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hansolmates · 4 years

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jjk; off-league

summary; you decide to do a little boudoir photoshoot for yourself—a little sexy lingerie, some bunny ears, maybe even a little nudity to make you feel more body positive about yourself. that little photoshoot doesn’t end up being for yourself anymore when you accidentally send those sexy pictures to your stupidly hot, stupidly talented childhood friend who you haven’t spoken to since middle school graduation. pairing; photographer!jk x fem!reader genre/warnings; childhood friends to lovers!au, flangst, mutual pining, feelings of insecurity and body image, suggestive language, nudity w.c; 6.2k a/n: i was feeling a lil meh about this fic after finishing it but a month later it finally makes its debut! for @btsghostiewritersnet BGW Bingo Bash! today’s trope is “childhood friends to lovers” which surprisingly isn’t a favorite of mine so it was definitely a challenge to write!

“C’mon, I need your opinion. Deadass. Don’t just say shit to make me feel better.”

“Gimmie those nudes, baby girl,” Johnny makes an impeccable fuckboy impersonation, making you feel a little squirmy to your stomach.

It’s an hour away from being the ass-crack’o-dawn and your impromptu pin-up photoshoot just needs the sexy-star-of-approval from your best friend. Johnny Suh is also up for reasons unmentioned, but you had a feeling his pretty boyfriend is fifty percent of the reason.

You look at yourself in the mirror, smoothing your frame against the black bodice of the sheer teddy. The only parts that are fully concealed are the parts that don’t matter. The sheer bodice reveals your pert nipples concealed by a thin black mesh, coupled with the deep V in the sweetheart neckline, accented by a little black bow in the dive of your highlighted cleavage. The silky a-line raceways to a set of black garters hugging your thighs, barely hanging onto a pair of lace thigh-highs.

It doesn’t leave you butt naked, but enough to make you feel confident about yourself. These pictures are for you, and Johnny. And Johnny’s boyfriend if he’s being nosy.

You tug off the silk bunny ears from your head, flinging it somewhere in your room. The wire started to dig in your brain, giving you a major headache.

“Sending them now,” you hang up and start compiling the pictures in a folder on Google Drive. Once that’s done you copy the shareable link, sending it to Johnny’s number. It happens all so fast, and you feel kind of giddy. As you were posing for the camera, taking your time to find all the right angles, you felt good, you felt sexy in your little get up. Channeling your inner Ariana Grande was one of your childhood dreams, your fifteen year old self would be proud.

Five minutes pass, fifteen, and by the twenty-five minute mark you’re pissed. What’s taking Johnny so long?

Makeup scrubbed clean and face bare, you shuffle in your duvet, far too tired to be waiting up this long. Punching in his number once more, you cry, “Hey! Why haven’t you looked at them yet?”

“What?” your friend’s voice sounds pebbly through the line. Was Johnny sleeping? “You never sent them!” he whines tiredly.

“No, I definitely sent them!” you pull the phone away and keep Johnny on call, ready to prove him wrong.

But to your surprise, the last message you sent to Johnny was this afternoon.

The most recent message is to a person named John Kook.

You scream.

Johnny screams back at you with an equal amount of force, “What the fuck? Did someone break in? Are you being mobbed? See, this is why I wanted to put the baby monitor in your room—”

“Worse!” you’re well prepared for any break in, but not for this. “I sent my pics to the wrong John!”

“Well… is he at least cute?”

“I mean, in the fourth grade he looked pretty cute with that front tooth missing,” you find your output of frustration, your bunny plush, pulling it by the ear and hitting it against the bed. “His name isn’t even John! It was just his English name for a silly project we did in middle school. This is so embarrassing, all I can picture is a twelve-year-old Jungkook mortified from sexual harassment. I basically sent him nudes!”

“Tasteful nudes.”

“I’m gonna die.”

“He’s gonna die, of happiness.”

Jeon Jungkook was a classmate from elementary through middle school. Time and time again was he the object of your affections, from the first grade at the roller rink to the speech he made at graduation. But really, who cares? You’re old and have a job, and it’s not like you’ve communicated with any of your former classmates.

Your horror amplifies when the Delivered receipt is changed to Read 3:41AM.

“Fuck! Fuck me with a fuckin’ fuck nugget he saw it!” you cry, “does he still have my number? What if he deleted my contact, would that be even weirder?”

“Girl, stop.” Johnny sighs, and you can already picture him running his thumb between his brows. “This doesn’t change anything, alright? You two don’t know each other anymore. Block his number and go to sleep.”

Johnny leaves you alone after that, and you’re left alone to mull over the implications of sending Jeon Jungkook your nude photoshoot.

You do block his number, knowing that waiting for a reply would drive you nuts. The one thing that you do which is possibly worse, is look him up on Instagram.

Of course, he’s stupid hot.

He doesn’t seem to like being on the receiving end of the camera however, in favor of his timeline being filled with romantic shots of the beach and city. In between the picturesque views and watercolor sunsets do you see glimpses of him and his current life. You can’t help but smile when you see him with his brother and parents during his college graduation, easily towering over all of them. He looks tall with fluffy cocoa hair, big pearly whites gleaming proudly at the camera. He grew up well.

To torture yourself even more, you even look through his story. Twelve hours ago, he was at the gym lifting weights. Normally, you’d be disgusted by people trying to show off their grunt faces drenched in sweat, but of course Jungkook has to have on a silly smile and pump his fist up after he deadlifts. The sweat clinging to his shirt is also a high plus. His gorgeous display of abs has your hands fluttering over your own belly. Maybe you need to exercise more.

Four hours ago, you see him and a pretty woman with their cheeks squished together, using the puppy filter. Of course he has a girlfriend.

Reluctant, you open up your Google Drive and scroll through your photoshoot. Deflated, you frown at the pictures that once made you beam with pride, picking at every little detail that bothered you. You really can’t believe you sent these to Jeon Jungkook, no longer a fourth grader with one front tooth, but a man way out of your league.

By the time you will yourself to sleep, the sun peeks from the horizon, telling you to move on.

“Hey Gyu,” you tiptoe over to the table much too small for Mingyu’s frame. The string bean is slumped over his iPad pro, drawing intently at some chibi OCs. “Got a plot for that one?” you ask, pointing at the little pink and blue creature decorating the screen.

Mingyu grunts in reply, obviously engrossed. It isn’t until you slide him a matcha frappe from Starbucks that he becomes intelligible, muttering a “thank you” as he blends with his pen.

Sensing that it’s going to be awhile before you get through to him, you take your usual rounds around the front desk and lobby of the cosy photo studio. There’s pretty pictures of Mingyu’s work, along with the other employees Minghao and Hoseok. Each section of the wall features a different taste of each person’s interest. Mingyu is a divine lover of soft bed sheets and hot tea, many of his photographs and paintings featuring cafes or perfectly messy beds you’ve seen on hotel advertisements. Minghao is a tasteful artisan, splotches of color retaliating against neutral backgrounds. Finally, Hoseok manages to find balance in the people, large cityscapes telling both large and small stories.

“Alright,” Mingyu’s deep voice forces you to curl your head, where he’s sipping at his drink with haste. “What’cha here for?”

You frown, “Don’t you remember? I told you last week I’d be stopping by to get my photos developed,” you gesture to the Pentax in your hands, an heirloom from your great-aunt. While you did take digital photos for sending them to Johnny, the ones you wanted developed were taken side-by-side with the film camera. You figured that film would give a little more authenticity to your photoshoot.

“Shit, that’s today?” the camera falls like deadweight, slapping against your sweater as you watch Mingyu frantically look through his digital calendar. He looks at you, dejected. “How many prints?”

“I don’t know, maybe like six. Or eight?”

“That’s gonna take too long, I’m heading down to Hidden Grounds for a vision meeting at two.”

“Alright, I’m free all day. What about after?”

“Nah, you came all this way. I can just let the new guy help you.” and Mingyu makes a show of cupping his hands in the direction of the open hallway, “Yah, Jeon Jungkook! Get your cute ass out here!”

The Pentax around your neck suddenly feels like weight akin to a two-ton boulder, and you surge forward, not caring that the corner of the table is digging into your belly. “Mingyu,” you garble, and Mingyu is shell-shocked by the desperation in your eyes. “Isn’t Minghao around or something? Or I can come back another time? These photos are really personal and I don’t feel comfortable having a stranger see them.”

“What? We’re professionals, don’t belittle us.”

“No, seriously,” you whine, you tug at the collar of his denim jacket, noses practically touching. “These pictures are different. My tits are out and my legs are spread—”

“—interrupting something?”

You hear some shuffling, and you turn around to see Jeon Jungkook’s back, comically turned to face the entrance.

And damn, he did have a cute ass. Nothing is going to hide the glory in those jeans, absolutely nothing.

“Hilarious,” Mingyu drawls, and you push him away. “Forget it, Kook. She doesn’t feel comfortable letting a stranger develop her photos.”

Sensing that it’s safe to turn around, you watch as his black bangs flutter as he faces you. You hope your body language doesn’t betray how you’re really feeling, because you are a mere mortal and you’re weak in the presence of god-like figures.

“Oh, what a relief then,” he smiles at you, and his voice sounds like honey. If there was malice or surprise in his tone, his good-natured expression betrays it. “Because I’ve known this friend since elementary school. We go way back.”

You ignore the burn in the back of your head, as you are positive Mingyu knows you’re hiding something.

“Really, what a coincidence.” Mingyu replies carefully, and you feel utterly stuck between these men and their banter, locked up like cream in an Oreo cookie.

Nothing argues against Jungkook as he easily weaves through the thick wave of awkwardness, hands reaching out to touch your camera. “Wow,” he marvels, holding the object in his hands, “my dad has one of these.”

“A-ha,” you take a step back, only to bump into the corner of the table, again. Ouch. “It’s okay, Jungkook. I’m actually busy today so I can come when Mingyu’s free–”

“Oh, I thought you were free all day,” Mingyu drawls, looking up through his lashes as he sips languidly at his drink.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jungkook says good-naturedly, as if Mingyu just didn’t out you. “We got a lot of catching up to do anyway, c’mon.”

Jungkook moves to place a hand in the small of your back and that’s enough to get you to rev up. Refusing to let any contact get between the two of you, you zip ahead down the familiar hallway, turning your head to catch Mingyu grinning with all canines, shooing you with his fingers like a puppy.

You send Mingyu a stream of “fuck yous” into his inbox for later, unwilling to settle with this curse. Busying yourself with your phone, you avoid eye contact with Jungkook until you reach the dark room. The red light turned off at the top of the doorhenge signals that the room is not in use. Jungkook makes a move to open the door and that’s when you pounce, blocking the doorway with your small body. It’s comical, really.

Jungkook raises a brow at you, but says nothing.

“I really can wait, Jungkook,” you steel yourself, forcing a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure your girlfriend wouldn’t like you developing my pictures—”

It’s then that his pretty cupid’s bow unfurls into a full-fledged grin. “Girlfriend... you’ve been keeping tabs on me?”

“Fuck, well I had to!” your face is as red as the dark room’s alert light, now on because Jungkook flicked the switch and he’s between your arm to unlock the door. Your hand brushes his as you both reach the knob. “I’m really really sorry I sent those pictures. They were for Johnny—you remember Johnny Suh from English class? And I saved you in my contacts as “John Kook” so it was an honest mess up.”

Jungkook hums, so light that the breathiness in his chords flutters your grip on the knob. He forces the door ajar, and you’re left to follow him in the dark room, cluttered with solutions and fancy equipment.

“Thought so,” Jungkook shrugged, giving a one-over at the materials in the room, mulling over his next steps in developing your film.

You’re still petrified at the doorway, holding your Pentax between both hands like a lifeline. Jungkook’s head lols to you, and you get a pretty view of the way his bangs brush over his forehead, Adam’s Apple bobbing. His expression is a little tired, but overall unreadable. He sighs your name, lethargic.

“We’re already here, so might as well get this done,” he gestures to the camera in your vice grip. “Do you wanna pick the shots or do you want me to?”

He’s already seen the digitals, what’s so different about getting a couple prints? With a slight pout you drag your feet over to him, relinquishing your camera. “I’m thinking you have a better eye for this than I do.”

“You think right.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Cocky, but what you’ve seen on Instagram definitely justifies his sentiment. Jungkook pays no mind to you, busying his hands with the various containers in front of him, measuring the solutions for the developer, stopper, and fixer. You were always entranced by the process of developing film, especially in highschool where their photography club holed themselves in the darkroom like a secret lair.

“Alright,” he pops open the canister, carefully laying out sections of the film in groups of four. “Want me to pick a random one for a tester?”

You frown, “At least put some thought into it.”

“Always,” it looks like he already decided way before he popped the question, immediately taking a negative and placing it in the carrier.

His fingers are nimble as he takes the time to clean off the dust and any debris that could potentially ruin the image. Then he turns off the lights and begins the process. You dive around him, trying to keep your distance but still too curious to leave his side. If he’s annoyed he fails to show it, in favor of humming whatever song comes from his Echo Dot.

You always got the solos in choir. You wanted to reminisce, but you’re too nervous to say it out loud.

Even though it’s his job and he’s being a professional, you romanticize the experience, watching as he carefully puts the print in each liquid process. Your image blooms to life, and you feel your stomach churn as the photo develops before your eyes.

After a final dip in the solution stopper, he places the first product in a bath of water. Even though you are mere centimeters away, you can clearly see the image of you swimming around the container.

“Alright!” Jungkook hangs the finished picture on a pastel pink clothespin, tacking it in place. “Whaddya think?”

Your breath catches in your throat, feeling heavy as you look at the image of you reflected in the glossy paper. You’re perched on your bed, a hand splaying between your legs as the other hand toys with the silk bunny ears. You’re leaned slightly, giving an ample view of your cleavage. However, the image of you is definitely different from being blown up in comparison to the negatives, and you squirm uncomfortably at your full display.

“I look,” you bite your tongue, internally debating whether you like it or not. Not to spare Jungkook the theatrics you shrug, “It’s good.”

The lack of enthusiasm seems to dissatisfy Jungkook however, as he has to take a double take and look back and forth between the image and the real thing. “What’s wrong with it, do you think Johnny’ll not like it?”

“What?” you furrow your brows, breaking into a nervous laugh. “Johnny has a boyfriend. I just wanted his opinion. This photoshoot is for me, y’know? Just something to make me feel good about myself.”

Jungkook’s lips morph into a little ‘o’, and you see a little bit of the child you once knew in the way he’s mulling over the situation.

“Then can I give you my honest opinion?” Jungkook clips off the half-dried photo, holding it between you two. “Stop thinking so hard about every little thing you don’t like about yourself. If I was your boyfriend and you gifted this to me, I’d be creaming my pants. You look fucking sexy, all grown up since you cried in the fourth grade.”

You’ve just been flung a litany of words you have no brain capacity to digest. Along with that, the immense heat you didn’t know you’ve been suppressing surges to your belly, low and simmering. Jungkook stares at you in earnest, despite his sudden gush of honesty, you don’t know what to say. There’s a dash of pink staining his cheeks, betraying the confidence he previously displayed. He stiffens when you don’t reply immediately and moves to clean his materials, his sudden bout of bold honesty quickly shrinking.

“Y-you know,” you look down at your feet, “the only reason why I cried in the fourth grade was because you told me Santa wasn’t real.”

Jungkook softens, tilting his head. “Sorry about that.”

“Thanks though,” you gently reach for the photo in Jungkook’s grasp, looking at it without contempt. “But won’t your girlfriend be upset if she knew you were saying things like this about someone else?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, if you looked through the rest of my Instagram story,” Jungkooks cards a hand through his already mussed hair, splitting the ends. “You would see that she’s not my girlfriend, but my tattoo artist.”

For added measure, he wiggles his fingers in front of you, revealing pretty ink and silver bands across his knuckles.

“Oh,” your voice is feather light, and you’re sure you’re drooling as you stare far too long at the letters that mark his hands, curious as to what they symbolize.

“So, as a singleton telling another singleton,” he continues, “I know it’s meaningless if you don’t believe it yourself, but I’m telling you, you’re attractive.”

“Thanks,” you hold the picture tightly in your grasp, eyes flickering to the negatives in the room ready to be galvanized into a full-fledged picture. “Why don’t we wrap this up, huh? We can continue another time.”

If he notices how much the paper wilts in your grasp, he doesn’t comment on it. “Are you sure? I know it takes a lot of time, but I don’t mind.”

“I’m sure,” you force a smile, one hand on the lightswitch. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready, okay?”

Jungkook swallows, nodding mechanically. “Okay.”

“It was really nice seeing you, Kook.” you blurt before you could chicken out, letting the room bask in darkness a little longer so he can’t see your flustered state. “I’m not even going to downplay it, you look great.”

You half-expect a cocky remark, or a little chest pumping from the compliment. At the sound of his nickname however, 4th grade Jeon Jungkook resurfaces and he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Like I said, so do you,” he replies easily, sending you a soft smile and opening the door for you.

The door closes shut behind you and you exhale, patting your cheeks and willing for the chilly air to calm you down.

When you get home that day, you shuck off all your clothes and crawl into bed. You cry out when the metal framing of your bunny ears stabs you in the back, and you fling it to some unmentionable part of the room. You reach for a bag of half-opened sour gummy worms, flipping open your MacBook to continue streaming the soft magical girl anime you’ve been hooked on these past few weeks.

Not even Sailor Uranus can distract you; however, by the time it’s dark and you’ve run out of distractions, you finally pull the plug and unblock Jungkook from your list of contacts.

Your phone buzzes, the incessant vibration relaying all the messages you’ve missed.

[March 12th, 3:53AM]

You: https://drive.google.com/drive/u/1/folders/0343…

John Kook: ???

John Kook: you probably sent this to me by accident… sorry i clicked on it

John Kook: is it weird if i said you’ve done a massive glow up since the middle school dance?

[March 12th, 12:02 PM]

John Kook: are u mad

John Kook: you’re mad

John Kook: am i makin this weird by continuing to text you

John Kook: im making it weird.

[March 31st, 6:24 PM]

John Kook: https://drive.google.com/drive/u/1/folders/049…

You tilt your head at the folder link, it was sent only a few hours ago. With a click, you’re enlightened to a set of digital photos. Your photos from your photoshoot, but not quite. They’ve been expertly edited, not too much to distort your looks, but only to enhance your features. A small, barely there smile creeps from your subconscious, ultimately touched by the gesture.

John Kook: sorry if i pushed too hard today.

Guilt overrides your nerves, prompting you to immediately press the call button on his contact. Not to your surprise, Jungkook’s light voice calls your name through the line after the second ring.

“Don’t be sorry,” you blurt, forgoing the hellos. “It was the right amount of push, I feel better, really. If anything, I’m sorry. I blocked your number because I was scared to read your reaction.”

You hear him sigh along the line, and you feel that breath ripple through your nerves, as if he’s right next to you. “It’s fine, I would’ve done the same thing.”

“The pictures you just sent, they’re really beautiful. You did a good job.”

“Thanks, I had a bit of help. I didn’t have to do much.”

“Oh, did Mingyu come back from his meeting?”

"No, I uh," Jungkook chuckles, and while you don't really know why, the sound is nonetheless pleasant. “It was mostly the lighting and coloring I fixed up. Didn’t need to do much since you already looked so pretty as it is.”

You choke on your saliva.

“You okay?”

“Y-yeah,” you cough, “just choked on a snack I was eating.” he hums in reply, and you pray he doesn’t hear your stomach fervently retort that you haven’t eaten since lunch. “So, I think I’m up for developing more of the film. When can I drop by?”

“I’m free Saturday,” Jungkook chirps, “I have a shoot until noon but you can come anytime after that.”

“Sounds good, I’ll be there,” you clutch the phone with both hands. “I can bring lunch. What do you like to eat?”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

“I’m already buying for Minghao,” you lie, “do you like burgers?”

“I can’t say no to a good burger,” Jungkook’s smile feels almost palpable against the line, “do you remember our field trip to the national museum of history? We had burgers on the street!”

“Oh, those were so good,” you moan, fuzzy memories of a middle grade field trip resurfacing to clarity, “but you ate like, ten of them!”

“I still get nightmares,” he warns, “don’t let me go to bed like this.”

You giggle, letting your body meld further into your warm mattress. “Maybe I’ll just show up with ten burgers for you tomorrow.”

“I’ll throw up on you, try me.”

Minghao’s adjusting the frames on their display wall by the centimeter, and it’s pissing him off.

“Ah, it’s off,” he mutters to himself when you walk in, indicated by the electronic bell. He turns to you briefly, pulling a leveler out of his overall pocket. “Doesn’t this look off?”

