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thisreadswhatever · 6 months

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The Chase: Part One

Pretty Sweet

series masterlist

[description]: jax teller x female reader

[wordcount]: 2.7k+

[summary]: Jax Teller is used to getting what he wants. At least that was the case before he met you.

[cw]: 18+ only minors do not interact - AU, follows some canon characters & themes but timeline is different. otherwise none yet, but stick with me, I have a smutty plan!

[authors note]: this has been really fun to write. thank you so much to this anon for requesting this idea! I plan on writing a good few parts of this.. as I am really loving writing this reader insert. if you have any ideas or suggestions on where you would like this to go, please let me know! I absolutely love getting your suggestions. I really hope you enjoy!

It had been a long sixteen hour drive. You sighed with relief as you sped past the large wooden slice, “WELCOME TO CHARMING”. You rolled your windows down, the wind blistering through your hair as you took in the warm California sun.

You turned the music up, attempting to drown out the events replaying in your head that led you here in the first place.

Charming wasn’t exactly on your bucket list of places to travel. Your parents had split a few years back, after your mom decided she could no longer handle the baggage that came with the Sons of Anarchy MC. Your Dad was an avid member of the Denver Charter, and she soon realised she couldn’t sit back and watch as he grew deeper into the Club. It was a quick and amicable divorce, made easier by the fact you were an only child and more than understanding of why the relationship had to end. You were old enough to see the pain your mom went through trying to make it work, and you knew that it was the best decision for them both. Your Dad on the other hand, never really got over it.

When your mom remarried last year, he decided to leave Colorado and transferred to the SAMCRO Charter. Charming was his home now. He’d been begging you to visit him for months, and despite the fact you were genuinely pleased that he was happy, seeing him so far from home and content without his family wasn’t something you’d looked forward too.

Charming was a small place, and from what your Dad had told you, it had never really left the seventies. Denver was the total opposite, a city full of life and people, and ever growing with new expanding chains of business. Even with the freezing winters, there was always something to do in Denver. But Charming? They barely had a population of fifteen thousand.

You had evaded the trip for as long as you could, blaming college assignments and exams for the reason you couldn’t make the drive. Now that you’d graduated, the excuses had run thin, and it was time to visit your Dad in Charming.

You pulled into the road of the address he had given you, entering a long unpaved driveway that ended on the outside of a dainty cabin. Your Dad’s bike was parked stagnant on the dirt. You dug your suitcase out from your trunk and walked up the wooden steps to the porch, bringing your hand to the door to knock. Before your knuckles could meet the wood, the door flung wide and your Dad lunged at you with open arms.

“You’re finally here!”, he squealed in excitement as he grasped you into a giant bear hug.

“‘Finally’ is right. That was a serious drive, Dad.”

He took your suitcase and carried it through the entryway. “Sure is. I’m so glad you got here safely, kiddo. Come on, let’s get you settled. You hungry? I was just about to make some lunch.”

You followed him inside as you observed the interior of the quaint, dusty cabin. “I could definitely eat.”

—

Your Dad showed you to your room and then became sidetracked from lunch, giving you a full tour of his new home and the complete low down of all things SAMCRO. He’d explained that the place was owned by the Club, but nobody ever frequented it unless they were in hiding. Your Dad was housed here for the long term, or at least until he could find something he liked better inside the Charming suburbs.

Once he’d caught you up, he made his start on lunch. You watched as he strolled throughout the kitchen, sitting patiently at the small round dining table.

“It’s a nice place, Dad. Not sure how I feel that you’re out here all alone though.”

“I’m barely here, kiddo. Spend most of my time down the Clubhouse.” He shrugged nonchalantly as he continued to make sandwiches, dropping a piece of turkey in the process. “I can’t wait for you to meet the guys, y/n. A lot more warm than the ones up in Denver. Some of them are your age too.” He placed the plate in front of you, and you grimaced at the site. Your Dad had never claimed to be a great chef.

“Thanks.” You smiled at him politely, taking a bite and struggling to swallow down the piece of dry sandwich. “I’m sure they’re great, Dad.”

“So, how’s your mom?”

You shrugged dismissively, unsure how to broach the uncomfortable topic of the newly weds. “She’s doing well. Mike is good to her.”

He nodded. “That’s good. I’m really glad she’s happy.”

It was hard to see your Dad try to be okay with the fact that your mom had moved on. The awkward silence was interrupted by his chair scraping against the floor as he stood up from the table. “Finish lunch and we can head on out. The guys are getting together at the Clubhouse tonight, you can meet them all there.”

You knew an evening with a bunch of Californian bikers was going to be inevitable during your trip. At least you could get it over with on the first night.

“Sounds great, Dad.”

—

You weren’t thrilled to be back in the confines of your car so soon after your long road trip, but your Dad knew better than to ask you to sit on the back of his motorcycle.

You rolled the windows down of your car as you followed his bike through the winding road from the cabin. As you re-entered Charming, you passed by locally run stores and cafes. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think this was a quiet, peaceful town. But you did know better. You knew what the Club’s presence actually meant for a small community like Charming. If SAMCRO was anything similar to the Denver Charter, the underworkings of this town would be anything but quiet and peaceful.

You pulled into the lot of Teller-Morrow Automotive Repairs, instantly drawn to the huge row of Harley motorcycles lined up on the inner bays.

Your Dad parked up and met you outside your car, telling you all about his new job in the garage as you walked together. He led you across the lot towards a small black door, entering into the SAMCRO clubhouse. It was impressive, a comfortable space with its own bar and lounge area. The place was full of MC memorabilia and pictures from the club’s long history. The furthest wall was centered by two large double doors that were surrounded by mugshots of the SAMCRO members. You had visited the Denver Clubhouse enough to know that room was where the decisions were made.

Your Dad introduced you one by one to several members that were there, a few of which he’d mentioned to you that afternoon. Bobby, Chibs, Trager, Juice and Opie all greeted you with open arms. They were extremely friendly and welcoming, just as your father had promised. The one your Dad called Trager seemed very pleased with your arrival, hugging you for a little too long. Your Dad managed to break the long embrace, pulling you away to start touring you around the building.

“Don’t get too close to that one, kiddo. He’s a little out there.”

You giggled as you nodded in agreement, “I’ll keep my distance.”

—

You sat alongside the club’s Secretary, Bobby, on a leather bench that faced out with a view of the entire room. You observed as the Clubhouse filled with more members and women, a handful of which were old ladies. The rest of them, very clearly single. Of all the members you’d met so far, Bobby had been the easiest to talk to. He clued you in on some of the Club’s legitimate businesses, Cara Cara and Red Woody Productions. You figured that’s where most of the girls came from, retired and current porn stars.

It was a little strange, and anyone else may have felt uneasy seeing their father in this kind of environment. But you were used to the life of girls and guns from growing up with a dad in a motorcycle club. The Denver Charter had its fair share of women in and out of their doors, but mainly just bartenders and the odd crow eater looking for a way in. These girls were more forward, scantily clothed, makeup on point, and obviously comfortable with their surroundings.

Bobby nudged your shoulder, regaining your attention from the party happening around you. “You know your Dad talks about you constantly. He’s so happy that you’re here, kid. We all are.”

You glanced over at your father, a huge smile forming as he collected a drink from the bar.

“He does seem happy. Just weird seeing him away from home.”

“You got a home here with us too now, y/n.” He placed his arm over you and squeezed your shoulder reassuringly, “we’re your family as much as we are his.”

“That’s really sweet, Bobby. Thanks.”

He pulled his arm back as he chuckled to himself, his large stomach bellowing as he laughed. “I am pretty sweet.”

Suddenly, the front door opened and a roar of drunken welcomes filled the clubhouse as two more members entered. The President of SAMCRO, Clay Morrow, walked in smiling ear to ear, hands held up as though he was a celebrity greeting his adoring fans. You’d heard a lot about Clay from your father, mainly that he was the initial sponsor for his transfer from Denver, and some remarks about what an ass he was. Behind him, a much younger member followed, embracing Opie as he entered. He was different from the other members, not totally clean cut, but you could at least tell he had showered. Not only was he bathed, he wasn’t harsh on the eyes either. You watched as he talked with Opie, his hands pushing his long blonde hair behind his ears as he spoke.

“Who’s that?” You asked Bobby, your eyes never feigning from the man.

“That’s Jax. Club’s VP.”

As you watched him converse with Opie, he suddenly glanced your way, locking eyes with you. You quickly turned away from him and back towards Bobby.

“He looks a little young to be Vice President”, you mumbled as you took a swig from your beer, still conscious that he was looking at you.

Bobby laughed, “Yeah, well, he’s a Teller. His Dad was First 9 alongside Clay and Piney Winston, Ope’s pops. Jax has been SAMCRO since he came out of the womb.”

You raised your eyebrows, glancing back over your shoulder. Jax’s attention had now been obtained by one of the Cara Cara girls. She was pulling him in by his cutte, batting her eyelashes at him as she leaned against the bar.

Bobby watched as you observed Jax. He sipped his drink, amused by your interest. “He’s known for his way with the ladies.”

You wanted to press Bobby further, but your Dad suddenly was stumbling over beside you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Come on over here, kid. I want you to meet my sponsor.”

“The asshole?”, you whispered to him as you stood up from the chair.

He snickered back at you, patting you on the back. “He’s having a good day.”

—

You were impressed by the brotherhood the Redwood Originals shared. It wasn’t unfamiliar to the Denver Charter, but the way the members of SAMCRO loved one another was palpable. You observed quietly throughout the night as they all ripped into each other with lighthearted banter and spilled beer all over the place. You were conflicted by the fact your Dad fit in so well here. It was painful to know he had chosen this life over one with you in Denver, but you still felt at peace knowing he had found a place in this family.

He was now slumped over a leather armchair in the lounge, snoozing after one too many beers. You nudged his shoulder, trying to wake him. “I’m gonna head back to the cabin, Dad. I’ll meet you here in the morning?”

“You sure, y/n?” He tried to stand up as he slurred, but his balance failed him, collapsing back into the seat. “I can lead you back-”

You chuckled, placing a hand on his head as he closed his eyes, “No way are you getting on a bike in this state. I remember the way.”

Tig overheard and slid himself beside you, placing an arm across your waist. “We’ll take care of him, sweetie. Don’t you worry. Get back safe, okay?”

You unwound from his grasp, collecting your bag from the coffee table as you searched through the contents for your keys. “Thanks Trager.”

A strange laugh left his throat as he watched you leave, before his face turned straight as a board. “Call me Tig.”

You said your goodbyes to the members that were sober enough to communicate, and made your way to the parking lot.

Jax Teller was sitting outside the clubhouse, journal and pencil in hand. He glanced up at the sound of the door opening, a lit cigarette hanging from his lips.

He smiled boldly, in a way that perplexed you. Almost like he was happy to see you, even though you’d never met. He took the cigarette from his lips as he asked, “you’re Ralph’s kid, right?”

“I usually just go by y/n.”

He placed his pencil inside the journal and tucked it snug in his cutte, standing from the bench. “It’s a nice thing you’re doing, coming all this way to see him.”

You nodded, “had to make sure my Dad wasn’t living with some crazed psychopaths, you know?”

He exhaled, his lips forming a perfect O as the smoke left his lips. “Pretty sure a few of those knuckleheads could pass for psychotic”, he teased. His mouth pulled into an infectious smile, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

Jax walked closer towards you, your bodies now inches apart. He held out an open pack of cigarettes, prompting you to take one. You shook your head, declining the offer.

“And what about you? How’s your level of sanity?”

Jax hesitated. “A work in progress.”

You smiled politely as you walked past him, making your way to the car. “Anyway, I was just leaving. Was nice meeting you.”

Jax’s brow creased in concern, “you heading to the cabin on your own?”

You looked over your shoulder to see him pacing behind you, flicking his cigarette to the cement.

“My Dad’s not exactly in riding order.”

“I can take you back.”

You stopped outside your car and turned to him, scoffing at how forward he was. “I met you thirty seconds ago.”

“So?” He shrugged.

“I don’t really think that’s appropriate.”

“I’m not asking to get in bed with you, y/n. You can ride the Harley with me and I’ll leave the second you’re in the cabin.”

You opened the car door, sliding into the seat. “Not gonna happen.”

“I won’t lay a hand on ya, darlin’,” he raised his hand up, smiling, “scouts honor.”

You pressed your lips together, suppressing yourself from giggling at his innocent gesture. “I don’t ride bikes.” You affirmed.

Jax cocked his head at you, confused at the statement. “Denver girl’s scared of bikes?”

Your eyes rolled at his assumption. “No offense, but I just met you. I’m not sure my safety is your concern.” You shut the car door, realising your window had been left ajar from the way there. You wanted to curse aloud that the good Californian weather enabled the opportunity to ride with the windows down.

Jax didn’t push further, nodding his head as he watched you settle into the driver's seat. “No offense taken.”

Jax leaned his head into the open window, resting his arms on the roof of the car. You turned the ignition, letting the engine roar to life. “Nice to meet you, Jax.”

“You too, darlin’. Will I see you again?”

You were looking directly at him, your faces parted only by the frame of the window between you. “I’m here for the week, darlin’.”

His lips pulled from ear to ear, smiling playfully as you put the gear in reverse, forcing his hands off the car as you pulled out of the parking lot. You peaked in the rear-view mirror, finding Jax still watching you drive away into the Charming night.

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curtsycream · 3 months

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bro PLEASEEE WRITE any poly 141 smut x reader i’ll DIEEE

Sons Of Anarchy AU

President!Price x Bartender!Reader x Prospect!Gaz

Hints at Vice-President!Simon x Reader, Sergeant in Arms!Soap x Reader. It’s Poly!141 x Reader all round. Reader is basically all four of their old lady she’s the HBIC tbh

I wanted to try something new and why not have them be apart of a motorcycle club/ mechanic shop owners. It’s a hot concept I couldn’t help it but here is the smut! I hope you like it <33

warnings: size kink, manhandling, threesome, blowjob, public sex, slight cock worshiping, ball play (idk a little), throat bulging, and not proofread (yikes), afab reader (its become a force of habit nowadays, thanks to my agere fics)

Putting away the last of the shot glasses on the bar counter she lets out a hum. The chime of the bell above the front door caused her to stand up. Her eyes take in John in all of his glory the MC’s President with a grin on his face.

“John, I thought you guys were heading to New Mexico for that thing with the KorTac MC?”

“Ghost and Soap went with the others, I decided to stay back.”

Placing a shot of whiskey in front of him she raises an eyebrow. She knew there was more to his story than he let on. After a few years of bartending for the MC, she pieced up on mannerisms and behaviors. “Lay it on me, boss, what’s the real reason?”

Looking from the shot to her he shakes his head, “Who’s ta say I have a reason? Maybe I just didn’t feel like going because I’m getting older.”

“Bullshit, we both know you’re as healthy as a stallion,” her focus goes back to cleaning up the bar.

“Oh, am I? Didn’t know you were my doctor,” his voice was drowned out by the sound of the bunnies entering the clubhouse.

Pointing at the door she scowls, “Out girls…y’all know not to come in here around this time.”

Her words were met with eye rolls and huffs of disappointment. It wasn’t anything new as she grew used to the disorderly behavior of the prostitutes. They were always ready to jump at the chance to be with one of the men. They assumed it would earn them a place as an old lady as long as the man they fucked had a kuttle.

“I swear it’s like they don’t give up, just last week I had to scare off a few that were hounding Roach,” she grumbled.

John folded his arms his eyes never leaving the ranting woman before him. It wasn’t a surprise that she was upset she was practically the head old lady in the MC. Aside from being a bartender, she was the support system for 141. He was sure without her being the backbone of their operations they wouldn’t have gotten so far.

“You know what I think,” he mused leaning forward on the counter. The shot glass is in his hand as he twirls the remaining sip of whiskey around. “I think you need to release some stress. When was the last time you moved away from that bar?”

The question hung heavy above her head as she covered her face with her hands. Letting out a groan she shakes her head, “Since last night the party.” The realization of just how long she had been at the clubhouse was finally catching up to her. Removing her hands from her face she looks at the man, “I think I need a break.”

“I figured as much.”

When she first thought over his words of releasing some stress she didn’t think it through. She should have known what he meant but it was too late and he was in deep.

“Keep your hands right there, darling.”

