain of your hiatus. Your members were itching to return to the limelight, especially since all of them lived and breathed performance. You hated going home everyday, their eyes sparkling with hope for news of a comeback, only for it to fizzle out as quickly as it had come.

With all this mind, you suppose you shouldn’t have been all that surprised when you arrive back in your dorm that afternoon, your three sisters are sitting forlornly in the living room, waiting for you to arrive.

“What’s with the impromptu meeting? Did Sooyoung clog the toilet again?” You try to joke, but there is no sign of mirth in the eldest’s eyes. Sooyoung clearly means business if she can’t even bother cracking a smile; the kind leader has never looked so dark.

“Y/N. We need to talk,” Sooyoung says. The two younger girls nod in tandem, their head bobbing like pendulums on a taut string. You feel sweat beginning to form on your palms.

“I know what you guys are want to say and I get it. We all want a comeback. Do you think I don’t want to return to the stage? To perform in front of thousands of fans?” You can’t help yourself for immediately going into defensive mode. It feels like you were being cornered by a pack of hyenas, as you were certain they had gathered here to gang up on you. Your worst fears are getting realized, and the thought of going solo passes your mind for the second time that day.

“You sure aren’t acting like it,” Hana murmurs, but the maknae stomps on her feet to silence her. Hana yelps in shock, pouting sulkily.

“Shut up, Hana,” Gowon warns, her normally bright face marred with a deep frown. She turns to you, smiling apologetically. “Sorry, Y/N… She didn’t mean it.”

You snort. “Yeah? If she didn’t mean it, then why the hell are you all sitting here just waiting to attack me?”

“We’re not here to attack you, Y/N. Stop overreacting,” Hana says, rolling her eyes. She yelps again, rubbing her arm petulantly where she had been slapped, but Gowon’s face is an indomitable fortress. For once, you wonder what your maknae would do if she were truly pissed off.

“Y/N, we just wanted to ask if you needed any… help?” Sooyoung tries, brows furrowed in concentration. It is obvious that she is choosing her words slowly, as if she is afraid to startle you off like a deer. “Like, I know none of us are even half as good at producing like you, but if you need someone to take the wheel instead…”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” you say, voice edged with ice. You had not meant to say that as coldly as you did, but you couldn’t help that the stress was talking for you. Hana’s face goes dark in an instant.

“Oh? Does little miss producer have her shit together? Because at the very least, you’d think you would have some work to show for it,” she mocks, irises dancing with flames. Gowon tries to get her to shut up, but the elder seems to have a lot more to say.

“You think we don’t know what you do in that studio of yours? Sooyoung-unnie looked through your hard drive and found hundreds of unfinished samples. Hundreds! If you’re so good at your damn job, then I don’t see why you can’t finish even one of your stupid––”

Before you realize it, your palm is stinging with heat as the two other girls stare in shock at Hana’s reddening cheek. Hana stares at you too, mouth opening in shock rather than in pain. You raise your hands up in surrender, appalled by your own actions. The silence is a blanket, suffocating the air out of your lungs as the two of you are locked in a heavy stalemate. Then, she scoffs.

“Oh, is that all you got? Not even an excuse? If you can’t even defend yourself, I don’t even know why I’m bothering to listen,” she says, standing up to leave. Gowon tries to tug her back down, but she swats the younger’s hand away. “Sorry Gowonnie. I know you care a lot for Y/N, but I can’t care for someone who doesn’t even care for us,” she hisses. The slam of her bedroom door reverberates across the dorm, rattling your bones.

With Hana gone, Sooyoung sighs deeply, rubbing her temples not unlike the way Namjoon had done earlier that day. You hate yourself for not noticing the deeper lines forming across her forehead, too.

“Y/N. We know that you are very proud of your work, and that you’re trying your best. We really do. But it wouldn’t hurt if you could at least… be transparent with us.”

You snort, disbelief coloring your face at Sooyoung’s audacity. “I can’t believe you can say that with a straight face after you looked through my stuff without permission.”

Sooyoung has the decency to look guilty. “I’m sorry, Y/N. You left your studio door open once and well… I was just curious, you know? You never talk about your music process with us, and the girls and I were wondering if you actually… still cared.”

The sadness in her voice quickly dispels any dredges of anger still left in your body. Sighing in defeat, you haphazardly throw your tired body where Hana had been sitting. With the cool leather of the couch enveloping you in a hug, it is only then that you notice how incredibly weary you felt.

“I know. I’m sorry, I really am,” you murmur, closing your eyes so you don’t have to see their disappointed faces. You can feel Sooyoung’s soft hands carding themselves through your hair. “I just… I’m trying so hard to make an album for you guys but it’s just so difficult because I have to think about charting on Billboard and adjusting beats to the choreographies…”

“We understand, unnie.” Gowon says softly, patting your knee. “And believe me, it’s all thanks to you that we were able to win seven times during our last comeback. We don’t always have to beat our last record, you know? I’m sure the fans will love anything you put out.”

“I know,” you sniffle, allowing a few tears to escape. The same gentle hands leave your hair to wipe them away. “But I still don’t wanna disappoint you all…”

“You won’t, Y/N. We’re all very proud of you,” Sooyoung says, wrapping her arms around you. Gowon joins soon after, and you feel guilty for allowing yourself to believe them. You don’t deserve their patience––not after all the grief you had inadvertently put them through.

“I doubt Hana feels the same way,” you laugh, but it comes out sounding more like a creaky door more than anything.

Gowon pinches your cheek lightly. “Ah, she’ll get around. You know how she gets when things don’t go her way. I’d say we were all itching to slap her once or twice in our life.”

The three of you laugh, only feeling slightly bad for bad-mouthing the poor girl. As grumpy as the younger girl might be, all of you still love her despite her faults.

“Y/N-unnie? I have a suggestion, actually.” Gowon says, once the laughter had died down. You hum, raising your eyebrow at her.

“Yeah? Do you want to help me write some songs?”

Gowon shakes her head, waving her hands in embarrassment. “No! Well, I do, but that’s not what I wanted to suggest,” she says, rubbing her neck nervously. You squint at her, curious as to what has gotten the younger feeling too anxious to say.

“Do you think that maybe… a vacation might do you well?” she says, almost too quietly. You think you must have misheard her, and judging by the way she pouts back at you, the confusion must have been visible on your face.

“I said, you need a vacation, unnie. A real one, and not one that will get filmed for a reality show or something,” she repeats, firmer this time. From the corner of your eye, you can see Sooyoung nodding in agreement.