“Uh,” you look towards Mingyu at the front desk, who is paying no mind as he continues scribbling on his iPad. You tilt your head towards your former college classmate. “It doesn’t look off from over here?”

Tacking the leveler on one of the frames, he whines, “It’s five degrees off.”

Mingyu puts his pen down to reach over the counter and grab the paper from your hands, steaming with the scent of fast food, “He’s been like this for hours, don’t mind him.”

He doesn’t even ask whether the food is his, Mingyu sees grease and he claims. Reaching for an oil-wrapped parchment, he unfolds the paper to reveal a handsome burger with all the fix-ens.

Barely satisfied, Minghao steps away from the art display. There is a sizable gap in the display, now divided between four artists instead of three. You wonder how Jungkook’s work will look amongst the other artists.

“Cute ‘fit.” Minghao mumbles, nodding approvingly at your clothes as he digs into the bag for his own burger.

You send a half-smile his way. If an outfit is Minghao-approved, that means you’ve gone above and beyond. At least, you tried to play it off like you didn’t try to look cute. It’s not like you’re intimidated by Jungkook, living with a major fifteen-year glow up. After all, he’s already seen more than you can imagine.

Mingyu takes notice, eyes going south to where your white blouse meets your cleavage. You hurl a fry at his face, “Eyes up here, perv.”

He scrunches his nose, lifting a greasy thumb to slide a manila envelope over to you. “Here’s the developed pictures. Intercepted Kook and I finished them this morning.”

You frown, “Jungkook’s not done with his photoshoot yet?”

“Oh, he’s been done.” Mingyu’s eyes roll back to one of the studios. “But I’m saying is, you got what you needed. So you can leave if you want,” but he grins at you, canines so sharp you feel his stare jabbing you in the proverbial neck. “Unlesssss you want to go in and say hi.”

If he has any inkling of what’s going on in your head, it’s definitely confirmed when your face turns hot. Damn body, you’re betraying me! With a flourish you grab the fries from under Mingyu’s nose, along with whatever’s left in the fast food bag.

Minghao’s smiling through his burger, knowing if he pulls any type of savagery his lunch would certainly be pulled from under his chin.

“Whatever you’re thinking, drop it or the burger will be going in your ass instead of out.” You mean to sound menacing, but the Min-squared and their boisterous laughter follow you down the hallway and into the occupied studio.

“Hey Jungkoo—wow.”

You’re sure you look like Alice, enthralled by the little wonderland she just stepped into. The set is beautiful, right out of a fairytale. It has a very old-romance vibe, like Morticia and Gomez Addams. There lay a couch made of the darkest, richest wood, with velvet red cushions covering the body. Across the floor laid hundreds of black rose petals, blanketing the floor in a sea of ebony.

“It’s for a wedding, gothic themed.” Jungkook supplies helpfully, still fiddling with whatever he was looking on his digital camera. He’s looking utterly soft in a matching grey sweat combination, something that would easily disgust you during high school, but unfairly works with him.

“The shoot must’ve been beautiful.”

“It was.”

“I uh, got this for you.” Your fingers start to sweat from clutching the bag so hard, and you place it on his work table.

He finally looks up from his camera, giving you a wan smile. “I thought you got those for Minghao.”

You mentally slap your cheeks, trying to ignore the way his smile made your stomach do somersaults. “He got his own. Your portion has a cookie in it, so.”

His cute teeth unveil themselves at the mention of sweets, and you can’t help but smile back at the familiarity.

The two of you take your time in enjoying your lunch, not meaning to stay but the very back of your mind hoping he’d like to share a meal with you. After all, Mingyu and Minghao are probably at the front relishing in your very obvious attraction. What can you say, first crushes never die.

Between sips of your milkshake, you’ve taken to flipping through Jungkook’s portfolio. There’s a myriad of different subjects: beaches, people, the occasional squirrel. Each section of the portfolio feels like you’re being transported to a new side of Jungkook and his artistry, and you ached to know more.

“Wow,” you point at an action shot of two girls in a dance studio, “this duo looks like Chungha and Hyoyeon.”

He swallows his (second) burger, having the audacity to sink sheepishly in his sweater. “It is Chungha and Hyoyeon.”

You nearly choke on your cookie. “That’s amazing.” you say breathlessly, looking closer at the image. In fact, the beautiful women photographed are famed hip-hop choreographers Chungha and Hyoyeon. You can’t imagine how good Jungkook must be to manage a photoshoot with them.

As proud as you are of Jungkook, it reminds you that since middle school you two have lived completely different lives. You wonder if Jungkook gets these kinds of gigs all the time, hanging around with gorgeous, talented people like himself.

Jungkook says your name once, twice. He looks at you concerned, and you’re melting in his large carmine eyes. If he notices your usual overthinking, he doesn’t say anything, and gestures to the section at the end of his portfolio. “This isn’t my best work, but it’s one of my favorites.”

There’s something familiar about this set. A playground with a busted swing set. Children riding on bikes and colorful class shirts. Ice cream melting on fists.

Thirteen-year-old you hanging on top of your middle school’s leafless tree, clutching your baseball cap as you shade yourself from the sunset.

“Was this the first time you took pictures?” you ask, thumbing the picture of yourself.

“Yeah. It’s when I decided it’s what I wanted to do the rest of my life.”

“I know we didn’t know each other that well and we’ve only recently connected but,” you give him a shy smile, “I’m really proud of what you’ve grown up to be, Jungkook.”

He looks like you’ve hung him the moon and stars, his half-eaten burger loosening in his grasp. His lips are parted cutely, like a kitten who’s just been offered a fresh glass of milk. You cough at the sudden pause in conversation, feeling self-conscious of your impulse confession. You don’t even have it in you to be disgusted when Jungkook hastily shoves the second half of his burger down his throat, tips of his ears pink.

Leaving him be, you press a palm to your cheek, looking at the wedding set.

Jungkook downs half a water bottle before he speaks again. “Y’know, it would be a shame to clean up this set already. It was kind of expensive.”

“Yeah,” you echo, standing up and kicking off your slippers. You kick your feet in the air, watching the black petals kiss across your ankles.

“I have an idea,” he wipes his hands on his sweats, “why don’t you go back home and get an outfit you really like. Lingerie, a cute outfit, whatever. Let me give you a photoshoot you’d love.”

You look up from your petal dance, balking. “Jungkook! That’s not necessary, I told you the photos I took were okay.”

“Yeah but, you didn’t seem entirely happy. C’mon, I got a camera and a beautiful set. Why waste it?” his hands naturally gravitate towards his charging camera, already turning it on. “I can do lighting, I know all your good angles. What’s stopping us?”

Really, what’s stopping you? Your hands fiddle with your open flannel, the soft material comforting you as you look across the set. You try to imagine yourself, your body draped across the velvet pillows and black petals. Would it look good? Would you feel good? You think back to how you felt the first time, how scared you were when someone other than Johnny would be looking at your photos. You remember how something weird and sour contorted in your stomach when you scrolled through Jeon Jungkook’s Instagram, no longer the little boy you knew but a man who could have everything he wanted—

“Stop thinking about it.” Jungkook suddenly snaps, and you break from your reverie to catch him looking upset. It’s been awhile since you’ve seen him like that.

“Thinking about what?”

“Thinking that you’re out of my league.”

“Excuse me?”

“You were like this the other day too,” and he looks sad, and puts his camera down to come closer to you. “Why are you feeling this way. Is it me?”

“Not necessarily,” you huff, hugging yourself.

“Do you not feel beautiful? Do you not like your body?”

“No, I do.” you say to yourself, and you mean it. Even though there will inevitably be days where you may not feel one-hundred percent positive about yourself, you know at the end of the day, you love you and all its parts. “I don’t know, Jungkook. I had no problem letting Mingyu develop the photos originally, because he knew me in college and I was already sure of myself back then. But I guess when I sent them to you, I felt like I did when I was a little girl, y’know? Going through puberty, and worrying about what other people think.”

And it’s not like Jungkook teased you or made you feel lesser of yourself. In fact, Jungkook was the student you wanted to be when you were younger. Someone sweet and caring, and unabashedly confident about himself.

“I guess seeing you so successful and the fact that my stupid childhood crush came back from a time where I always felt low, made me feel a little insecure again.”

Something sinks in and you feel hyper aware of how crushed Jungkook looks at your declaration. “There’s no leagues, you got that?” he says quietly, walking so close that he’s hovering over you, sneakers brushing. “I get it. I get unsure and insecure just like you. Hell, I was nervous this morning, wondering if you’d really come. We may not feel insecure over the same things, but middle school wasn’t that great for me either.” He makes a funny face, and you feel a smile twitch across your lips. “But it’s okay. Because we’re human and we grow. But now, you are successful. You’ve grown from your time growing up and you’re a wonderful, powerful person. I’m proud of you too.”

“I know,” you mumble, leaning your forehead against his chest. His arms wrap around you in response, holding you snug.

“And for the record, I thought you were the most beautiful person in the world in fourth grade. Even though my world was pretty small back then, I can say now that what I thought back then still stands true.”

You look up from his embrace, where he’s leaning down to press a slow, cotton soft kiss to your forehead. He backs up a little to read your face, and you give a tiny nod in response to signal it’s okay. Jungkook exhales in contentment, relaxing against your frame.

“Thanks, Kook,” you crack a smile, feeling your insecurities slowly evaporate. You feel better, light, knowing that these negative feelings are only temporary, and you’re not alone. Being in Jungkook’s arms, an honest boy turned man you’ve known all your life, it feels almost like home.

You two stay like this for a while. Exchanging feather-like kisses, feeling irrevocably young and hopeful. Suddenly feeling emboldened, you tug him by the strings of his hoodie to press a long, hot kiss to his lips. There’s a stutter, and you’re pretty sure Jungkook choked on his saliva at the sudden change of pace but you continue, letting Jungkook catch up and follow your lead.

“Wow,” Jungkook pulls away and his lips are shiny and flushed. Adorable. You think 7th grade Jungkook would be rolling in his Naruto sheets if he knew you two would inevitably end up together. Conversely, 7th grade you would be squealing in your kitten plushie, proud that you managed to nab your childhood crush to live out all the fantasies you’ve imagined since the 4th grade.

“Jungkook,” you let your flannel fall to the floor in a heap, only leaving your baby blue top in a thin ruched camisole. “I think I want to do the photoshoot. Can’t pass up these pretty petals, y’know?”

He runs a hand through his hair, gaping. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you press a wet kiss to his neck, “anyway you want me, baby. Full creative control. I want you to like this as much as I do, okay?”

With the permission to hold the wheel, Jungkook’s lightheaded and spinning. His eyes rake up and down your gorgeous form, wondering how many good deeds he’s done in his past life to earn a right just as this.

“In that case,” he presses a palm to your shoulder, pushing you to sit along the velvet cushion, “strip for me.”

#jungkook fic #btsghostiebingo #goldenclosetnet #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #bts fic #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x reader

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dustofbrokenheart · 3 years

Text

The Covenant: Presents and Kisses

Reid Garwin x Reader

Word Count: 1,858

Summary: It’s reader’s birthday and Reid has some surprises up his sleeve. Dedicated to the lovely @saviorsong. Happy Birthday!

The café was a small, single room operation so sound from both the dining area and the kitchen traveled throughout. And everyone heard when your boyfriend came out of the bathroom, throwing the door open with such force that a bang rang out from where it hit the wall.

The poor barista almost dropped a drink they were making out of surprise.

“Babe, that was the biggest shit I’ve taken this month,” Reid practically shouted as he made his way back to the table.

You didn’t bother to acknowledge that particular comment and kept your attention on Tyler who had also tagged along with you guys. It was better to not entertain poop talk seeing as how you were in public.

“Babe! Did you hear what I said?”

“I think everyone did,” you replied pointedly. He dropped into his chair, hands clutching at his stomach.

You continued chatting with Tyler about a class you were taking and Reid still kept fidgeting and groaning. He was normally dramatic but he was really hamming it up.

You turned to him with a raised brow. That was all it took for him to increase his complaining.

“I think it was the food. It’s gotta be food poisoning, I feel so sick.”

“But we ate from the same plate.”

A glance at the table showed a shared plate that had long been eaten with not a drop of sauce left on the it after you both had all but cleaned the dish. If he actually had food poisoning, shouldn’t you be feeling it too? Your stomach felt perfectly fine, if not satisfied.

“Everyone reacts differently to these things, you know.”

Tyler nodded seriously, corroborating Reid’s claim. Those two were thicker than thieves, always ready to back each other up.

“No telling how bad this could get. I’m gonna head home but you should stay, Ty can hang out with you,” he said.

“Really?” Your tone was colored with incredulously. “Today of all days?”

He completely ignored that and bent down for a kiss. You were extremely tempted to turn away but ended up giving in. Reid may be an idiot, but he was your idiot. Keeping up with the sick-as-a-dog routine, he gingerly hobbled out of the café.

And since he was your idiot, you knew something was definitely up. You didn’t claim to be the smartest person around but Reid wasn’t exactly subtle.

Immediately, your attention turned towards Tyler. If one was plotting, then the other would know.

The brunette raised his hands as if to keep things peaceful. “Okay, okay. Don’t be upset.”

“It’s my birthday and my man just ran out under suspicious circumstances. I have every right to be annoyed.”

“Exactly! You’re the reason why he left!” He paused for an awkward second. “Wow. That came out totally wrong. What I mean is that he’s setting up something nice for you.”

“He is?” you asked suddenly touched.

Reid was a romantic sort. Maybe not always so smooth about it, but a romantic nonetheless. And he did do things for you often, even if a good number of things were in an attempt to apologize for something stupid he did, but he had never done a birthday surprise.

Well, not one where he had kept it a surprise for this long. Normally he couldn’t keep quiet about his plans so you were a bit impressed that you hadn’t noticed until his terrible acting just then.

Tyler nodded again, this time in excitement. “Yep. He needs a few hours to get it ready though…we can either stay here or walk around. Your birthday, your choice.”

His methods may be, well, unconventional, but your heart beat a little faster knowing he was planning something. Your mind wandered, thinking up various possibilities. Two hours couldn’t go by fast enough.

***

It ended up being close to six o’clock before you returned home.

You closed the door gently and toed your shoes off. The quietness seemed that much thicker with anticipation weighing heavily.

A trail of rose petals wound around the living room and trailed down the hallway, presumably to the bedroom, but you got distracted by a tantalizing aroma.

You followed that into the kitchen instead and found a skillet filled with something delicious. Other bowls with other fantastic side dishes were arranged randomly around it on the countertops.

And then you noticed the cake. Unlike the others, the cake was displayed on the table, a package of candles lying next to it. You walked closer to get a better view and couldn’t the grin hat spread across your face.

Clearly, he had made the cake himself. Not that that was off-putting to you in any way. It was really quite cute.

He had made a small two-layer cake which in of itself didn’t look too bad. The sides were not traditionally frosted so, the parts that were visible, you could see that the shape and the softness looked about right. Kind of.

In lieu of normal frosting, he had attempted to coat them with a crumb frosting of some sort. Despite his best effort, the crumbs didn’t hadn’t spread evenly with some parts having barely any and others having too much.

It looked like he also had issues with the frosting on top. You guessed that he had tried to apply it while the cake was still warm because it was thinner than it should have been, almost glaze-like. Some had even started to leak over the sides before it was cool enough to harden up again.

Even with flaws, it was still the sweetest, frumpiest birthday cake you could ever remember someone making for you.

You stuck out a finger trying to taste the crumb coat when you felt a sharp smack to your ass.

“Oww!” Rubbing it, you saw Reid standing behind you with a towel in his hand. “Did you really just spank me with a towel?”

“It’s not time for cake yet,” he said. He was shirtless, tattoos on display, baggy cargo pants riding low on his hips. There was a hint of tiredness in his eyes but it was mostly irritation. “This part was for last. You were supposed to follow the roses first.”

Ah. He was irritated that you messed up the plan. But you were so excited to see what else he had in store that you didn’t answer back with a sharp quip of your own. “Then lead the way.”

With a sigh, he put his hands on your shoulders and walked you out of the kitchen. His grip was gentle though so you knew he wasn’t seriously frustrated with you.

The path of rose petals came back into view and you realized they were from a real flower and not plastic. A warm feeling spread through you and it only grew the closer the closer the path drew you to the bedroom. Reid stayed just behind you the whole way, your gentle guide.

“The flowers are beautiful, Reid.”

“I know. And a normal person would’ve followed them from the start.”

“Sorry,” you giggled. “The food all looked really good though. Three Michelin stars across the board.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just open the door, would ya?”

You pushed the door with your fingers, thoughts racing. What were you going to find? That fancy stationary set you’d been eyeing online? A fluffy, tail-wagging puppy? A chest of kinky toys?

With Reid it could any one of the three. Maybe even all three.

Tons of balloons were inflated and rolling around the floor, so much so that you had to kick a few out of the way to be able to step in. Even a birthday banner hung over the bed when he had thumbtacked it into the wall.

But the gift was unmistakable.

The large woven basket was sitting on the dresser, fibers dyed your favorite color was hard to miss.

Then came the stuff that was practically overflowing from said basket. You rummaged through it like a old woman at a yard sale, pulling out something new with every handful.

Jewelry. A soft blanket. Cans of your favorite type of drink. Hand painted ceramics. Some hard cover additions you’d been meaning to add to your personal library. New head phones. Dozens of origami creatures. A tee from your favorite team. Coffee mugs and several blends of beans. Hand-held tools to replace your old ones with. And not only a stationary set but a wax letter stamp seal as well.

And everything from the basket to the last gift followed the same theme: it was all in your favorite color.

You jumped into his arms and he caught you. “I’m—this is…this is…”

“What?” he said, his breath tickling your ear and fingers gripping your thighs tightly. “Impressive? Inspiring? The best goddamn gift you’ve ever seen?”

“Touching,” you whispered.

You couldn’t see it, but you could sense the soft expression on his face.

“How did you even manage to find some of this stuff in this color?”

“It wasn’t easy, let me tell you…”

He went on explaining how he started with the just the stationary (you were right and he had noticed you looking at it) in your favorite color.

Then he added the headphones, also in your favorite color.

Then he’d painted the ceramic pieces himself.

Eventually thinking up even more potential presents to get, he’d come up with the idea to do everything in that color. The tools were the hardest but he was very proud that he’d been able to pull it off with the help of a custom order from a local business.

“This is super touching. Thanks for putting in this much thought and effort,” you said finally lifting your head up to give him a kiss.

It was meant to be a quick peck but Reid’s lips followed yours when you tried to pull back, turning it into something more passionate. He even managed to lick his way into your mouth before you finally parted, panting for air.

“Mmm,” he breathed, lips back on yours. “You’re eager to get to the next event.”

You made a confused sound in your throat which he swallowed. One of his hands traveled up your leg and over your hip to come to a rest on your lower back. He turned you and that’s when you noticed the bed.

The comforter was already pulled slightly down and more rose petals were scattered all around. He laid you down on the mattress and prowled up your body. The petals were even more fragrant now that you were closer to them.

“What’s the next event?” you asked coyly although it wasn’t hard to guess.

“One kiss for every year you’ve been alive,” he said with a cocked smile. “It was either that many kisses or that many orgasms—I figured all those orgasms might be too much for you though.”

You bit his bottom lip and snuck your fingers under the waistband of his cargo pants suggestively. “How about both?”

He watched in rapture as you removed your shirt, eyes glued to your chest.

“Anything for you, babe. Happy Birthday.”

_______________

Yay! Thanks for reading. I hope this was alright.

In my mind, Reid is the type of romantic to make you things, hence the food, origami, and ceramics. But sensual time will also be included just because.

Honestly, he probably heard what Caleb did for his s/o and, in typical competitive fashion, decided he could do better. He roped in Tyler to keep reader distracted and spent a few hours cooking, decorating, and assembling the massive personalized gift basket.

They likely did reach fulfill the birthday kiss count but how many orgasms they managed to achieve is up to your imagination.

#the covenant #reid garwin #reid garwin x reader #the covenant imagines

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hpdabbles · 3 years

Text

Mr. Librarian Meets Mr. Writer

@agardenofideas commented:

you can choose the characters: person 1: hey you dropped something!!! person 2 looking at 1: oh? and what is it? person 1: your standards. hi, I'm 1 Thank you for the prompt! I went with wolf star as they are my favorite ship

Remus hurried down the stairs of the library, the stacks of books tucked under his arm. He had a bit of a slow day today but usually, Wesndays were like that, and thankfully it gave him time to add the new shipment of books he had been putting off since Friday into the system.