She did just that her hands didn’t move an inch from the bar counter. With each thrust her body jerked forward colliding either the counter. Her moans were ragged, her nails digging into the polished wood before her. The way John’s cock barely fit inside of her was more than a turn-on. He was only halfway in but it was still enough to leave her keening.

“You can take more of me, can’t you girl? You can take all of me if ya want to,” his voice was a rumble.

“Mm—can take more promise, boss.”

That was all it took before his hand raised her leg until it was propped on the countertop. Pulling his cock out he lined himself up with her heat again. It took everything in him not to thrust all the way in the second he felt her wetness coat his cock. “Sweet Lord..” he muttered as he slowly sank into her until he bottomed out.

“Shit..John, need more. Fuck me,” her words direct while she arched her back.

“Yes ma’am,” the roughness in his voice a reflection of his current state. The moment he got the okay he pulled out until only the tip was inside before he slammed back inside. His hands moved up the front of her body rubbing and pulling her nipples. Each sound she made was like heaven to him. She wasn’t shy that much was evident due to where they were.

Bucking his hips forward he buried his face against the side of her neck. His lips left kisses as he whispered praise to her. His words fed a primal urge inside of her, “Always fuck me so good…love your fucking cock.”

If it wasn’t for him holding her up she would have collapsed from his spurt of energy. Her words seemed to do the trick as his thrusts became faster in pace and rougher in intensity. Her grip on the counter loosened up some when she felt his tip hit her cervix repeatedly. The action causes her to clamp around him trying to milk him early.

“Like that, love how you feel inside of me,” she babbled. The words flowing from her lips slowly became nonsensical as she felt him stretch her out due to his size. It was more than enough leaving her stuffed as he grabbed her arms. A gasp left her lips as he held her arms behind her back. Each time he thrusted her body would jerk back and forth. She felt like a toy for his use as he didn’t hold back.

Closing her eyes she let out a loud moan, “‘m so close..please John needa cum. Wanna cum on your cock please,” she felt ready to burst. The warmth pooling in her lower stomach made that clear.

Grunting John leaned forward his lips near her ear, “cum then darling, make a mess on my cock for me.”

His words were her downfall as she came undone right away. All he gave her was a few seconds before he was thrusting into her again. She was still riding out her orgasm as he prepared to send her into another one. “Good girl, such a good girl for me.”

“Always, boss.”

The nickname had more of an effect on him than he would like to admit. Pulling her flush against his chest he grabbed her by the thighs. Holding her legs wide open he thrusted up into her. The sight of her gushing pussy with his cock moving in and out was on display to their invisible audience. “Oh…fuck..” she let out as her fingers moved down to her pussy as she rubbed her clit. Her fingers fast as she heard him shudder. She knew he was close it was all in the lazy strokes and his heavy breathing.

Her breathing hitched as she felt his cock pride at her spot before he came inside of her. A guttural moan left his throat at the same time that she let out a cry. Her fingers still rubbing her clit as she squirted coating her fingers and his cock in her juices.

“Fuck, that was hot.”

Looking up she noticed Gaz the man had a grin on his face. The look of lust in his eyes didn’t go unnoticed by either of them.

“Am I late? Don’t tell me you forgot about me,” he asked a small pout playing at his lips.

Smiling at him she shakes her head, “never we’re just getting started.”

Her throat flexed as she took Gaz’s cock down her throat. Though he was slightly smaller in girth compared to John he made up for it in length. His hands rest on either side of her head holding her in place as he thrusted in and out of her mouth. His cock disappeared behind her lips as he watched with bated breath.

A moan ripped from her throat vibrating against his cock. His hands twitched as he groaned from the feeling. The reason behind her moans was John whose head was between her thighs. His tongue lapped at her folds sucking on the glistening skin.

Her fingers lace in his hair as he raises her hips while his tongue licks from top to bottom. Looking up at Gaz she kept her eyes on his face. His closed eyes, knit brows, and parted lips that released a sound with each thrust. Using her free hand she raises it past his length to cradle his balls. She knew her men inside and out when it came to their spots and their weaknesses. Her thumb gently runs along his balls evoking a loud groan from him. A gasp left her own lips when John’s tongue flicked her clit.

It was hard to focus as her hand continued to gently stroke and rub his balls. Her other hand twitched as she kept a loose grip on John’s hair. She took note of the signs as Gaz seemed to move slower his hips stuttering with each thrust. Slowly but surely she was coaxing his release out of him. It was in the way her hand caressed his balls and how she would bob her head forward gagging on his cock. In that same way, John’s skillful attack on her swollen cunt was leading her into another orgasm.

“Shit baby,” Gaz said as his hand rested on her throat feeling as his cock would reach the back of her throat. He was over with the second he felt it, her little noises didn’t help either. Keeping his hand on her throat he tossed his head back cumming down her throat.

She was swallowing as her eyebrows furrowed when her own orgasm came. Her thighs shook as she came with John holding her firmly in place. Even as her hips rocked forward he didn’t let up until he raised his head. Her eyes focused on him as he swallowed with a cheeky smile. The pounding in her heart was hard as she watched him move away. It allowed her to sit up a bit when Gaz finally removed his cock from her mouth. Leaning up on her knees she wipes the drool from her chin.

With the help of Gaz, she got down from the bar counter standing on her feet. The ache between her thighs filled her with a rush of adrenaline. “I think we should take this upstairs, loves…I’m sure we can find use of that shower.”

A chuckle left John as he nodded, “I like the sound of that, darling.”

Pulling her close to his side Gaz smiles, “I’m not complaining. Need to see if you can take two like Soap said.”

“I can promise you, I can take more than two,” she said with a wink before sauntering away. The two men weren’t far behind ready to try a few more things before the day ended.

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veinsfullofstars · 2 months

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"Now can we please get on with the meeting already? The monarchy isn't gonna overthrow itself, y'know."

(ID: Kirby series fanart comic, Kintsugi AU, featuring Dark Meta Knight stuck in a mission debriefing, clearly bored and letting his thoughts wander towards a certain rat thief, much to the frustration of his old friend/begrudging henchperson, Mirror Sailor Dee. Transcript below the cut. END ID.)

Me: wants rarepair shenanigans. Also me: wants compelling plotlines. Also me: compromises by making an absurd amount of notes for yet another highly-detailed and overcomplicated AU. Also me: tired of my nonsense.

Started 03/09/24, finished 03/10/24.

---

Transcript:

Panel 1

*A dimly-lit, nondescript room, the plain walls tacked with papers and sticky notes depicting scribbled writing and various images, such as the Dimension Mirror, Dark Matter, the sword Master, a crossed-out headshot of Shadow Dedede, and the symbol for anarchy. DMK sits at a simple table looking off to our left with lidded eyes, leaning his head on one hand, the other tapping idly against the tabletop (SFX: tmp tmp). Three thought bubbles float over his head, each showing a different physical feature of Daroach - his sharp-toothed smile, his long claws, and his big ears respectively. A faint blush can be seen just behind the knight's mask.*

Panel 2

M!Sailor: (from off-screen, depicted as a simplified Waddle Dee head with two slash scars on their right cheek, wearing a white sailor cap with a blue-and-periwinkle ribbon, a blue bill, and two fishing hooks embedded in the top, yelling with their eyes squeezed shut) Hey, scarface! Quit daydreaming about your boyfriend for five seconds and pay attention!

*DMK startles, eyes shrunk to little gold lines, the arm holding up his head slipping out from under him, nearly bumping his chin on the table.*

Panel 3

*DMK turns sharply to our right to point and glare at M!Sailor off-screen, slamming his fist down on the table (SFX: THUD!).*

DMK: (angrily) Hey, shut up, he's not my-

Panel 4

*DMK pauses, his eyes once more shrunk to points, his pointing hand dropping a bit as he realizes what he just said (shown by an ellipses over his head). A tiny bit of blush can be seen through the mask.*

Panel 5

DMK: (glaring and pointing once more, the blush in his face more noticeable, visibly sweating) I mean, I am paying attention!

M!Sailor: (from off-screen, looking unimpressed with half-lidded eyes) Nice cover, Boss. Very convincing.

#veins art #veins ships #veins fanart #fanart #kirby series #kirby #dark meta knight #mirror sailor waddle dee #<- (not sure if I should mark them as an OC or not so I'll just leave it untagged for now)#dark meta knight x daroach #darkroach #rarepair #AU #kintsugi au #comic #Dameta “Shirking His Responsibilities” Knight #kicking his feet - twirling his hair - thinkin' 'bout boys (rats)#homeboy is *obsessed* with those claws #he's also not nearly as good of a liar as he thinks he is #(not lying about the first thing tho - they're not *technically* boyfriends)#and frankly M!Sailor does *not* need more of his personal drama right now #they may technically be his subordinate #but they've known him for far too long to have much respect left for him #not when they're the one leading the rebel alliance #and he's out there wasting his time on “side hobbies”#suggestive #<- (it's not really that bad but just in case)#veinsfullofstars

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nateofgreat · 4 months

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John Brown-Qui Gon AU where he does what the anti-Jedi's all act like he (and the rest of the Order) should've done when he met Anakin on Tattooine.

-Upon realizing Watto owns slaves, Qui-Gon immediately kills him with his lightsaber or the Force in the name of liberating them. He tries to convince Anakin and Shmi to come along but naturally Shmi's terrified of this violent stranger, takes Anakin, and high tails it out of there.

-But of course there are other slaves for Qui Brown to save so he proceeds to attack the markets and start killing slavers left and right, freeing their slaves. Local guards try to stop him but they're no match for a Jedi and some of the braver slaves take up arms to help him.

-The town's starting to dip into anarchy now, word reaches Jabba the Hutt and he sends bounty hunters out into the city to find and kill the Jedi before the disturbance can become a full-blown rebellion, escalating things further.

-At this point Padme and friends all beg Qui Brown to remember why they're even there in the first place. "Please Master Qui Gon! My people need me and we're stuck on this planet!" But being the anti-Jedi's idea of what an ideal Jedi should be he ignores her and goes on to kill Jabba.

-The loss of central power causes all the gangs to erupt into a war to claim his throne, including slaver guilds who start kidnapping people in the chaos. So Qui Brown starts fighting them next. By this point Tattooine is a mess of anarchy and word is spreading outside the planet about what's happening.

-Obi-Wan tries to stage an intervention. "Master please, I hate slavery too but this really isn't the time or way!" When this doesn't work they manage to find the hyperdrive parts in Watto's old shop, which the Nabooian's use to flee, leaving Qui Brown behind to his crusade.

-The Jedi Council are all befuddled when they hear what Qui Brown did, first not believing it. They send some Jedi to check, finding him in the middle of his one-man war. "Dude, what the heck? We sent you to stop a war not start a new one!" They eventually subdue him and drag him back to Corusant where the Senate is furious with them.

-Hearings are held, the Naboo crisis becomes old news as dozens of independent systems reach out with complaints and concerns, accusing the Republic and Jedi of violating neutrality and dozens of peace treaties; this gives fuel to the Separatist movement.

-Palpatine meanwhile just kind of sits and stares in awe. "Huh, I thought this Naboo thing would be my ticket to Supreme Chancellorship... But this is even better!" He calls a no confidence vote on Vallorum for letting this happen. Upon becoming Chancellor he passes a bazillion restrictions and other means of controlling the Jedi.

-The Anti-Jedi fandom of this AU holds Qui Brown up as an example of how "dogmatic" "violent" and "shortsighted the Jedi are." "Wow look at these crazy Jedi, waging wars on neutral planets! Couldn't he have thought of a more diplomatic approach?"

Worst case scenario? Maybe, but maybe there's a reason the Jedi aren't invading planets with slavery.

#Star Wars #Pro Jedi #Jedi Order #the Jedi #Qui Gon Jinn #Qui Brown AU #With respect to the historical John Brown #Obi-Wan Kenobi #Shmi Skywalker #Anakin Skywalker #Sheev Palpatine

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fluffythelawyerkitty · 21 days

Text

Fluffy Sour Arachnid (Overlord AU)

:Personality: Acts smug and rude, but it’s really a defense mechanism. In reality, they’re extremely maternal and careful individual. They do not trust easily and should not be easily trusted.

:Gouls: 1: survive! 2: Not piss off the overlords too badly. 3:Just be a lawyer! and get closer to Heaven no matter what it takes...

:Abilities: they can grow extra set of arms. they are venomous, transferring their venom to their opponent through scratching, stinging and biting. They can make red web, it is elastic and rather strong. They’re also an excellent climber.

:Origin: they woke up in hell, after being shot in the heart. Using their web of family members in hell (and a few deals), they got surprisingly powerful and a good stable job as a lawyer. They accidentally got roped into the overlord drama because they called out suspicious behavior...But maybe this could be a good thing…

Status! Dead…

(random RP fun facts!)

1: Even though they’re not on the best terms with most overlords but weirdly, they are sympathetic to @anti-c1ffee and their kid situation. They refuse to admit or explain why. 2:They have Aichmophobia. 3:They are dilf lover/hj. 4:They have a pet frog named Happy. 5: They secretly want to protect souls. 6: they want anarchy so badly um-Their fav food is chocolate strawberries!

#overlord au #tumblr overlord au #oc #oc rp

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invested-in-your-future · 2 months

Note

in previous chapter you wrote that ironwood helped reestablish order before leaving can you please change that because he would never do that have you even watched the show

Example #242452452 of parts of Fandom having a normal one.

First of all, fanfic characters aren't the exact show characters. If all characters acted the same way and did the same things, there would be no need to write the AUs, would there?

Second of all, this would be in line even for Show-Ironwood. You know, the person who bothered to give Yang a robotic arm despite the world falling apart? At that point in the show, his only mistake was relying on robots and getting played by Cinder. If he had the means and there was the need, he would absolutely do everything he could to prevent chaos and anarchy before leaving for Atlas.

It's like one consistent character trait of his in the show, no matter what writers attempted to do with him.

In the AU, relics don't exist, and the vaults don't exist, and he had the means to do something right after the robot screw-up - why wouldn't he? He had time till Atlas forces came to pick them all up, so he would absolutely put the available resources into something productive to fix what Ironwood would view as his fault - at least until he would get recalled back.

Ensuring half the allied Kingdom isn't left just standing confused and scared in the middle of the forest is in line with maintaining order. If anything, it's good PR after his robots ended up shooting at everything that moves.

#rwby #rwde #rwby au #james ironwood #rwby rewrite #general ironwood

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staytheword · 1 year

Text

blood in the cut

blood in the cut — part three of the smell of roses [ ← part two ] [ series masterlist ] [ playlist ] [ general masterlist ]

this series (and this blog) are 18+ !! minors do NOT interact!! no real people are represented.

• lee know x female reader / changbin x female reader / lee know x female reader x changbin (NOT a love triangle), all other stray kids members are featured but not main characters.

• non idol au, bikers au, rivals to lovers au, small town au. inspired by sons of anarchy. (not beta-read so I apologize for any mistakes/typos)

• word count: 10.7k (10,783)

• warnings: violence. implied murder, gunshot wound, mention of stabbing, blood, scars. trauma. gang violence. explicit language. polyamory. explicit smut, dom!minho and dom!changbin, unprotected sex, oral sex (f and m receiving), threesome (mmf), dirty talk, slight voyeurism, slight hair pulling, use of pet names.

You try to hold on to something as your legs fail you, but all you find are the roses. They slip away from your fingers. You fall.

You’re going to die here.

• taglist: @upallnight-s ; @ughbehavior ; @changbinluvr ; @valreadsfics ; @ppiri-bahng ; @mchslut ; @lady---boner ; @defenseofourdreams6277

Your father lets out a sigh, rubbing his fingers. His arthritis has been acting up lately, making it difficult for him to work - what you do requires a precision he’s often no longer able to provide. He’s getting frustrated, you know it, but he’s seeing a doctor regularly. However, on days like these, when it’s humid and heavy outside, his fingers hurt so bad he can barely move them.

“Dad,” you say softly, as he tries to prepare an order for a birthday. “Maybe you should go home. Take your meds, get some sleep.”

“I’m fine,” he retorts.

“Dad,” you insist, glaring at him. “Don’t hurt yourself. Please.”

It takes a while for you to convince him, but he eventually gives in. With the pouring rain outside, no one is coming into the shop anyway, and there’s not much to do. It’s been slow, not that you’re complaining. Hyunjin is coming to see you later, anyway, because he wants to get Seo-ah a bouquet for their anniversary tonight.