“That’s a great idea, Gowon. Y/N, I think you need a little break from all the stress. Perhaps you can get inspiration during your time away from work,” Sooyoung adds. You turn to face the eldest, eyebrows reaching your hairline at the fact that she was even agreeing to such a terrible idea.

“It’s not a terrible idea, for your information,” Gowon huffs, seemingly having read your mind. “Out of all of us, I think you deserve to relax and learn how to have fun.”

You splutter indignantly, somewhat offended at Gowon’s frank admission. “I know how to have fun! I bought a rice cooker last week with a coupon from the newspaper. I saved $20!”

“Oh my God,” Sooyoung laughs, shoulders shaking with mirth. “How the fuck are you younger than me, ahjumma?”

“This is what I’m saying,” Gowon deadpans, flicking your forehead. You yelp, rubbing the area with a pout. What is it with this girl and doing bodily harm on her members? “When I mean fun, I meant regular, young adult stuff. Shit like…”

“Going to karaoke! Watching movies! Travelling! Spa treatments! Reading books!” Sooyoung lists, bouncing up and down in her seat. If you hadn’t known better, it is as if Sooyoung was planning her own vacation instead.

“Maybe sex?” Gowon adds, and that earns a strangled cough from you.

“Gowon!” You yell, slapping the giggling maknae in the back. “Who told you about the s word?”

“Learned from the best,” she says coyly, earning another slap from you. “Ouch! Okay, I’m joking. But I have to admit, Sooyoung-unnie has some good ideas. Maybe you should travel or go back home?”

“If the company will even let me,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Do you really think Namjoon-ssi will let me leave when he basically gave me only three months to produce an album? I don’t think so.”

“I’ll make him agree,” Gowon says ominously.

“You’ll make him agree,” you repeat.

“Yup,” she says, a mysterious smile on her lips. “So, since you’re agreeing to my proposal––”

“Who says I’m going?” you interject, but Sooyoung slaps a hand over your mouth, silencing you.

“Hush! I have an idea. You see, one of my old high school classmates owns a spa resort up in the mountains near Busan. It’s super remote, so you don’t even have to worry about being recognized by anyone.” She prattles on, already whipping out her phone to text who knows what. Her fingers are flying at the speed of light, and you try your best to snatch it out of her hands.

When you try to grab it, Gowon holds your arms behind your back, effectively imprisoning you. She points a shit-eating grin at you. “Nu-uh, Y/N. You’re going to relax, even if it fucking kills you. So let Sooyoung and I handle everything, okay? We’ll get Namjoon’s approval tomorrow, and you’ll be off to Busan by the weekend. Sound good?”

No, it did not sound good at all. You have been an idol for five years now, plus your three years working as a trainee. You hardly remember what it felt like to not work, and you can only imagine how bored you’ll be once you get there.

Before you know it, Sooyoung finishes speaking with her classmate, booking a room for three nights. Gowon claps excitedly, already planning to pack for you to lessen your burden. You smile wryly at the two of them because you can’t help but be endeared by their pure enthusiasm.

You go to your room that night, wanting to believe Gowon’s words. Maybe she’s right; all you need is a vacation. When your eyes finally close and your breathing has steadied, you go to sleep believing that everything might turn out okay.

––♡♡♡––

It does not turn out okay, unsurprisingly.

Like Sooyoung had mentioned, the spa is remote, far away from any semblance of city life. It sits halfway up the mountain, where it is said to have the nicest hot spring baths in the country. There is a small town at the bottom of the mountain, which is where the taxi had dropped you off. When you ask him why he can’t drive you all the way to the resort, he shakes his head apologetically.

“Sorry, miss. The roads up to Blue Springs Resort are pretty narrow and I can’t risk going up there at this time of night. You could probably ask one of the locals here to drive you up. Good luck!” He bids you goodbye cheerily, snatching your payment out of your hands and driving off without another word. You stand at the edge of the road, mouth agape at his brazen desertion.

“Fuck me, I guess,” you groan, taking your phone out to try and dial for help. Of course, the reception is horrendous, and you suppress your screams at this terrible turn of events.

“This is all Sooyoung’s fault,” you mutter darkly, dragging your suitcase into the dark town to look for help. It is only 7pm, but it seems like the townsfolk have decided to hit the hay for the night. The shop windows and houses that you pass are all dark, and your dying phone can barely light the way as you try to find any sign of human life that might help you find a place to stay.

After thirty minutes of searching, you are two seconds away from just breaking and entering into some poor bastard’s house when a young man exits his house. He stares at you, with your sweat matted hair and scuffed luggage, and you have half the mind to wonder if there were any traces of ketchup on your lips, leftover from the hotdog you had eaten on the way there.

“Hi,” you greet. You raise your hand hesitantly.

He raises his own, incredibly confused. “Uh. Hi?”

“Sorry, I know I look really weird and all, but I was wondering if you could help me find a way to Blue Springs Resort? The taxi I took pretty much left me on the side of the road, and I don’t have anywhere else to stay,” you finish, teeth chattering from the cold. The man’s eyes soften, and he approaches you.

“Oh, that happens sometimes. The resort usually has a shuttle come through here, but I guess it’s too late to call them now,” he explains, “I could drive you there, if you want? I was going to head to the city, so I could drop you off first before heading out.”

You can hardly believe your ears, unsure whether you could trust this man’s goodness or not. “Are you sure? I’m not bothering you, am I? Also, not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but I don’t really feel safe going inside a stranger’s car.”

The man laughs, shaking his head. “Nah, I get you. If it makes you feel any better, I actually work at this town’s local police station. I can show you my badge in my car, if you want,” he says, rubbing his neck shyly. “My name is Jungkook, by the way. Officer Jungkook, usually, but I’m off duty so feel free to drop the title.”

You grin, charmed by his little awkward mannerisms. “Nice to meet you, Jungkook. I’m Y/N.”

To your relief, his expression doesn’t change at the sound of your name, but you had already figured that he didn’t recognized you from the moment you met. It isn’t like you expected everyone in South Korea to know who you or your band was, but it never hurt to be cautious. You loved your fans, but you never knew what type of things they could do to you.

The two of you jump into his car after he kindly pops his trunk open and takes your luggage from you. He lets you take control of the radio, and the soft sound of some American ballad fills the car as the two of you ride into the night. The drive is silent, save for the music and your occasional humming. True to his word, a police radio and badge are sitting idly on his console, and you half expect it to come to life with news of some incident or whatnot.