He was ever so excited that the new volume to a series he was obsessed with had just arrived. After adding it to the system he checked it out for himself, and now he had a relaxing night of bubble baths, tea, and the wonderful world build by Padfoot S.

Padfoot S, was the author of the Marauders, a tale of three best friends who met a boarding school but soon learn they were all part of a curse placed on their bloodlines thousands of years ago.

The curse effect only the firstborn son, forcing him to turn into animals on the full moon after his fifteenth birthday. The curse would then follow him throughout the rest of his life until the animal completely took over at the age of fifty. The three friends banded together to go on a journal and break the curse.

Remus adores young adult novels but this one was a breath of fresh air since the main focus of the story was friendship and mythology rather than romance. He didn't hate romance but sometimes it was too in his face, and he was suspecting the main character was being written to reveal as gay later on. He is hoping.

The other books he had were some he wanted to read as well but they would be only after he finished Mauraders year seven. Maybe even a few days later if this book broke his heart and he had to recover from it.

Remus couldn't wait to get to the bus stop. A full thirty minutes for him to read his book!

"Hey, you drop something!" A voice suddenly calls out, a little ways behind him. Pausing Remus turns around to see a man in a leather jacket, long raven hair, and ripped jeans walking towards him. His heavy boots stomp on the ground with aggression but his expression is open and friendly.

Realizing he is speaking to him Remus glances down, worried he had dropped one of his books or a piece of paper. He had the nasty habit of sticking papers into his books as bookmakers, despite the actual bookmakers he owns. "Oh? What is it? What I drop?"

"Your standards. Hi, I'm Sirius Black." The man holds out his hand with a boyish smolder and Remus blinks back at him.

"I ugh, I'm sorry?" He asks unable to take the offered hand because his brain was still trying to process the strange greeting. "Are you...hitting on me?"

"Yup. I was wondering if I could convince you to go on a date with me this weekend while I was at it." Sirius says without a lick of shame still holding his hand out.

"Oh." Remus didn't know what to say. He had people flirt with him before and he had done the same with a few as well but no one had come up to him out of nowhere like this guy was doing. He takes the offered handshake, pumping his arm up and down in a firm grip for lack of what to do. ". I'm Remus. Is this a joke?"

Sirius laughs, it's a sound that sounds from deep within his chest shaking his whole frame, and Remus is surprised by the lovely sounds. "No. I really do want to take you on a date. What do you say?"

"Um...alright." He says unsure why but something about Sirius felt safe. He knew he wouldn't be the kind of person who grew angry when rejected so he saw no reason why he shouldn't. Besides he could always give him a fake number if things went south.

He pointed to the cafe nearby, Regulus' Cafe, and smiled "Want to have that first date now?"

Sirius turns to the building raising a brow "There?"

"Yes is there a problem?"

"Not at all. Lead the way, Remus." The door of the cafe chimes, when they step in. The place is busy but not packed and the man wearing glasses behind the counter nods at them.

"Be right with you!" He calls while in the process of making some drinks for the group of teenagers at the counter. Regulus' cafe is a cozy-looking place with a minor gimmick of constellations, that are directly painted on the corners of the walls and the tables in white sparkling paint.

With its blended colors of dark blue and purples, the place looked like it was frozen in dust, just before the night took over. Remus instantly thought it would be the perfect example of the Traveling Pub in the Mauraders series and vowed to come back more often if this date went well.

Sirius seemed to spend a lot of time here as he knew the barista by name, asking James to give him a discount for his first date. Surprisingly even though Sirius seems to be joking James did in fact give them a discount winking at Remus when he caught his gaze.

Remus takes a few minutes to look at the menu, but in the end, Sirius picks a coffee while Remus gets the spicy chocolate shake, and James pumps out their drinks quickly. He throws in some banana bread after claiming Reggie wouldn't mind.

As they make their way to an open table with the pastries and drinks Remus couldn't help but notice the way Sirius was eyeing his books and realized he recognized the blue one. "Have you ever read Mauraders?"

"Read it? One could say I wrote it" Sirius answers with a cheerful grin. pulling the laughing lines around his eyes and lighting up his face. "Do you like the series?"

"I love it!" What followed next was forty minutes of Remus outlining everything he adores about the series forgetting it was a date in the process as Sirius stares at him with a bewitch expression. It's the best first date he ever had.

(Meanwhile, Regulus gets back from break only to find out his brother is skipping on his shift to flirt with the librarian and his boyfriend gave the pair of idiots a full loaf of banana bread...again. He needs to stop hiring Sirius between novels his brother never knows how to work)

#hpdabbles #Harry Potter #Wolfstar #mention of Jegulus #mordern Au #In which Remus is on a first date with his favorite novelist and doesn't realize it #Sirius had seen him walk by everyday #James ships it #Agardenofideas

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vminity21 · 3 years

Text

+1 | kth

Pairing: HighschoolCrush!Taehyung X StillProcessingIt!Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Genre: angst/fluff/smut

Warning(s): slight language use, angst (if you read b/w the lines), pretty much smutty kissing, hand groping, mention of alcohol, breast worship, nipple play; Rated: 18+

Summary: When a crush you had in high school unexpectedly returns to your life six years later, this is the experience you have with him when you collected the courage to invite him over to hangout.

Credit to: @suhdays for the amazing cover!

Inspiration comes in the form of little expectancy especially when life seems to throw a curveball you never dreamed would be a potential possibility; but, here you are, tapping upon the keyboard of your five-year-old laptop decorated in stickers of celebs you've admired over the years mingled with relevant quotes that have bustled yet again- inspiration that motivates you day by day to continue to be the human being that you are. Inspiration though can appear in lyrical melodies broadcasted globally for millions to pine over; or, published in numerous pages creating imaginary worlds where ones can escape to; or, sketched in a meticulous design to build whatever idea had been desired to come to life; or, filmed in scenes of an edited story by talented persons determined to enter the spotlight in any way they can; or, painted along a canvas in colors of calculated detail bringing forth the picture of accomplishment. Inspiration derives from a mere moment- one that sparks the instinct to gather the materials needed to pour out your heart in ways that may bring a sense of peace.

For you, it used to be in the lines of a song penciled into a crinkled notebook from your backpack hidden away for no one to discover; it used to be countless childhood journals where you expressed your inward battles in order to find enough solace to sleep at night. You've lost your touch over the years because life changes in the blink of an eye, as you grow older, and work can distract from the time taken to focus on yourself; thankfully graduating college to gain the degree you now behold landed you a job, one you hope lasts for many years, and you are currently living in a two-bedroom apartment with your best friend, Monica, who's presently slumbering as you brush some loose strands of hair from your vision.

Your dog is curled at the end of your bed as you write, which is something that you haven't done in what feels like forever, but the reasoning behind this sporadic urge ignited when the familiar pair of brown eyes from six years prior, re-entered your world without your preparation and his presence from a recent night shared seems to echo in every space of your brain to where you've finally had enough. It's about time to reach out, the devil on your shoulder whispers, but the angel sitting on the opposite begs to differ. Shaking your head, you pause momentarily, cracking your knuckles before resting your forehead on the desk, exhaling slowly while the memory of his touch seems to haunt your skin.

He was someone you once admired in high school- roaming the hallways where girls giggled giddily each time he'd pass by; star of the basketball team, rising popularity to the point everyone knew his name, collecting homework answers from budding friendships, and it all began once he started his junior year at a new school- the school where you attended. But the difference that set him apart from the typical cliché's of the prevalent students you never seemed to relate to, was that he talked to absolutely everybody and anybody- no judgment on what group the person took part in, his kindness won the hearts of many other than the evident attraction of his physical features. He didn't care who you were or what you were into, he would be your friend, and that, considering he was viewed on a higher level, made him even more special.

Despite never admitting it then, you had a crush on him. He was more of an acquaintance, but you enjoyed his company when he came around, and when a past friend, who is now married with a few kids, used to have a crush on the same person, your heart sank, because with every guy thinking she was hot, you felt as though you would never stand a chance. Especially not with this guy who made your hands jittery and the beat in your chest skip- the guy who is none other than Kim Taehyung.

Taehyung would frequent the chorus room at times when you and your past friend would practice music pieces and he always was fond of your singing voice- something he praised you for often, while his attention was received from his talent regarding sports. Something he was so good at that it was spread that he may have gained quite the scholarship for college if he decided to go. There were memories of bravery where you seized the day just to steal a conversation and a hug; at one time, scribbling the words 'hot af' with an arrow pointing where he signed your friend, Min Yoongi's, yearbook; Yoongi playing it off as though he had no idea who the culprit was when Taehyung asked who wrote it. Utter surprise can't even fathom when you along with Taehyung were voted 'Most Likely to be Famous' by your graduating class when senior year was conquered. The inside joke was for you to hold the basketball while he placed his hands upon the keys of a piano, the picture you still couldn't process happened, but always remained grateful for.

Six years flew by and the conversation never necessarily held, but there were the rare messages from social media where he'd reach out hoping all had been well with you. Interestingly enough, a cover you posted harmonizing with a fellow singer happened to be his absolute favorite, one of the few Instagram posts he'd commented on, and one of the few singing videos he continuously would listen to repeatedly without your knowledge until a few weeks ago when he revealed that to you. A cover that is now near to be a four-year-old video that he still finds uplifting when he hears you and the way your voice blended so well with the other female. Your mind is reeling because after all this time, and even now, there are remains of the aftershock, trying to forget the feel of him, when there's no way you can, not with everything so fresh on your mind. So fresh on your heart.

It all occurred when Yoongi, who kept in touch with you occasionally after graduation brought you up to Taehyung who happened to think of you earlier when listening to his favorite cover of yours, and he agreed he'd like to hang out. He asked if his friend, Hoseok could join you, Monica, and Yoongi which of course you said yes to learn how sweet you found it, that he had traveled within the span of a day after visiting his grandparents, because he is a man of his word, planned to come see you even though the drive was five hours out of his way. The night was filled with so much laughter mixed with serious conversations to the point the card game that was supposed to be played was never finished, and it sprung the desire of wanting to see Taehyung again, and you couldn't come to terms with never knowing so after some encouragement from Monnie and Yoongi, you messaged T to hang out a few days later, but never opened his reply until you were safely home from work.

Taehyung: Gotcha! Hmmm, I haven't decided on what I intend on doing. Either being with family or hanging out with friends. If I don't hang out with family, you could be my plus 1 or bring whomever or vice versa

[Y/N]: Sorry I just got home from work! I'll definitely be your plus 1 if hanging with family doesn't work out! Sounds like a plan!

He asked if you wanted anything from the store when it was confirmed he was on his way which you responded with your typical answer of no, and with music playing from your Bluetooth speaker, you were highly humiliated when you lost track of four minutes of time, opening a message from him to see that he had been there, at your door. Heart racing you rushed to unlock it, head spinning when you saw he leaned against the stair railing with a plastic bag of two Arbor Mist wine bottles dangling from his hand, him promising everything was fine despite your profuse apologies- him slipping his phone in his back pocket while he followed you into your home.

Monnie happened to be staying the night with her family, so it would be just the two of you tonight, besides your dog who bounced at his legs while he reached down to pet her fluffy head. Taking in the sight of him, now that was something you found hard to believe. Just a simple pair of jeans, a gray t-shirt with a black jacket complementing the dark tendrils of hair spread across his forehead leading to the carefully sculpted lining of his jaw nearly brought you to your knees, but you held it together long enough to settle across from him at your dining room table. He had taken off his shoes at the door remembering upon a few days prior, and he set out the wine while you jumped to retrieve wine glasses (Yoongi happened to purchase for you) while banter still related to greetings.

One thing that truly intrigued you when first seeing Taehyung after six years were words, he had said that touched your heart more than you'd like to profess. "That's why I try to enjoy every moment with people because you never know what day will be your last," and you knew right then, that if there was anyone you wanted to share a moment with, it was him, and there he was, right before you, smiling about something you said while the sound of the fruity liquid-filled each glass.

"I really truly do not understand what you are so afraid of. What do you even have to lose?" Monnie tinkered with the lens to her camera while she sauntered through the living room. Exasperated from anxiety, you sucked in your lips before teasingly throwing her the side-eye.

"My dignity,"

"Oh c'mon," she paused, lifting a brow. You had been talking nonstop on how bad you wanted to invite Taehyung over, but fear of rejection including the fear of humiliation seemed to overwhelm you, although deep down you knew your best friend in the entire world was correct. You did not nor do you have anything to lose.

"Well!" You squawked, raising your palms dramatically in the air before slapping them to the sides of your thighs, "Why the hell would Kim Taehyung ever want to hang out with me anyway? Do you not see how farfetched this all is?"

"Bold of you to assume that my life isn't already farfetched enough as it is-"

"Not! The point!"

Monnie sighed, and when she saw the way your shoulders slumped in disappointment that shouldn't have been an issue, to begin with, she stepped closer, placing her hand on your shoulder, "First off, you are overthinking this, and you shouldn't. Besides, I think after hanging out as a group, he only sees you as a friend, meaning no expectations. So, go into it with that mindset okay? I'm sure he'd love to hang out with you. Secondly," she smiled, her serene expression filled with promises she always kept, "You've waited six years for this. I think you should ask him to hang out."

"You really think so?" Your grin reached your hopeful eyes, and the feeling in your chest seemed to react more positively despite your earlier turmoil.

"Yeah. The dude owes us a chair anyways,"

"Ah!" You cackled, back pressed against the dining room table as you remembered literally a few days ago when Taehyung accidentally broke a spindle of the chair in half with his foot when Yoongi scared him just by suddenly walking down the hallway. "I don't think I've ever seen a man so embarrassed."

"I'm not saying to hold it over his head, but," Monnie held up her index finger, "I think that gives him enough reason to come back," she giggled, setting her camera on the dining room table before waltzing into the kitchen.

You shrugged, "At least we can still sit on it."

"Look at it, it's staring at me," Taehyung pointed swiftly at where the vacant spindle would have been, your laughter reverberated throughout the space.

"T, really, you do not owe us new chairs. I promise, it's fine," you reassured him, realizing your cheeks were sore from how much you'd been smiling since he entered your 'realm of refuge' as you liked to describe your apartment. He snapped a picture of it, probably with the intention of getting a new chair for you and Monica regardless, and you found that appreciative although you would be happy if he didn't.

Shit. You pause from the computer screen, leaning back into your chair before folding your arms tight across your chest. Eyeballing the cursor, your vision narrows as it blinks, waiting for you to add more words to the memory that seems to spin in a cycle with the subtle goal of not stopping. Or, so you figure. If recalling every little detail isn't already hard enough, reliving the reminiscence of his fingers twirling in your hair, his sweet laugh when he looked at you, or the way he held you so tight-

But, everything in between, leading up to those mesmerizing flashes are just as important to you as what it led to. Maybe it was the conversation- the three hours of conversation before the move to the sofa which it was hard to fully focus on what else was being said because how could you properly concentrate when the one person, you'd been so worried about spending time with was seriously conversing with you like the pair of you had been friends your whole lives?

Miraculously, you were able to gather the stories of past vacations that resulted in mild disappointment revolving around the complaints of people surrounding him, or the goal of visiting as many places as possible leading Taehyung to scribble down a list of where he'd been to reveal you both have equally been to the same amount of places. Of course, the thrill of going on a mini adventure with him brought an excitement you haven't felt in a while; even the story of why he was transferred to your high school years ago due to a misunderstanding, and when the pair of you made your way to the couch, he nestled into one corner while you gladly took the other, wishing you could snuggle closer but fear prevented you from doing so.

It seemed as though that he didn't want to watch the movie anyhow, because he talked to you as though he never wanted to stop, and eventually it led to you asking one too many times if he was okay with spending the rest of the night with you. "It's up to you, I'll stay if you want me too," he promised, the way your heart fluttered when you replied, "Yes, can you please stay? I don't want you to go."

"Alright, alright! I'll stay," he smiled widely, both of his large hands reaching out, and there was not one ounce of hesitation from you- your hands grasped his before your dog jumped to beg for attention, trying to lick at his face causing your hands to undo. Laughter was contagious with Taehyung, and still cuddled into the corner of the couch, you were so elated that he was going to stay, you reached to hug him, his arms wrapping around you, the feel of your bodies aligning putting the biggest smile on your face. It was crazy how everything was seeming to fall into place- the stars aligning as though it was all magic; and, you couldn't get past how right everything felt. How right he felt. Pulling away, his smile never left him, "Are you shy?" His arm remained draped around your shoulders, and timidly you peer at his surprised gape, his black hair almost covered his crescent eyes.

"I mean... Yeah, I can be," you murmured, reaching to hug him again, but something washed over you this time, a thought that had crossed your mind repeatedly that you just couldn't take it anymore. The side of his face was blurred, placing your palm upon his cheek, and without even a moment of doubt, you kissed him. A sudden decision, but one of the best ones you could have made.

His lips were so soft, the way his mouth just seemed to mold with yours for only a few mere seconds, and the shock on his face when you pulled away, paired with the realization that his hands were held in the air, you hadn't expected his reaction. Shit! You cursed inwardly, immediately jumping back to persistently make sure he was okay; even when he moved to cuddle with you, him claiming everything was fine, but that he couldn't believe you kissed him being the both of you never once saw this coming especially six years ago during the high school days. His hand was fidgety as he swiftly rubbed your shoulder, your head buried on his chest while your mind spun in a continuous loop of how you could not believe that you kissed Taehyung. The Kim Taehyung.

He became quiet- too quiet, concern etched in your expression, maneuvering yourself back to the opposite corner of the couch, so you could face him. "T, are you sure you're okay? Did I freak you out?"

"No, no, I just can't believe you kissed me," he was in awe, eyes dazed as he ran his slim fingers through his hair, "Like, really I never saw this coming,"

"I mean, have you looked in the mirror?" You teased, knowing damn well he'd been aware of you finding him attractive, and he shook his head in dismissal of your compliment as he chuckled; it took you a whole sixty seconds to realize you were holding his hand, fingers linked, and him asking if you were nervous due to your clammy palm, though you tried to swear up and down you were not, the next round of words he said nearly brought you to tears when he finally spoke.

"You shouldn't sell yourself short," he looked you in the eyes without any faltering, although you tilted your head in mild confusion as to why he was saying this, to begin with, "I don't think you realize how much of an impact you've made on others, especially guys," ah, he was letting you down easy, and you knew it, but you're too stunned to speak as you listened, "I don't think you give yourself enough credit either. You're a great singer, you're pretty much a musician, you love animals, you have a job, you live on your own. Really, you shouldn't sell yourself short-"

"T," you breathed, pleading almost, but trying not to make it obvious, but he never broke eye contact, "We don't have to date or anything, I just- I just wanted a moment with you." You mentioned what inspired you to spend time with him- exposing how a few nights ago when he said he wanted to enjoy every moment with people- you knew you wanted to have a moment with him, too. Memories from high school were spoken momentarily, thirty minutes passing by which included a made-up handshake as well as the subtle twirl of his fingers in your hair- him complimenting how good your hair looked which made you blush even more.

Just when you thought he wasn't already smooth enough, you noticed Taehyung started teasing your dog, her pouncing at his chest before he'd lean in closer to you. Eyebrows scrunching, it took you a hot second to realize what he was doing. Each time Taehyung would scoot closer to you, he'd kiss you, sending the pair of you in boisterous laughter when your dog would try to break the kisses by jumping in between your faces. The more your lips would touch, it'd last a bit longer and longer, your hand clinging to the side of his jacket to pull him closer when things really started moving fast, eventually your dog left the room with the hint that attention was no longer available for her.

Still lip-locked, Taheyung's hands gripped your hips while you willingly moved to straddle him, arms resting on the top of the couch on either side of his head, the tip of your tongue glided along his, while he fanned his hands along your ass. You refrained from moaning into his kiss despite how bad you wanted to, yet you held yourself together, involuntarily grinding your clothed heat where his erection was felt. T smacked your ass before slithering the tips of his fingers to your shirt, slowly unbuttoning one by one.... One by one. His eyes were hazed from how much he was craving your mouth, and with a seductive nod in his direction, he continued until he made it to the final goal, your kisses never planning to stop, the sides of your shirt being brushed away for him to take in the sight of you.

"Ooh my God," his eyes darkened in evident lust when he saw the way your black bra cupped your breasts, "Oh my God," his voice deepened, him hardly knowing what to do with himself while your smirk remained subtlety on your mouth. Though you hadn't needed him to ask, he politely waited for your permission to touch your chest, a quick pang of frilly nerves ghosted your stomach.