You’ve put on some classical music, which always helps you focus on work, humming to the piano and violins. The wall of roses needs some love, so you carefully pick out the roses that start to fade, clip a few stems, let your mind wander. The rain patters against the window, strong and straight, and you know you’ll be soaked within seconds when you step outside.

Hyunjin arrives about an hour later, rain dripping down his cheeks and hands. He shakes his wet hair like a puppy. He’s laughing, eyes sparkling.

“So grateful I chose the restaurant over the picnic for tonight,” he laughs.

“I wonder why,” you joke.

You put his jacket in the back where it can dry, admiring his clothes - he dressed up for the occasion, wearing black slacks and a white shirt. He rolls up the sleeves and starts to look at the roses. He knows he wants a bouquet of it, but since he isn’t sure what he wants, you suggest making it together. You spend a few minutes discussing it before Hyunjin bites his lip.

“Can you give me your honest opinion?”

“Sure,” you tell him.

He takes out a small box and shows you the earrings he bought for Seo-ah. You put a hand to your chest, sighing deeply.

“I thought you were going to show me a ring, for a sec,” you chuckle.

He laughs. “Do I sense some relief, here?”

“Damn right,” you tell him mischievously - he knows you’re only joking. “Would’ve been a loss for all of us to get you off the market for good.”

He shakes his head, amused, but you put a hand on his arm.

“They’re beautiful, Hyun. She’s gonna love them.”

He nods. “Yeah? I think so too. Yeah.”

He’s adorable so you can’t help but hug him, but you quickly go back to the roses, discussing your options. You like to glance at him when he’s focused, because Hyunjin does this thing where the tip of his tongue comes out from between his lips to settle against his teeth, and it is, objectively, the most attractive thing a human being has ever done.

“What about the purple ones?” he wonders. “Do you think they would -”

He stops as the shop’s door opens on a client and gives you a smile.

“I’ll let you handle it,” he says, strolling to the other side of the shop to give you space.

The man is wearing a drenched black hoodie, drawn over his head. You can barely see his face, but you guess it was to protect himself from the rain.

“Hi,” you tell him. “Can I help you with anything today?”

He shrugs. “That’s a lot of roses.”

You chuckle uneasily, because he steps towards you, keeping his hoodie on. There’s someone odd about him - an energy that unsettles you. You glance at Hyunjin, who is standing over the jasmines. He watches you with a frown.

“Yeah,” you say. “They’re our specialty.”

“Right,” he says. “How poetic.”

You frown, but he keeps approaching you, and you want to step back but he’s too fast. In seconds he’s against you, and something pushes against your stomach. It’s hard, cold, cylindric - you freeze.

Everything happens very fast.

“Send the Vices our regards,” he whispers in your ear.

The shot is so loud it’s like you can’t hear it. It vibrates inside you, fills your entire body, and leaves you colder than you’ve ever been.

“Y/N!”

Hyunjin’s voice gets lost in the sound.

It doesn’t even hurt. Not at first, anyway. You stumble backwards as the man chuckles. You put a hand against your stomach - your fingers come back drenched in dark blood. It’s warm. You feel dizzy. You feel out of breath.

You hear steps - Hyunjin is running towards you. You want to tell him to run, to hide, but you can’t. The man raises his arm, and you’re so scared he’ll aim at Hyunjin, but instead he starts to shoot at the roses. Again. Again. And again.

The petals get shredded, and fly towards the ceiling like confetti.

They fall like rain.

Pink, red, white, purple.

In seconds, the shooter is out the door. Hyunjin, who had raised his arms to protect himself, seems to hesitate - but he runs to you. He keeps saying your name, his voice shattered.

You try to hold on to something as your legs fail you, but all you find are the roses. They slip away from your fingers. You fall.

You’re going to die here.

Hyunjin.

Help me.

Please.

“Y/N!”

It’s him. You don’t see him anymore, but you can hear him. He’s kneeling next to you. The roses are scattered. Shreds of petals fall on his hair. He’s crying. He’s on the phone. He’s covered in blood. His white shirt is painted red. He’s pushing something on your stomach and it hurts.

“Stay with me, Y/N,” he tells you. “Please.”

“Hyun…” you breathe, and you taste blood.

“Don’t talk,” he says, his voice shaking. “It’s ok. Paramedics are coming.”

You feel yourself drift away. All you see is roses.

Roses drenched in blood.

Your blood.

You’re scared.

Hyunjin holds your hand.

“Don’t die,” he pleads. “Please don’t die.”

I don’t want to, you want to say to him.

Darkness is all you can see.

Blood is all you can taste.

Please.

I don’t want to die.

When you wake up in the hospital room, your father is sitting next to your bed. He’s dozing off, his head lolling forward. You feel like this is the worst hangover of your entire life. It takes you a minute to gather your thoughts and memory back into something that makes sense.

You were at the Rose Garden with Hyunjin.

A man entered the shop.

He shot you in the stomach, and he left.

Your mouth feels pasty, your throat is dry. You also feel dizzy, which you guess is the fault of the drugs dripping into your system. You glance around, at the IV, at the room curtains, at the hospital gown on your body. You carefully put a hand on your stomach, and feel bandages under it.

You’re alive, at least.

You were so sure you were going to die.

You want to cry but you can’t.

Your memory takes you back, and your heart stops.

Hyunjin.

“Dad,” you say, your voice weak and rusty.

He doesn’t hear you.

“Dad,” you repeat, a little louder.

He startles in his chair, opening his eyes wide. When he sees you’re awake, he stumbles, approaching your bed to squeeze your fingers in his.

“Sprout, darling,” he says. “You’re awake.”

“Hyunjin.” Your voice trembles when you say it. “Is he -”

“He’s fine. He’s gone home a few hours ago to get some rest.”

You nod, feeling relieved. Hyunjin is all right. You’re alive.

It’s all that matters.

“How long have I been asleep?” you ask, your voice breaking up.

“Two days. You were in surgery for a while, sprout,” your dad tells you, squeezing your hand. His eyes are filled with tears. “But they say you’ll be fine. That you were lucky. An inch aside, and...”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath.

The man put the gun against your stomach.

He didn’t miss.

He aimed.

He never wanted to kill you.

You had a message to deliver.

“Dad,” you say. “I need… I need to -”

“You need to see the doctor,” he nods. “The rest can wait.”

“You don’t understand, it’s -”

“Y/N,” he interrupts, his voice firm. “Later. Please. You almost died.”

You look at him, feeling so lost, so hurt, so small. Still, his tenderness warms you, and you nod. He calls for the nurse, who calls for the doctor, and you spend the next hour doing tests and answering questions. It exhausts you, and you quickly go back to sleep after your father kisses your forehead.

When you wake up again, it’s the middle of the night. You’re alone in your room. You glance around, finding your phone close by. Your father probably knew you’d want it - the gesture makes you smile.

Your eyes are heavy and painful, your body stiff. You open the phone, checking your messages. In the middle of the rest well and the omg did you really get shot?? are only a few you really want to read.

Seungmin tells you he drove your father home, and he’ll come back the next morning.

Hyunjin says he’ll drop by tomorrow. That he’s sorry.

Jisung sent you a heart emoji.

Felix, a picture of a burning candle that he lit for you.

Then, you find Changbin’s name. Thinking of you, he wrote.

It brings tears to your eyes. You can’t find the words to write back. You just want him near.

Minho sent you something too.

Hyunjin gave us the message.

We’ll come to you. Don’t worry.

The motherfucker is dead meat.

You feel an ache that has nothing to do with your wound.

Please visit me, you write.

He quickly writes back. Once you’re home.

You don’t want to wait that long, but Minho must have his reasons. At least, you can guess everyone is alright, that your attack was an isolated incident. That’s the only thought that you hold on to as you fall back against your pillow, feeling the darkness suck you in. It hurts. Everything hurts.

You can still smell the blood and the roses.

You call for the nurse and ask for more medicine.

It’s a long, quiet night in the hospital. You long for music, for conversation, anything - but there’s only the deep silence, the occasional footsteps, and your own thoughts drifting. You’re exhausted but you can’t sleep, your meds have stopped working, and you watch the small hours of the morning pass by. You drift off here and there, but never for long.

Your eyes are closed when you hear footsteps in your room - you expect it to be a nurse or a doctor, but the voices draw you completely awake.

“Is she asleep?”

“Probably. It’s early.”

“I wanted to be there when she woke up.”

“I know, love.”

Hyunjin. Seo-ah.

Their voices are gentle whispers. You open your eyes as they approach you, almost timidly.

“Hi,” you say, your throat in a tight knot.

Hyunjin’s eyes are filled with tears. You wonder if he has stopped crying since that day. Seo-ah squeezes his hand and gives you a tender smile.

“I’ll get coffee.”

She leaves you with Hyunjin, who comes to sit on the chair next to your bed. His long legs are bent under him, his hair tucked behind his ear. He looks like he hasn’t been sleeping well. You reach for his hand, tears filling your eyes. He takes it with trembling fingers - they are cold.

“Y/N…” he breathes. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why would you be sorry?” You shake your head. “It wasn’t your fault. I should be sorry you got involved in this mess.”

“No,” he says firmly. “I’m glad I was there with you. If you’d been alone…”

You take a deep breath.

“Right,” you sigh. “But still, Hyun, I…”

You can’t find the words. His eyes are haunted, and you guess they reflect yours. You try to chase away the vision of him that can’t leave your mind. The blood on his shirt. No. The grey hoodie he’s wearing. The petals in his hair. No. The blond locks grazing his forehead.

“I’m so sorry about your anniversary,” you whimper.

Hyunjin looks at you in disbelief, and lets out a sharp scoff. “Y/N. Come on.”

“Did you give her the earrings?” you ask.

He nods.

“Did she like them?”

He nods again.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t get her flowers,” you say.

You want to start sobbing but you know it will hurt, so you hold it back. Tears roll down your cheeks, and Hyunjin squeezes your hand. You do the same and you cry together for a while.

What you’ve been through, what you’ve seen.

It’s bound you forever.

Blood and roses.

It could’ve been so much worse.

But you’re both still alive. Still here.

Seo-ah comes back to find you both drying your eyes, and she tears up as well, so you end up crying again. She shows you the earrings as she’s wearing them and you hug her as tightly as you can. If Hyunjin hadn’t been able to come home to her, you never would have forgiven yourself.

Hyunjin gives you a sip of coffee although you really shouldn’t, but it’s extremely soothing.

They stay with you until Seungmin arrives with your father, and you spend the day sleeping, playing cards and watching television. Your wound hurts, but it will heal, they keep saying. It will heal.

For the next three days, you’re mostly alone. You have convinced your father it was all right to go back to take care of the shop, because there would be cleaning up to do - but he sent you a picture that first day to show you it had already been done. There was no trace of blood left. All the roses, thrown away. It was a sad sight, but at least it was something your father wouldn’t have to take care of.

You could only guess who had done this.

Your friends go back to work - you don’t want them to uproot their entire lives for you. Your life is not in danger, and you are doing better. You can even take little walks around your room, go to the bathroom by yourself. You just need some time. They can visit you in the evening.

You take the time to think about them.

You’ve been texting, but they’ve all been evasive. Minho. Changbin. Jisung. Even Felix. Once you’re home, Minho said. You can only wait.

The doctor tells you another day or two will be enough, and then you can heal at home. You’ll have to take care of your wound, dress it, bandage it, and not overextend yourself. You promise to do all that - you just long for your own bed.

You can walk all the way down the hall now, and as you enter your room again that night, thinking about the fried chicken you’re sure to order the second you’re out the hospital, you stop in the doorway. There’s someone in your room.

Changbin.

He turns to face you, looking relieved, and you don’t think. You just rush to him, not caring about the pain, and bury your face against his chest. After a few seconds, he draws you closer into his arms, breathing shakily in your hair.

“I got you,” he says.

“Where have you been?” you whimper, tears flowing down your cheeks. You say that but you’re not mad at all, and you grab at his long-sleeved shirt, his cut, everything you can find. He strokes your hair.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t come before.”

“It’s okay,” you breathe. “You’re here now.”

He exhales slowly, and as his hands stroke your back, he stops when he feels your bandage, wrapped around you. You feel his breath tremble.

“I’m so sorry this happened to you,” he lets out. “I’m so sorry we couldn’t protect you.”

You shake your head, your eyes filled with tears. “Please don’t say that.”

“I should’ve been there. Someone should’ve been there.”

“You only would’ve gotten killed,” you state, your cheek against his chest. It’s warm, in his arms. It’s safe. It’s the most stable you’ve felt in weeks. “And I wasn’t alone. Hyunjin was there. He saved me.”

Changbin takes a deep breath, not letting you go.

Good, you think. Please don’t, not ever.

“I’m just happy everyone is okay,” you breathe.

Changbin does not answer you, and you feel his body tense. It sends a shiver down your spine, and you step back, giving him a questioning look.

“Everyone is okay, right?”

He winces.

“Changbin,” you say, your voice breaking up.

He looks for his words. Eventually, they come out.

“You weren’t the only one that was attacked.”

You feel dizzy.

“It all happened at the same time. To the minute. You. Cherry. And Chan’s old lady.”

You stumble backwards, horrified. No.

No, no, no.

“They’re okay. Back home. Cherry is in bad shape, but she’ll be fine.”

Your mouth is dry. “Did we all get - did they -”

Changbin shakes his head. “You were shot. Cherry was stabbed. And they beat Chan’s old lady. Badly.”

You stumble again and Changbin catches you. He sits you down on the bed. You feel sick, like the world is spinning too fast. This wasn’t an isolated attack. It was premeditated. Organized.

“Tell me everything,” you ask Changbin.

He does, his mouth twisted with shame. The guy that killed his father, the one he put in the hospital - after failing to get back at the Vices through the police, he hired another gang to do the job. A ruthless one, from a nearby town. The Skulls - those who chased you and Changbin what seems like forever ago. The guy wanted the Vices dead, Changbin especially, but the gang didn’t want to have murder on their hands, so the guy agreed on sending messages. Attack the weakest points. Destroy their lives, as his was.

When Changbin is done, you’re trembling with rage.

“It’s being taken care of,” he says softly.

“Are you going after them?” you ask shyly.

Changbin shrugs. “More or less. We're trying to avoid a full-blown war. Minho is negotiating with the gang. Trying to avoid more bloodshed.”

“And the guy?”

“Dead.”

Changbin tells it flatly, but there is fire in his eyes.

“Yes,” he answers to your silent question. “I found him and slit his throat open, although he deserved worse.”

A shiver goes down your spine.

“It had to be done for what he did,” Changbin nods, his fists tight. “For what happened to you.”

You put a hand on his fist, enveloping it under your fingers. “I’m fine, Changbin.”

He’s not looking at you - so you take his chin, lightly, and raise his face to yours.

“See? I’m fine.”

His eyes are so dark, and yet so full of light - you lean forward and steal his lips for a kiss. He tenses at first, but when you don’t slip away, he gives in. Kisses you softly and deeply, touching your hair, his hands careful, his touch light.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says.

“You’re not going to hurt me,” you breathe against his lips. “You could never hurt me, even if you did.”

You kiss for a while, but you get tired so easily - soon you are out of breath, and you lay down in bed. He strokes your hair until you fall asleep.

It will all be fine.

“There’s food in the fridge,” Seungmin says as he settles you in bed. “My mom made you seawood soup.”

“She’s an angel,” you say with a pout. “And so are you.”

Seungmin shakes his head, amused. He draws your blanket over your legs, making sure your pillows are holding you upright. He’s the one that drove you home from the hospital since your father had to take care of the shop.

You’ve spent a few more days at the hospital - the day you were supposed to get home, your wound had reopened and you had to go into surgery again. Still, you are here now, ready to eat good food, wear normal clothes, and sleep in your bed. That will help you recover, you’re sure of it.

“Are you hungry now? I can heat it up for you,” Seungmin says, sitting on the bed beside you.

“No,” you shake your head. “I’m fine. And I can do it by myself, you know.”

“Just be careful,” he sighs. “I know that’s a difficult concept for you, but…”

“I’ll be careful, Min. Promise.”

He hesitates, but eventually gives you a tight smile. He looks tired. He’s been looking after you a lot - more than necessary, but you’ve let him. Seungmin has a way of soothing your nerves like nobody else, and you know he’s not doing this because he feels like he has to.

You thank him profusely and send him away. He needs rest, and so do you. Once he’s gone, you take a long nap, watch some television, and eat a bowl of delicious soup. Your apartment is quiet.