Jungkook notices your curious gaze, and he grins at you. “Don’t worry, Y/N. I’m off duty, so I doubt I’ll be getting any calls. Besides, hardly anything happens in this sleepy town, so I’d be surprised if that radio would light up, even when I’m on patrol.”

“Not to be offensive, but doesn’t it get boring around these parts? With nothing happening?” you ask, lightly fingering the radio and badge in fascination.

Jungkook shrugs his shoulders. “Boring is safe, I suppose. That’s what my chief always says. Besides, it isn’t entirely quiet. There are always reports of crashes around the mountains because the roads are so difficult to maneuver. Speaking of…” he trails off, his driving growing increasingly slow as the path begins to grow narrow. “Gotta be careful. The mayor has been working to get railways around these roads, but funding it pretty tight. It’s particularly dangerous at night.”

You watch, tense as his grip grows tighter on the wheel. You are starting to get worried that Jungkook might accelerate off the cliff, but he manages to offer you a shaky smile in assurance. “Don’t worry, miss. I’m a good driver, and I’m used to these parts. Just gotta make it past this one particularly nasty turn and––”

He goes silent, brow furrowed in concentration as you arrive at the aforementioned turn. He slows the car to a crawl, inching his way around the sharp edge when the radio suddenly switches the song from a love ballad to an energetic pop song. The sudden noise startles Jungkook, and he jams his foot straight down on the pedal.

You scream, clutching your seatbelt as the car revs forward and for a brief moment––you are flying. Your stomach flies to your throat as you feel nothing but weightlessness, and you think you can hear Jungkook cursing obscenities as he tries to pull the break but––nothing.

The car drops, crashing like a tin can against a large tree. Pain blooms all across your body, and you want nothing more than to scream, but no sound would come out. In the edges of your consciousness, you can still hear the radio playing, the sound of your own sweet melodious voice being the last thing you remember before your world fades to black.

––♡♡♡––

Everything hurts. Scratch that––it feels like there were broken shards of glass that had a physical vendetta against your vital organs inside of you. You swear that there are weights attached to your eyelids, and it feels like hours until you can finally get them to open.

The first thing you notice is that it’s bright. The room (“A bedroom,” you murmur, noticing the bedside table and closet near the door. There is an electronic keyboard gathering dust in the corner too.) is filled with sunlight, the small window on your right devoid of any curtains. The sheets smell like lavender, and there are at least two pillows underneath your head. When you try to move, your body screams in protest as a sharp pain throbs somewhere on your torso.

Craning your neck, you gingerly peel the blanket off your body, and even then the effort is too much. When you successfully pull everything off, you are bombarded with the sight of bandages everywhere. You look like those discount mummy costumes, the ones that no one bought and are always sold for a third of its original price. You must have jostled one of your wounds while you were shifting, and you watch with morbid fascination as red starts to bloom across your stomach.

You think you are going to be sick.

Panic surges through your bones and you feel the desperate urge to get out of bed––for what reason, you do not know. It isn’t like you could go anywhere in your condition, but you just needed to do something. You don’t know where you are, or what happened, or even what day it is. You need to get out of here––

Suddenly, the door opens, and a man with blonde hair and droopy eyes enters with a cup of tea in hand. He yelps in surprise when he sees you, one leg already off the bed as you were still in the middle of your panic-induced escape. He rushes towards you, and gently pushes you back onto the bed.

“Hey, hey… Relax. You’re going to hurt yourself if you move too much,” he says, his tone soft and calming. Your heartbeat refuses to relax, and you must have looked crazed to the young man. He places the cup of tea by the table, and firmly tucks the blanket back over your body.

“Oh damn. I think your stitches might have opened… I’ll have to clean that up later,” he murmurs. He reaches behind you to fluff up your pillows, and you catch a whiff of his lavender body soap. He sits by your side, a worried look marring his soft features. He places a hand on your head and asks, “Y/N, does your head hurt? I’m not all that good with head injuries, so I’m not sure if I bandaged it correctly… I tried researching techniques, but I’m worried I didn’t do it right…”

His words feel like cotton in your ears, but you manage to catch the first part of his sentence. “Wait, how do you know my name?” You ask, voice sounding hoarse after hours (days?) of misuse. The man notices, and offers you his cup of tea. You try to wrap your hands around it, but even your fingers are wrapped in bandages. You notice there is a splint on your index finger, and you let out a sob at the sight. How would you be able to play the piano now?

Pitying you, Jimin brings the cup to your lips and lets you drink. The tea scalds your tongue, but your sandpaper throat accepts it with open arms. He places the empty cup by the table before answering your question. “My name is Jimin. I’m the owner of Blue Spring Resorts. I was a friend of Sooyoung back in high school.”

At the mention of Sooyoung and the resort, memories of the previous night floods your mind. You remember how the car had driven off the side of the road, the feeling of weightlessness and dread filling you like poison. You remember the sound of music playing as you slipped in and out of consciousness. You remember––

“Jungkook,” you say, gripping the man’s arm with frightening strength. He holds your hand, alarmed. “Jungkook,” you repeat, tears welling in your eyes. “Where?”

“Jungkook? Who’s Jungkook?” Jimin asks, patting your hand in an attempt to calm you. You push his hand away, and shake his arm more urgently.

“He––he was in the car, with me. He was the one driving me to this resort when he accidentally drove off the cliff. He––where is he?” You stutter, words flying out of your mouth quicker than you can process. Luckily, Jimin seems to understand the gist of your babbling.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. When I found you on the side of the cliff, I only saw your body under the mangled car. I didn’t bother checking further, because I was more concerned with getting you back to safety,” he explains, tears springing in his eyes from guilt. Your heart drops. “I’m so sorry. I just wanted to get you out of there.”

Tears flow freely down your cheeks as you sob, a loud wail escaping you as you think about the sweet police officer who was probably dead on the side of the road. Jimin wraps an arm around you, rubbing your shoulder as you choked on your sins.

“I––I can go check again later. I was meaning to head back to town to shuttle some more customers to the resort until I saw your car…” he says, lips pursing. “I can also go back to salvage whatever I can…” he offers, and you nod sadly, already weary despite having just woken up.

He gazes at you sadly, unfurling your fingers off of his arm and putting them back onto your lap. He does not berate you for the small nail marks you had left against his honey skin. “Go to sleep, Y/N. I'll be back by nightfall. Get some rest."