"Yeah," you breathed seductively, gradually moving to capture his lips, trying to hold back a giggle when he gently moved his hands to your back, "You're not going to find it there," you mused, referring to the clip. He paused as if panicked, "It's in the front," you finally admitted, but failing miserably, Taehyung let you take initiative, you unclipped your bra uncovering what is now widening his brown eyes. "Oh my God!" His reaction made you want to cum right then and there, especially when his fingers made their way to squeeze your nipples when his mouth returned to yours. Taehyung worshiped your breasts, and for some odd, yet arousing reason, you lived for it.

You're uncertain of when the tv was switched off, and even now, as your hands continue to fly across the keyboard, one thing you do recall, one of the lingering memories of the evening was your shirt being off, thrown onto the floor mingled with your bra, and without any warning, Taehyung hoisted you in the air, your legs instinctively wrapped around his torso while he tightened his hold around your body. His steps were painfully careful, kissing you roughly while your arms kept their place behind his neck, and the direction was being taken to your bedroom where your heart pounded so anxiously to be. His jacket was shed before the bold act, and all that was left was his gray t-shirt and jeans. Laying you down with a bounce from your mattress, he remained above you, and your eyes refused to stray especially when he reached to remove his shirt- his smooth skin greeting yours sending waves of goosebumps spreading among your limbs.

There was no one like him in your eyes, and there never would be. Not in your heart. And with how perfect everything was going; you were not prepared for how hard it was going to be to stop before things went too far. Because what if he doesn't exactly feel the same? He was letting you down easy not even an hour ago, and here you were, hopes so high, you weren't sure how you were going to erase them back down. He kissed you until you couldn't breathe, your fingers dug into your comforter, while his palms glided all over your frame for however long you let him, but when he went to remove your leggings, you halted him.

Now, this is where your heart aches when you relive this part, because a conversation was held, one where you mentioned what if someone catches feelings if the both of you decided to solely be just friends with benefits? Taehyung said all you had to do was communicate with him because he was easy to get along with, and you've known this about him for six years. He was always someone easy to talk to, and you knew he would never treat you poorly over a situation like this. And, he hadn't. You made the executive decision to not sleep with him for you wanted him to remember you as the woman you are, and the woman, you've always been, and with the fear of going all the way being something that could change his image of you, you were satisfied to hear the loud echoes of his snoring after you changed into pajamas, gazing at his sleeping demeanor before you drifted into slumber as well.

When the morning came, you were not ready for him to leave, but he asked if you would walk him out, him throwing on his shirt and jacket while you rushed to brush your teeth. T asked if you had any other plans for the rest of the day which you proceeded to answer honestly with a no, as he mentioned that he was going to get breakfast.

"Let me know when you make it home," you said tenderly, "I want to know you're safe,"

"I will," he promised before you embraced him, turning just enough to place a peck to his cheek. It was his smile that decided to enter your recollection- the boxy smile that would plague you until the day you accept that you will never forget it.

And when you opened the door to the apartment where he gracefully waltzed through, you merely caught a glimpse of him leaving, ahead of you quietly shutting the door to whatever could have been.

Or, what could have started a beautiful story that has yet to unfold.

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laurore-stormwitch · 3 years

Text

of almost failed heists and romantic advice

For the @grishaversebigbang mini bang! First time writing the crows, it’s been a challenge. I had the incredible and emotional honor to see some beautiful art made for this fic by @streckenweise-okay [here] , @j-wirth [here], @davonysus [here]. You are all talented and amazing <3 Summary: an easy undercover job becomes not only a chance to revisit some old friendships with Nina back in town, but also the perfect occasion for a romantic intervention and some dating advice for our favorite Bastard of the Barrel.

ao3 link

Kaz Brekker, the Bastard of the Barrel, a forgotten Rietveld. His figure hid itself in the many names he had been called, in the many tales of sorrow he had inflicted. He did not need a reason, nor to rob or brake, nor to wreak havoc on the filthy streets of Ketterdam. Swift as the sky-splitting dive of a crow on his prey. You would feel him coming, in the tense silence shattered by the rhythmic beating of a raptor-headed cane on bricks. Kaz Brekker, who did not need a reason, or concealed the ones who mattered. The same Kaz Brekker, however, who did not have a valid reason for choosing to bring the three biggest headaches of his life along with him on this wretched job. A sharpshooter with an absurd taste in fashion, a Grisha witch as annoying as his broken leg and a wayward merchant’s son he had spent way too much time babysitting.

A strike of genius on his part. On top of that, he had chosen an undercover job, like they had the slightest ability not be noticed. Except for Nina; that girl blended everywhere like whisky. She was now strolling back to them with an excited gleam in her eyes, sipping on a glass of wine. She giggled happily. “Relax, Kaz. It’s a party.”

He cut her a glare from the corner in which he was standing, stiff and broody.

“Where the hell are the two lovebirds?”

“At the buffet. Do you know they have a chocolate fountain?”

“If it doesn’t drop gold”, Nina arched a brow at him, “I am fairly sure I don’t care for it.”

They were interrupted by the brilliant flash of color of Jesper’s suit and his brazen laugh. He had an arm thrown around Wylan’s shoulder; the merchling’s cheeks were flushed and his hair ruffled. He seemed slightly uncomfortable or about to throw up. For all the kruges, how much had Jesper let him drink? At least they did not have a particularly difficult role to play. Nina planted a kiss on Wylan’s cheek.

“This is so fun!”, she exclaimed, delighted by the situation. Kaz glared at her again.

“A job it’s not supposed to be fun.”

“Take your brooding mood out the window, Brekker”, Nina waved a dismissive hand at him. “What would a job be without fun?”

“Terribly dull”, Jesper winked.

“Annoyingly painful”, offered Wylan with a hiccup. They turned to Kaz.

“Adequately profitable.”

His friends cast their eyes heavenward. Jesper snatched other glasses , pretending not to see Kaz’s threatening look. The party was grand, held in the home of a Council’s member from whom they were supposed to steal some documents held in a safe in his study. The job was easy to say the least, so when they had learned that Nina was in town, she had tagged along. Kaz wanted to wack himself on the head with his cane for this wretched idea; apparently, they had taken this as an excuse to party and reminisce old times more than an occasion to actually help Kaz make some money. Nina surveyed the room.

“I wish Inej was here”, she whined. Kaz had never been one to pray, so it was not surprised when the Saints ignored his pledge to make Nina drop the argument. Instad, she turned to him with a smug smirk.

“How is it going between the two of you?”

Kaz tapped his cane on the floor, avoiding the heartrender’s eyes. Maybe she would shut up if he ignored her. Was he not radiating a general air of murderousness and danger, enough to convince his nosy friend to leave him be? Well, not enough. It just made her do something even worse and refer to the other two headaches.

“Kaz is a hopeless cause.”

“He’s not asked her out yet? Not even a romantic snack in between threatening people and skewering them with knives?”

Jesper shrugged his shoulder, nudging Wylan closer. “We offered to do it for him”, he noted.

“You did”, Wylan peered at thim. “I want to keep my head on my neck.”

“Why hasn’t he?”, asked Nina, considering Kaz, still ignoring them.

“I don’t think he’s familiar with the concept of asking someone out. Or even asking someone for anything, mainly bossing people around.”

Kaz adjusted his tie. “I’m standing right beside you.”

“It’s not hard, Kaz. Just buy some flowers and smile.”

Jesper laughed at Nina’s idiotic advice. Were they actually trying to get assassinated right now? Another thought paved the way in his mind. Was it an idiotic advice, though? He could admit that anything not involving schemes or robbery was not an area of expertise for him. And he had been meaning to do something...nice?

“You’re asking Dirtyhands to smile?”, asked Jesper. Nina huffed.

“Can it be that hard?”

“You’ll see. Kaz, smile at me.”

Kaz had two roads in front of him: for some reason, he chose the insane one and indulged Jesper, curling his lips upward. An uncomfortable silence dawned over them.

“All the Saints and their suffering”, Nina exclaimed.

“Is he about to murder someone?”, Wylan asked. Nina burst out laughing.

“That is your i-am-asking-you-out smile?”

“It’s terrifying”, considered the merchling.

“Positively daunting”, his boyfriend confirmed.

“For the love of Inej’s Saints drop the smile. Stick with the flowers.” She eyed him from upside down, critical. “And fix that dreadful hair.”

Now the choice laid between leaving them all here or trying to find a way to finish this wretched job. Since the second option included a mouthful reward, he went with it. He eyed the owner descending the stairs with his guards. That was their cue.

“You all know what to do.”

To their credit, they all snapped to attention when he called them. Nina strode behind the owner, fluffing her hair, while the three of them disappeared silently toward the upper floor. Silently. As silently as they could, Wylan being half drunk and Jesper being...well, Jesper. What one does for some kruge, thought sourly Kaz. He did glance at his reflection in the mirror, trying a half smile as they ascended the stairs. But no one needed to know that.

***

The safe had scarcely even been fun to crack. Kaz slipped the document in his jacket, scanning the study. Who knows what one could find that people left unguarded. Jesper and Wylan were outside, keeping control on the stairs. The situation seemed under control, so he did have some spare time to search for something precious. He approached a drawer, flicked a pin in the keylock and -

BOOM

A loud explosion resonated on the floor, rattling the walls. Definitely not a good sign. And definitely a sign that his henchmen raised some hell. Kaz sprinted out, only to find an absolute mayhem had been unleashed, and at the centre of this chaos, sure enough, stood his two royally idiotic friends, covered in dirt and pieces of furniture, gazing at each other with utter shock on their faces like they hadn’t just made a smoke bomb explode. The one that was supposed to be an emergency to cover their escape and was now invading the house.

“What the hell did you do?!”

Screams rose below them; Jesper scratched some dust from his jacket and rolled his revolvers out, grinning in Wylan’s direction, apparently unfazed by how much they had just screwed up.

“Wylan got carried away”, he shrugged his shoulders. Wylan flushed violently, jaw dropped in his boyfriend’s direction.

“You pushed me against a wall! I told you I had the smoke bomb in my pocket!”

“Were they making out again on the job?”, Nina rushed in their direction, her gorgeous face lit up with amusement as she struck down one of the guards running up the stairs with a flick of her wrist, a dart bone flying out of her cuff.

“It’s Jesper’s fault! He’s always trying to...to…”, Jesper arched a brow at Wylan.

“Yes?”

“Entice me!”

Kaz blew out an exasperated grunt, pushing them toward the background door. “Move!”, he seethed, running to work the lock. Dirtyhands getting killed on a saints forsaken robbery, perfect irony. With a quick look, he realized the damn lock had been reinforced with Fabrikator’s craft. He signaled Jesper, who practically squealed with amusement.

“Do I get to use my powers?” The hard glare he earned from Kaz seemed to be enough for him to get on with his work. Nina turned, shooting other dart bones toward the stairs. Quick steps and screams were echoing through the buildings, and smoke was clearing. “You might wanna hurry up, Jes!”, she shouted over her shoulder.

“We might have a problem”, the sharpshooter mumbled, as the lock literally melted on itself, effectively sealing the door closed. “I’m still getting the hold on - “

He was interrupted by another deafening explosion, as Wylan threw another device which detonated on the wooden stairs shredding them into pieces.

“Do you all have to keep destroying our ways out?!”

“I’m sorry!”, screamed Wylan over the echoing thrum of the bomb, his gaze shifting to a window that opened up to the roof.

“Do not even think about it”, Kaz pointed his cane at him.

“Either we take a page from Inej’s book or we get arrested, what do you choose?”, Nina asked grudgingly, starting to climb on a cupboard. Saints, he was going to kill them all. Jesper and Wylan followed suit, making their way out on the roof and helping Kaz up. He shot a murderous look at Nina, who was eyeing him as he not at all gracefully moved up and shut the window closed behind him, swearing to every known Saints in Kerch.

“Since you are so bad at this, you should try to compliment Inej about it and maybe she’ll teach you something.”

“Start fleeing before I catch you, Zenik.”

Shots began firing from below them, grazing Kaz’s arm. Nina erupted in a grin.

“Time to run, Brekker.”

And so they did. Extremely far from how Inej would have done it. Loudly, stumbling throughout Ketterdam’s rooftops, helping each other - as much as he hated to admit it, mostly Kaz - on the slippery tiles and the narrow eaves. Ketterdam buildings left little space to breathe, being conveniently close that they could jump from one to the other. Kaz lost track of time, though his bad leg felt like they’ve been running for hours. Jesper stopped abruptly as they neared the docks, crunching on his knees and howling a breathless laugh.

“That was fun.”

Nina giggled, slouching on the rooftop they had stopped on. “Ease up boys, we lost them ages ago”, she exhaled, closing her eyes toward the moonlight and leaning back. Kaz tentatively seated himself behind her, stretching his leg.

“If this easy job ends up with me not being able to walk, vengeance will be coming.”

Wylan and Jesper slumped down on his side, ignoring his dreadful look. Wylan peered at Kaz with a sly smile.

“Jesper has stolen something fit to celebrate a successful heist.”

The sharpshooter grinned, pulling out a bottle of cherry wine from nowhere and uncorking it with a whistle of joy. He passed it around as their cheerful chatter filled the night’s quiet. They were crazy. Crazy, reckless, and still idiots. Yet, Kaz couldn’t help but feel a little proud of his ragtag band of misfits. So he did not protest when Jesper handed him the wine, and he even threw a crooked half smile at him. The night began to wear off with every sip.

“So”, started Jesper at some point, snatching the bottle from him, “about our advice?”

It had to be the wine for Kaz to answer this. “I guess I can try it.”

Wylan huffed and gave him a knowing look. “Just be yourself, Kaz. Inej likes you like that.”

“Ever the romantic”, Jesper winked at him, making him flush. Again.

“Aside from that”, Nina propped herself up, turning to him, her lips quirked and her face lit up with happiness, cheeks red from the wine. “I still suggest the flowers. You know her favourites. And you might want to get ahead with those, Brekker'', she added, pointing her finger toward the horizon; over Ketterdam’s rooftops, the moonlight shone on the silent streets, reflecting on the waves that hit the docks. There, against the sky lit up by stars, stood the profile of a sharp ship, a flag Kaz knew by heart flying over the mast, its edges turning his stomach upside down as it entered the harbour.

“Our Wraith is coming home.”

#gvbb21 #gvbbminibang21 #gang28 #the crows #first time writing them so im terrified #kanej #kaz brekker #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #nina zenik #heists gone bad #sort of crack fic #check out my artists because they're amazing and i'm stunned by the talent #six of crows #post crooked kingdom #grishaverse #fan fiction #wesper

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katnissmellarkkk · 3 years

Note

what about ~ general ~ #48?

Gravity

Heyyyyy, so uh, remember sending this? Well, sorry this took 100,000 years. And uh, sorry, this got so long imma break it up into three separate parts. Because, ya see, the prompt you sent sparked a three chapter growing back together story. And... your prompt, which was general #48 “I won’t hurt you”, actually doesn’t appear until the final chapter 🤦🏼‍♀️... we love an overwriter, right?

Okay so anyways, hopefully part two will be out soon. And forgive this for not being my greatest writing ever.

And thanks, love, for sending me a prompt to start with!

Peeta and I grow back together.

"How long are you going to waste those paints?" I tease wryly, announcing my presence as I lean against the doorframe.

Peeta doesn't even glance back at me, but I can see from my angle his expression turn sardonic. "Until this shade of green is exactly right."

I chuckle, coming further into the room—using extra caution to not startle him as he can be easily triggered when his mind is preoccupied elsewhere—and attempting to peer over his shoulder at the canvas.

It's covered with a cloth though and this time he turns to look at me before laughing softly. "Trying to sneak a peek?"

I glance at him, a little ruffled, before my eyes find my feet. "I didn't know it was supposed to be secret," I defend, for some reason feeling embarrassed by my curiosity.

Our dynamic is still tense some days. We haven't kissed since we were in the Capitol and that was only to fight off his hijacking. We haven't genuinely kissed, kissed because we wanted to, for nothing but our own simple pleasure, since the Quell, on the beach, the last night before we were separated.

Since before Peeta was taken by the Capitol. Since before he was hijacked.

But his memory is better now and the clouded, haunted look is long gone from his eyes. In it's place is the same brightness, the same instinctive kindness, the same gaze I used to see even in the worst of circumstances.

Still though, I don't always know what to say or not say. I don't know what our boundaries are now.

I know that his house and mine are always open to the other one. I don't have to knock or announce myself when I come over, and more times than not I return from hunting to find him situated at my kitchen table, waiting for me before cutting our breakfast bread.

I don't always know where our trauma ends and our friendship begins. I don't honestly know where we even stand anymore. From allies to friends to unconscious lovers to enemies and back, I get whiplash practically trying to decipher it, and I can't even imagine how much more confusing it must be for him, still after all this time.

He is more committed to that stupid over-the-phone therapy we've both had forced upon us though. He is committed like an old dog to a rotten bone to healing himself from the wounds Snow inflicted.

I'm about to find an excuse to leave the room, to more than likely leave his house altogether and go out to the woods, like I too often do when I'm at loss for words or things grow awkward, when his fingers touch under my chin. He gently lifts it up to meet his sky blue irises. "Come help me mix colors," he implores, his eyes enthusiastic and genuine.

I nod tentatively after a moment, following behind him, like a wide-eyed child. Like my sister used to follow behind me when we walked from the Seam to town and back.

He makes room for me at the table he's turned into his painting palette. On it resides papers upon papers, each covered with dozens of green variants.

"Peeta," I gap at him, my eyes getting wide. "How have you made all these shades?"

He scratches the back of his neck, blushing a little, and managing to get a moss color on his neck from the wet paint still situated on his fingertips.

I have the most insane urge to clean his neck off myself, to touch him there, as though a spot that's always displayed in plain sight could suddenly be so intimate.

I squash that desire so fast, I feel my temples pulse.

"I've been working on getting this color right for a few days now," he admits sheepishly.

I raise my eyebrow at him, a little more coy than I was only a minute ago. "A few days?"

"Okay, so it's been a couple of weeks."

I laugh then, really laugh, from the bottom of my stomach. It only last for a few seconds but it's such a rarity still that I ever feel that kind of unadulterated joy, and I choose to bask it for all it's worth.

It doesn't escape my notice though that I only ever have these rare moments in Peeta's vicinity. Not that I plan to openly share this—with anyone, really, but especially with him—but it's something I can't help but clock, even if just to myself.

Apparently I'm not the only one who finds my laugh significant, because when I look up at him again, Peeta is staring at me with a look of awe now shining in his gaze. A look I didn't realize until he was back in Twelve, until he was back mentally, until we had started on the memory book together, that he'd lost in his hijacking. It was a gaze I had seen in thousands of moments before, on the train, in the beds we shared at night, in the arenas, in my living room.

That shining look of awe in his eyes is just another thing I didn't realize how much I missed, how much it meant to me, until it returned. Another thing I didn't even realize Snow took away from me.

He breaks the silence between us again, his mouth turning up on one side, his eyes suddenly glazing over. For a moment I brace myself for a flashback, something that I have become accustomed to witnessing on a regular basis. He never loses his mind, he never snaps or thinks I'm a mutt or anything of the sort, but he'll grow quiet for a long moment and he'll clutch the underside of the table or the back of a close by chair, and shut his eyes until it's over.

But he isn't having a flashback now. Instead, his words are wistful and full of longing. "I miss hearing you laugh like that," he quietly says, unashamed. Like he's always said everything. Confidently, even when he wasn't.

I offer him a small smile in return before turning back to the paint covered table, segueing not as subtly as I wish. "Okay, so how am I supposed to help you make your ideal green color?" I turn to him and add in a teasing tone, "I'm not quite as experienced in frosting as you."

It has the desired effect and he comes to show me how to mix the paints properly, how to add in other colors to make a lighter or darker shade of green.

"So this is why the frosting on the cakes were always so intricate?" I ask after a couple of hours of us just blending paints together.

"Because I'm a perfectionist? No. Because I needed to get the cakes to sell quick enough that I wasn't forced to have the stale, crunchy ones for dinner. Over-the-top frosted cakes sells faster."

I shoot him a sad look at that. I always forget that while I had to work hard from a young age to bring food home to my family, Peeta got stuck with the leftovers no one from the entire district claimed.

Hours pass and I get so lost in mixing colors—okay, actually, I'm playing after a while, as Peeta continues to mix paints—that I don't realize until the sky outside turns dark that we skipped lunch and dinner.

"Peeta," I say, tugging at his arm with my now paint covered palm. "We have to eat."

He shakes his head though. "I've almost got the exact right shade."

I huff. "You need to feed yourself. Or else you'll pass out and I'll have to drag you to your bedroom and it'll be rough on us both."

"So it won't be any different than Sunday at Haymitch's?"