Changbin has visited you a few more times. Jisung and Felix came, too. They looked preoccupied, giving you as many updates as it was safe to. You are disappointed Minho never came, but you understand. His position is delicate, and the hospital walls are thin.

Apparently, the rival gang was not happy about Changbin killing the guy who hired them. They’ve been making the negotiation difficult. Very difficult, according to Jisung, and you see in his voice that patience is running thin on both sides.

“They’re asking for my head,” Changbin admitted. “Or they’ll go for another round of messages.”

You hear what he doesn’t say - next time the man in the black hoodie won’t aim for a part of you that will heal.

He’ll shoot you dead.

The worry is making you a little sick, but you focus on healing - the faster you’re back on both your feet, the faster you can get your energy back and put it into fighting back. You feel so helpless, like a victim, and it’s humiliating. It’s not like there’s anything you can really do - but you prefer transforming your fear into anger.

Are you alone tonight? Changbin texts you. You answer yes, and he tells you he’ll come over. You’ve been craving his presence, and not only because Minho is nowhere to be seen. Changbin makes you feel like never before. Protected and safe, yes - but he keeps you on your toes, too. You’ve never really wanted to be taken care of, but you let Changbin do it, because he’s never too gentle about it. He’s just there.

He doesn’t treat you like a child.

He teases you.

He changes your bandages with you.

He annoys you.

He helps you in the shower.

He kisses you tenderly, he kisses you harshly.

He doesn’t drive you insane like Minho does.

But he’s crawling under your skin and making a home there.

Later, when you open the door on Changbin, he’s covered in dust and grease. You wrinkle your nose - the gasoline smell is strong. It’s clear he’s been working in the garage all day - he told you it calms his nerves. His hair is hidden under a baseball hat, his eyes a little tired.

“Came straight from the clubhouse,” he explains as he closes the door behind him. “Thought I’d take a shower here.”

You nod, maybe a little too eagerly. “Yeah, sure.”

He kisses your temple, you get him a towel, and he disappears in the bathroom. You keep yourself busy while he’s in the shower, trying not to think about Changbin’s naked body so close to you, resisting getting in the shower with him. But although your wound is mostly healed, it’s still sensitive, in need of care. Steamy, acrobatic shower sex is the last thing your aching body needs.

You sigh in annoyance.

You’re horny. You’re frustrated.

You haven’t been touched in so long.

Well - not that long. But it feels like ages.

You tried to relieve yourself a few nights ago but the second you tense, your scar started to hurt, so you quickly gave up. But maybe taking care of someone else would feel good enough. You bite your lip, debating what to do, when Changbin reappears in a towel in your living room.

Only in a towel.

It’s not that big, so it covers next to nothing, and you take in the sight, holding back a whimper. A toned chest, still a little wet from the steam, shoulders like the statue of a god’s, and shaped legs that reveal thick, muscular thighs. Your grip your glass of water tighter in your hands.

Fuck. Me.

Your body is burning and you want to find heaven in his arms so bad you lose all sense and do not understand a single word he says.

“Huh?” you say when you realize he’s been talking to you.

He smiles, amused. “I said, my other shirt is dirty. Can I use your washing machine?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” you answer, although you’re not sure what you just agreed to.

You shake your head.

“You’re fucking with me, right? You can’t be walking around looking like this every day. Nobody has a body like this.”

“What’s wrong with my body?”

“Wr- wrong?! There’s nothing wrong with it. You’re just… you’re…”

He arches an eyebrow, and you know he’s enjoying this a little too much. He is Minho’s right hand after all.

“You’re fucking hot, Changbin, okay? It shouldn’t be legal.”

He laughs. “You’re insane.”

“Yeah, and it’s your fault. Taunting me like that…”

“Taunting?” He walks towards you, his smile not leaving his face. “I’m not taunting you.”

“Changbin…”

He licks his lips as if in slow motion and you have to bite your tongue to hold back a moan.

“I can’t,” you say. “My scar…”

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “I just want to kiss you.”

You meet him halfway, his lips soft on yours, and his touch, his warmth, sends your thoughts spiraling. Your fingers graze his skin. It’s so soft, all you want is to take off your own clothes to feel it against yours.

You inhale slowly, and chuckle. “Did you use my shampoo?”

“Couldn’t resist.”

You grin and kiss him again. As you push him towards the couch, he groans, but you put a finger against his lips.

“Just because I can’t doesn’t mean you can’t.” You arch an eyebrow. “Can I remove this?”

You tug at the towel, and he nods, staring at you hungrily. You undo the knot and the towel falls on the floor. Changbin is beautiful, still soft - but you don’t mind. You take him in your hand, caressing him gently, and then push him back on the couch so he sits there, knees apart, ready for you. You bite your lip in anticipation.

Carefully, you kneel and place yourself between his legs. He reaches for your face to kiss you again as you stroke him. He’s getting hard quickly, and when you lean back to look at him, his eyes are glassy with desire.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says.

“Not as much as you,” you reply in a low voice.

Just so he won’t talk back, you flick your tongue against his tip, making him hiss. You smirk, watching his muscles tense and move like water.

You lick his length, tracing the curves and the veins. He gently gathers your hair to hold it back, which allows you to move more freely - you wrap your mouth around him, your lips slick with spit and him. He grunts, bucking his hips, and you take all of him.

You take your time, long minutes devouring every inch with your lips and tongue, edging him, feeling him harden and twitch. His whimpers make you shiver in pleasure - you glance at him to see he has his eyes closed, his head thrown back, his face contorted as if he’s in pain.

“Look at me, Bin,” you breathe. You caress him with the tip of your fingers. “Look at me.”

You swirl your tongue as he looks at you. He’s somewhere far - and it’s a sight you revel in.

“Am I making you feel good?”

He nods.

“Tell me.”

“You make me feel so good, babe. Looking like a dream with my dick in your cute mouth.”

You hum. “Yeah? You want me to go deeper?”

“Yes, babe.”

“You want to fuck my mouth?”

“Fuck, Y/N…”

You giggle, wrapping him around your lips and bobbing your head. You go lower and lower until you gag slightly, and nod at him. He understands your signal and starts moving his hips. He hits the back of your throat, moaning loudly, and doesn’t stop. You know your lips and throat will be bruised, but you don’t care. He’s still being tender, not going too fast, and holding your hair, not pulling it.

Your hands grab his thighs, and you feel the muscles under your fingers.

When you take him back after getting some air, he breathes hard. “Fuck. I’m gonna…”

You squeeze his thighs to encourage him. After a few thrusts, you feel him throb and soon your mouth is filled with the taste of him. You lick him clean, yourself too.

“Come here, you,” he sighs, pulling you to your feet slowly so you can sit on his leg. He kisses you, this thumb caressing your cheek, and your lips are sensitive but you don’t mind.

“Hmm.” His finger traces your inner thigh. “Is my baby all wet?”

You groan. “Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not. I want to make you feel good, too.”

You sigh.

He kisses your earlobe. Your neck.

“I didn’t get a taste of you yet,” he breathes. “Do you know how crazy that drives me?”

“I can’t, Bin. It hurts too much.”

“Do you trust me?”

To your surprise, you say yes. Changbin smiles, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Then let’s try something.”

You follow him to your bedroom, where you lay down. He puts pillows behind your lower back, making sure your hips are raised but your wound protected. You are hesitant, but you do trust him.

“You just keep breathing, ok? Slowly.”

You nod. You desperately want release, so you’ll take even just a few seconds of him between your legs.

He removes your underwear, staring at your wetness.

“Fuck. Just the scent makes me hard again,” he chuckles, and you smile.

He kisses you - right there. You flinch.

“Breathe,” Changbin says. “Hold my hand, squeeze it instead of tensing.”

His tongue unravels you, wide and agile. He puts just the right amount of pressure, building you slowly, stopping when he senses you tense too much. You learn to squeeze his hand instead, and although a dull pain remains, it quickly gets faint under the waves of pleasure Changbin’s tongue is creating.

He’s meticulous, attentive, but relentless. His tongue traces circles and lines, his fingers pushed against your sensitive spots. He kisses your thighs, every part of you, and he definitely knows how to listen to you. You drift off in your pleasure, and after a few minutes the softest orgasm of your life shakes your entire being. It’s long, slow, delightful, and such a relief.

“Oh my God, Bin,” you sigh once you get back down, a hand against your forehead.

He appears above you, a smile on his lips, and kisses you. You feel his hardness against your leg.

“Please, Y/N,” he says. “Can I fuck you? I’ll go slow.”

“Yes, baby.”

He enters you, moving carefully, and his length is a welcome presence. You moan gently, and he makes sure he’s not hurting you.

“So good,” he whispers. “Too fucking good.”

“Come for me, Bin,” you say in his ear, and it doesn’t take long before he does, right there on your leg.

He pants, and you reach for him - but he removes the pillows and cleans you with a hot towel first. Then he lays down next to you, his head on your shoulder, planting airy kisses.

“I like you, you know,” you say. “I want you to know that. It’s not just sex to me.”

He hums. “Me neither. I like you, too.”

And that’s all there is to say.

When you wake up, it smells like citrus. The spot beside you is empty, but you can hear noises in the kitchen. You stand up slowly, wincing at your aching body. Your scar is healing, but it’s taking a lot of time - and you’ve never been particularly patient.

You walk to the kitchen and freeze at the sight in front of you.

Lee Minho is cooking. In your kitchen.

Eggs are frizzling in a pan. There’s a pitcher of lemonade on the table. A plate of fruit. Toasts, kept warm in the toaster.

“What the fuck?” you let out, despite yourself.

“Trouble,” Minho smiles widely. “You’re up.”

“How have you - When did - Where’s Changbin?”

“Went out to get some butter. I used it all for the eggs.”

“But…”

He raises an index to his lips, and you shut up, staring. He turns to shake the fried eggs on a plate, and gestures to you to come to the table. You walk carefully as he puts down the plate.

“For you, doll,” he smiles, giving you a quick kiss.

You’re not sure what’s happening, but it smells delicious and you’re starving. Still, you haven’t seen Minho in a while, so you take a second to look at him from up close. He looks tired. So tired. You want to kiss his eyelids to make them better.

“I missed you,” you admit.

“Me too,” he says, kissing your forehead fondly. “Eat.”

You sit down and take a bite from the egg - it melts into your mouth like a piece of heaven, and you moan in delight. Minho chuckles, sitting next to you. You talk for a while - and when Changbin comes back, you keep talking. They tell you about the past weeks, how it’s been for them, how the girls are holding up. Chan never leaves his girl’s side. Cherry has been watched very carefully by Felix.

And you, by Seungmin.

“We talked over the phone,” Minho tells you. “He said he didn’t want to get involved, or even to know how, but he asked us to make sure the bastard that did this to you got what he deserved.”

You arch an eyebrow, surprised - and yet, you’re not, not really.

You look at both of them. The two boys that each hold a piece of you. Minho, ever elusive, who will never truly be anyone’s. Changbin, devoted, an anchor in the storm. You don’t feel torn. You know they love you, each in their own way. There’s nothing else to say, nothing to question.

When you get a little tired, and decide to take a nap, Minho kisses you slowly, tells you he’ll come to visit soon again. Changbin stays with you.

He gets you in bed, and as you drift off, you hear him do the dishes.

You glance at your phone anxiously although you know it’s useless.

They are not going to text you. Not now.

Still, you can’t help it, feeling your heart sink a little further every time you see your lock screen empty of notifications.

Tomorrow, the sun will rise on a ground soaked in blood.

Tonight is a night for revenge.

Under the dark sky, the Vices are going to be Reapers.

Their plan is sound, from what you’ve heard. You don’t know every detail, only what couldn’t put you at risk. When the negotiation with the rival gang came to a brutal end, they asked for Changbin’s head - and Minho called them a few days ago to give them his answer.

He agreed.

But of course he hadn’t.

Not really.

The ambush was in place. It was going to be a massacre but sometimes it was necessary. They had threatened to kill you, to shed blood in Temperance, to transform the entire town into a cemetery. The Vices couldn’t allow that. The gang had started the violence, and the Vices would make it end.

You are home, Jeongin watching over you. Felix is with Cherry. Chan with his old lady. The rest are getting ready. Or maybe it’s happening right now.

Your phone pings - but it’s Seungmin, making sure you’re doing all right. He wanted to stay with you but you refused. No need to put anyone else at risk.

Any news? he asks.

Not yet, you reply.

Jeongin is good company. You play cards for a while, and you laugh together. He suggests a movie marathon, and you agree. Your scar hurts tonight, but you know it’s because you’re tense. You wish you could have a drink, but you can’t because of the medication. Damn it all to hell.

On your television, John Wick is kicking ass, and it’s entertaining but it only makes you think about the worst that could happen. What if Minho found himself at the end of a knife like that? Changbin on the other side of a gun? You have faith they’ll succeed. They’ll be shooting the guns and handling the knives. But still, you’re nervous.

You watch the bad guys get beaten up and shot and stabbed, and Jeongin gives you a few glances. He asked you if you were going to be okay watching this, but you don’t mind. Your trauma really isn’t that bad, considering. You have nightmares sometimes. You smell the blood and you’re so cold you wake up in shivers. It happened the other night, but Changbin was with you and he held you tight.

Some part of you wonders why you’re not running away from him, from all this, after what happened to you. But you feel protected with them beside you. You feel you have purpose.

Hours pass. Jeongin has fallen asleep, but you can’t close even an eye. You’re watching a documentary on TV, your mind elsewhere, when someone knocks at the front door. You jump up, your heart beating fast in your chest.

“Who is it?”

“The Grim Reaper.”

You smile, your heart whole again. Jisung is on the other side of the door, grinning from ear to ear.

“We’re back, baby.”

You barely even notice he’s covered in blood - you give him a tight hug and he tells you he can drive you to the house if you want. Everyone is there. Everyone is safe. You wake Jeongin, tell him to go home, but he wants to party with you, so the three of you head to the house.

You see Minho first, and he squeezes your hand.

It’s over, doll.

It’s done.

You take a step back, taking a long look at the final result.

The wall of roses stares back at you.

All its roses and burgundys and lilacs and creams. They mix and blend in swirls of colors. It’s a beautiful sight. It’s even more beautiful than before.

You’d been scared you wouldn’t be able to work in the Rose Garden anymore, that would only see the blood - but you don’t. You really don’t.

You only see the blooming roses, you only smell the fresh flowers, and the only pain you feel is when you prick yourself on a thorn - and it’s a welcome feeling. So brief, so simple.

You breathe in relief as your father puts a hand on your shoulder. He smiles.

“It’s beautiful, sprout. You did wonderful.”

“Mom would’ve liked it, I think,” you nod.

“She would’ve loved it.”

You put your head on your father’s shoulder and you both stare at the roses for a few seconds. You know he doesn’t agree with everything you’re doing, that he thinks you’re being a bit reckless - but he also knows you. Rash. Passionate. Like your Mom.

“The shop is going to be in good hands,” he nods.

He gave you his keys a few days ago. It’s time for him to retire - to put the shop in your name, officially. He isn’t going anywhere, and he will still come to work regularly. But it is your time, now. The Rose Garden is yours.

You kiss him on the cheek, and you close shop together for the day. He heads home, but you have another destination. Earlier today, you got a text from Minho, summoning you to the clubhouse. That’s the word he used. You are summoned to the clubhouse for an urgent meeting.

Still a pretentious prick.

But you like him.

You enter the clubhouse, and it’s strangely empty. There’s only one person sitting at the bar, sipping a drink. You walk towards him, a smile on your face, and he watches you approach with a spark in his eye.

Lee Minho.

“You’re late,” he says before he empties his drink.

“There wasn’t a time on that summons on yours,” you retort back.

“When you’re summoned, you should come right away, doll.”

“Some of us have lives.”

He smirks and gestures towards the wide double doors that lead to the meeting room - you’ve only been in there once before. You follow him inside, and as he closes the door and draws the blinds, you have an idea of where this is going. In fact, you’ve had an idea since you got the text this morning - that’s why you put on some lingerie for him. Blood red, of course.

You bite your lip as he draws his chair - the one at the top of the table - and sits down.

“Sit down.”

You open your mouth but he quickly interrupts you.

“Sit. Down.”

You sigh deeply, rolling your eyes, but still, you sit down on the nearest chair. You look at him, never getting enough of the sight of him. His aura. His eyes. The scar across his face, that you’ve gotten to know so well. It’s faded a little more since you’ve known him. And now you have one of your own, right there on your stomach, healed and healthy.