Soon after he had made sure your blankets and pillows are at their optimal position, you fall into a fitful sleep, your heart feeling heavier than it did before.

––♡♡♡––

Just as he had promised, he returns later that night. You had awakened when you heard the faint sound of a door slamming shut, the anxiety starting to build until Jimin's fluffy blonde head peaks out from behind the bedroom door.

He smiles apologetically, clicking the door shut as he enters the room quietly. "Sorry, did my arrival awaken you?" he says, sitting beside your form. He notices your breathing relax at his proximity, and the grin spreads like wildfire on his face.

"It's fine. I was going to wake up soon, anyway," you say, voice still warbled with grogginess. He smiles, patting your knee before standing up once more.

"I'm gonna get you some water and food," he says when he notices your curious gaze. "Also, I passed by the wreckage again, and..." he trails off, sounding worried for your reaction. You steel yourself, and you try your best to look like you weren't about to burst into tears at any moment.

"There wasn't anyone there," he says, finally. You freeze, confused by his admission.

"What?"

"It's true," he says, shrugging his shoulders. "I tried looking everywhere, even around the vicinity of the crash. All I found was the car and your things."

You deflate at the news, but you can't help the remaining dredges of hope beginning to resurrect in your heart. Maybe he had escaped and had run off to get help, or at least you wished.

"Did you try contacting the police? Jungkook mentioned that he was part of the police force."

An odd look flashes across his face, but it leaves before you can decipher it. He coughs awkwardly, rubbing his nose. "Uh, yes. I contacted the police about the crash a few days ago, and they said they would be focusing on looking for that Jungkook fella. For now, I'll take care of you until you can safely return to town."

If his reasoning sounds odd, you don't question it. You are too busy grieving Jungkook that you can barely think for yourself. Jimin rubs your shoulder, before turning to leave and fetch your belongings.

When he returns, he brings the remains of what was once your black suitcase. He places them by your side, riffling through the things he salvaged from the wreckage. "I tried taking some of your clothes and toiletries, but I'm afraid your laptop was crushed completely," he says, placing your folded clothes beside you. When he takes out the ruined laptop in question, and you gaze at it with empty acceptance.

It isn't the end of the world, you suppose. You saved most of your photos and music online and in your work computer, so all is not lost. To your surprise, however, Jimin pulls out another small black object from his bag and hands it to you.

"My hard drive survived?" You stare at it in wonder, turning it over in your hands delicately. You ignored the pain in your fingers as you clutch the small object to your chest, tear ducts starting to burn. You give Jimin a grateful look. "Thank you for everything," you whisper.

Jimin's cheeks turn a brilliant shade of pink, eyes downturned in sudden embarrassment. "I-it's no big deal," he stammers, twiddling his thumbs. You chuckle, pinching his cheeks endearingly.

"No, really. You did so much for me when I've done nothing to deserve it. You even bandaged me up, which I have no idea how you managed, by the way."

Somehow, Jimin's cheeks darken even further. The color spreads like wildfire, inking the delicate skin of his neck and ears. "I, um... About that..." He coughs awkwardly, looking anywhere but at you. You raise your eyebrows in question.

"Yeah? You didn't do anything weird right? I'm not gonna get out of here with an extra foot, am I?" You joke, and it seems to have made Jimin loosen up slightly.

He shakes his head, a small grin on his lips. "No, of course not. But I did have to undress you, and uh..." He trails off once more, unable to finish his sentence. You feel blood start to rush to your face as well, but you try your best to seem unfazed by his confession. Clearing your throat, you pat his shoulder as nonchalantly as you can.

"I would hope so. Bandages wouldn't exactly work if I had clothes underneath them, wouldn't you say?" You quip, and your ears are blessed with the pleasant sound of his tinkling laughter. You feel your breathing stop, and you wonder if it would be weird if you could ask him to do it again.

"Cute," you eventually say, which probably isn't any less embarrassing than your previous intrusive thought. The blood vessels around Jimin's face must be working on overtime right now, but you can't find it in yourself to feel bad when he looked so damn cute.

"Me? You must be mistaken... You're the cute one here," he squeaks. He must have only belatedly realize what he had said because he slaps a hand over his mouth in shock, screaming slightly muffled by his hands. "Oh my Gooood I did not just say that!"

You let out a loud laugh, the action agitating your dry throat but you can't help but do it anyway. He takes a peek at you from behind his hands, eyes wide in awe.

"Your laugh is even prettier in person," he says absentmindedly, before slapping his hand over his mouth again. "Fuck! I mean––"

"In person?" You question, peering at him inquisitively.

Jimin shrugs his shoulders, sheepish. "I'm, uh... a bit of a fan of yours, I guess? When I found out that Sooyoung had joined a girl group all those years ago, I couldn't help myself from researching you guys and I supposed you've caught me in your spell ever since," he confesses, the redness in his cheeks never fading. "You could say that you're my..."

"I'm your favorite?" You finish, smiling cheekily. He nods back, his mortification palpable. Taking pity on him, you choose not to tease him and instead ask, "Speaking of Sooyoung, do you mind lending me your phone? I want to call her to tell her I'm alright."

"Oh, there's no signal out here, unfortunately," Jimin explains, frowning. "However, I do have a landline you could use, but it's too far away... I could call her for you, if you'd like?"

"That would be great, thanks." You say, grabbing his hand gratefully. Jimin stills, allowing your bandaged fingers to caress the calluses on his palms. "I mean it when I say that, you know? I owe you my life."

Jimin swallows, hands shaking as he laces his fingers through yours. Poor kid must be nervous being with his idol, you think to yourself, impossibly endeared by this lovely boy.

His smile is as sweet as his voice. "Anything for you, Y/N."

––♡♡♡––

After that, Jimin brings you some dinner. He bashfully admits that he isn't the best cook around, and he'd normally ask one of the chefs at the resort to cook something up but they were all incredibly busy due to the influx of customers. When he spoon-feeds you some of the kimchi stew, your eyes light up from the explosion of flavor on your tongue.

"This is wonderful, Jimin!' You exclaim, mouth already opening for the next spoonful. Jimin chuckles at your enthusiasm, beaming proudly as his favorite idol sings praises over his cooking.

The two of you spend the remainder of the night getting to know each other. You ask him a myriad of questions, mostly about his job and the resort. You find out that he had inherited this place after his father had passed away, despite his initial dreams of becoming a singer. You apologize for prying, but he shakes your concern away.