I laugh at that again, really laugh, and my stomach aches and cramps from the unused muscles waking back up after their long hibernation. "Come on," I urge.

"Katniss, I swear, I'm almost finished," he insists again, very solemnly. "Go get food from the bakery for both of us and I'll be done by the time you get back."

I let go of his arm, feeling myself deflate as I realize he's truly not budging. "I can't be the only one who goes to town with paint covered hands," I throw out there, as a last resort.

Without even looking away from the table, he adds, "and a paint covered face."

My brow furrows, confused, when he taps my nose with his wet finger. "Peeta!" I try to exclaim but it gets eaten up by my giggle, which is quickly overpowered by his.

"You told me once green was your favorite color!" He defends, holding up his hands.

I swipe my still wet sheets of paper off the table and fling them at him, effectively covering his cheek and the shoulder of his shirt in a soup of green.

"Oh, you aren't getting away with that," he promises and grabs me around the waist when I bolt for the door. "You couldn't even beat a man with one leg," he teases as he hoists me up and propels us both towards the wet paints again.

"Don't you dare," I threaten but my smile, one I can't repress, isn't letting me give the correct authenticity to my tone and in the end, he only smirks at my words.

A half hour later, I exit Peeta's house, having scrubbed my face the best I could in his bathroom sink. I only made the green fade from my cheeks and nose, not completely evaporate, and my neck is still strewed with flicks of the forresty shade.

My stained shirt is covered though as I pull on Peeta's jacket, having for once left mine in my own doorway, three houses down. Instead of going to fetch it, I choose take him up on the offer to borrow his, pretending it's about convenience and not because I like the way his smell of vanilla and cinnamon and something entirely his own lingers on all his clothing.

I use the key he gave me to the freshly rebuilt bakery and let myself in the backdoor, more so because that's where I'm most comfortable entering. Peeta's new bakery is almost identical in structure to the old one, and his mother would have never let me come in through the front, let alone trade my game over the counter instead of in the chilly back alleyway.

So many times I peaked inside the back, peered over the old baker's shoulder while he examined my squirrels. Majority of the times it was only to see the blazing hot oven, to fantasize about how it must feel to work with that kind of heat in the winter, to have heat so easily accessible at your fingertips that you can take it for granted. But sometimes it was also to catch a glimpse of what the inside must look like, my curiosity getting the best of me.

Being from the Seam, you so rarely had reason to enter a Merchant business. Being from the Seam, there was always a part of you that wondered what the other side of the community must live like.

Well, now I know. I have, really, since I became a victor and Peeta took me with him here on a seldom occasion to chat with his dad while he mother was gone.

I can't help but admire the handiwork of Thom and of many others in the community. They rebuilt the bakery—with assistance, both creatively and manually, from Peeta himself—in only a few months time and it looks like it was never decimated. The woodwork of the wall panels, the marble tile of the floor, the cream color of the walls.

It was like the old bakery, but made newer and fresher.

However, as I grab a loaf of bread and pastries—Peeta did say to get whatever I craved—I spot something out of the ordinary.

The walls visible to the customers in the front are reserved for Peeta to paint murals on, whenever he finds himself in the right mood to create whatever idea he has sitting inside his head. But the walls in the back are typically full of notes and lists and customer orders and—Peeta's own idea—thank you notes and cards from members of the community, who adore him even more now than they did before the war.

But all those things have been cleared away from a section of the wall space. There is a noticeably large blank space, right above the oven and counter, where no one else but Peeta will be able to view it.

It's maybe a little thing to be hung up on, but it strikes me as so strange I cannot stop thinking about it.

I choose to stop at the rebuilt Hob after I finish at the butcher's, offering Greasy Sae an extra pastry for her and her granddaughter.

She takes the offer with a sly look, handing me a container of soup to go with the bread.

"What?" I ask, unsettled a little by her glance, like she knows something I don't.

"I see someone's been painting," she just simply notes, gesturing with her chin to my green stained hand and wrist.

"Oh!" I catch on now. "Yeah, I was just helping Peeta."

The excuse doesn't seem to diminish the glint in her eyes. "Helping. Yeah, I'm sure."

I roll my eyes in her direction as I walk towards the door, calling out, "goodnight," evenly over my shoulder.

When I get back to Peeta's though, he isn't in his art studio. Instead he's in the kitchen, grabbing silverware and plates for us to eat. "Grab bowls too," I call as I plop our food down on his countertop. "Traded a pastry for some."

He shoots me a sardonic look now. "You know you don't have to trade for everything, right?"

"I like it more than spending money," I retort easily, slipping off his jacket. "I'm going to go scrub my hands in the bathroom again before we eat," I say, glancing at my still green digits.

"Well, hurry," he urges teasingly. "You have gotten me so used to eating things when they're fresh, I almost can't stand waiting anymore."

His hand playfully pushes on my back, propelling me towards to the stairs, and I have a hard time denying even to myself the thrill that runs through my body when him unexpectedly touches me.

I quickly wash and scrub as much paint off my palms and wrists as I can, drying hastily on the towel Effie definitely sent from the Capitol.

But I find myself with a sudden irrepressible urge, one not even the food downstairs or Peeta waiting can quench. As I pass by the art room, I see the painting he was so meticulously working on now sitting on his drying table, leaving the canvas empty.

I know I shouldn't invade his privacy but, after everything else we've been through, there isn't much he would keep from me.

At least, that's what I tell myself to rationalize my prying away as justifiable.

I walk to the table, as quietly as I do in the woods when hunting prey, as not to tip him off in case he is listening from the kitchen. I'm unprepared to offer my excuses for snooping to his face, despite the fact I can't picture him being too put out with me.

I am also utterly unprepared for the vision that awaits me in the now finished painting.

Laying flat on it's back, the painting stares directly up at me as I approach. The canvas displays a beautiful girl, with black hair and large grey eyes and a very endearing, bashful smile. There's a variety of flowers in her hair and in her hands she's holding a small bouquet of dandelions. There's a warm, glowing sunset behind her and a willow tree in the distance. It takes me a moment to realize, but her sweater is a dark shade of green, more pleasing to the eye than any leaf or shrub I've ever come across, even on the Victory Tour, in the most lovely botanical gardens the country had to offer.

The girl in the portrait is beautiful and shy and happy and you can see, even in a painting, that she doesn't enjoy having her image captured.

I have to blink six separate times before it finally registers that the girl is me. Her skin is a multitude of colors, varying shades from where something ate a part of her flesh away. But instead of that making her less attractive, it only serves in making her all the more stunning. Her skin is a gorgeous vision and I don't know how Peeta managed the impossible. I don't know how he managed to make me beautiful, but he did.

"Katniss?" I hear him call, and I jump at the sound of his voice ripping me out of the moment. His tone is light and playful, and I have to swipe my hand across my eyes to rid myself of the moisture that's leaked out before he sees. "You coming to dinner?" He asks from the bottom of the stairs and I give the lovely work of art one last look before I follow his voice, a rare, uncontrollable smile forming on my mouth as I shut the door behind me.

After everything else that's happened, only Peeta could make me feel like this.

A few weeks later.

I admire the bright yellow primroses, now in full bloom, the lightly blowing wind only complimenting their beauty and elegance instead of disturbing it.

I stare blankly at the flowers planted in my sister's honor. My sister who should be here now, should be stitching bleeding wounds and helping with the reconstruction of the town. My sister who should be admiring Peeta's frosted cakes and convincing me to dance with her in the living room by the fire. My sister who should have never been in the Capitol that day, should have been tucked away in Thirteen with our mother, should have never grown up as quickly as she was forced to or had her life stolen in a split second.

Peeta's fingers sift through my hair, unconsciously sensing the tension building in my body as I feel a rise of anger at all Coin and Snow took from me in the name of power.

I turn my head up to glance at him, craning my neck a little. I'm about to say something, I'm not sure what yet, but something to convey that I'm fine. Something to brush off what I assume are his concerns. But I'm surprised by what I see when I peer up. His face isn't what I expected.

Instead of concerned or curious, he's having his own sort of contemplation. Instead of even looking at me, he's staring up at the clear blue sky, watching the white puffs of clouds floating microscopically slow across the the way.

But his brow is furrowed and his mouth is turned down and he seems uncharacteristically miserable.

"What's wrong?" I ask, sitting up now. We'd been laying beside each other—maybe a little too close but neither of us seemed to mind—on the grass in my backyard, just trying to rest. We'd planned on working on new entries for the memory book today, but I hadn't slept at all last night and when he came over this morning to find me, still home and not in the woods, with my fingers pinching the bridge of my nose, it was him who'd suggested a day off, relaxing in the grass under the sun.

He barely glances at me now, not really acknowledging my inquiry. "Nothing," he states simply and his hand touches mine for the briefest of seconds before pulling away.

"No, tell me what's bothering you," I insist defiantly. I don't know if it's the crankiness from lack of sleep or if I'm just fed up with having words left unsaid between us, but I'm not backing down.

"Katniss, come on," he says exasperatedly and his tone irks me further.

Instead of snapping and saying something I may regret later, I just shake my head at him, pushing myself upwards and beginning the walk back to the house, with every intention of abandoning our afternoon plans of relaxation. "Okay, wait!" He calls in retaliation and I feel him stretch to grip my hand in his again, only this time not dropping it after only a moment.

I relent and move backwards, sitting down to face him cautiously. I'm not worried that he's going to snap or harm me, not even in the slightest, but I am worried that both of us in foul moods-with our minds that are already teetering just on the edge of sanity-will lead to a painful, heated argument.

The last thing I want is to fight with Peeta. As much as I hate to admit it, even to myself, I've come to rely far too heavily on his presence in my daily life. Driving him away is too agonizing to consider right now.

Peeta doesn't let go of my hand for a long beat and when he does, he does so in a slip so awkward it leaves me believing he didn't even realize he was still grasping it. "I was just thinking about Gale," he blurts out, his eyes wide and a little nervous.

I just stare at him though, waiting for him to elaborate. "You were thinking of Gale?" The name burns the inside of my mouth, the face of the person I once called my friend now only bringing the gut-wrenching image of my sister's last moments of life, as the bombs he potentially built floated from the sky down towards her and hundreds of other unexpecting children. "Wh-why were you thinking of Gale?" I press, my voice caught between shocked and angry.

But Peeta seems prepared for my strangled query. "I guess, I was thinking of every which way... I guess, I was really thinking of the possibility of Gale returning," he explains, and my blood turns to ice. My vision swirls at the very thought and I have to force myself to swallow as my throat suddenly feels very dry.

"Did you hear something I haven't? Do you know if he is coming back to Twelve?" I press as evenly as I can. It's fruitless though, as he shoots me a sympathetic—but still somewhat distracted—look.

"No," he promises, shaking his head. "No, I haven't heard anything about him. I'm just assuming that he will at some point-"

"Why?" I can't help but implore, my voice more aggravated than I intend.

Peeta gives me a look like the answer to my words is blatant. "Because this is is his home, Katniss. You're his home," he emphasizes.

"No," I instantly repel. "No, I'm not his home. Don't even say that. I-I'm not..." I can't seem to make the words come out intelligibility. Instead, I find myself choking on the sounds and syllables. "What even brought this on, Peeta? Why would you be thinking about this?"

At that, he shrugs and breaks his conflicted gaze away, leaving me boring deep into the side of his skull as if the answers I craved would be visible there. "I was happy," he offers quietly, after a long stretch of silence. "I was happy here with you and it got me thinking of all the ways this could be taken away from me."

Oh, I realize as his words hit me. Of course. Of course that's where his mind went. Because not so long ago, every single good thing in his life, from his family, to his home, to his freedom, to his sanity itself, were all viciously and mercilessly stolen. Of course Peeta has such little faith that anything good will last for him anymore.

Still though. To think of Gale as the thing to ruin our days together, our growing friendship, would almost be laughable if it wasn't so insane.

"Why him though?" I press, unable to comprehend his line of thinking. "Why did you think about him coming back?"

He shoots me the same look again, like he can't understand why I even have to ask. "Because that is one sure way you'd be done with me."

"What?" I exclaim, like he was speaking in a language I'd never heard before. "Why would that mean I'd be done with you?"

Now his expression turns downright exasperated and I feel like mine must match. "Because, Katniss. He's-he's..." He struggles with finding the proper wording again. Something that is so incredibly rare for Peeta Mellark that I don't even register it. "He's the one for you," he continues softly after a moment, no malice in his voice, just what he believes to be facts. "I knew that—I've always known that. Long before I knew much else about you, I knew that Gale and you were practically-"

"Peeta, stop," I cut off, maybe not soon enough. "Gale and me... no," I insist venomously. "No, he..." And if Peeta is struggling to speak, I'm know I'm obviously doomed right now. I take a breath and just stare into the blue pools in his eyes and force myself to speak, even if it's difficult, even if I'd rather be choking on a rusty nail right now. "I will never have anything to do with Gale again," I declare gently, doing my best to remain calm and steady.

Peeta shoots me a wary look and I suddenly have to question if he knows about Gale and the bombs. The question that can never be answered, the connection I'll never be able to prove or disprove, but know in my gut what the answer likely is.

He can't know, if he thinks there's a chance that I'd ever have any sort of relationship with Gale again.

"Peeta," I struggle to get out, feeling breathless before I've even began to utter any of it. "Gale is the one—or he might be the one, I don't know, I'll probably never know—who built or created or wha-"

But he's shaking his head rapidly, comprehension flickering across his face. "Katniss, I know," he says, and reaches out to squeeze my palm again. The unexpected touch sends a shock wave through my body but I'm too overwhelmed to really notice. "Haymitch told me about Gale's part in Prim's death."

I rip my hand away so fast, acting before thinking, betrayal spreading through my entire being before I have the chance to even process his words. "If you know that, why do you think I'd ever have anything to do with him again?"

Peeta is starting to really grind on my nerves with that incredulous look he keeps giving me. It's as if he cannot follow what I'm saying or thinks that I'm not seeing his side of the argument or something else that is quite obviously wrong.

How on earth could Peeta ever think that I would be able to look Gale in the eye after what he did? After what he might have done? Does the might of even make a difference? If there's any discrepancies between if he did or didn't murder Prim, how could I ever hold a conversation with him while that hangs between us? How could I meet his eyes and always be reminded I can never meet her's again? How could I ever trust someone like that, that made callous decisions in the heat of righteous anger? Someone who had no idea what it was like to be forced to murder and have it labeled a game. Someone who actively ignored the warnings of those who had? Who actively allowed himself to be used as a puppet for a radicalist who was no better than Snow himself?

Peeta's voice yanks me from my thoughts. "Because, Katniss," he starts gently, looking rather mournful, effectively softening my anger against him just a bit. "You forgave me. How am I any better?"

I just stare at him. "You couldn't help what you did, Peeta."

"Wasn't Gale used too? Just by Coin instead of Snow?"

"It's not the same thing."

"Why not?"

"You didn't possibly kill my sister. And God knows how many other kids," I finally say, the fight in my voice still hanging on.

"I almost killed you," he reminds me, as if I have forgotten.

"It's not the same thing, Peeta," I whisper again, my eyes more compelling, more insistent, than my voice now. He sees that, as he's gazing deeply into my steel colored irises.

He takes a deep breath, mulling over his words before speaking them aloud. I realize then he must have been thinking about this for a while. The concept disturbs me for some reason. Like he's been having this debate in his head without me and I'm late to the event. Like he was actively having this argument already and didn't think to even get my side of the story first. "What if Snow had programmed me to kill Prim instead of you? Then would you have forgiven me?"

I have to look away at that moment because I outright don't know what to say. Would I have been able to ever forgive him for it, for trying to murder my little sister while not in his right mind? Would I have been able to look past it, to see that he was used and abused and destroyed to get to me? Or would I have been so stuck on the idea of anything hurting Prim that all his trauma would have become background noise? Would Gale be the one here now, having this conversation with me, while I was denouncing Peeta's name?

I can't give him an answer and we swore not to lie to each other, in light of everything we've been through, so instead I turn my eyes up to look into the forlorn blue skies I've become so accustomed to and say the only thing I know is true. "I honestly don't know, Peeta."

He nods at that, almost immediately accepting my honestly. Almost like he anticipated those words from me. And he offers me a small smile before standing himself up off the grass and walking towards the backdoor to my house. "I'm going to head home for the day," he says quietly, with no resentment in his voice.

My heart sinks at his words, as some long stifled string inside of me wishes to attach onto him and hold him here with me. To refuse to let him leave until that forlorn edge evaporates from his gaze. But something more prevalent, more powerful, is also churning inside of me, something that cannot stand being withheld even for a day, and I find myself calling out his name against my better judgment.

"Peeta!" I exclaim urgently, my voice rocky and scratched.

He turns and looks at me, his eyes curious to what I could have to say. And I don't know what else to utter, but the truth. The misunderstanding I'm irrationally unsettled by, the misconception that I can't continue to let fester inside his head.

"Gale was never the one for me."

Peeta blinks in surprise at the blatant assertion. He opens up his mouth to speak several times, confusion marring his features, but nothing comes out.

And in case he somehow wants to rationalize my statement away, in case somewhere in his head the demon Snow planted is trying to squash any assurance my statement may inspire, I repeat myself again.

"Gale was never the one."

A month later.

"Haymitch, come on," I mutter, pushing my old mentor towards the front door. "Go home. Sleep off the alcohol."

The older man murmurs something equally unintelligible and also somehow still undoubtedly rude at me, shoving my hands away from his back, where I'm trying to aim him in the direction of the exit.

"The boy is much gentler," he snaps, swaying heavily with his vigorous words.

"We have always agreed that Peeta is superior to me. You can go to his house if you want him to tuck you in tonight."

Haymitch guffaws at that, out of his skull. "Now wouldn't that make you jealous?"

"Get out!"

"Night night, Sweetheart."

After he's gone, I lock the door in case he tries to come back, tries to raid my kitchen again or use my couch as a free bed.

Nothing is more freighting than thinking I'm alone in my house and then seeing a man sleeping in my living room, first thing in the morning.

As I head upstairs though, I realize what I just did. Giving Haymitch the idea to go to Peeta's house, to torture him with his inebriation like he does me, and I wonder if Peeta's angry with me now.

Not real, long lasting anger, of course. Just simple irritation. But still, as I change into my pajamas and brush out my braid, I wonder if I've now destroyed Peeta's night.

At first the idea of our mentor giving Peeta a hard time tonight still doesn't seem like a too terrible situation to me. Peeta's definitively the one that will put up with the tiresome antics of the old drunk until he can't any longer. He's the one who will be more likely to have mercy on a sloshed Haymitch and let himself lose sleep, too kind for his own good.

But then it hits me that when Peeta loses too much sleep, when his insomnia kicks in, or when commotion keeps him awake, he surely has a flashback the following day. Resting later into the day doesn't help either, as any disruption to his sleep schedule can really mess with him good.

I feel myself rush to the window across from my bed, peering out to look three houses down, to see if I can spot the paunchy old man heading in that direction.

I see nothing and no one. It's the black of night, in the middle of winter. No one else lives in what used to be Victor's Village, aside from us three. The road between our houses is cold and wet and entirely void.

Still, I try to squint, to see if I can make anything out over at Peeta's.

His light is off. That much I can tell. The light in his bedroom is turned off, the room is too dark to see into, porchlight is turned off, and all this indicates he's fast asleep, Haymitch went home to his own house and I have nothing to worry about.

However, something else catches me attention then. Peeta's window. It's open. Just like it used to be. Just like before the Quarter Quell. Even in the middle of winter, in the darkest part of the night, he's always kept his bedroom window open.

I tell myself it's paranoia, or it's neighborly kindness. But I decide to open my window as well, in case I hear Haymitch pounding on Peeta's door and disturbing him at an ungodly hour. In case I hear Haymitch causing a ruckus outside Peeta's house and I have to go get him before he causes any massive disturbance.

I tell myself it's because I feel guilt and not because I miss Peeta, even in my sleep.

Especially in my sleep.

I doze off, desperately forcing myself to believe that lie.

When I wake up three hours later, it's not because Haymitch is making noise. No, he hasn't made a peep that I could hear since I kicked him out.

No, I wake up because of a wholly unexpected cacophonous sound.

I wake up because Peeta is screaming.

Peeta is screaming loud, on top of his lungs, like someone is holding a knife or a gun to his throat at this very moment.

It's a sound I recognize instinctively. And not because it resembles the version of him that was rescued and brought to Thirteen.

No, I recognize the sound because it sounds eerily similar to the noises I make from nightmares of the same events, because of flashbacks of the same memories.