“I’ve heard you’ve recently become an owner.”

“I have.”

“So I’ll have to deal with you directly, then?”

“More like I’ll have to deal with you.”

Minho chuckles. “What a shame.”

“Absolutely devastating.”

You smile at each other, and you squirm in your seat a little. Minho leans towards you.

“What are you thinking about there, doll?”

“Just you,” you say.

You put your palm against the wide wooden table, looking at it. You imagine all the other Vices sitting there, voting on decisions, talking business. Your hand slides on the soft wood.

“You ever fuck someone on this table?

“That’s where your mind is, huh?”

“Answer the question,” you squint.

“I don’t think I have,” Minho answers carefully, staring at you intensely. “How does that make you feel?”

You smile. “Like I want to be the first.”

Minho grins. “That’s my girl talking. My little Trouble.”

You smile, and you want to sit up and kiss him, but he raises a finger.

“Business first.”

You sigh. “What business?”

That’s when the doors open - Changbin enters, closing them behind him. You look at both of them and grin. “Oh. Oh.”

“Look at her, Vice,” Minho laughs. “Such a dirty mind. The three of us in a room and that’s the first thing she thinks about.”

“Well you sort of left me hanging the other night, didn’t you?” you snarl, crossing your arms.

Changbin sits in front of you. He has the same look on his face as the first time you saw him, in your father’s shop - but you know better now. You notice the little curve of his lip, the dark spark in his eye. The way his shoulders hang back.

“We called you here to discuss your security,” Minho says.

“My security?” you repeat, confused.

“Now that you’re almost a part of us, we need to make sure you’re not going to be a danger for the club.”

You snort, but they both stay serious.

“You’re being serious,” you whisper.

“You think this is funny?” Minho says. “Are we a joke to you?”

“I’m - it’s just -”

“Vice,” he states, pointing his index at you. Changbin is staring at you. “I think this one needs to understand we don’t laugh about these matters.”

You stare at him as he stands up, keeping both his palms on the table.

“I think we need to give her a lesson or two,” he continues. “Just so she knows how serious we are.”

“I think you’re right, boss,” Changbin nods, staring up and down at you. “There’s a few things that need to be drilled into her.”

Your thoughts are drifting somewhere, and you don’t even reach for them. You squeeze your legs, trying to take a deep breath, but they’re not leaving you any air.

This is a game.

You love to play.

Changbin snaps his fingers. “Up.”

You stand up on trembling legs. He does the same, circling the table to walk towards you. Minho stays behind, his arms crossed, not a single emotion on his face - except in his eyes.

In them is the eye of the storm.

Changbin steps close to you, and you raise your eyes to look at him. You’re burning with desire, but you stay still. Slowly, he lifts the hem of your dress, tracing your thigh, your ass. His rings are cold against your skin. Then, his fingers pull at your panties, which fall on the floor. You gulp, lips parted, staring back at Changbin. The silence is deafening.

He does not hesitate - his fingers touch your wetness, tracing its length, and he pushes one digit inside of you. You gasp, your legs vacillating.

“You still want this?” he breathes.

You can only nod.

“What’s the verdict, Vice?”

Changbin takes his hand away from you, and you groan in frustration. He shows his drenched fingers to Minho, who smirks.

“Of course,” he breathes. “Such a good girl for us. Isn’t she, Vice?”

“Hm, hm,” Changbin hums.

“Bend her over,” Minho says.

You feel a little dizzy, your heart beating fast in your chest. You knew it was going to happen, and you’ve thought about it a lot - but now that it’s happening, you can barely believe it. That you’re here, with these two men craving you. Only you.

You’re theirs, and they’re yours.

Changbin grabs your waist, twirls your body and bends you over the table, lifting your ass in the air. Your upper arms rest on the table, and you look up at Minho, who is stroking himself on top of his jeans. His mouth is open, his eyes dark - such a beautiful sight. You lick your lips in anticipation.

He walks over to Changbin, and you feel a hand raise your dress again so that your lower body is exposed. It’s a little cold, but you don’t care.

“Look at that, Vice,” Minho sighs. “What a fucking sight, right?”

They’re both standing behind you. You smile and wiggle your ass for them. Their chuckles are music to your ears.

“I think she’s enjoying this a little too much,” Changbin laughs.

“That’s okay,” Minho says. “So are we.”

You look back at them as Minho gives his friend a look.

“What do you want to start with first? You do the honors.”

“I need that taste in my mouth,” Changbin says, and you clench at the words.

Minho chuckles. “By all means. I’ll take care of those sweet lips.”

It happens fast - as you feel Changbin’s breath against your wetness, Minho reappears in your vision, unbuckling his belt. You don’t even say anything - you just open your mouth, sticking out your tongue.

“Fuck, doll,” he growls in delight. “First time I saw you open your mouth it was to damn me to hell. How things have changed.”

You glare at him. “Don’t fucking test me,” you hiss. “Why don’t you enjoy it while it lasts?”

He laughs. “Oh, don’t worry, I will.”

He takes his length out of his pants, not even stroking it before he hands it to you. You make him linger a little, licking the length of your hand before you wrap your fingers around him - and he stares at you with hungry eyes. You slap him against your tongue. You’re so focused on it you almost forget about Changbin - who, as if he senses it, flicks his tongue against your eagerness. Your entire body flinches.

“Fuck,” you moan.

Minho strokes your hair, pushing it back from your face. “The two of us will take good care of you now, doll.”

As an answer, you take him in your mouth and start bobbing your head. At the same time, Changbin’s tongue is working wonders, and you hum around Minho, making him twitch between your lips. He’s rougher than Changbin, pulling your hair a little as you suck him, bucking his hips to go deeper. You don’t mind. Especially not as your capacity to think is escaping you entirely.

When you take a breath, you let out a loud curse because Changbin is making your legs tremble and you don’t know how much longer you can stand on them. He just chuckles and keeps going. With Minho around your lips it’s hard to tell Changbin you’re about to come, but he stops right when you’re on the edge.

He slaps your ass, pushing on your lower back softly.

“Put that ass up for me,” he tells you, and you hear the sound of his belt buckle.

Minho takes himself out of your mouth.

“Fuck her good, Vice. She wants it.”

“You good where you are?” Changbin asks.

“What d’you mean? I’m in fucking heaven over here.”

Changbin positions himself at your entrance, pushing softly, and you groan in delight.

“Fuck, Bin,” you sigh. “Fill me up.”

“Hmm, that filthy mouth,” Minho growls. He grabs your chin, squeezing it hard between his fingers, putting three of them in your mouth. “So fucking hot. Let me look at you as he fucks you. Let me see the sense leave your head.”

You moan as Changbin enters you, slowly and then completely. Minho takes out his fingers, letting your drool stain your chin, and he takes a step back to admire the sight of Changbin fucking you.

You graze your nails against the table, breathing out, but no one seems to care if you damage it. You need to hold on to something as Changbin starts to pound into you, mercilessly, harder than he’s ever had. The only sounds you can hear are his heavy breathing and his skin slapping against yours - you can barely utter a sound.

“That’s it, Vice,” Minho is whispering, his fingers in your hair. “She’s fading out. Soon we’ll lose her entirely.”

You moan. “Oh my God - fuck, I’m…”

You can’t finish your sentence, as your orgasm rolls into you, making your entire body shake. Your legs buckle, but Changbin holds you. He makes sure to keep moving until your orgasm is over, and then takes your arm, helping you up.

“C’mon, babe,” he says.

He sits you on the table and after a few seconds, you open your eyes. Changbin stands close to you, his length covered in you, and Minho is taking the spot between your legs, stroking himself.

“Don’t worry, Trouble,” he whispers softly, his lips grazing your neck. He caresses your cheek. “This is far from over.”

Minho pushes into you and you inhale sharply, your head falling back. You exhale heavily, and you feel a hand on the back of your neck. It’s Changbin - he holds your head straight to kiss you deeply, his tongue swirling around yours. You grip his shoulder to stay steady as Minho slams into you.

“Can you hear that, Bin?” Minho chuckles. “How wet she is? Fuck.”

“I can hear it,” Changbin replies with a smirk, kissing you again.

You breathe in Changbin’s mouth, unable to utter a word. His other hand goes down your dress, taking off the straps to liberate your breasts. He massages them, rolls a nipple under his thumb. Minho’s hands are holding your thighs, and all that contact, all that scent, all that warmth - it’s so delightful you can barely breathe.

“Fuck,” you pant. “Fuck.”

You hear Minho chuckle. “Already fucked out, doll? Can’t form a sentence anymore?”

“Here’s one,” you say. “Fuck you.”

Both of them laugh with you.

Minho’s rhythm is building your pleasure again, and you clench around him - you love to hear him groan every time you do. You grab Changbin’s length, stroking it as he keeps kissing you, sometimes leaving your mouth to bite your earlobes or lick your neck - he sucks at your skin a little, and you know he’s going to leave a trace. Just like Minho’s fingers are digging deep in your thighs. Just like your nails scratch Changbin’s back.

Your mind devolves, and Minho lets out a deep groan.

“She’s close again, Bin. Help me finish her off.”

You moan in frustration and delight as Changbin’s fingers graze your wetness. He applies pressure and starts to draw circles, and you can’t hold back your second orgasm. It’s like an electric shock through your body, and you moan louder than you ever have.

“Does it feel good, baby?” Changbin says in your ear. “The whole town is going to hear us fucking you good.”

“Fuck yes,” you whimper. “This feels so good.”

Minho shakes his head, taking a step back.

“I need a break or I’m gonna blow right there. Jesus fuck.”

He still takes the time to kiss you before he goes to sit down in his chair. He’s quite a sight, with his hair disheveled, his chest covered in a thin layer of sweat, his dick hard, his eyes on you. Changbin takes his place, but it’s only to pull you from the table. He gropes your ass and pushes your back against the nearby wall. He puts your arms around his neck and enters you again, burying his nose in your neck, and you breathe out. You’re sensitive, but the feel of him is so delightful, you don’t ever want him to go away. Either of them, actually.

Changbin lifts one of your legs to get easier access, and you wrap it around his waist. Soon your other leg is around him, and he’s holding you up like that, your feet not touching the ground. He’s strong, and it doesn’t look difficult for him, so you let go, only pressing your back against the wall to relieve some weight.

He’s so deep inside of you, you whimper.

“Fuck me harder,” you breathe out, and he obliges.

Your chin is resting against his shoulder, your arms wrapping around him. You’re scratching his back, panting his name. You open your eyes, dizzily, and see Minho sitting close to you, stroking himself slowly to the sight.

You keep eye contact with him as Changbin fucks you. You could come again, so easily, and you almost do when Minho accelerates, mouth open, his tongue tracing his lips. This feels like a dream - but it isn’t.

“Fuck, babe, I’m gonna come,” Changbin grunts.

“Wait,” you breathe. “Put me down.”

Once your feet are on the floor, you gesture at Minho to join you. When both are next to you, you kneel, and take Changbin in your mouth. You lick yourself from him, stroking Minho. Then, it’s the latter you warm up between your lips. You go back and forth, staring up at their faces. Minho whispers sweet things, Changbin holding your hair.

When Changbin grunts and twitches in your hand, you open your mouth and bring out your tongue. You take all of him.

“Fuck, holy shit,” Minho breathes. “Fucking Trouble. You really are. Come here.”

He takes your hair, wanks it slightly towards him, and he’s next to come around your lips. It’s a little overwhelming, but you take the time to clean the two of them, standing back up when you’re done. They both kiss you, a little more tenderly.

“I have an idea,” Minho grins.

“What?”

“Lay back down,” he tells you. “I wanna make you come again. In my mouth, this time.”

“I’ve already come twice, you know, you don’t have to -”

“You know what they say, right? Third time’s the charm.”

You exchange a glance with Changbin, who’s smiling. You do feel a little on edge from Changbin’s fucking, and from the lingering taste of them on your tongue, so you lay down on the table, facing them.

They kneel in front of you, burying themselves between your legs.

Minho teases and licks your wetness, playing with your sensitive spots, and Changbin kisses your thighs. They take turns to pleasure you, and the sight is enough to make you go crazy, so you’re soon close to coming - Minho hungrily sucks you into his mouth, and you come undone.

It’s hard to go back down, so you just lay there, sweaty, your whole body twisted in a bundle of sensitive nerves. Just their slight touching makes you twitch, and you keep your eyes closed.

“I think we’ve ruined her, Vice,” Minho laughs.

“She’s going to need some rest.”

“Good thing we’re here to watch over her.”

You have enough strength to sit on your elbows, raising an eyebrow at the two of them.

“I hate you,” you say, but you’re smiling, your hair a mess, your soul unraveled and made whole again.

“Just a few more steps, Mrs. Kim. You’re almost there.”

You hold on to the woman’s hand as she walks tentatively, her eyes covered by a piece of ribbon you took from the Rose Garden. Behind you, Changbin follows slowly, a smile upon his lips. He puts the car keys in his pocket, and you’re grateful he accepted to drive both of you - how you know that cost him, to have to get behind the wheel of an actual car.

How you torture him.

You exchange a nervous and febrile look with him, guiding Seungmin’s mother ahead. The parking lot is silent, but it really isn’t. There are so many people there you can guess half the town is present, just behind the Kim’s hardware store. Balloons announcing happy birthday. Barbecues warming up. Children giggling. The sun is bright and warm.

“Darling, where are you taking me,” Mrs Kim says in an amused tone.

“You’ll see very soon,” you reply. “You can stop right here.”

You squeeze her hand, bite your lip, and look at the small crowd. Seungmin is at the front, of course, holding, with his father, a huge birthday cake. He catches Felix’s eye, and the latter lights the sparkler candles. They sputter and shine, and Seungmin nods at you - they are ready. So you turn to Mrs Kim, speaking gently.

“I’m going to remove the blindfold. You ready?”

She nods, and you lift the piece of ribbon. As her eyes open on the clear sky, the crowd screams Happy Birthday and erupts in cheers. Jisung activates the confetti gun he bought for the occasion, and hundreds of small pieces of paper of multiple colors envelop the crowd.

Mrs Kim cries out in surprise, a hand against her mouth, and you smile affectionately as she approaches her son and husband, tears shining in her eyes. Someone starts the music, the crowd disperses, and the party starts.

Eyeing the scene with satisfaction, you feel a hand sliding on your waist, securing its place there. You place your own against it, wrapping your fingers around the rings, and look up at Changbin.

“How was it, then?” you tease him.

“What?”

“Driving a car.”

He sighs. “Never ask me to do that again.”

You smirk, reaching for his lips. He kisses you, shaking his head.

Time is flying by. You wouldn’t say things are quiet, exactly, because they never are in Temperance. How could they be, with a biker club scouring every inch? But you’ve made peace with it - although it does not mean you’re making their lives easier. You still question most of their decisions, never hesitate to yell at Minho’s face when you disagree with something they do. Why wouldn’t you, after all? You have principles, most of the time.

You and Changbin have recently moved to his father’s house. You’re slowly making it a home, arguing over what furniture to buy and how to organize the fridge. It’s excruciatingly domestic, but you make it fun.

Hyujin and Seo-ah got engaged. Jeongin got a promotion. Chris and his old lady, inspired, bought a house close to yours. Happy endings all around.

Minho you used to see often. Sometimes for a jousting match, others for a maddening fuck. The other day you pulled his hair so hard he actually whimpered in pain and made you pay for it. Oops, you said. But it’s been a while since you’ve seen him. Months ago he disappeared with Cherry - emergency family business, you were told. Changbin took over the Presidency in his absence, although people still call him Vice.

You get a piece of cake, Changbin a burger, and you walk through the crowd to find Seungmin. He wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you in a sideways hug.

“Thank you,” he says in your ear. “I appreciate it.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” you reply, arching an eyebrow. “I did it for your mom. She said ages ago she was going to bake me banana bread and she never did. I’ll remind her of that when the party’s over.”

Seungmin shakes his head, not impressed by your attitude, and you break into a grin.

“C’mon,” you say. “You guys are family.”

“Oh, you mean the people you don’t choose?” he sighs. “Makes sense, I never would’ve chosen you.”

You pull your tongue at him and he chuckles. Mrs Kim steals you for a tight hug, telling you how sneaky you are, and you just appreciate seeing the bright smile on her face.

As you’re going through your fourth glass of lemonade - it’s just too damn good, as everything that is made by Hyunjin’s godlike hands is - Changbin pulls you aside, whispering in your hair.