"Nah, it happened years ago. It's fine," he says, his eyes crinkling from the intensity of his smile. You can't help your face from mirroring his own, despite noticing the slight sadness tinging his tone. "Besides, I love my job. I get to meet lots of interesting people like you."

"You're just saying that because you're my fan. I'm not interesting," you say, cheeks dusted with pink. Jimin shakes his head, and you're almost worried that he might dislodge his head from how violently he moves.

"No! You're amazing! All your fans and members know that you're amazingly talented. The songs you write are so incredibly deep and meaningful, and you've helped a lot of them go through some tough times––me included," he admits. You gaze sadly at him, knowing that he isn't the first one to share this with you.

"I know... But I haven't been all that good at writing these days. In fact, the only reason I came out to this resort was to get some inspiration..."

Jimin stares at you, a look of concern in his irises and something... else. When you look closer, all you see are his shiny brown eyes gazing back at you. "I'm sure you'll be fine. You're the amazing Y/N. I'm sure anything you write will be fantastic."

You doubt it, but you nod your head anyway to appease him.

"Since you said you wanted to be a singer, maybe I'll write a song for you in the future," you say, laughing lightly when he stares at you incredulously. He points at himself, as if uncertain that you were talking about the same person.

You roll your eyes. "Yes, I was talking about you, silly."

He shakes his head, disbelief coloring his face but you don't miss the way a slight blush has invaded his honey skin. "For me? But I'm a nobody. You don't even know if I can sing well."

"I think you'd be a great singer, Jimin. You've got a nice, soothing voice," you say, shameless.

"Stop teasing me," he says, pouting in such an adorable way that you can't help but continue teasing him.

"I'll write a song for you, Park Jimin," you say, unaware of the weight of your promise slowly finding its way around your neck. “I swear on my life.”

Even if you had no intention of fulfilling that promise or not, it is definitely worth seeing the way a soft smile blossoms across Jimin's cherubic features.

"By the way Y/N, I had been meaning to ask... You don't have to answer by the way, but..." he starts, hesitant to continue. Judging from his sudden shift in demeanor, you have a feeling you already know what he's going to ask, anyway.

"You're going to ask about the comeback, right?"

Jimin's face lights up immediately. "Yeah! So, it's happening soon, right? We've all been waiting since November of last year, so I was wondering..."

You shrug your shoulders noncommittally. "I guess... But like I said, I haven't been writing as well as I'd like, so I don't know how soon it'll happen but... Yeah, it's in the works."

Jimin sighs as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "Thank God... I've been arguing with people on Twitter who had been making weird rumors that you guys were going to disband... I knew you guys would never do that, right?" he says, eyes sparkling with pure adoration.

You swallow down your guilt, unable to bear looking at his hopeful face. You croak, "Yeah. We would never."

Two nights pass quickly as you lay in Jimin's cabin to recover. You had learned that he had placed you in his room because it was comfier than the guest rooms, and when you had insisted to be moved, he quickly shut you down, assuring you that he was perfectly fine with letting you stay as long as you needed. You acquiesce, pouting as the young man practically babied you and attended to your every beck and call.

You know he means well, and it isn't like you were averse to the attention being showered upon you by this handsome boy. So you allow yourself to be pampered just this once; after all, you were supposed to be at a spa resort.

"Speaking of," Jimin says after he finishes feeding you your lunch. "I wanted to offer you something, if you don't mind." You hum, eyelids closing from the blissful feeling of being well-fed.

"What do you think about having a massage?"

That wakes you right back up.

"What?" You ask, gaping slightly at the young man. Jimin, who had been previously emboldened by your satiated state, is sweating bullets, astonished by his own brazenness.

He tries to backtrack. "Uh, you can say no, of course. I was just, well, since we're at a spa and such, and it just so happens that I happen to be a licensed masseur, and uh––"

"I'd love one, if you don't mind."

"And just, I mean––wait? You want one?" He splutters, plump cheeks turning pink. You tap them gently, giggling when they redden under your attention. God, you wanted so badly to kiss them and see if they were as soft under your lips as they were under your hands.

"Yeah. I mean, my company did pay for this trip, and I'm supposed to be here to relax, so I might as well take advantage of the situation," you say plainly.

Jimin nods dumbly, semi-disbelieving that you had agreed so easily. He assures you that he'll be careful, the both of you still worried about your injuries. He says that he'll pay more attention to your shoulders and upper legs, since those seem to be the only areas where you aren't severely wounded.

He turns you over gently, a continuous stream of apologies leaving his mouth every time you let out even the slightest hiss of pain. With your back fully exposed to him, he carefully peels your the night shirt off of you, and you can only imagine the way his cheeks must be reddening all the while. Thankfully, he leaves your shorts on as he goes about to preparing the materials for the massage.

"Tell me if I'm being too rough, okay?" he says, and you can hear him opening the cap of massage oil. After a few moments, you feel his steady hands start kneading soft circles into your shoulders, and a sigh escapes you before you can stop it.

Jimin chuckles lightly. "Good?"

"Wonderful," you sigh, feeling the tense knots from months of stress starting to unravel under his skilled fingers. A particularly hard press of his fingers elicits a loud moan from you, and you whimper when his fingers freeze abruptly.

"Why'd you stop?" You whined, nudging his thigh with your foot. You can't see Jimin's face, so you are unsure as to why he had stopped so suddenly.

"N-nothing," he stammers, and he continues on as if nothing had happened.

Under his care, you release a litany of moans and whimpers, unable to stop yourself from enjoying the smooth glide of his hands. In the edges of your pleasure-addled brain, you wonder what would have happened if your body hadn't been seriously injured. You can imagine how his hands would descend lower down your back and onto your hips, pressing dangerously close to your center but never quite reaching it. You squeeze your legs, hoping that Jimin doesn't notice that your moans might have started sounding a little bit more erotic than before.

As if reading your mind, Jimin pauses to clear his throat. "Uh, would you mind if I moved on to your thighs? If you don't want me to touch you there, then..."

You don't know what comes over you. His fingers have you locked under some sort of spell, so you can only whimper pathetically back in response. He takes that as a sign of approval, and the next thing you know, you feel him grabbing fistfuls of your thighs.

"Oh fuck," you moan out, your voice loud in the silence of the room. Jimin's ministrations quicken, almost as if he was trying to milk the sounds out of you. Somewhere along the way, you moan something that sounds suspiciously like "Jimin," a fact that the man greatly appreciates.