Most victors understand each other to varying degrees. We've all lived through literal hells, we've all had our trauma projected across the country, we've all been through horrible ordeals that almost no one else could ever empathize with.

However, most victors didn't win their games together. Most victors don't know what anyone else's personal nightmares are about. Most victors can't even imagine what any of the others are seeing, in any shadow of a dark room. In a the cobwebs of our minds that not even the most proficient doctor can clear. Most victors can't see the haunting reflection in the dark smeared glass that remains unique to each individual victor.

Except me and Peeta. Except us, the once Star-Crossed Lovers, the girl on fire and the baker's boy, the two mouthpieces of opposing sides of war.

The two of us understand each other on a level deeper than anyone else on the planet can even begin to imagine, and it's this fact that draws me thoughtlessly out of my bed at the sound of his cries, and over the threshold and down the street before I even realize what I'm doing. Before I can contemplate it and think my way out of doing it.

I pound on his door, turning my palm pink with the applied force. "Peeta?" I exclaim but all I hear in response is a gut-wrenching howl in pain. I worry for a moment that he's managed to injury himself somehow. That he's lost his prosthetic in his own frenzy and now is lying helpless on the ground.

I take a chance, pleading silently for the door to be unlocked as I turn the knob.

I'm not sure if I should be grateful that Peeta doesn't lock his doors before going to sleep—he doesn't even close his windows though, so how can I be surprised?—but for the moment I bask in the one lucky instance and make a mental note to yell at him tomorrow for it.

My tired, cold legs shoot up the stairs, racing towards his bedroom blindly through the darkness. "Peeta?" I call out again, quieter now than before, not wanting to give him a heart attack.

After all, an intruder, just about any intruder-even my own mother-appearing in my house in the dead of night, would probably knock me unconscious from the adrenaline overload that would surely overtake me.

Because unlike Peeta, I do lock my door—every single door in my house—at night, the image of anyone coming to hurt me while I'm asleep and at my most vulnerable too powerful for me to rationalize away.

But Peeta doesn't hear my voice now and even without any light, I easily locate his bedroom. Despite the fact I've never been in it before. That revelation occurs to me as I'm about to open the door.

Even in our closest and most sacred moments together, I never once set foot inside his bedroom. I'd barely even walked into his house prior to coming back to Twelve after the war. And when I did come here now, we typically stayed in the kitchen or art room for some reason.

All this races through the back of my mind as I push the door open and reveal Peeta, tangled up in his bed sheets, bare-chested and sleeping in only his pajama pants. His fingers clawing at the wall ferociously, his eyes wild as the deer I hunt, when they realize I'm there at the very last second before the arrow pierces their hearts.

"Peeta," I whisper now, my concern for what must have set him off overtaking any qualms I may still have. I try to tell myself to be careful and keep a safe distance, as I don't know if he's himself right now or if he's once again the loaded weapon Snow broke him down and turned him into.

But when he looks at me, his blue eyes wide and wet and terrified and awed, like he thinks I'm nothing but a dream, I can't make myself believe he's anyone but the boy who saved my life years ago. So many years ago now, it seems.

And when he whispers my name and blindly, instinctively, desperately, reaches for me, I just can't make myself stay away. Without hesitating, I lunge forward and for the first time since the Quarter Quell, I throw myself straight into his arms, like I belong there.

My arms wrap around his neck and I feel him pull my body to his, pulling me down against him, molding our two shaky forms together as one. He pulls my legs around his waist and wraps me in a hug so tight my ribs physically hurt and I can't even breathe.

I burrow my face into the skin of his throat, inhaling his scent in an unabashed, reckless act, and turn my cold cheek to lay against his rapid beating heart.

"I thought you were dead," is the first thing he whispers, as the tears still running down his face hit my forehead.

"I'm not," I promise, trying to make my voice convincing, even as I'm reeling by this sudden turn of events.

I never, in a million years, thought I'd ever end up in his arms like this again. This embrace, this comfort, is something else I truly believed Snow had stolen away from me.

"I dreamed you died," he whimpers again, like he didn't hear me.

"I'm here, Peeta. I heard you having a nightmare and I came. As fast as I could." I don't know why I feel the need to tell him this information, but when his trembling starts to lessen I feel slightly validated.

"I lost you," he whispers, his voice hoarse and broken.

"You couldn't lose me if you tried." The words come out without warning, and I'm glad somehow. I'm so tired of words being held back or dropped between us, of neither of us knowing what to say to the other. Of shoving down what we're both really feeling.

Even if right now may be the worst time for declarations, with Peeta exhausted and upset and visibly traumatized, I still feel relief spread all over my body, for having the guts to say what I'm thinking for once.

I see the wheels beginning to turn now, in his bloodshot, puffy eyes as he slowly begins to process the last couple of minutes that's brought us back into the position we held nightly only one year ago.

Has it really only been a year?

I expect then for him to recoil away from me, or apologize even, citing that he doesn't know what possibly came over him. But, to my surprise, he does none of that. Instead Peeta hugs me tighter to him, pulling up the covers he'd kicked away, effectively sheltering us beneath their protective warmth.

"Stay," he whispers into my hair, his arms shaking as they become a soothing balm around me, leaving me feeling safe in a way I refuse to ask for. Giving me back a refuge I considered all but gone. "Please, Katniss, stay with me?"

Without thinking twice, without giving myself a chance to second-guess the words, I whisper into his chest, exactly where I can feel his beating heart, "Always."

#everlark #thg #everlark fic #the hunger games #prompt #play with me 🥰#ask #fanfic #my writing #fanfiction #gravity ♥️ 🌅 🥖#cate 🦋🧸💗💐

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ashleyswrittenwords · 4 years

Note

prompt: Zelda tries to help Link with his wounds after he fought for her, and Link is refusing her help because he doesn't want to seem weak.

Brilliant, Anon. I sort of wanted to make this longer but it felt inorganic.

Edit: All of my posts format wonky! I don’t get it. If it distracts you, it looks way better on my blog for some reason.

—

“This should be fine,” she muttered. The flame birthed fromthe flint and gathering of moss, spreading its fingers toward the wood. Soon it wouldgrow to cling onto the logs and burn brightly against the night. The sun hadlong abandoned them before they were forced to stop their travels back to the castle.Zelda cast a worried look at Link as he grit his teeth to drag a rolled up palletfrom his horse. It dropped to the grass and he gripped his shoulder with a clenchedjaw.

“I can get it,” she stated.

Before she could think about crossing to him, he shook his head.A sharp pain spread from his collar bone to his bicep. Link coughed to mask whatevernoise the burning conjured in his chest caused. His opposite arm gripped onto the palletstraps. He could feel her eyes staring at his back.

It was the time of evening where there was a blue hue to everythinguntil the night buries all in darkness. Link looked up at the princess from hisplace on the ground. She was scanning the tree line with a nervous fidget in hermotions. With a jerk at the straps, the pallet rolled out easily before the fire.When that didn’t seem to get her attention, Link frowned.

“Princess,” he stopped as she flinched, clearly anticipating something. It soured his mood even more. Zelda looked at him withwide eyes. The man cleared his throat, “The fire.”

“O-oh,” she finally tore herself from the edge and threw onsome sticks they had collected earlier. Link arose once she grew near to digthrough the satchel attached to his horse’s saddle and her eyes were drawn tothe trees once more.

It was supposed to be an uneventful day. A simple trek tothe outskirts of Hyrule Field and back before dark. Her goal was to find asilent princess to grow in her windowsill. Of course, she doubted it would growlong, but with her recent studies there was a possibility she would get theconditions just right.

Stuck in her thoughts and her assessments of the variedwildlife, she had asked Link to fetch her the skein of water from the horse.Against his expressed wishes, she spied a blue color against the field of dulledgreen. A smile had pulled at her and walked on through the trees. Could this beit? The princess hadn’t expected to find one so early on.

Zelda brushed passed the foliage and knelt to find a patchof blue fabric. Beyond that, her brows crested her forehead and a throbbing inher chest began, sunken in the grass was a skeleton. A whizzing sound piercedthe air and an arrow sunk into the skeleton’s ribs, just missing her head.

She screamed.

With a sigh, Link dropped the wooden box on the pallet andsat down, doing his best to avoid using his injured shoulder. Beside him, theprincess watched uneasily. It wasn’t the first time he had injured himself whenthey were out, but it had never been this severe. Blood dampened his shirt and aroundthe wound was one of her scarfs she had – thankfully – left at the bottom ofher bag from visiting Revali.

Link peeled it off slowly, somewhat mournful, “I apologize forruining your scarf.”

“It’s nothing,” she said, looking between him and the fire.It had been given to her by some duke to the north, however it served a far greaterpurpose as far as Zelda was concerned. His brows were pulled together as thelast layer of scarf was pulled off. His blood dried to the fabric and the startof a scab was ripped off. Through the rip in his tunic, she could see blood wellin the gash. Link inhaled sharply and stifled a noise.

Bokoblins snorted around her in a way that sounded likemocking laugh. Zelda whipped her head up to see Lizalfos blend out of their camouflageand slither from the trees. In quickened breaths, she gripped empty air at her beltand was hit with the alarming realization that she had left the dagger Link hadgiven her just for situations like this. With shaking hands, she swiveled foran opening only to find four bokoblins surround her and two lizalfos flankingthem.

One approached her with a mouthful of gnarling teeth. He wieldeda broadsword, raising it with a deep war cry. Princess Zelda braced herself forher impending death.

Link thumbed the rip in the tunic, crestfallen. Biting theinside of his cheek, his hands found the hems of both the tunic and his undershirtand tugged it upward. Immediately, agony stabbed through his injury and downhis arm. The garments fell from his hands as one gripped his right arm as if itwould quell the pain.

The princess found his eyes, “Let me help.”

“No,” he winced out harder than he meant. Then more gentlyat that worried look on her features, “No, I’ll be fine.”

“You’re making it worse, Link,” Zelda said critically. Worryturned to analysis as she drew closer. He wanted to move away, but didn’t. Limbfingers touched his tunic, moving it away to get a better look at the slash inhis shoulder. If he wasn’t so affected by the sting, he would have been humoredthat the expression was the same when she was examining herbs at the castle.Suddenly, she met his gaze, “I think I need to cut your shirt off.”

He pulled away, “What? No.”

“Link, it will open even more if you try pulling it off.”

Zelda sounded almost chastising. He looked at her with afurrowed brow. This was his favorite tunic, but he refrained from verbalizing it.Link thought for a long moment, “Help me, then.”

She opened her mouth to argue and stopped herself before shebegan. “Very well then,” she sat in front of him and instructed that theyshould pull his uninjured arm out first. “I’ll be slow. Let me know if I hurtyou.”

Her hands replaced his at the hems. “You won’t,” he muttered,much more sure than she was. Delicately she moved the clothing up and ignored everythingher governess had told her about propriety when it came to men. The fingers ofhis injured arm gripped hers when she passed his abdomen, she stopped and realizedhis breathing was labored. His other arm retched out of the sleeve. It pulledthe fabric inward, but it was finally free.

“Slow, Link!” she whispered it out, partially afraid that speakingany louder would hurt him and, goddesses, he just wished it were over already. Henodded, spurring her on. Zelda pulled his tunic and undershirt from his head. “Okay,”Link said, gently prying her fingers off, “I’ve got it.”

Sinking to his side, she suddenly felt useless. It was fullydark now and made her add another branch to the fire for good measure. The flameslicked shadows against the black. Her eyes followed, scanning the silhouettesof the forest.

“They’re not coming back,” Link suddenly said as he wettedthe thread. She found his eyes on her when she turned. They stared at each otherfor a beat before he looked down at the needle, “If that’s what you’re worriedabout.”

Once he had successfully pulled the string through and tiedit off, he found himself muttering, “It’s the upside of killing those things.”

A hand pushed her back and she was suddenly on the ground.There was a loud clash of metal and a bokoblin wail. Then, another. And anotheruntil Zelda opened her eyes to see the monsters that had surrounded her bloodiedand unmoving. With a heaving chest, Link stood in the middle of the corpses. Hiseyes darted from the corpses and to her sitting form, “Are you hurt?”

“N-no I-” Zelda turned and looked passed him. Fourbokoblins. Concern crossed her. Link helped her up, while he did he watched forany signs of harm. Then, she saw it. The stray Lizalfo had its bow drawn from atree behind Link. She yelled out his name.

It happened fast. His first step was to assure that shewas protected and the second cut the arrow to the ground with his blade, but thesecond Lizalfo was already upon him. It reared back on its hindlegs and slasheddown the curved sword. The sound of ripping clothes filled her ears and she foundherself screaming. Link and the monster struggled until Link could bring themaster sword up and thrusted forward. The Lizalfo screeched, spewing blue bloodas the sword cut it clean through.

Without a moment spared, he grabbed the hilt of the fallenmonster’s weapon and threw it up at the archer. It imbedded itself into thecrook of the Lizalfo’s shoulder and it fell with a horrifying scream.

“Come,” he said hurriedly while pulling her into a jog.

The first thing she saw was the blood running down his arm.“Link,” she trembled. “I’m sorry.”

“I know. Come on we don’t have time, Zelda,” he swallowedthickly and pulled her back through the trees toward where their horses grazed.

Zelda snapped out of her thoughts and turned.

Feeling her gaze, he looked up from the wound. A part of herwanted to apologize again. Her stubbornness had costed him his shoulder. Linkassumed what she was thinking, “Are you still worried about it coming back?”

She rested her chin on her knees as she looked up at him, “Whatif they have a bigger base and they’re looking for us right now?”

“Well,” he stuck the needle between his teeth and leanedback on his hands. “They aren’t that smart and I’m almost positive you stumbledon their ‘base’.”

“Let me,” she held her hand out.

Again, he gave her that look. Link sat up again, “You don’thave to worry yourself over me, princess.”

“You were going to use your nondominant hand.”

“Zelda,” he trailed off with a long look at her. “I’m fine.”

“Link,” she raised her chin, and motioned for the needleagain. “No, you’re not.”

A heat boiled between them that mounted on anger. Resentmenthinted itself in his eyes that made Zelda soften, “Please.”

Hesitantly, he resigned to the princess’s demands. She tookthe needle in between her thumb and pointer finger and took the clean part ofthe scarf to attempt to clean the wound.

As she dabbed at the wound, Link set his jaw. “Do you need meto instruct you?”

She pursed her lips, “What kind of scientist doesn’t know basicmedicine?”

The first couple of sutures were slow, but Zelda soon developeda rhythm. The slash was long and seemed to only scrape the surface. As she worked,she felt his heat and, more noticeably, the way he looked at her. The princessbit her lip to distract her from just how built her knight attendant was andtried to keep in the mindset that she was only interested in treating his wounds.Scars scraped down on his lower bicep. None were as large as the wound she wasstitching.

However, as she stitched lower, there was a rather obviousscar trailing across his chest. It was jagged and older compared to the smaller,whiter scars. There wasn’t one complaint from him and the man seemed to releaseany tension from earlier. Her fingers were quick and precise and it made himwonder if there would be a scar left at all.

“What is that scar from?” she asked.

Link blinked, looking down, “Which one?”

“Um,” Zelda awkwardly stopped her movements. With her freehand, she touched his chest. Her fingers trailed down length of the line. Then,like he was fire, her hands jerked back and she grew pink. “That one.”

A thin veil of a smile was on his lips. It was almost shy.

“Years ago,” his eyes returned to her fingers. “I thought Iwas ready to take on a lynel.”

“That’s irresponsible,” laughter lined her words.

“Unbelievably,” he said. When he spoke, she could feel hisbreath on her. The pink dusted on her cheeks darkened.

“Zelda?”

She paused again, looking up with soft eyes. Stupidly, itmade him wish that the Lizalfo was smart enough to leave a bigger wound just soshe would have to work longer.

“Thank you.”

#im the queen of cutaways #zelink #loz #ily anon #Anonymous

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dingdonghun · 4 years

Text

Long Time No See (P1)

Genre: Fluff, Best friends to lovers (fight me)

Characters: Lee Donghun

Word count: 1.3k

Just the setup of a small idea I had for Donghun! A little too long to reasonably put into one fic! So maybe there will be two or three parts? Idk, I made it up as I go gfldhgfduh.

Summary: After college you and your friend group all went your separate ways, chasing your dreams and ambitions, living your lives. You, however, chose to open a bakery in your hometown. The days blended together and life seemed to race by undisturbed, unchanged, until today. Today, you got an unexpected call from your best friend Kay, and a shocking visit from the past.

The crisp Autumn air filled you lungs as you sucked in a deep breath, chilling you from the inside out. Even under three layers of clothing, it still felt like you were walking around in only a T-shirt and shorts.

“It feels more like Winter than it does Fall.” you grumbled to no one in particular as you walked down the sidewalk.

The path was littered with red, orange and yellow leaves, fallen from the tall trees above you. This was always your favorite time of year because of this alone. There were many reasons to love the season, but the scenery was always the only thing that really left you at a loss for words.

The sound of your phone ringing pulled you from your inner monologue about the beauty and sadness that came with the colors of the dying leaves and you you pulled it out of your back pocket, checking the front screen.

You quickly answered your phone, unable to hide the joy in your voice. “Kay! Hey!”

“Hey y/n! It’s been a while! Hey, uh, where are you?”

You raised a brow, letting out a short laugh. Kay had been your best friend since the two of you were in third grade, and you knew here well enough to know the tone of voice she used when she was up to something.

“Where am I? We haven’t spoken in like, a month! What’s this about?”

“Hey, I know we’ve both been busy, but-” her voice got quiet as if she turned away from the phone, followed by the sound of her hushing someone. “-but we have both been swamped with our jobs and responsibilities. We haven’t been able to hang out properly in over a year! I just want to see you!”

Although the second part of her remark made your heart warm, your curiosity was peaked by the previous shushing of whoever was in the room with her.

“Who was that?”

“Huh?”

“Who did you shush? I heard you tell someone to be quiet.”

“Oh, that was... my sister! She came into my room to ask for me to make her lunch.”

“Really? Isn’t it a school day? It’s only twelve!”

A few seconds of silence followed before she gave an answer, “Yeah, no, she’s got a cold and didn’t go to school today. Since I have the day off, I decided to stay home and take care of her.” quickly brushing that topic aside, she continued. “Mom is home now though, so I want to come meet up with you! So where are you?”

Yeah, she’s definitely up to something. But what? You decided to let it go... for now.

“Well I’m walking to the little Café we always visit! I thought it would be a really good day for a walk.”

On the other line, you heard the start of what sounded like a whine, before it was quickly hushed by Kay once more.

“You’re walking outside in this weather?? Y/n, it’s freezing outside!”

“Yeah I think I underestimated how cold it would be... but don’t worry, it’s not too far away! I’ll be at the Café in no time.”

“Alright well I am going to meet you there, okay? I want to see you again!”

A fond smile spread across your lips, excited at the thought that you’d finally get to see Kay in person after so long. “Alright! I’ll see you there! I love you!”

“I love you too,” Kay’s voice had a mischievous hint to it, but before you could question her, she quickly shouted a “see you soon!” and hung up.

What a weirdo.

Having at least a mile to go before you made it to the Café, you decided to waste the time by thinking of the good ol’ days with your old best friends. You hadn’t seen any of them in at least a year or two, Kay being the most recent. Ever since you all graduated college and got jobs, your lives all went in separate directions. The only one who stuck around in your hometown with you happened to be Kay, and even then, she had no time for you with her busy job as a Nurse at the local hospital. She worked all hours, neither of you ever knew when she’d be on call.

The other friends that had moved away to other cities, even countries, consisted of Annie, Yijin, Lia and...

Donghun.

Your heart dropped.

Donghun had joined the friend group last, the two of you meeting in Freshman year. It had been three years since you’d seen him in person, and one year since you’d heard from him at all. You knew his job was important, but you had no idea what it was or why he couldn’t tell you. At some point, you’d stopped trying to contact him after he just stopped replying.

He had been the closest to you, and when he left, you had only just begun understanding what he really meant to you, before it all disappeared at the hands of his new mystery job.

With a pain in your chest, you brushed the thoughts of him away, choosing instead to focus on what Kay could possibly want at the last minute.

Sure, she said she missed you and wanted to hang out, but that wasn’t like her at all! Kay was usually a very meticulous and well-planned person. She always scheduled things ahead of time, and spur of the moment plans made her nervous. Then again, it has been a year since you’ve seen her in person. Maybe she’s finally loosened up a bit!

A soft chuckle escaped your lips and you looked down at your feet as you walked. The colorful leaves crunched pleasantly under your feet and lessened the heaviness in your heart. As your mind cleared, you finally noticed just how cold your hands were. You may have had enough foresight to put on three layers of clothes, but for some incredulous reason, the fact that you definitely needed gloves slipped your mind. Your hands were freezing and you could barely move your fingers!