“You wanna get out of here?”

It’s not like you can ever resist him, especially not when he matches his leather cut with that white t-shirt of his that is slightly too tight around his biceps, so you giggle and nod your head.

“Where, though?” you ask.

He thinks for a second. “I have an idea.”

He takes your head and you sneak away, promising yourself you’ll go back to the party afterwards. Changbin leads you ahead on foot, and you’re starting to think he’s heading for an alley when you realize you’re close to the Rose Garden.

Halfway there, Changbin pushes you against the back wall of a building to kiss you deeply, his lips embracing yours, his strong hands holding you in place. You mess up his hair with your fingers, grinding against his hips to tease him too.

Laughing like teenagers, you make your way to the shop, heading towards the back entrance. You reach in your bag for your keys, which you always have on you, but Changbin is already opening the - unlocked - door.

You frown. “How did -”

“C’mon,” he simply says with that side smirk of his that always makes you forget the time of day.

You simply follow him inside. The back rooms are empty, but when you get to the actual shop, overflown with the smell of roses, there’s someone waiting for you there.

He’s standing in the middle of the room, leather pants, black t-shirt, and twirls on the soles of his combat boots. Silver hair, a scar on his face, and that devilish smile.

He looks exactly like the first time you saw him.

In exactly the place you first saw him.

“Hey, Trouble,” Minho says.

You glance at Changbin, whose eyes are sparkling with mischief. Minho steps closer to you, and your heart is bursting at seeing him again.

Minho’s fingers graze your cheek. “Remember what I once said about what I’d like to do to you in your shop?”

“Hm” you say, folding your arms. “Can’t remember.”

He grins, and you feel Changbin’s breath against your neck. “Let me remind you, then.”

the end ♡

Thank you for all your support! I truly appreciate it and I hope you had fun reading this story. Let me know what you think if you want to, I would like to hear from you. Lots of love! ♡

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spr1ng-b0y · 9 months

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Well. I've been blessed by that super early morning art inspiration that comes around once in a blue moon. This was originally going to be something different, but the urge to draw them interacting for (one of) the first time(s) was too strong. Needed to feed myself some au content 🫶

#spring just letting it happen #maybe he likes it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯#arms game #fanart #spring man #sketches #arms anarchy au #arms au #arms anarchy spring au #ninjara #springjara #digital sketch

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beybladeninja · 11 months

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Come on!

Shoot faster!

Just a little bit of energy!

I wanna try something fun right now!

I guess some people call it ANARCHY!

Let’s blow this city to ashes,

And see what Pow Pow thinks!

It’s such pathetic neatness!

But not for long,

‘Cause it’ll-

I read that the Separated AU Donnie created by the lovely @cupcakeslushie was similar in personality to Jinx from Arcane, and I just couldn’t help myself.

I’ve also been listening to this song nonstop, so…

@cupcakeslushie , I hope I’ve delivered!

FYI, I was trying to get it so that their arms formed half of an X - not sure if I got it right. Here’s a picture without the words so you know what their arms are doing:

#fanart #my art #rottmnt #alternate universe #crossover #jinx arcane #rottmnt donnie #separated au #song lyrics #gun depiction #get jinxed

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shuaraes · 9 months

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‘If loving you is a sin, hell is where i’ll go’ | k.mg

-‘i’ll love you till the world’s end’

drabble | 0.63k | assassin! au | angst

*REPOST FROM OLD BLOG

murder and death have surround kim mingyu ever since the day of his birth, hence the life of an assassin came second nature to him. however when you were assigned as his next target he never thought that the hardest part of his mission would be falling in love with you

~ paring . kim mingyu x gender-neutral!reader

~ content . assassin!au, low key royalty! au, forbidden love, angst, mingyu is reader’s bodyguard

~ tw. implied murder, mentions of the afterlife, morally grey mc

~ song rec. born to die - lana del rey

~ authors note. sorry if you’re seeing this again 😭 but if you haven’t happy reading !!

THE TRUTH IS that no one knows for sure what happens when we die. There is no definitive answer to the question of whether or not being in love is a sin that would result in someone going to hell. When it comes to salvation, everyone has their own hopes and dreams of what would become of them at the beginning of the end.

To Mingyu, you were his salvation, the light in his life that he never wanted to go out. He swore your smile was brighter than dawn break and your eyes shone with everything he could have ever wanted. And there you were, the impossible cradled in his arms.

The dagger in his pocket weighed heavier than the stars in the midnight sky. The light of the moon streamed through the open window of your bedchamber, illuminating you both like actors on a stage. Your sleeping face like porcelain, rested against the silk. You were beautiful, Mingyu thought tirelessly to himself, too beautiful to kill.

Mingyu had spent his entire life killing. The blood of leaders of evil empires and of the innocent who knew a little too much stained his hands like eternal paint. Their blood haunting him all the same. You were just supposed to be another name to add to onto his body count, a list of people gullible enough to trust his lies.

Yet Mingyu does not regret falling in love with you, falling in love with you may have been his greatest achievement in this cursed thing we call life.

His most high profile and difficult mission yet; killing the heir., you were your kingdom’s crown jewel. Mingyu hid himself among all your palace staff, his job was to become your daily life. He brought you your breakfast every morning, when you were gone, he fluffed your pillows and drew your curtains. When you left the palace, he sat next to you in the carriage making sure no one could kill you (apart from him of course).

There was no specific date where Mingyu declared to himself that he was in love with you. But when you kissed him suddenly one April morning, feelings of romance were increasingly hard to deny. Your lips tasted of citrus and your scent was of forests in the garden of Eden. Before he could register what he had gotten himself into, you had fallen deeper than you could have ever expected. His golden brown eyes infatuated you and you wouldn’t let go until you had broken him down so much that he had become you and you had become him.

Mingyu knew that you both were fighting a losing battle, but he could never say no to you. When it came to your love, it was his life or yours. A life without you in his world wasn’t worth living to him.

He locked eyes with your closed ones as you lay next to him deep in sleep, in his head he heard your silent pleas. He knew that if he did this, his fate would stand sealed in eternity’s stone. He pulled the dagger out from its holst. The blade gleamed like the jewels lying on your bedside table. Engraved in the wooden handle were the words ‘till the world’s end’, the motto of his rebel group, the motto of anarchy he lived his life by, until you. You would have loved him till his end and he vowed to do the same for you, whenever his end would be.

There was comfort in the thought that death would be better than the world that you both found yourself in. He’d knew you'd die, but when you wake you’d find yourself in a gold chariot and fields of sweet honey and rivers of porcelain milk. A world without suffering, pure bliss and happiness like you deserved Yet as he held that dagger, his own fate was ever more complicated. There was no knowing where he’d be tomorrow. However in the end, he knew: whether he loved you or hated you, whether he spared your life or killed you like he originally intended, hell is where he’d find himself for a love that felt worse than sin.

#seventeen angst #seventeen x reader #seventeen oneshot #seventeen drabble #seventeen fanfic #svt angst #svt x reader #svt drabble #kim mingyu angst #kim mingyu x reader #i remember this being so fun to write #anyways i promise something new very very soon !!

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alifeasvivid · 8 months

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A Closer Look; a ukus human au about tattoos; explicit

IT'S FINALLY HERE. Dedicated to @halfrightpartwrongmostlysnarky since they provided the initial idea :D

Rating: E Warnings: none Summary: strangers to lovers; Arthur assumes it's his ink that catches the eye of a handsome stranger on the tube at 6am, but the stranger's interest might be more than skin deep. Word Count: ~8300

Read here on AO3

Arthur thwacks the back of Gilbert’s head to wake him up. It’s around 6am on a Sunday and the Underground is nearly empty. The German ex-pat had fallen asleep on Arthur after making their way home from a friend’s house, at which they had crashed in the very early morning after a show.

“Oi,” Arthur snaps. “Wake up, wanker.”

Gilbert blinks at him blearily with spectacularly smudged eyeliner. “Wha?” He looks around the mostly empty train car.

“Your stop’s next,” Arthur informs him.

“Oh. Thanks, mate.” When the train stops, Gilbert stands up, adjusting his excessively studded jacket. “Text me when you get home,” he says with some gravity in his voice as Arthur is probably definitely still a bit drunk, having only had “hair of the dog” for breakfast.

Arthur waves him off dismissively, but affectionately. He watches as Gilbert and a few other passengers leave. He still has a ways to go before his own stop. As he settles himself in, his eyes snap to someone already looking at him.

It’s some blond bloke. Arthur quickly appraises him: blue eyes, glasses, very athletic if the muscular frame concealed by a form-fitting, long-sleeved shirt is any indication. Arthur scowls harshly at him, folding his arms over his chest. The boy looks a lot like some of the American frat boys who had harassed Arthur when he did a year abroad during uni—about that young as well, or at least a few years younger than Arthur.

Having been caught, the lad quickly averts his gaze and the tips of his ears turn rather red.

Arthur scoffs and just hopes that this idiot’s stop is coming up shortly.

It doesn’t seem so. The twat is still riding the train after a few stops, sat diagonally across from Arthur, and Arthur catches him staring a several more times.

He wishes he hadn’t left his jacket at his friend’s house. He’s starting to suspect that his two full sleeves of tattoos, highly visible with only a t-shirt on, are drawing the attention, likely not helped by the steel-studded bands around his wrists and myriad piercings. That attention, however, seems to be more curious and fascinated than judgmental and the lad’s apparent inability to direct his gaze anywhere else begins to intrigue Arthur.

The train car remains fairly empty as the morning wears on until it is only Arthur, this stranger, and a few other passengers.

For the first time in a long time, Arthur finds himself examining the marks on his skin which have become completely normal and unremarkable to him over time. The sleeves stop at his wrists and his hands are free of any ink. Some of the tattoos are tucked into the overall flow at random. Most of these were done at home by friends, like the crude anarchy “A” and the three arrows he’d earned for… well… he’d most certainly earned them.

Others are professionally done, sprawling and artful. For example, the fantastically detailed head of a lion guards his right bicep while a slightly regrettable skull adorned with spiked hair fades unevenly on his left shoulder—a relic of his teen years. A traditional mermaid perches on his right forearm, while a properly-rigged pirate ship sails on his left. There are several more on his arms and several which are not visible on the rest of him, including a swallow trapped in a thicket of thorny roses that spans his chest.

In his self-examination, he’s suddenly thankful to this odd, and rather startlingly attractive, stranger for reminding him to appreciate the artwork that decorates his body, accumulated over the last ten years of his twenty-seven, which have been marked by rebellion, activism, music, and general mayhem.

When he next looks up, the git is once again staring.

Arthur raises one pierced eyebrow in a direct challenge. “You got a problem, mate?” he says, cursing the liquid courage still coursing through his veins. His body is already sore from being thrown around the mosh pit last night and thus his black leather boots weigh his usual agility down; he’s not in any shape to start a fight on the Tube, especially not with a stranger who looks like he could probably incapacitate Arthur’s wiry physique with little effort.

The lad has the decency to look embarrassed and shakes his head.

Interesting.

A few passengers glance over at Arthur just to see who has had the audacity to speak so loudly in the confined space.

The young man manages to bury his attention in his phone until the next stop, at which time he stands up.

Arthur is a bit too out of it to make any sense of the disappointment he feels that he’s never going to see this stranger again. Now that he’s standing, he seems even more fit than he had appeared sitting down. The impression that this stranger could quite possibly snap him in half instantly becomes more arousing than threatening. It’s a shame.

But he doesn’t get off the train. He moves with the other passengers, but instead takes the seat one over from Arthur, leaving one seat open in between them. “Hi,” he says, a little abashed still, but earnestly smiling. “I didn’t want you to yell at me across the car again and get dirty looks. I’m Alfred.”

Oh, he is American… but not much like the ones Arthur knew, what with his shy blush and that sweet smile. Arthur suddenly wishes he actually had bit more booze to slosh around in his brain. This Alfred person is far too handsome for anyone’s good—even more so up close.

“Arthur,” he replies somewhat stiffly. “And what? You’ve never seen a ‘punk’ before?”

Alfred laughs. “I mean not really, not in person.”

Arthur makes a show of regarding him dismissively. “I can believe that,” he says, “since you look like you just stepped off a designer runway.” He hadn’t meant to say it so admiringly.

Alfred blushes and grins. “Thanks… I think.” His eyes flit down to Arthur’s arms.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never seen tattoos before. You’ve been staring at them, right?”

“I’ve seen tattoos,” Alfred insists.

“So you’ve got some kind of fetish or what?”

Alfred fidgets. “I… I wouldn’t call it that.”

Arthur glances over him again, noticing acutely now how Alfred’s fingers are flexing in and out of clenched fists. “I’m sure you wouldn’t.”

“I wasn’t only admiring them,” Alfred mumbles, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m really not trying to make you uncomfortable.”

Cute, is the thought that enters Arthur’s mind and he relaxes somewhat. “The only thing making me uncomfortable is how bloody gorgeous you are,” he says, or rather the alcohol says.

Alfred giggles slightly and smiles at Arthur. “Again, thanks… I think.”

Arthur stares at him for awhile. He really looks like he just walked onto the train from a beach in California… or out of an advert created so people would think so. Sitting next to him makes Arthur feel like he’s basking on that beach, like perhaps he won’t get a terrible hangover from all the booze and loud music and thrashing. “So you wouldn’t call it a fetish, what would you call it?” he asks, noticing that as far as he can tell, Alfred doesn’t have any ink himself, though he is rather well-covered.

Alfred shrugs shyly. “I don’t know. I guess I admire the conviction, the commitment, the ability to wear your story. There’s a meaning behind all of these, right? It’s like… your own history matters to you enough to display it and no one can say otherwise. I think it’s pretty awesome. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do.”

It’s too early for this, Arthur thinks as he blinks at this stranger. He’s not above getting philosophical to be sure, but not at six am on the Underground with pounding bass still metaphorically ringing in his ears.

Alfred looks searchingly back at Arthur and then backs off a little. “Sorry, maybe it’s just not that deep, right?”

“No—I mean, yes, that is—I’m—” Arthur fumbles, trying to say something reassuring and suddenly very much not wanting Alfred to back off any further. Maybe there’s just enough liquid courage left… but not enough for anything to happen on the damn tube of all places. Arthur pinches his nose. “Look, I don’t… know where you’re going right now, but if it’s not anywhere in particular, you can come with me and I’ll let you have a better look,” he says pointedly, “sound fair?”

Alfred’s eyes widen behind his glasses. “You’re serious?” he asks incredulously.

“Nah, just taking the piss when you’re the hottest person I’ve ever seen,” Arthur quips sarcastically. “Yes, I’m serious. I won’t ask again.”

Alfred blushes brightly, then checks his phone briefly and tucks it in his pocket. “Yeah. Definitely.”

Arthur sits up and looks around, no one has seemed to notice them at all. “Mine’s the next stop,” he says. A static-like tingle of anticipation spreads over his palms and creeps up his arms and shivers up his neck.

Alfred is practically sitting on his hands. He bites his lip briefly, then catches Arthur watching him and smiles. Americans and their incessant smiling. Arthur has never found it so endearing before. “I meant it when I said I wasn’t only admiring your ink,” Alfred confesses.

Knowing that his eyeliner is completely smudged, his unruly hair is full of sweat and grime, his t-shirt is torn up and he might even be developing a few bruises here and there, Arthur can’t help but scoff a little at that statement. “I’m sure you’ve caught me looking like a train ran over me.”

“If you look this good after being run over by a train, I’m kind of terrified of how gorgeous you’ll be after you recover.”

Arthur turns red up to his ears and he can feel it.

The train comes to a stop and Arthur gets up, glancing at Alfred who jumps to his feet and follows Arthur with that silly, American grin on his face. Arthur feels the soreness of his muscles even more, but his heart races all the same. It’s not like he’s never picked up strangers before, but somehow this seems different. Maybe it’s because Arthur picked him up in the morning on the tube instead of under the cover of night at a show or a pub.

“The house isn’t far, we can walk.”

Alfred looks at him skeptically. “Are you sure? You do actually seem pretty tired. We can take a cab, I’ll pay.”

“No,” Arthur says, despite wanting to say yes. “I think I need the fresh air to sober me up.”

Alfred laughs. “Is that going to work against me though?”