"Fuck, you're so hot," Jimin groans, his thumbs snagging onto the edges of your shorts. He tugs them down slightly, and you feel your lower regions light up like wildfire. You lift your hips imperceptibly, but it's enough for Jimin to wrench your flimsy shorts out of the way, leaving you bare for him and his hands.

Breathing heavier than before, Jimin takes a moment to calm himself. He rubs himself against the edge of the bed, biting his lip as he tries to keep his own moans at bay.

"Touch me," you whine, snaking your hand around your back and grabbing his wrist in impatience. You direct him directly to your center, the both of you gasping at the wetness already there. Jimin experimentally swipes a finger up your slit, gazing in awe as your slick mixes with the oil already on his digits.

Ever the gentleman, he asks, "Can I really...?"

You think you might be going insane from his indomitable patience. "Yes! Just fucking finger me already, Jimin," you gasp, feeling his fingers rubbing small circles around your clit. He teases you like this for a few moments, and you're about to sneak your hand down there to take care of it yourself when you hear the sound of a phone ringing from downstairs.

Jimin pauses, removing his hands from your core and leaving you feeling cold and wanting. You manage to turn your head to the side, and you see Jimin looking torn as he stares at you and the door.

"I have to..." His voices tapers off, a war waging in his warm brown eyes. "Customers, and..."

Even though you would love nothing more than for him to finish you off, you of all people understand the importance of work. "Go," you say, offering him what you hope is a comforting smile.

He gives you one last rueful look before he leaves, the sound of the door closing echoing in your skull.

"Fucking hell," you groan, your treacherous hands trailing down your body after his departure. When you reach your climax to the image of blonde hair and plump cheeks, you trick yourself into thinking your fingers were not your own.

––♡♡♡––

"I don't think I can keep staying here anymore, Jimin."

The weather has turned colder overnight, and Jimin has to reinstall the curtains back onto his bedroom window. You had been stuck in this room for a week already, with only Jimin as your only source of comfort.

You would always be grateful for the kind man's hospitality, but sitting in a room for days on end was starting to get to your head. You didn't really see yourself as the type to get cabin fever, since you were used to being cooped up in the studio for even longer periods of time. But you suppose there is a difference, since you couldn't even properly make music here with Jimin always staring down your neck at every opportunity. At the very least, your days spent here have done wonders on your stress, as it has given you the time to ponder and contemplate some of pressing your life choices.

"Oh? But you're not fully healed though," he comments dismissively, collecting the plates and utensils you had used for dinner that night. You thank him quietly, but he doesn't respond to it like he normally would. He places them by your bedside before tucking you under your blanket until only your head can be seen.

"Yeah, I know but I think I should be well enough to head back home, don't you think?"

"Maybe in a few more days," he says, refusing to look you in the eyes. When you grab his shoulder to force him to pay attention to you, his gaze is still averted to the ground.

"Jimin."

"Y/N."

"Why won't you look at me?"

Jimin finally does, and you are surprised by the amount of sadness that you find. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm just... worried? I don't want to risk taking you down this mountain and having you get injured again..."

"I won't though, right? You're used to driving down the mountain. I trust you," you say, honeying your words to try and get him to agree. It must have worked, judging from the way his shoulders droop in defeat.

"Yeah, I guess. But maybe after the weekend? It's a bit busy at the resort this week, so you'll have to wait until Monday."

Squealing at the prospect of going home, you envelop the man in a bone-crushing hug, ignoring the way your stomach protests at the sudden movement. "Thank you so much, Jimin. You don't understand how hard it's been being away from home, but I'm glad it was you who I got to spend this time with," you say.

Jimin smiles, patting your back. "Of course. Anything for you––"

"What's more, my time here has allowed me to really think about my life, you know?" You interject, prattling on as if he hadn't spoken. He furrows his brow, looking at you curiously.

"What do you mean about your life?"

"Oh, you know. I know that I said that I came here to write songs for Serendipity's comeback, but I actually came here to think about my own solo career," you say, shrugging your shoulders. You miss the way Jimin's entire body freezes as you continue on speaking. "I've been thinking about the pros and cons of what would happen if I actually did leave the band, and suffice to say I think it really would be for the best if I left the group. I was never the favorite member anyway, so I think it would be best if––"

"No."

"––I left the company and––excuse me?" You pause, finally noticing the rigid way Jimin was sitting. You stare at him, confused by his sudden change in demeanor. "What do you mean by 'no?'"

"I mean, you can't fucking just leave the band, Y/N," he snarls, standing up and beginning to pace around the room. You sit up on the bed, feeling on edge at this sudden appearance of a Jimin you had never met before.

"Of course I can. My contract is about to end in a year anyway, so it's not like the company can force me to stay––"

"What about your fucking promise then, huh? Was all of that bullshit?" Jimin roars, the volume of his voice startling you immensely.

"What promise?" You squeak when he slams a fist into the bed frame, rattling your entire mattress from the force.

He raises his hands in the air, unperturbed by the purple bruise already forming across his fist. "Of course you don't remember! It's because you were lying. You were lying to all of us."

"What the actual fuck are you talking about?"

"On your first win, don't you remember? You made a promise that Serendipity would never disband, not even when you turned 50," he says, breathing turning ragged with rage. He stalks his way towards you, and you try your best to burrow yourself under the covers.

"Well, things change okay? The Y/N from 5 years ago probably didn't know she would be neck deep in stress to the point where she thinks she's going to die, okay? I thought you, as my fan, would understand that my well-being should come first," you say, your voice growing louder as you realized the ridiculousness of this situation. Who the hell did Jimin think he was? Who gave him the right to be angry when you were only doing what was best for you? "Hell, you wanted to be singer, didn't you? You should understand better than anyone how difficult it is to always be under public scrutiny!"

The sneer on Jimin's face is feral-looking, almost murderous. "No, I don't. I don't understand."

Before you can react, he goes to slam the door shut, the sound of the lock clicking in place. The final nail on your coffin. No matter how hard you twist the knob or bang your hands against the door, no one would come. No one could hear you.

––♡♡♡––

Jimin doesn't visit your room once in over three days. That means he has stopped giving you food and water, purposefully starving you until you bend to his will. He had only slipped a small note under the door frame, detailing the conditions for nourishment.

"If you want to live, then you'll write me a song. Prove to me that you don't break your promises."