Just as you were worrying about your own fingers, someone elses’ appeared from behind you and covered your eyes, but the person they belonged to said nothing. Normally, when people appear behind you and cover your eyes, they say something like “Guess who!” so that you could at least get an idea from their voice. And if they didn’t do that, they were probably a serial killer.

For a moment, you thought maybe it was Kay, but her fingers were short and soft, these ones were longer and a bit slender. Despite the coldness in the air though, they were warm, a relieving reprieve from the icy blasts to the face that you’ve endured so far.

“Okay, don’t tell me, uhhh...” You picked your brain, trying to think of a single person you knew with long slender fingers. “Uhm... Jay??”

Jay was your coworker and friend at the bakery you worked at. Lately he had been getting a little bold, trying to get closer to you. This seemed like something he would do, though you still thought he’d at least have said something as he covered your eyes.

After a moment of silence, a very familiar voice spoke right next to your ear, soft, calming, a hint of a smile in the tone.

“Who’s Jay? Do I have competition?”

You froze in place, heart skipping a beat. You knew that voice. Even if you hadn’t heard it in years, you knew that voice anywhere.

Spinning around so quickly that you almost fell over, you saw him, standing in front of you with the softest smile on his lips, as if no time at all had passed. As if he’d just seen you yesterday. Yet in his eyes you could see a glimpse of sadness.

“Donghun?...”

“Hey, chipmunk.”

(To be continued)

#Lee Donghun #Teddybear #Donghun fic #Donghun Imagine #Donghun Scenario #a.c.e fic #a.c.e imagine #a.c.e scenario

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noona-clock · 4 years

Text

A Familiar Face✨🏰 - Part 4, Final Chapter

Genre: Harry Potter!AU

Pairing: Eric Nam x You (Female!Reader)

Warnings: None

Part 1, 2, 3, 4 | Words: 3,582

When McGonagall announced the Celestial Ball at dinner that evening, the Great Hall instantly filled with excited gasps and murmuring. Just about every student turned to chatter to their friends, though you quickly spotted the ones who didn’t. That would’ve been you. (You made a mental note to have a talk with those particular students in the upcoming weeks to let them know you would cover for them if they wanted to skip and stay in their dorm all night.)

The Ball was set to take place in a month, right after the end of exams and right before the start of Christmas break. And while it was good there was plenty of time to prepare... it also meant there was plenty of time for you to be anxious about it.

“Are you okay?” Eric asked softly once dinner was over and everyone was making their way out of the Great Hall.

“Hmm?” You blinked, turning to glance at him as the two of you headed to the side door. “Oh... Yes, absolutely.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Eric quirk one brow. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m sure,” you told him with a soft chuckle. “Just... Balls are not my absolute favorite thing. But this one is a Celestial Ball, so it should at least be beautiful.”

“Ah,” Eric murmured. As the two of you slipped through the side door, you briefly felt his hand on the small of your back, and your heart sped up. “I can see why you wouldn’t like balls.”

Even though his tone was one of pure understanding and gentleness, you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. “I just --” you stammered, bringing your hands up and hugging your arms close to your chest. “I don’t like dancing, all those people watching you... But now that I’m a professor, I highly doubt the kids will be paying any attention to me, so -- It’ll be fine.”

At least, you were telling yourself that.

“Don’t worry,” Eric assured you in a very cheerful tone. And then he brought his arm around your shoulders, squeezing you gently as a show of comfort. “You’ll have a friend there. If you want, I will attach myself to your side and never leave.”

Oh, if only he knew. If only he realized how his offer made you both incredibly anxious and incredibly happy.

“Thank you,” you replied as a small grin tugged at your lips. “Plus... I get to wear a pretty dress.”

“Exactly! You’ll look beautiful, and we’ll get to make fun of how awkward the fourth-years are.”

You tried to laugh thinking about just how awkward the fourth-years would be, but... the fact Eric had just said you would look beautiful had sucked every single breath right out of your lungs.

So, you simply nodded, a strangled chuckle making its way through your lips before you said, “It won’t be so bad.”

But then... you realized... if you were wearing a pretty dress that meant... Eric would be wearing a nice suit. With a tie.

You had a month left, apparently. A month left until your soul left your body.

During that month, the Celestial Ball was basically all anyone could talk about. Many of your female students (and some of your male students, too), asked your advice on what they should wear -- even asked what you would wear. They shared their fears with you about who would or wouldn’t ask them, who was already going together, if anyone would ask them to dance...

You also made sure to pull aside those few students who were as shy and quiet as you had been at their age, assuring them it wasn’t absolutely necessary for them to attend. Two of them took you up on your offer to cover for them so they could stay in their dorm all night, while the rest said they felt better just from having spoken with you.

To be honest, that made you feel more proud than earning an Outstanding on all ten of your N.E.W.T.S exams had.

By the time the ball arrived, you were quite thoroughly exhausted. Even though you hadn’t done anything to help prepare for it, all the conversations with students and all the worrying you’d done had drained you.

But, on the bright side, you had conjured up quite an exquisite gown, if you did say so yourself.

You now stood in front of the full-length mirror in your room, your brow furrowed as you turned from side to side and examined yourself. Your gown was long, the edge of the midnight blue velvet just brushing over the floor and the top of your feet. It cinched right at your waist, the skirt flowing out gently and the V-neckline showing off the bejeweled necklace your grandmother had gifted you many years ago. Your gown was also bejeweled, the majority of the sparkling, silver gems gathered at your waist and dispersing both up and down the dress. The gown’s short sleeves hit the middle of your upper arm, and while some nice, long gloves would’ve finished the look off perfectly, you had opted out, instead choosing to wear a gauzy shawl the same color as your gown.

Once you’d waved your wand to sweep your hair into a smooth chignon, you let out a deep breath. You looked pretty amazing, but you were still nervous.

McGonagall had informed you that all professors had to arrive before the students, so about ten minutes prior to the official start time of the Ball, you apparated down to the Great Hall.

As soon as you opened your eyes, your breath caught in your chest. The Hall was decorated more beautifully than you’d ever seen it. The ceiling had been transformed into the night sky, the color of the faux sky the same midnight blue as your dress. The stars were sparkling and twinkling like Christmas fairy lights, and soft, transparent clouds floated across them every now and then. Probably a thousand or more candles were floating ten feet above your head, and the walls were swathed in velvet. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought you had known about the decorations beforehand and created your dress to match.

Of course, the large Christmas tree was still standing in the corner of the room, but the decorations had been transformed to match the theme and blend in more with the surroundings. Star and moon-shaped baubles adorned the branches, and the lights twinkled softly.

“Wow.”

You jumped a little at Eric’s sudden declaration, your eyes wide as you looked down and over at him. You hadn’t noticed him arriving at your side because you’d been too busy admiring the Great Hall.

“I know, I’ve never seen it so beautiful in here,” you replied.

When your eyes landed on him, though, you almost choked on your own breath.

He was, indeed, wearing a suit; a sleek black jacket and pants which fit him like a glove, and a black bowtie contrasting against his crisp, white shirt.

But the best part?

His dark hair was slicked back and combed away from his forehead, a style you truly hadn’t known you’d needed to see on him. But now you never wished to be parted from it from this day forward.

“No,” he said, breaking your concentration on just how wonderful he looked. “Not the decorations. You look beautiful.”

Your cheeks warmed instantly, and you shyly looked down at your dress. “Oh -- thank you. I -- you look great, too.”

Eric simply stared at you, his mouth slightly agape. Your cheeks grew warmer by the second until you finally reached out and pushed his shoulder gently.

“Stop,” you said with a soft chuckle. “Come on, the students will be here soon.”

The two of you made your way over to where the other professors were standing, and when you joined them, many commented on your appearance just as Eric had. Your cheeks were perpetually pink from all the compliments, and whenever you glanced over at Eric, he looked like a proud friend.

You weren’t used to so much attention, and frankly, it made you a little uncomfortable, so you breathed a soft sigh of relief when the doors opened and the students began pouring in.

Soft, orchestral music started playing, and the Celestial Ball had now officially begun.

McGonagall allowed a few minutes for the students to settle in before she tapped her wand against the podium at the front of the hall.

“Good evening students and professors alike,” she began, her lips pulled into a small, soft grin. “You all have worked incredibly hard this semester, and I hope tonight is a welcome reprieve from the stresses of work and school. This evening is about enjoying yourself and celebrating everything you have achieved so far this year. And now, without further ado, let the Celestial Ball commence!”

She waved her wand through the air, sending a shower of sparks out into the hall. The sparks dissolved into glitter, slowly floating through the air and landing on the heads and shoulders of the students and faculty. The music then got louder, and Professor Longbottom led McGonagall out to the middle of the dance floor.

Applause swept through the crowd, and you watched as a few more staff and some of the senior students joined Neville and McGonagall, dancing to the lilting waltz now playing.

You shouldn’t have been surprised when Eric held out his hand toward you, but for some reason, you were.

“Would you care to dance?” he asked, one corner of his lips lifted into a tiny smirk.

Your heart began to race, and your stomach turned over a few times as you raised a shaky hand and slipped it into his. “Sure,” you whispered. You’d wanted to be more eloquent than that, responding with something like ‘I would be delighted.’ But a ‘sure’ was about all you could muster right now.

Eric grasped your hand and led you out onto the dance floor. He pulled you close, sliding a hand around your waist and pressing it firmly against the small of your back. Your heart leaped up into your throat when he began to lead you in a waltz, and you were honestly surprised your legs were even working properly.

You were so concentrated on controlling your breathing and not stepping on Eric’s toes that when he spoke, you almost let out a startled cry.

“It’s not so bad, is it?” he asked softly.

“Wh-- what’s not so bad?” you stammered.

“The dance,” he grinned. “You can’t even tell that everyone’s looking at you. I mean -- they’re not looking at you. But if they were, you wouldn’t be able to tell.”

You simply chuckled awkwardly in response; you had no idea what to say because it wasn’t the thought of everyone else looking at you that made you nervous. It was the fact that Eric was so close to you, the fact he was looking at you.

You honestly weren’t sure if you would survive the night if he kept this up.

After a few more dances, one with Neville, two with Eric, and one with the Ravenclaw Head Boy, and some chaperoning, you were beginning to feel quite tired. All of the socializing was draining your mental energy, and you were on the brink of excusing yourself to go back to your room.

It was a lovely ball, actually, and you were having a much better time than you’d anticipated... but still. There was only so much you could take before you needed to recharge.

Just before you made the decision to sneak away, though, Eric appeared by your side and leaned in, placing his mouth next to your ear.

“Will you come with me?”

“Come with you?” you murmured. “Where?”

“Just come with me,” he said with a barely detectable grin, taking your hand and leading you over to the side door you always used to exit the Great Hall.

“Where are we going?” you asked once you’d stepped through into the empty corridor.

You had barely finished the end of your question when Eric apparated, pulling you along with him.

When you arrived at your destination, your head was spinning just slightly from the unexpected journey, and you clutched Eric’s arm to steady yourself.

“Sorry,” he chuckled. “I should have warned you.”

“No, it’s --” You trailed off when you opened your eyes and realized he had taken you up to the Astronomy Tower. “It’s fine... The Astrono -- Why are we --”

“It’s the Celestial Ball,” Eric said with a somewhat cheesy grin. “I thought it would be appropriate. And you looked like you needed a break from all the people.”

He stepped away from you then, letting go of your hand and moving over to the railing to look up at the actual night sky.

“I did, actually,” you confirmed, waiting a few seconds before joining him. “Thank you, that was very thoughtful.”

The two of you gazed up at the stars for at least a minute in silence before Eric’s quiet voice cut through the darkness.

“Have I told you already how beautiful you look?”

“Stop,” you chuckled bashfully, already feeling a blush creep onto your cheeks.

“I’m serious,” he urged. “You always look beautiful. I... I want to tell you all the time how beautiful you are, I just...”

He trailed off, and you discovered you were holding your breath.

“You just what?” you whispered.

“I don’t want to ruin what we have,” he said as he avoided your gaze by staring at his hands grasping the railing. “The past several months have been some of the most difficult and best months of my life. Getting to know you, I... To be honest, I never thought I could feel this way about someone before.”

Oh my -- was he...? Surely he couldn’t be saying what it sounded like he was saying.

“I like you. A lot. Since the beginning of the school year, even, I’ve thought you were one of the most incredible people I’ve ever --”

You weren’t sure what took over you, but when you heard Eric say the words ‘I like you,’ it stirred up some sort of confidence in you. He was still staring down at the railing, speaking to his hands, so you reached out to cradle his cheek in your palm and forced him to look at you.

And then you wasted no time in pressing your lips to his.

Like I said, you had no idea what had taken over you.

It took Eric a couple of seconds to respond; apparently, you weren’t the only one shocked by your actions. But when he did, you felt his lips curve into a smile and his hands move to hold your waist.

You had imagined Eric confessing feelings for you countless times. All throughout school, you had daydreamed about it. Since the beginning of September, you had thought about what he would say and how you react and how you would feel.

Out of all the emotions you’d thought a romantic confession would stir up... relief was not one of them. But that was exactly what you were feeling right now.

You were utterly and incredibly relieved.

You suddenly realized it had been exhausting holding your feelings for him in all this time. And now that you could share them, release them into the wild, you’d never felt so free in your whole life.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he murmured against your lips when you pulled away from the kiss. “I’ve just been too scared to tell you.”

“Scared?” you chuckled, your hand still resting on his cheek as you gazed up into his eyes. “You’re a Gryffindor, you’re not supposed to be scared of anything.”

“I am, apparently, when it comes to you. You’re a whole different kind of intimidating.”

“Nonsense,” you smiled.

“No, really,” Eric assured you. “You’re smart -- a genius, really. You’re generous and kind-hearted and witty and clever and just as gorgeous on the inside as you are on the outside.”

“But I’m also shy and quiet and awkward and nervous and anxious and --”

Eric cut you off with another kiss, and you gladly let him.

But then you realized what he had said before he’d admitted to being too scared to tell you how he felt.

“You’re wrong, though,” you said softly.

“Wrong about what?”

“I do have an idea of how long you’ve wanted to kiss me.” Your heart began to hammer inside of your ribcage because you were about to admit something you never, ever, ever, ever thought you would.

Eric’s brow furrowed gently, and he frowned in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I...” You stopped to take a deep breath, though it did nothing to calm your nerves. “I’ve liked you for a long time, too. Since... the beginning of school.”

“Well, that’s how long --”

“No, the beginning of school. Like... our first year at Hogwarts. As students.”

Eric simply blinked at you.

“I had the biggest crush on you all seven years,” you said quietly, though it actually did feel pretty great to finally say it out loud.

“What?” he asked with a breathless laugh. “You -- did you really?”

You nodded, feeling your cheeks warm under his incredulous gaze.

“Why didn’t you --” But he cut himself off, most likely because he already knew the answer to that question. So, instead of asking why you hadn’t said anything back then, he simply leaned in and pressed his forehead to yours. “I was such an idiot back then.”

“No,” you replied immediately, a confident urgency in your voice. “You were not.”

“If I had noticed you, I would have liked you,” he continued, seemingly ignoring your protest. “How could I have not liked you? I was just too stupid to --”

“Eric, please,” you pleaded. “If you were that stupid, I wouldn’t have liked you.”

He chuckled at that, and your lips curved into a smile.

“And if you had noticed me, I would have been too shy to actually do or say anything. And I was too focused on my studies. I liked you, yes. Tremendously. But I probably wouldn't have actually dated you.”

Eric lifted his head, a quizzical look forming on his features. “I... don’t know how to take that.”

“I just think things were meant to work out this way,” you told him with a soft laugh. Though, to be honest, you were even surprising yourself with your words. You hadn’t actually ever thought that before because you hadn’t let yourself dream about getting together with him. But now that you were, it was crystal clear to you. If he had noticed you while you were students at Hogwarts, if he had fallen for you then, you probably would have rejected him. You wouldn’t have wanted him to get in the way of your studies, and he most definitely would have distracted you.

But now you no longer had to worry about exams and grades and O.W.Ls and N.E.W.Ts and all that. You had work now instead of school, but it wasn’t nearly the same. Now you had time and, frankly, now you had a bit more confidence and security with who you were.

“I wasn’t ready for it back then,” you explained.

“But... you are now?” Eric asked somewhat hesitantly.

“Yes,” you replied immediately. “Oh, yes. And, trust me, I think you’re worth the wait.”

Eric’s cautious expression left his face, and a teasingly surprised one replaced it. “Oh, you think?” he asked. “You think I’m worth the wait?”

You shook your head, a playful smirk on your lips as you rolled your eyes. “I’m pretty sure.”

“Well,” Eric huffed, tightening his hold on you and bringing you even closer to him. “I know you were worth the wait.”

Instead of replying bashfully or teasingly or rolling your eyes again... you stood on your toes and kissed him. You captured his lips in exactly the kind of kiss you’d always wanted to share with him: soft, tender, sweet... loving.

And it was everything you had imagined it would be. Everything and more.

As you kissed him, you couldn’t help but think back to September, back to the staff meeting when you’d first seen him sitting next to Neville. You had been so shocked, frozen in place until McGonagall had forced you to move.

To you, Eric had been sort of like an unreachable dream. Someone so far out of your league you hadn’t ever entertained the idea of any sort of relationship with him, friendship or romantic.

You realized now that hadn’t been fair. He was just a person like anyone else, and he didn’t deserve to be put on such a high pedestal. He was perfect, yes, but he was still human. A wonderful human. A lovely, handsome, fearless human. Your human. Your person.

He had been an unreachable dream, and you? To him, you had just been a familiar face. Someone he’d seen but never met. Someone he’d known of but never actually known.

And now the two of you had managed to meet in the middle somewhere. You had found that sweet spot, and things had worked out exactly as they should have.

Yes, it was definitely worth the wait.

#kwritersworldnet #eric nam scenarios #eric nam imagines #eric nam au #eric nam fluff #eric nam fanfic #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop au #kpop fluff #kpop fanfic #kpop harry potter au #eric nam

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cryysiswritesthings · 4 years

Text

Treasure in the Brine

Fandom: Inuyasha Rating: PG-13 / Teen and Up Warning: Heavy petting Status: Work in Progress Pairing: KogKag Summary: "I'm still a sailor at heart. Your scales... they remind me of the ocean. Waves lapping at an empty shore." He wet his lips, drawn to the strings of misshapen pearls hanging around her neck. "Bits of treasure hidden in the depths, waiting to be claimed on the ocean floor."

Find it on: AO3

Series: Mermaid AU Tumblr Tags: #kogkag #inuyasha #mermaid au

Made Things

Mermaid Kagome

"You are really pretty. It's kind of ridiculous."

The mermaid laughed. The sound sang through his blood. "You're handsome enough, for a sailor. What are you doing out here? Don't you know the legends?"

"About mermaids and sirens singing sailors into the rocks? Yeah, I know." Kouga turned his head, tapping next to his ear canal. "Ear plugs. They're made from tree sap deep in the mainland. Lessens the effects your voices have on us."

"Is that so?" Her smile was sly but playful, pulling herself up to his level on the sides of his boat. "So if I sang you a tune, you could ignore me?"

"Oh I didn't say that." His smirk stretched wide. "I could deaf, blind, and dumb and I'd still be drawn to you. You're the perfect temptation."

The mermaid hummed, slipping back into the water. She didn't fully submerge, having crossed her arms over the edge to keep herself up. Her eyes seemed to dim in the sun, if only just. "Like every mermaid out there, huh?"

"Don't remember saying that either." Blue orbs caught his, suspicious and surprised. "Pretty sure 'you're the perfect temptation' is exactly what I said."

"So you did." His mermaid smiled again, fanged teeth biting her lip. "And why is that? The others are just as pretty as I am. More even, depending on the ones you're looking at."

Kouga's cheeks flushed, smirk softening to a bashful smile. "I'll tell you, but you'll laugh. It's silly."

That only seemed to make her more excited. "Tell me. Tell me tell me tell me."

The sun burnt sailor ducked his chin to his chest as he laughed. Looking up, he let his chin rest in his hand. "It's your coloring." Her snort was as cute as she was. "I mean it!"

The mermaid quirked a dark brow. "Black hair, pale skin?"

"No, not that." He nodded to the water behind her. "Your tail."

She blinked at him, stunned. "My tail?" She looked back, but Kouga chose to focus on the sun shining off her scales. They covered most of her upper torso, cresting just above the smooth curve of her breasts. They were iridescent shades of emerald green and black teal, speckled with flecks of bronze and gold. A combination of all his favorite things.