Arthur examines Alfred yet again. How is a person this stunning allowed to be out among normal people? “Definitely not.” He takes a few steps toward the direction of his flat. “Come on, it’s this way.” Alfred walks next to him, seemingly ready for Arthur to collapse at any moment. “So what brought you to the UK?” Arthur asks, trying to be casual.

“Work,” Alfred answers vaguely. “You were born in London, right? Based on your accent anyway.”

Arthur raises his eyebrow. “Yes, lived here my entire life. Impressive for a yank to pick up on that. You must have lived here awhile then, but you haven’t lost your accent, clearly.”

“I’ve kinda got a knack for languages and stuff, but yeah, four years. I’m clinging to it for dear life. You guys keep telling me it’s attractive.” His grin becomes bashful once more and he compulsively adjusts his glasses.

Cute, Arthur thinks again. “Here it is,” he says, stopping them in front of an old, converted townhouse. His heart is hammering in his chest now. “What type of work brought you here?” Arthur asks as he opens the door, slightly distracted by sending a quick “made it home” text to Gil.

“Oh, I thought you knew,” Alfred says, mildly confused. “You mentioned on the train that I look like I stepped out off the runway, so I thought you’d seen an ad that I’m in somewhere.”

Arthur’s brain completely short circuits as he closes and locks the door behind them. “What?”

“I’m a… model. I was at a launch party last night. I guess the job is part of the reason I’m so fascinated by your tattoos. My line of work… I’m not really allowed to have any. It’s in my contract and anyway, photographers get testy if you have to spend any extra time in—”

Arthur doesn’t let him finish. For all he knows, this is some insane dream because picking up a literal model on the tube is so farfetched only his subconscious could have come up with it. Suddenly much more awake, he shoves Alfred back against the door and kisses him.

Alfred melts and kisses him back and it’s like fire. His large, warm hands cup Arthur’s face and Arthur tangles his fingers in Alfred’s hair. Alfred steers him toward a weathered old couch in Arthur’s living room, barely releasing their kiss for more than a second or two. He nudges Arthur down onto it and drops the floor in front of him, standing on his knees. “I…” sharp inhale, “was promised a closer look.”

“That was before I found out you kiss like a succubus,” Arthur replies, cupping Alfred’s face and leaning in only to be dodged. Alfred’s attention has returned to his ink. Arthur is somewhat miffed until he remembers that he is very in need of a wash. “Agh. I need to shower. Won’t take but a minute. Don’t move.”

Arthur darts out of the room, down the hall, and is under the shower spray before the water is even hot; he scrubs himself hurriedly and with more vigor than necessary. It somehow feels rather presumptuous to go back out totally nude, so he throws on a pair of clean boxers and a fresh t-shirt, one in far better condition than what he had on before.

Re-entering the sitting room, he sees Alfred standing, inspecting the dozen-odd framed and somewhat haphazardly hung embroidery pieces on the wall. They are meant to be eventually gifted to those who become part of the groups for which Arthur organizes.

“That’s a lot of embroidery,” Alfred comments absently. “Did you do all those?

Arthur growls quietly and brushes his fingers against Alfred’s chin, turning the lad’s head toward him and breathing kisses along his jawline. He doesn’t want to talk about his eclectic hobbies or his work; he wants to indulge in Alfred’s lips and hopefully other parts of his body. “Most of them, but let’s keep our priorities in order, shall we?” He kisses Alfred’s lips again.

Alfred’s attention returns to Arthur and he nods, looking flushed and little bit dazed and quite adorable.

Arthur gives him a smile that’s part smirk. “If we’re going to shag, I’d rather take this to the bedroom… if you’re willing, of course.”

Alfred’s breathless “hell yeah” in response is more than enough for Arthur and he leads the lad down the hall.

The bedroom is at least clean enough that Arthur doesn’t feel the need to make any apology for it and, finding some strength somehow, he pushes Alfred back onto his bed, laughing when he lands with a surprised yelp.

Alfred recovers quickly, grabs Arthur’s shirt, and pulls him down on top him so that Arthur is straddling him on hands and knees. He grins up at Arthur and before he can register the lad’s intent, Alfred flips them both over.

Arthur’s assessment on the train had been right: Alfred is exceptionally strong, though, quite delightfully, he seems to be expecting Arthur to be the one snapping him in half.

Alfred’s palms clasp Arthur’s hips and help him to sit up against some pillows. He kisses Arthur, coaxing Arthur’s soul right out of him as he does. He pulls back and takes Arthur’s right arm, kissing the inside of his wrist over the ivy vine that encircles it, lips quirking up when Arthur shivers. He quietly continues traces patterns over the lines above Arthur’s right hand gently with one finger, as if in disbelief. “And they’re just there, huh? All the time,” he says more to himself than to Arthur.

Arthur bites back a moan. “Yes. I… I hardly notice them anymore, to be honest. Only when you were staring…”

Alfred nods. “You can really just, like, mark yourself up like that,” he muses, moving to the left side, tracing the riggings on the ship, moving to the crudely-done arrows just above the inside of Arthur’s elbow.

Arthur stays very still, occasionally trembling and biting his lip to keep from sighing with pleasure. This is possibly better than kissing. Very possibly. “You aren’t—ah—you aren’t going to ask about them?” he says, remembering how Alfred had remarked on the story aspect of the tattoos on the train.

“Not right now,” Alfred murmurs softly. “Later though.” He grins as he reaches the ill-advised skull with the mohawk. His hands drop the to the hem of Arthur’s shirt again, but pause. He looks at Arthur with eyes like an endless summer sky that Arthur has only seen in films and photographs.

Arthur swallows hard. Somehow, this is the most intimate he’s ever been with anyone in his entire life and for a moment, he contemplates pulling away, saying no. Maybe it’s the booze (he sobered up a long awhile ago) or maybe it’s the surrealism of it all or maybe it’s just that Alfred looks mischievous and sincere and fascinated all at the same time, but he nods.

Alfred leans down to kiss him briefly before actually removing Arthur’s shirt. His eyes immediately snap to one particular thing and a cheeky grin spreads over his lips as he flicks his thumbs over the metal rings in both of Arthur’s nipples, making Arthur gasp. “Knew you’d have these too,” he says teasingly.

“Nnngh…” he moans, then kisses Alfred quickly and tugs at his shirt also. “Fair’s fair,” he insists as Alfred shifts to let him tug it off and over his head. Even knowing Alfred is a literal model, Arthur still hadn’t been prepared for just how beautiful he is; it borders on the absurd, particularly in Arthur’s very lived-in flat, in Arthur’s less-than-tidy bedroom, on Arthur’s far-from-luxurious bed. “God,” he breathes. “I stand corrected, this is not at all fair.”

Alfred laughs, rather self-consciously for someone who probably ought to be used to everyone ogling him by now, which Arthur finds all the more endearing. “I was promised a closer look,” he reminds him. His eyes and fingers turn their attention to Arthur’s thorns and roses. He clearly wants to touch, but only lets the very tips of his fingers brush the colorful skin.

“There’s one each for someone lost,” Arthur says, trying to catch his breath.

Alfred’s fingertips immediately retreat. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have—”

Arthur shakes his head. “No, it’s alright. Like you said, it’s my history. I keep fighting the good fight, so to speak, and never forget why.”

“It’s beautiful work,” Alfred says longingly. He runs his hands oh-so carefully along Arthur’s sides and then frowns slightly. “Jeez… Did you fall off a building last night or something?”

“Hm?”

“You’ve got some major bruising starting to show,” Alfred informs him.

Arthur looks down at himself and laughs at blurry memories of pounding bass and launching himself through the crowd and then the mosh pit, being drunk and alive and landing as many blows as he was taking. “That’s fairly standard, I’d say,” he pronounces, despite wincing. The equally standard soreness is settling in fully now. “Perils of the lifestyle.”

Alfred giggles a bit. So cute, Arthur thinks, but then Alfred’s fingertip strokes the swallow’s wing for a moment before moving along to the lion’s head. After a few moments petting the lion’s mane, he bends down and kisses the swallow with only a careful, insistent press of his lips.

Arthur melts helplessly, grateful to be lying against the pillows. The kiss is so simple, yet so profoundly deliberate that it leaves him a bit shaken. He gasps when Alfred shifts back on the bed, his fingers teasing the waistband of Arthur’s pants.

“Are there more under here?” Alfred teases. He doesn’t wait for an answer before tugging them down. His gaze falls on the tattoo of a red bass guitar that wraps around Arthur’s hip and thigh, but then gasps as he catches sight of Arthur’s other piercing. “Oh,” he murmurs, then bites his lip and grins giddily. “Should’ve known you’d have this too,” Alfred teases again as he flicks the heavy steel ring adorning Arthur’s “prince albert” piercing.

Arthur gasps through his teeth and lets out the smallest groan. He attempts to sit up and flip them over again, but Alfred presses his hand to his chest and pushes him back down.

Alfred grins as he raises his eyebrow, “You got somewhere to be or somethin’?”

Arthur groans from the soreness of his muscles more than anything else. “Definitely not,” he says mirthfully, “I appear to be at your mercy for the time being.”

Alfred laughs as he smooths his palms over Arthur’s hips and up his body, deliberately missing Arthur’s cock in doing so. He nuzzles his nose against Arthur’s collarbone and then presses a small, shy kiss on Arthur’s shoulder. “I’ve been at yours since the train,” he mumbles so quietly that Arthur almost misses it.

In response, Arthur threads his fingers into Alfred’s hair and reassuringly massages his scalp. He arches beneath Alfred, his cock rubbing Alfred’s hip. “Mmmmph… god, I’d like to fuck you,” he exhales.

Alfred huffs mirthfully. “You’re real polite for a punk,” he teases as he kisses down Arthur’s chest, pausing to kiss each rose as well as the swallow. “Seems like you’re pretty incapacitated right now, though.”

Arthur concedes by letting his head fall back against the pillows and nodding. “If I’d known I was going to be bringing home some gorgeous bloke from the tube, I might have not got myself so beat up last night, hmm?”

Alfred giggles as he brushes his lips against Arthur’s collarbone. “It’s alright, I’ll take care of ya.” His hands resume their mapping of Arthur’s body, tracing the lines of ink that mark it and his fingers dance around kisses planted by his lips.

Arthur sighs and struggles to form words, but manages to at least voice the important thing: “Ah, sorry, luv, I don’t bottom if that’s what you mean.”

Alfred raises his head to wink at him. “Never said you were gonna. We don’t have to do that right now anyway, it’s a lot of work, you know?”

Arthur remembers that Alfred was probably out very late, if not all night, as well. A lazy morning of lazy sex is actually very appealing. He gasps and sighs as Alfred abruptly tugs the ring in one of his nipples with his teeth and pulls the other with his fingers. “Fuck, oh fuck… yes, oh fuck… Ah!” His hand rests on the back of Alfred’s head and he threads his fingers in his soft, golden hair.

Alfred ducks him though and slides down, pulling Arthur’s pants all the way off now. He spreads Arthur’s legs slowly, massaging them apart more than pushing. He kneels between them brush his nose through the trail of fine hairs leading from Arthur’s navel to his cock, humming a little as he does so. Arthur might actually die from the way Alfred reflexively licks his lips as he settles more comfortably between Arthur’s legs.

Arthur gasps and possibly does die when Alfred pulls gently on the steel ring piercing the head of Arthur’s cock with his teeth. He cries out when Alfred doesn’t stop, “Fuck! Bloody hell—” His fingers twist into Alfred’s hair and he groans when Alfred gives him a kittenish little wink before laving his tongue under, up, and over the head before taking it into his mouth.

Alfred deep throats Arthur’s cock with impressive ease, but he pulls back in favor of wrapping his fingers around the base of it and sucking on the head, teasing the ring endlessly as he does. He moans loudly and luxuriantly and Arthur would have thought Alfred was touching himself if not for his other hand caressing Arthur’s hip, almost as if he were strumming the inked bass there. He doesn’t let up even when Arthur gives his hair a warning tug.

“Fuck!” Arthur cries out, looking down at Alfred and his cock being drawn in and out through Alfred’s red, swollen lips, coated with spit and pre-cum. “Please,” Arthur begs, “I’m—I—” It’s finally too much at Arthur’s hip bucks reflexively as his orgasm hits him harder than his already-sore body can really take, but it’s so good. “Alfr—oh god… oh fuck!”

Alfred holds Arthur’s hip down with one hand and holds Arthur’s cock steady at the back of his mouth with the other. His throat works with little effort to drain Arthur of every drop of cum.

Arthur sobs as he crashes back into his tired body, only for Alfred to still be sucking on him. He’s twitching out almost nothing at this point, but he can’t even push Alfred away.

When Alfred finally releases him, he lets Arthur’s cum spill past his lips and over Arthur’s spent cock.

Arthur groans loudly. “Fuck me,” he curses, only for it to be punctuated by a sharp yell as Alfred laps at him, licking him clean.

Alfred licks his lips, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and grins breathlessly up at Arthur. “Thought you said you aren’t down for that,” he replies cheekily, licking his lips again to get the last drops, eyelids fluttering a little as he hums. “So good.”

Arthur throws his head back in blissful defeat and moans. It’s too much. No one will ever believe this happened. No one will believe that Arthur Kirkland, while hungover and beat to hell, picked up a bloody model on the Tube at six am and then said model spent the morning sucking his brains out through his dick. It’s too absurd. It’s not even as though Arthur doesn’t enjoy the luxury of having his pick of partners, but this is really taking the piss.

Alfred crawls over him shamelessly and coaxes him into a kiss. He settles in Arthur’s lap, rutting against his thigh, his cock stroking the bass tattoo. He whines, loud and wanton. “Mm, Arthur… ahhh, fuck yes.” His hands settle on Arthur’s shoulders, one of them petting the lion’s mane as he rocks back and forth.

Arthur grunts because he’s too sore and sated to do anything else. “Here, let me move a bit, I’d like to return the favor,” he says, intending for Alfred to sit on his face.

Alfred shakes his head and then nuzzles his nose in Arthur’s neck, just panting while his other hand presses against the swallow, right above Arthur’s heart. “Mm-mm. ‘want it like this. Just like this.”

Feeling rather selfish, Arthur tries to remedy it by reaching between them to wrap his hand around Alfred’s cock, which is dripping profusely and lewdly smearing pre-cum all over Arthur’s skin, but Alfred brushes him away. Determined not to be completely useless, Arthur presses three fingers to Alfred’s lips, which are drawn in and sucked with no hesitation.

Alfred hums around Arthur’s fingers, getting them good and wet, until Arthur pulls them out. He clearly understands what Arthur intends to do, because he presses closer and spreads his legs further apart. He mewls and whines as Arthur presses two fingers inside him, working them in and out.

It is strikingly easy for Arthur to add the third and he purrs against Alfred’s temple, “Aren’t you a naughty thing? You’d take my cock this easily too, I’ll bet.”

Alfred nods enthusiastically, “Mmmm, oh fuck yes, ‘ll take anything you want me to.” He ruts against Arthur’s thigh desperately, rolling his hips back and forth. His breathing comes less and less evenly as he huffs and pants against Arthur’s neck. He keeps his palm pressed to the inked bird on Arthur’s chest as Arthur pumps his fingers in and out.

Despite Alfred taking him so easily, he’s incredibly tight and he squeezes Arthur’s fingers so enticingly, it’s impossible for Arthur not to imagine pounding Alfred with his cock. Maybe Alfred won’t evaporate or disappear and Arthur will have the chance. He pushes his fingers in deeper and from the way Alfred yelps and clings to him, Arthur feels rather smugly satisfied. He relentlessly thrusts against Alfred’s prostate as Alfred’s rutting becomes ever more erratic. “That’s it, darling, come on.”

Alfred huffs and moans and whines and babbles against Arthur’s neck. “Fuck, Arthur, I’m gonna—” he sobs and it sends a shiver up Arthur’s spine, “Don’t stop.”

Arthur certainly has no intention of stopping. He continues fingering him, feeling Alfred’s cock twitch, hot and throbbing against his hip. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he purrs in Alfred’s ear.

Alfred suddenly seizes up, grinds hard into Arthur, and pants desperate, strangled moans and cries against Arthur’s neck. “Oh fuck, fuck, ahhh~! Yes, Ar—!nnng…”

“That’s it, good boy,” he praises. Some combination of pleasure and affection bubble in Arthur’s chest as Alfred orgasms from little more than his fingers. He begins to wonder if Alfred is some fantastic creature come to lead him off to some toadstool circle in some garden that wasn’t there yesterday and the little delusion makes him realize exactly how tired he is. So tired, in fact, that he doesn’t protest one bit when Alfred cuddles up next to him, resting his head on Arthur’s chest, even though they are now both in need of a wash.