Easier said than done. Even during a life and death situation, that specific part of your brain refuses to cooperate, and you can hardly write a verse without breaking down and crying.

How pathetic. What type of producer were you, if you couldn't even safe your life by doing the only thing you were supposedly good at?

On the third day, your vision has started to grow hazy from dehydration. You have yet to resort to drinking your own urine, but you were hoping to attempt to satiate Jimin before that. With the lyrics and notes hastily scribbled on a piece of paper, you slide it under the door, waiting for your captor to judge your draft. Never has a song frightened you as much as this, and you laugh mirthlessly at how you had been worried about charting just a week prior.

You hear his footsteps approaching, and you wait with bated breath as the rustle of paper signals that he has begun to read your song. You hold your breath, the seconds feeling like decades as you wait for him to pass his judgment.

The lock clicks. The door opens.

Jimin, with his blonde hair and plump cheeks, crumples the paper in his hands without a word. He rips the paper in shreds, and you watch in horror as he grinds his foot into the sorry remains of your draft.

"Nice try, but I know this song. I listened to the songs on your hard drive all those nights ago, and I know this is a draft for a solo song," he says, grinning sadistically at the sight of your face crumpling in despair. While you are still in the midst of mourning your one chance of escape, he walks past your kneeling form, grabbing something from the bedside table.

When you look, you see the small black hard drive in his hands. He waves it at you, almost mockingly, before slamming it onto the ground––hard. He stomps on it, grinding his foot onto it just like he had done to your draft just minutes ago. You scream, jumping to save your precious hard drive from further harm––but alas. It is too late.

Bits of wire and shards of plastic are all that's left of your entire library of secret solo songs. These are the files you hadn't saved to your studio computer in fear of it being discovered by the wrong people. Years of blood, sweat, and tears––gone.

In an instant, your vision grows red, red, red.

"I'll fucking kill you!" You scream, hurtling your weak body at him with all the power you could muster. Despite his small frame, he is able to wrestle you down quickly, barely breaking a sweat as you squirmed and screamed murder at him. Tear blurred your visions as you tried your best to hurt Jimin in any way you can, but he takes it like it's nothing. Growing tired of your noise, he slams your head against the floor, knocking you unconscious.

––♡♡♡––

When you awaken a day later, you find cuts all over your legs and arms, as well as a strange ache between your legs. You don't even have the energy to let out a sob as you curl back into yourself.

A note by your bedside table:

"Since I took something away from you, I thought it was only fair that I gave you something back in return. Something you will always remember me by."

––♡♡♡––

You keep trying to write songs to please Jimin. As it turns out, anything you churn out will earn you his seal of approval, so long as it is none of the drafts from your old hard drive. Every song you write garners you a meal and cup of water. You don't know what he does with the songs you write, and you honestly don't care. None of the songs have any meaning to you; they are all just strings of words and notes hastily sewn together for the sake of having something to present to Jimin.

Five days since he had broken your hard drive, and you have written almost twenty songs in that time frame. "Enough songs for an album," you mutter darkly to yourself, staring forlornly out the window. Some time during your confinement, Jimin had installed metal bars across the window, leaving you no means of escape––or death.

You were his own personal music box.

In the distance, a police siren blares. Your ears perk up, straining your eyes to find any signs of an approaching car. To your incredible joy, you can see the telltale signs of a blue and red light growing closer to the cabin. You start hammering on the windows, hoping for them to notice you, but your cries are unfortunately unheard from the third floor. You watch, hopeless as two police officers jump out of the car and towards the front door. From your perch, you cannot see their faces, but you think you can see one of them dragging their foot with a light limp.

Pressing your ear against the floor, you try your hardest to listen to their conversation, but Jimin has always talked in very hushed tones. You catch the sound of a deeper voice, loud enough to hear but not enough to decipher his words. There is another voice, but this one is slightly familiar. You pound your fists against the floorboards, but neither of the police officers seem to have noticed.

You try your best to scream for help, but your voice is too hoarse from hours of crying yourself to sleep. You punch the floor in misery, despair wracking your body as another chance to escape slips through your fingers for the second time.

Your gaze catches on the keyboard in the corner of you room. You had forgotten about its presence, largely unable to use it due to some of your fingers still being broken. You plug the thing in, raising the volume to its highest setting and testing it out to find that it was much louder than you had anticipated.

Despite the insistent throbbing of your fingers, you begin to play.

––♡♡♡––

"What's that sound?" Officer Yoongi says, turning back just as Jimin was about to usher him out the door. Jimin huffs in annoyance, but his face melts back into its usual sunshine-y way when the officer stares at him expectantly.

"Oh, probably my guest. She likes playing the piano during this time of day," he replies smoothly. Officer Jungkook limps back into the house, peering at his chief curiously.

"Chief? What are you waiting for? We still have other houses to search," he says.

"I recognize this song," Officer Yoongi replies, humming slightly as the piano's haunting melody echoes throughout the house. "I used to play piano back in the day. I think this is Schubert."

"Shoe who?" Officer Jungkook laughs, the mirth dying in his eyes when he sees the concentrated look on his chief's face. "Yoongi-hyung?" He questions once more.

"Nothing," he finally says, his gaze still turned upward in thought. He waves absentmindedly at Jimin. "Sorry for intruding. Like Jungkook said, we still have other houses to search. Let us know if you hear news about Y/N."

"No problem," Jimin says sweetly, shutting the door firmly on their way out.

When the car reaches the bottom of the mountain, it is only then when Yoongi remembers. "Erlkönig. That's the song," he says.

Something stirs uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach.

––♡♡♡––

Days have passed and it takes longer for you to produce enough songs to feed yourself. Malnourished and severely weak, you pass out almost consistently, unable to keep awake long enough to even leave the bed to write. After the fourteenth day, you suppose Jimin must have taken pity on you, because suddenly you find yourself submerged in a warm bath with his gentle hands rubbing soap all over your body.

You might have tried resisting, or you might have not. It’s hard to remember the details, even while it is happening You are too weak to even speak, allowing this wretched man to wash you without struggle. He rubs at your breasts and thighs, his fingers grazing your core teasingly, but you feel nothing. You are a living corpse, waiting for your captor to let you rot in peace.

"This must feel good, huh? After weeks of leaving you in your own filth... See? I can be forgiving too," he murmurs, fingers rubbing circles over your slit.