“That was so good,” Alfred sighs contentedly and rests his hand over the swallow inked over Arthur’s heart. “It was good, right?”

If Arthur didn’t find that so endearing and if he wasn’t so tired, he might roll his eyes. “Brilliant,” he confirms. He wants to ask Alfred to stay, but he can’t bring himself to do it. It might break the spell… disrupt whatever strange mixture of fate, luck, and magic caused this utterly absurd event. “Bloody brilliant,” he mutters, quite certain Alfred has already fallen asleep.

—

The afternoon sunlight peeks in through the slightly busted blinds on Arthur’s bedroom window as Alfred wakes up. His hand on Arthur’s chest rises and falls steadily with Arthur’s rhythmic breathing. A contentment Alfred hasn’t felt in so long rests over him like a blanket and he can’t help but smile from ear to ear. He might giggle and kick his feet if he wasn’t determined not to wake Arthur.

Without moving, his eyes wander around Arthur’s room. There are photos of lots of a few people, one of them is the white-haired man who was initially with Arthur on the train. Some of the photos are pretty old, showing Arthur and the same group as teenagers, so they must be Arthur’s closest friends.

Alfred’s eyes fall back to Arthur and the ink under his skin. He clearly doesn’t have to worry about keeping his body in a condition approved by someone else. If Alfred had known what he was signing up for four years ago, he wouldn’t have done it. Being a model isn’t being famous the way being a movie star or musician is; people only ever recognize him as a face they’ve seen somewhere, but it’s still more than he would really like.

Wanting to be famous and admired and wanting to be adored by someone are very different things.

Alfred sometimes wishes he had learned that a lot sooner, but he can’t deny that his life has definitely been exciting and often a lot of fun. Still, it has lost much of its appeal since he started. He shifts, feeling a bit uncomfortable and then feeling a bit more uncomfortable as he realizes he’s quite sticky. So is the bass guitar on Arthur’s hip. He grins.

Some of Arthur’s tattoos are crudely done or old and fading, but the cumulative effect of them is breathtaking and god, his piercings are sexy. He’s a heavy dose of reality that Alfred hadn’t known he needed.

Arthur’s room, his house, are lived in. The house isn’t messy and certainly not dirty, but lived in. The needlepoint works in frames on the wall, the worn couches and chairs in the living room, Arthur’s bedroom with a few pieces of clothing on the floor. It’s a real home.

It’s nothing like the glamorous, luxury townhouse Alfred had been heading toward after being out all night at the launch party for the new campaign, of which he is one of the main faces. Alfred hadn’t wanted to spend any more time with his colleagues/housemates with their loud drunken antics in the limo, so he had opted for the train. He glows thinking that it was one of the best decisions he has ever made.

It will definitely be the best one if Arthur doesn’t kick him out… if Arthur maybe lets him come back…

Arthur has texture and his body is lived in, just like his house. Before seeing Arthur on the train, Alfred hadn’t truly realized how much he has become so numb to smoothy, glossy things—things that slip out of his hands and out of sight so quickly and so few of them actually belong to him. The fashion industry is beautiful, but purposefully insubstantial, purposefully unreal… it’s art. It had been dazzling to a late bloomer of a college student, but now, real life has a tendency to seem as airbrushed as the photos.

That industry will have no use for him before too long and his career will be another glossy, gossamer thing that doesn’t belong to him.

Maybe Arthur would let him stay here sometimes.

The cum dried on Alfred compels him to finally get up. He goes into the bathroom—only one toothbrush on the counter, only one towel hanging on the wall, and that makes his heart flutter stupidly and he chastises it for that. He tries the shower, but can’t figure out the taps and he doesn’t want the noise to wake Arthur anyway, so he cleans himself with a washcloth, rinses it, and takes it back to the bedroom.

He cleans Arthur up as best he can without waking him. The bruises are even more apparent at this point—including one above Arthur’s eye which had not appeared until now. It isn’t bad enough for Alfred to be too concerned and he really can’t help but laugh. From what little he’s learned about Arthur, he’s sure that the punk will just laugh it off as ‘perils of the lifestyle.’ That lifestyle seems so joyous and free.

Alfred knows many people would envy his life, but he envies Arthur’s. Arthur isn’t airbrushed. His skin is full of freckles and ink and scars and bruises. Alfred could spend days mapping them.

He pulls on his boxers and heads out into the living room with the nominal intention of finding something to cook and the actual intention of snooping just a little.

The living room doesn’t have much space considering that most of it is taken up by two couches, five comfy looking chairs, one bean bag, a coffee table and various end tables. It’s clearly not some avant garde design choice, it seems more like necessity.  There is, however, room for a record player hooked up to some very expensive-looking sound equipment and next to it is a bookshelf full of vinyls as well as a few crates full of them next to the speakers. There’s a red bass guitar propped up on a stand near the corner and Alfred chuckles a little. He doesn’t peek through the records too much, but it seems like a really awesome collection, definitely a large one.

There are two other bookcases full of actual books and they are much more organized than the vinyls. One case contains fiction books and the other non fiction and they are all alphabetized by author. Alfred chuckles as Arthur’s punk appearance seems somewhat at odds with the neat organization and tranquility of his home.

In addition to the rather mysterious embroidery pieces, there are more framed photographs, an actually striking amount considering that most people just keep photos on their phones these days. Some of these even look professional. Many don’t feature Arthur at all, they simply show different groups of smiling people making silly faces—sometimes with obscene gestures.   Most of the people who were in the photos in the bedroom are out here as well. Arthur seems to have a very wide circle of friends and acquaintances and Alfred can’t help but wonder what it is that he does for a living.

One of the few photos of Arthur catches Alfred’s eye: it’s an absolutely perfect candid portrait and Arthur clearly doesn’t know it’s being taken: Arthur has all of his visible piercings filled, even some that he wasn’t wearing earlier, and a black sleeveless shirt, displaying his tattoos. He’s sitting at the kitchen table in very soft light, with his head turned slightly away, smiling pensively with a delicate china teacup in his hands.

Alfred’s heart aches just a little and he envies whoever took the photo.

He’s startled by his own stomach rumbling. Arthur will probably up soon and he’ll probably be hungry too, so Alfred heads into the kitchen to see if he can make something. The kitchen isn’t… dirty by any stretch, it’s actually very clean, but it’s odd. There are scorch marks on the stove, on the walls and they aren’t exactly small. Poking through the drawers reveals burnt wooden spoons, melted spatulas, and other kitchenwares in various states of distress. Alfred laughs.

The fridge is in much better condition, though it seems to have very little in it and most of what is there seems to be takeout leftovers, but Alfred’s pretty sure he can pull something together.

—

Arthur blinks awake, surprisingly not hungover, but very, very sore and a bit groggy. His body aches when he tries to move it and it’s only after a few moments that he realizes Alfred is gone. It had to have been a dream, right? Surely.

He takes stock of himself and discovers that his hip and thigh are clean—just partially: the only proof that Alfred had really been there.

Trying to convince himself that he isn’t upset that Alfred didn’t stick around, Arthur stumbles into the shower just to soap himself down and rinse. Drying off and seeing himself in the mirror, he doesn’t really wonder why Alfred didn’t stick around since he still looks rather like a train ran over him—complete with a fresh bruise above his eye. The perspective of some decent rest must have made Alfred see sense and Arthur can hardly fault him for that.

It’s Sunday, but it’s probably for the best that Arthur get some work done. Thankfully, there is always work to be done. Arthur reasons that with the distraction, he can convince himself that Alfred was nothing more than a lovely dream.

He pulls on a fresh pair of briefs heads out toward the kitchen, trying to mentally take stock of what might be in the refrigerator, but when he rounds the corner, there is Alfred, frowning into the fridge with one hand on his hip. He’s still mostly naked—dressed to match Arthur in nothing but his knickers. Arthur knows quite a few extremely attractive people, but Alfred could have posed for the ancient statues of Apollo… in Arthur’s kitchen.

“Y-you…” Arthur stutters in surprise. “You’re still here,” he muses, a bit baffled.

Alfred jumps, looking Arthur up and down quickly, seeing that his hair is wet. Alfred hadn’t even heard the shower. Covered in ink and bruises and little else, Arthur is so sexy it almost hurts. Alfred blushes and he bashfully averts his gaze. “Um. Yeah. Sorry, was I not supposed to be?”

“No. I mean. Yes. I’m…” Arthur could kick himself for causing that dejected expression on Alfred’s face. He closes the distance between them, placing his hand on Alfred’s cheek partly to soothe him and partly to make absolutely certain he isn’t still dreaming. He then cups Alfred’s chin and pulls him into a languid kiss that leaves them both a bit breathless. “I’m very glad you’re still here. I thought you had seen sense and left.”

“Ha,” Alfred says, dazed momentarily. “I think I’ve seen more sense by staying than I have in a long time, if I’m being honest.”

“Oh?”

Alfred gazes pensively at the space around them. “This place… your house… you… it’s a lot different than what I’m used to.” He notices Arthur’s expression change and hastily adds, “It’s a good thing, I swear. It’s a really, really good thing. I’m really glad you yelled at me on the train.”

Arthur’s own face turns pink now, “I hardly think I yelled.”

Alfred laughs. “You definitely did, but it’s okay, I think you were still kinda drunk.”

“Then blame it on liquid courage,” Arthur says, waving his hand to excuse his own behavior. Shouting on the tube… what worse crime could a Londoner commit? It turned out to be worth it, of course, since Alfred is still here, all but totally naked, in his kitchen. “Anyway. You’re hungry, I take it? Apologies for the state of my kitchen, I’m a terrible cook.”

“Yeah, I kinda got that impression from the scorch marks and mangled utensils and stuff,” Alfred replies, trying not to giggle outright. “And it doesn’t seem like there’s much food for you in here, everything is labeled for other people.”

Arthur nods, “Yes, all of that is for work,” he says and then pauses, clearing his throat. “Are you… that is… do you want… do you have anywhere to be?”

Alfred grins, finding Arthur’s sudden moment of self-consciousness kind of cute. “Yeah. Right here, right?” He steps right up to Arthur, almost flush against him, gliding his fingertips up Arthur’s arms and grinning, “You still owe me an explanation about your ink.”

Arthur suddenly remembers that promise and then smirks. “Indeed. I’ll order something for delivery.” He slides his palm up and down Alfred’s arm in return, then clasps his hand and tugs him in the direction of the bedroom.

Alfred shivers and follows as if he’s floating and lets Arthur push him back onto the bed with a silly grin all over him.

A smirk glints off of Arthur’s bright green eyes as he straddles Alfred, sitting up on his knees, so that they are in more or less the same position in which they landed on the couch earlier. Reaching for his phone, he quickly orders lunch for the two of them and then tosses it to the side. “There we are. We have a little while.” He chuckles when he sees that Alfred isn’t looking up at him, but rather scanning the tattoos. “I’ll say right now, quite a few of them are little more than ‘me and my mates got pissed and did it for a laugh.’”

Alfred winks up at him. “Really? I never would have guessed,” he teases, poking the skull with the mohawk.

“Christ, that one is so old,” Arthur says, tilting his head awkwardly to look at the heavily faded ink on his left shoulder that he can’t really see. “Gil—my mate from the train—dared me to do it when we were, hm, couldn’t have been more than sixteen.”

Alfred raises his eyebrows reflexively. “Wow… that seems really young.”

Arthur hums. “I suppose. Not so young though, don’t a lot of models get recruited at that age?”

“Some yeah, not me though. I was in university, some pretty girl at a mall told me I should give it a try and I’ve never been real good at saying no to pretty girls,” he laughs a little self-consciously.

Arthur nods sagely, “They are notoriously difficult to refuse, but then… so are pretty boys.”

Alfred blushes even if that comment wasn’t necessarily directed at him. “Ain’t that the truth,” he answers, giving a coy look up at Arthur before tracing his finger over the mane of the lion on Arthur’s right arm. “What about this one?”

“Ahh that one does have a story, of sorts. It’s one of the last tattoos that a friend did as an apprentice to another artist. She really wanted to do the lion and I didn’t want it because it’s such an overt symbol of leadership and England and royalty and… all that. I do have a leadership role of sorts in the work that I do, but I don’t see that as… who I am. But she managed to convince me because she said the male lion was perfect for me since all they do is laze about and shag while the lionesses do all the work,” Arthur laughs.

Alfred can’t help but laugh too, hanging on Arthur’s every word. He circles his finger around the lion’s eye. The beast’s expression in profile is alert, focused, and determined. “But the males protect the pride, too, don’t they?” he says.

“Hm. That they do.”

Alfred follows the lines of the mane down to just above Arthur’s elbow where an extremely crude anarchy “A” is drawn. “This looks like one of those temporary tattoos my brother would have gotten at Hot Topic when we were kids.”

“Something similar may or may not have served as the stencil for this one,” he admits. “That’s the first one I ever got, of course,” he says with a self-deprecating eye roll. “When I was about fourteen, my friend, João, went to Brazil to stay with family for a whole summer and when he came back, he said he’d learnt how to do stick and poke tattoos from some of the, quote/unquote, “tribal” members on his dad’s side of the family and I told him to prove it, so he did that little abomination.”

“Really!?” Alfred asks, laughing incredulously. “No way.”

“Very way, I’m afraid,” Arthur replies solemnly with a grin on the tip of his tongue. “It hurt like hell, though not as much as the look my mum gave me when she saw it.”

Alfred nods in sympathy. “I think either one of my moms would have tanned my hide over something like that for sure.” He then looks at the striking mermaid on Arthur’s right forearm and the pirate ship on his left. “Got a bit of a nautical theme going there,” he says.  Arthur laughs again and rotates his arms a bit and then back again. “The mermaid is styled after an ex. My mates said she lured me in like a siren, so Gil suggested I get this in order to ward her off. His reasoning being that he can’t lure me in if she’s always with me, but that was, oh christ, so long ago it seems. I haven’t seen her in years.”

Alfred smiles at the tattoo lopsidedly. “I guess that makes sense, in a way. And the ship?”

“Well, I’m a pirate of sorts, you see,” Arthur says with a mysterious grin. “Or rather I like the idea of that as an identity more than the lion, I suppose.”

Alfred nods and traces all of the lines with his fingertips. “And I’m guessing the bass guitar corresponds to the one in the living room?” he says, stroking his fingers over where it peeks out from Arthur’s underwear.

“That it does,” Arthur replies. “Mmm,” he sighs contentedly when Alfred continues tracing it.

“You know, you’re not exactly what I think of when I think of a punk.”

Arthur gives him the same mysterious grin. “Well considering you haven’t exactly met one before now, I’d say your expectations are probably quite skewed. It’s more than the clothes and the boots and the music… it’s about, hm, pushing back against the status quo, taking care of each other, making sure anyone who gets left behind by the system finds a place.”

“That sounds… really cool,” Alfred says, a bit surprised and impressed. After a short pause, he says “What do you think I should get?” Alfred muses, “for a first one.”

“I don’t know if I could say yet,” Arthur says, looking down at Alfred, reaching out to brush the back of his hand over Alfred’s cheek. “You’d have to stay awhile, come back now and then, to get to know you better,” he says it, but it’s more of a question, a suggestion, perhaps a hope.

Alfred breaks into a little, silly grin. “Yeah? You’d let me do that?”

“I rather think I would, if you wanted to.” How lovely that an absurd one night—one morning stand might turn out to be something more. He takes Alfred hand, slowly, stroking over his wrist first and then threading their fingers together. He caresses the top side of Alfred’s forearm with his other hand, running his knuckles over it. “Maybe a compass. Here. To find your way back.”

Alfred knows that Arthur means back to this house, but it hits him like something more. Like returning to himself, to a solid form with history and stories and the freedom to do what he pleases with his body that he surrendered years ago. “I think I’d like that,” he murmurs, looking at where his fingers interlock with Arthur’s. “I was kinda hoping you’d say a skull with a green mohawk, though,” he says with a beaming, cheeky grin.

Arthur laughs, incredibly glad that he had taken the train, that Alfred had stared at him, that he’d taken Alfred home. He can sense so much potential here, between them—so much potential in Alfred that has so far languished. Arthur knows he could help change that. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you something equally daft… and a good story to go along with it.”

#usuk #ukus #smut #usuk fanfic

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