Your tired eyes can barely keep themselves open, but as luck might have it, you manage to see the toilet's porcelain cover is slightly ajar. Perhaps Jimin had been busy repairing the toilet earlier that day––it did not matter. All that matters is that you had one final chance to escape right under your fingertips, and you'd be damned if you wouldn't try one last time before completely submitting yourself to your fate.

I will not die. I will not die. I will not die.

You chant these words incessantly into your head until it is all you can hear, see, feel. Jimin turns his head for a moment to get more soap, and in that moment, you are filled with enough energy to grab the porcelain slab and slam it against his head. Jimin crumbles against the impact, his body folding in agony as he cradles his head in pain.

You swing it again and again, aiming for his head every time until he moved no longer.

"And stay fucking dead," you finish, dropping the chipped slab onto his unmoving carcass.

Adrenaline continues to pump through your veins as you slump back into the tub, the gravity of what you had done still keeping your mind on overdrive. After a few more minutes of heavy breathing, you manage to pull yourself out of the tub. You shrug on your shirt and pants, limping haphazardly out of the door.

When you go to lock the bathroom door, you scream in surprise when Jimin jams his foot in the doorway. Awake and alive, he struggles to go into a sitting position, his eyes blazing with unrestrained fury. You slam the door repeatedly over his foot, but he manages to hold the door open enough to pull himself up.

"You bitch," he growls, blood dripping from his broken skull. You scream louder, desperately pushing his foot out of the way in order to close the door. Despite Jimin's unexpected reanimation, it appears that he is still weak from your brutal battering to his head, so you are able to push his foot out of the doorway and lock the door. To your horror, you can hear his nails scratch against the wood, his cries of anguish sounding warbled and inhuman. You step back, waiting for the door to burst open and for your inevitable death––and it never comes. The scratches stop, the wailing ends, and the house is still.

Finally free of your captor, you run out the front door and take your first breath of fresh air in weeks. With a smile on your face and blood on your hands, you promptly pass out in the middle of the lawn.

––♡♡♡––

You wake up in the back of Jungkook's police car.

"Wha––?" You jolt awake, fear starting to pump through you as you whipped around to survey your surroundings. A large hand pushes you back into your seat, and your eyes focus on the face of a dead man standing.

Well, sitting.

"Y/N, relax! You're safe with us," he whispers, urging you to take deep breaths. You inhale and exhale, eyes still wide in shock at the sight of the man you had thought to be dead.

"I––Jungkook, I thought you were de––"

"I'm so sorry Y/N," Jungkook says instead, enveloping you into a tight hug. You release a sob, partly in confusion but mostly in relief for having a friend around you. The two of you cry in tandem, apologies coming out of your both your mouths as you tried to make sense of what was going on.

"Wait, why are you sorry? I was the one who crashed the car and led you to being kidnapped," Jungkook says, tears staining his handsome face.

You shake your head. "No. This is all my fault. If I hadn't asked you to drive me all the way to this stupid resort at night, we wouldn't have crashed and just––"

"Hey," Jungkook whispers, shushing with a finger. "Let's stop blaming ourselves, okay? We're taking you to the hospital downtown so you can get your injuries checked. Yoongi-hyung sent the other officers to clean up Park's resort while we––"

"No!" You scream, shaking Jungkook off of you in a panic. You shake the driver, begging him to turn around. "Jimin is still alive! He's going to kill them––"

"Aish. Jungkook-ah, restrain Miss Y/N, will you? I don't want the three of us getting killed by an avoidable car crash, okay?" The driver growls. Jungkook carefully hugs you to his chest, effectively imprisoning you in his gentle but firm hold.

"Yes sir, Officer Yoongi," he says before turning his attention to you. "Don't worry, Y/N. Jimin's dead. We found his body outside his garden. He jumped out of the bathroom window, probably in an attempt to escape the authorities," he explains. You shiver at the news, knowing full well that Jimin had probably been on the way to murder you.

“How did you find me? I thought I was going to die in front of that house,” you ask, hands trembling despite the warmth of the car. Jungkook cups your bloodied fingers in his larger ones, being careful not to jostle your wounds too much. You want to tell him that it’s fine––most of it was Jimin’s blood, anyway.

“After the crash, I had woken up alone with my legs broken. I called dispatch to try and look for you, but it seems that we had been missing for two days already,” he explains, voice soft and smooth. It’s almost odd hearing him speak, after being so used to listening only to the sound of Jimin’s voice and your own sobs.

“We had visited Jimin’s cabin a few days ago, trying to find you. Yoongi-hyung already had a bad feeling about him, since his mannerisms seemed too practiced and controlled––trademark signs of someone who is very good at hiding his secrets. Then, we heard the sound of your piano,” he says, gazing at you in awe. “It was brilliant of you.”

“Erlkönig,” Yoongi comments from the front, nodding grimly. “I thought it was an odd choice to play. It’s a song laced with death. I’m glad I trusted my gut instinct and returned to the cabin after we received a search warrant.” He shifts his head slightly to look at you, his gaze piercing but kind. Different from the sickly saccharine gaze that Jimin always used to have. “Music really did save your life.”

You don’t want to think about music right now. You don’t want to think about anything at all. "I just want to go home," you whisper, body slumping from exhaustion. Jungkook cards his hands through your hair, murmuring words of comfort as you slowly dropped off into dreamland.

"It's going to be all right... You're safe now... Nothing can ever hurt you again..."

––♡♡♡––

5 years later.

You enter the concert venue's VIP booth without a sound. Most of the other attendees hardly bat their eyes as you slink your way to your seat. You hold a picket fan with Gowon's smiling face on it, a banner with Sooyoung's name, and a wristband with Hana's grumpy face emblazoned on the side. You make it just in time for them to open the concert with their opening song.

The deep bass of Zemblanity filters its way through the overhead speakers, and the sound of thousands of screaming fans almost drown out the song entirely. You grin at the sight of young men and women screaming the fanchants in tandem, even laughing loudly when you'd catch the faint sound of "Y/N" mixed in at the end. You join the chants for most of the songs––all except the first song.

A boy with pink and yellow hair notices your silence, and points a boxy-grin back at you.

"Not a fan of Zemblanity? Even though it topped the Billboard charts twice in a row?"

The boy looks nothing like him. His cheeks are too thin, and his eyes are too dark. And yet, there's something about him that brings a chill up your spine. You make a mental note to make an appointment with your therapist first thing in the morning.

"Nah. Not a big fan. Heard the producer is an asshat," you say, shrugging your shoulders. The boy laughs, loud and pretty.

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