The mermaid was staring at him when he looked back to her face, biting her lip and clearly amused. He hadn't tried to hide his perusal of her, a fact she seemed to appreciate.

"Tell me sailor," she crooned, voice sweet as angels. "What is it you like so much about the color of my tail?"

"It suits you, for one." Kouga reached out, miming the movement of sliding his fingers over her sides without really touching her. He may have been weak to her music, but he wasn't that much of an idiot. "Help you blend in with your natural surroundings and all that."

She snorted, clearly displeased with his answer. Snickering, he gave her what she wanted instead. "I may not be a pirate, but I'm still a sailor at heart. Your scales... they remind me of the ocean. Waves lapping at an empty shore." He wet his lips, drawn to the strings of misshapen pearls hanging around her neck. "Bits of treasure hidden in the depths, waiting to claimed on the ocean floor. You're just..." his smile turned shy, thumb running over his mouth. "You're beautiful."

The longer he spoke, the rosier her cheeks became. His mermaid's earlier displeasure had faded to a soft wonder, lips parted in awe.

"I've... No sailor has ever described me that way before."

He huffed a breathless laugh, not bothering to change position when he realized how close they were. "Drag a lot of sailors down to the brine, do you?"

"Sometimes," she told him honestly, raising herself once more to his level. "Never for me though. The others always claim the sailors they want because of how lovely they are. For a mermaid I'm thought plain."

"To an idiot, maybe. You're not even close to 'plain.'" Kouga's voice softened the closer she came, his whole posture relaxing in her space. "You going to take me down there with you? A sailor all your own?"

His mermaid bit her lip, blue orbs tracking the laps of the waves against his boat. Nervous, she met his gaze. "I should, but I don't want to. I'm young in their eyes even though I'm past my 300th year. The others... They'll take one look at you and try to steal you away."

"And we wouldn't want that, would we?" His fingers itched, wanting to know the softness of her skin.

"No," her eyes shone a deep, sapphire blue. "No, we don't."

He had to swallow before he could speak again. "So what do we do? You swim your way, I sail mine?"

"Well... There is one thing we could do. If you wanted."

Surprised, he straightened. "Tell me? I'm listening."

His clear intent eased her. "Have you ever caught a mermaid?"

His mouth hung agape as he tried to adequately find a way to explain the impossibility of such a statement. Clearly the look on his face was more than a little stupid, if her laughter was any true indication. "That's... that's not possible. You can't catch a mermaid. They won't let you."

"Yes, that!" Hey eyes were bright, excited. "Think about what you just said. Say it again."

"You..." No, he still didn't understand. "You can't catch a mermaid."

"Why can't you? You just said it."

"You can't catch a mermaid because..." It hit him, and he was surprised at the realization. "You can't catch a mermaid because they won't let you."

"So," the word was drawn out, a teasing lit. "What if I let you?"

"You want me to catch you?" Bemused, he tilted his head. "And what am I supposed to do with a captive mermaid? I don't have a net big enough for a fish trap, let alone anything strong enough to hold you." He cast a brief nod to her tail. "And that's not exactly a pair of legs."

"I'll have human legs by the time we get back to land."

"Somehow, I don't believe you." He grinned when she smacked his chest, glad she understood his playfulness. "I mean, that's a lot of tail."

"And just think, you haven't even seen all of it."

"Can I? See all of it?" She looked surprised. "If that's not crossing some kind of line. I don't mean to offend."

She bit her lip on a smile, unendingly pleased. "You are very courteous, for a human male."

"You can thank my mother for that. She made it a point to beat some manners into my head when I was young."

"A wise woman, if there ever was one." His mermaid slipped back into the water while she clung to the sides, hiding all but her eyes from his view. "I will give you a trade. That is how humans do things, isn't it?"

"There's a bit more to it than that, but that's about the gist of it."

"Then we will trade!" The idea seemed to excite her. "I will let you see the rest of my tail, in exchange for your name."

Kouga tried to recall any legends he'd heard about sailors giving a mermaid their names. Thankfully, none immediately came to mind. "What will you do with my name, once you have it?"

"I'll call you by it, instead of calling you a 'silly man' in my head."

He snorted a laugh, and her grip tightened on his boat.

"So? Will you tell me your name?"

"I'll tell you," he dropped his hand from his chin, letting it hang between his legs. "But humans don't see underwater as well as mermaids do. I won't be able to appreciate your tail to its fullest extent."

"You let me worry about that. I'll make sure you see."

"It's Kouga then, miss maid," he finally told her, having come up with no reason to do otherwise. "A lowly sailor, tempted still by your beauty."

Her smile was pleased. With a quick push, she drew herself up again, meeting him face to face. The full length of her scaled torso was exposed to him, blue-black hair clinging to her shoulders. A band of shells kept wet bangs from falling in her face, sitting on his head like a crown.

"You'll have to lift me from the water," her voice woke him from his stupor, looking away from the drops of ocean water that slid enticingly over her scales. "I'm heavier than you think. But I won't let us tip over."

"R-right." He swallowed lightly, trying to focus on what she was saying. "Do I lift you by your arms then?"

"My arms?" She looked confused before she realized what he meant. "Oh, no, nothing like that. I'll put my arms around your neck, and you'll lift me from the water by my tail."

"By your tail. Right. So bridal style." Did bringing her into the boat count as carrying her over the threshold? He wasn't sure.

She didn't bother to let him finish his internal questions. One of her arms encircled his neck, and his body seemed to suddenly move on its own. Kouga had caught his fair share of large fish over the years, he knew how heavy they could be. But the boat was steady beneath his feet, as if he were standing on a shore.

His brain was probably screaming at him somewhere in the dark to be more cautious. No matter what she promised, the young woman in his arms was still a mermaid. Still a siren. And his foolish self was half leaning out of the boat to lift her over its edge.

His mermaid made no move to drag him beneath the surface. She only waited for him to adjust her in his grip, keeping a portion of her weight braced on the boat's side.

He resettled on the plank, pulling her to sit in his lap. He tried to be mindful of her large dorsal fin, smoothing it to the side so there would be no awkward weight on it. She curled into his chest to get comfortable, her fingers tangled in the strands of her pearls during his quiet perusal.

The full view of her tail was a gift to behold. She had five fins in total, each of a varying size. Her caudal fin was by far the largest, floating gently beneath the wave. Her pelvic fins sat parallel to the first dorsal, the one he'd moved for her comfort. The second dorsal sat just above the caudal peduncle. Each fin started as a bright yellow green where they met her scales, fading into dark sea foam.

But it was the colors of her scales themselves that repeatedly caught his attention. Near her caudal fin, floating just beneath the surface, the green of her scales was so dark they looked almost black, even in the sun. There was a patch of discolored scales there, bronze and gold that reminded him of treasure chests filled with gold. The green lightened then, covered by large patches of emerald-black scales and small scatterings of bronze and gold.

There were no words in any language he knew that would do her beautiful form justice.

"Like I said," his lips brushed over the crown of her head. The words didn't exist, but he would never let her think herself as anything less than perfect. "Exquisite."

He couldn't see her face, but he felt her smile against the warm skin of his neck. Mindful of her fins and gills, he let his fingers glide over the shimmering scales beneath them. Watching them sparkle, catching the light.

Her lips brushed the underside of his jaw, and he felt a rising heat bloom in his blood.

"So," carefully, he traced the edges of a pelvic fin. "What name am I to call my captive mermaid?"

"You'll have to give me one. Sailors always give mermaids their human names."

The thought bothered him for reasons he couldn't explain. "Do I need to? What about your real name?"

"You want to keep me, don't you?" Her nose brushed his, taloned fingers hovering a hair's breadth from his lips. "If you want to keep me, you have to give me a human name."

She was so close. Close enough to kiss. "What..." Kouga closed his eyes, trying to see through the fog in his head. "What happens if you change your mind? If you decide you want to go back?" Playing at capture was one thing. He didn't really want her trapped.

"I won't, silly man."

"But you might." He covered her hand with his, kissing the fingers backs. "I wouldn't want you unhappy."

"Please?" Her voice was a soft whisper, a quiet plea. She begged. "Please, give me a name?"

Every press of her cool body was making him burn. His arms were full of her, the weight of her filling his lap. She was right. there. And he was so, so tempted...

Her lips brushed his. A feather-light kiss.

He gave in.

"Ka-go-me."

He surged upwards, claiming her mouth with his. Tongues tangled and fought, his large hands encompassing her scaled back, her talons tearing holes where she gripped his shirt. Liquid fire boiled his blood, demanding more as he dominated their kiss. She was every temptation he was powerless to resist.

Her soft, feminine whimper was answered with a rumbling moan. He pulled her down with him to the bottom of his boat, spreading his legs to accommodate for the shift of their weight. The crux of where her tail and torso met settled over his hips, shifting glorious weight over his rapidly filling dick.

A heady groan burst from his lips, and it took her barely a moment to understand what caused it. Her smile was wicked, tail flexing with fluctuating pressure while she dove back into their kiss.

His every moan was interspersed with desperate curses and gasps of her new human name. Her answering keens were quiet hums against his lips that were slowly driving him to the brink.

He finally broke, pulling it lungfuls of salt-sea air. "You keep doing that and I'm going to make us tip."

Her giggle made him grin; he let his hands settle at her waist. "Would that really be so bad?"

Kouga lifted his head, trying to peer over the sides of boat. He would end up with permanent crick at this rate. "I don't know, you tell me."

"Weeell... maybe." Ceeding his point, she slid from her place between his legs and laid next to him on her side. Her fingers traced the lines of his face, eyes shining and light. "Kouga."

He answered her with a smile, slipping close to nip the edge of her lip. "Kagome."

He smirked when she giggled, stealing himself another kiss. The fire in his blood now glowed a warming ember. It let him savor this.

No one would ever believe him if he told the truth, but he could be selfish. He wouldn't tell; the less people knew, the better. They'd come up with something when they got back to shore. The real truth he would take to his grave.

That the only way a man caught a mermaid... was if she let you.

#kogkag #inuyasha #mermaid au

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themockingcrows · 4 years

Text

Second Base Desserts

Davepetasprite/John Egbert This chapter is Mildly Spicy and thus Not SFW. cw: sloppy makeouts, grinding, and copious boob touch. ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25320091

To say he was nervous would be an understatement. Of course John was nervous. Davepeta was a culmination of one of his best friends he’d had a crush on for years when he was younger and a troll he’d never met in life, all blended up into a creature that was one of the cutest things he’d ever seen. Sprites were confusing in how they worked, though people had tried to explain it to him multiple times, including the sprites themselves… but when it came down to it, John just knew they were their own person and their own being, and that was enough. Davepeta was no more Nepeta than Dave or Davesprite or vice versa, and while there were memories of all sides, they were far more than the sum of their parts.

It was kind of amazing to him.

Wait, no, he was supposed to be nervous about his upcoming date, not waxing poetic and daydreaming about the sprite he was going to be spending time with. John slapped either side of his face a few times with both hands before looking more seriously into the mirror, examining his features. Same eyes, same brows, same nose, same zit on his chin, sam-

Fuck, why now?! Was it the stress? It was probably the stress, why else would he be breaking out like a teenager in his 20’s? Cussing his under breath John took care of the pustule and washed his face in the sink, finishing off with cool water, puffing a bit of air from his hand at his face to dry it rather than search blindly for the towel hanging to the side. The circle of stupidity may have been completed long ago, but it would never be complete enough for him to grab it on the first reaching try.

Okay. There, everything looked to be in order now. Satisfied with the mirror, John went and bulldozed his way through a half dozen shirts, trying to find something that looked good without trying too hard. Joke shirt? No. Meme shirt? Fuck, no, though laser cat would have his day eventually. Button down? ...Hm. The button down had merit, dressy but not too dressy. He knew he’d look clean cut and presentable, and it didn’t make him look too skinny when he wore a shirt under it and left it open…

A look at his watch, another bit of cussing, and John raced to get the shirts on, as well as his pants. Out of time, out of time. He was just starting to jump into his shoes when the doorbell rang and caught his attention, making him nearly trip over the stairs in his hurry to get down there in time. Floating all but left his mind as he rushed, relying on his legs to get the job done.

“Hey! Sorry you were… waiting,” John trailed off, mouth suddenly gone dry. Davepeta was taller than him by half a head, and this was added to by a set of heeled sandals today. They wore a shortish skirt with a bottom wave and a frilled edge, dark leggings that reached their calves, and a band t-shirt that had shredded shoulders and a shredded side that just showed the strap of a red bra beneath over their pale flashing skin. With their wings folded behind their back, it was kind of mesmerizing, glittering instead of flashing. He couldn’t track or trace the changing colors accurately, as they seemed to meld into each other just around the edges of papery white like pearlescence in the light.

“I wasn’t waiting long at all, your timing is purrfect,” they said with a grin, showing off sharp canines. John wet his lips briefly, trying not to gawk too much.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. He had a date with this person and he could barely keep his head straight.

“Yeah,” he said, awkwardly standing still until Davepeta tipped their head to the side and grinned again.

“...Should I come in? Or do you want to just go?”

“Wh- oh. Yeah. I’m uh. Yeah, let me just grab my wallet and keys real quick,” he said, darting away from the door to fumble his wallet and phone and jam them into his pocket, and get his keys into his hand from the bowl by the door. “Did you uh. Did you decide what you wanted to eat?”

“Yeah, I’m open to pretty much anything, but burgers can’t go wrong as a fallback,” they said, patiently waiting while John collected himself before popping outside and locking up.

“How are you with chopsticks?”

Davepeta was quiet for a moment, tipping their head back and searching their memories. Chopsticks, chopsticks.. Dave knew how to use them. Nepeta didn’t seem to. Would they be able to do it? Access the muscle memory correctly and certainly it should be possible.

“I think I’m pretty good,” they finally said.

“Buffet, maybe?”

“Sounds fun!” they said, reaching out the grasping John’s arm, tugging him close excitedly as he pulled his phone back out to search for the address. He felt their chest against his shoulder, warm and pliant, and it took even more effort than before to keep his thumb sliding smoothly against the screen. Food. Focus on food.

...

Boobs.

No, food. Focus on the food. Boobs later.

Boobs later?

Maybe?

GEEZE, COME ON JOHN, WHERE’S THE FUCKING FOOD.

Oh, there it was. Though he’d eaten there at least a dozen times since making sure they didn’t use peanut oil, directions escaped him when his mind was this distracted by his date. He showed the screen to Davepeta for their confirmation and acceptance, and found himself grinning when they smiled and nodded at the suggestion.

...Fuck their smile was cute. The slight cleft of their lip that gave a distinctly feline appearance, the sharp teeth, yet the familiar nose and eyes and chin of his friend. Soon as he’d slipped his phone into his pocket once more, John felt his feet leaving the ground, the sprite already excitedly taking flight to lead them along.

“Wait, I uh. I thought it’d be kind of nice to walk,” John admitted, hovering.

Davepeta thought it over before nodding and returning to the ground, tucking their wings behind their body once more. “We’re not that far off, I guess you’re right. More room to talk while walking,” they agreed.

“Yeah, exactly,” John said, setting off in the correct direction once Davepeta curled onto his arm once more. Their size difference made it a bit awkward, but neither of them seemed to care. Davepeta’s tail curled gently against his leg now and then as they walked, and the air was filled with chatter about movies, about snacks, about what they’d done the last few days. John found himself being quieter to listen to Davepeta’s fascinating depiction of normal everyday things, somehow making the most mundane things seem exciting.

Late night ice cream became an adventure, chasing birds in the sky was a sport worthy of competition, and managing to do their laundry naked without getting caught so everything wound up clean at the same time was the most distracting thing John had ever heard in his life. It became almost impossible not to imagine what they looked like underneath that cute outfit as they walked, to not ponder the shape of their thighs based on their stride. Their arrival at the buffet was just in time for John to keep his sanity, getting a table for two in a booth off to the side.

When John started to walk towards the buffet after their seats were secured, Davepeta looked prepared to hang back for some reason. Odd, considering how gung ho they were about every experience normally.

“You okay? We could go somewhere else if this isn’t what you’re hungry for.”

“No, no, it’s fine. Really! I’m just…” they trailed off, glancing to the buffet before back to John with an awkward smile. “There’s a lot of things I haven’t tried, so I don’t know what I’ll like or not for sure.”

“Wouldn’t memories of what Dave liked help?” John asked, a little confused.

“Yeah, it’d be a good guideline for what I’d probably like, but my taste buds are different now, remember?” they said with an amused grin. “Dave loves chocolate ice cream and I like strawberry. Nepeta’s favorite flavor was exclusive to Alternia but she likes vanilla too. The things that Davesprite and Dave and Nepeta liked aren’t always what I like. ...And that’s a lot of new stuff to try out.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t gone to a place like this before, considering how much you like new experiences,” John said, offering his hand. “But c’mon, that’s half the fun of buffets! We’ll load your plate up with a bite of everything and see what you like. I’ll just snag what you don’t like,” he offered. That seemed to do the trick, brightening Davepeta back up.

It became an adventure again. Different meats and vegetables were loaded up onto Davepeta’s plate in small portions, the sweet and sour chicken, the sesame beef, the noodles and fried rice. Spicy things, sour things, sweet things, salted things that even John tended to shy away from were added till they had a full plate and were sweeping back to their booth while John got a few of his favorite standbys and followed suit. Their drinks were waiting on them, bubbly cola with straws placed beside the glasses that were already sweating from how cold the liquid in the glass was compared to the room.

John had grabbed a set of forks as well as his chopsticks just in case they turned out useful, but Davepeta seemed to have the hang of their utensils just fine after a few clumsy attempts at picking something up. The motion became more fluid, more experienced, truly the hand of someone who’d lived on takeout for a good chunk of his life exerting some presence from within the amalgamation that was John’s date.

“Ohhh this is good,” they crooned, touching the side of their face after a few bites of one section of their plate, savoring the flavor.

John, charmed, stirred his food for a moment or two to just observe and grin at them before tucking into his own plate. No matter how churning his stomach was with attraction, butterflies aplenty, food was still food and John was still hungry. His focus on the plate and the food and the spectacle of Davepeta discovering and savoring different items on their plate made it all the more surprising when he felt something soft stroke against his calf. ...Tail? It was probably their tail, it seemed to like curling around things sometimes and didn’t seem to have much directionality on its ow- that was a foot. That was Davepeta’s foot stroking against his leg. That was his date’s foot trailing up his leg and over his knee, up to his thigh and back down. Shivering, John stared at Davepeta for some kind of clue, a hint, as to what was happening.

It took a moment to detect the predatory look in their eyes behind their shades, the faint quirk of their lips as they ate and slowed their talking, but once John became aware of it it was impossible to ignore. This was like a game of chicken: the first one to break and talk about the elephant in the room of what was happening under the table lost. John didn’t want to break the magic, and Davepeta seemed to have their own ideas.

The game was on.

“I don’t think I like the noodles much, would you like them?”

“Oh. Yeah uh. I’ve got room,” John said. A bit of sauce and he’d be content to eat them with everything else on his plate. But it was hard to think of food and eating when he felt the delicate stroking along his inner thigh once more, felt the heat rushing to his ears and cheeks as he reached over with his chopsticks to scoop up a bit of the noodles. It took three tries to securely scoop well enough to get the majority of the noodles lifted and onto his plate safely, hand shaking every time he felt the stroking take a long, leisurely trail down or up his leg.

Davepeta, compared to his tense, flushing mess of a display, was calm and collected and attentive as ever. Every twitch, every inch of blushing, was being weighed and calculated like a hunter surveying their prey. They dined on their General Tso’s chicken with their lips curled back into a grin, amused, playful. John didn’t know what he liked more: Davepeta’s chatty and excitable nature, or when they got like this and he knew he was the only thing being looked at in the room.

John managed to keep himself quiet while they stroked at him off and on, stopping now and then to just rest their legs together, other times hooking their toes behind his ankle and positioning his shorter leg how they wanted it before beginning to stroke anew. It became less intimidating, less awkward as it went on, and John found himself relaxing into their touch.

Didn’t stop his brain from wandering, though, right into the gutter. What if it was their hand doing the tracing. What if they didn’t stop at his thigh and went further up? How would they react, knowing he was already half erect just from being teased?

What if it was their lips tracing up and along his thighs...? What if they went just that little bit higher. What would a blowjob feel like from them, all fanged and sweet lipped? Would they tease him as much as they were now, or would their eagerness take over and-

“John, how do you feel about bell peppers?”

Dazed, unaware of how long he’d been staring without eating, John dropped his chopsticks and reached for his drink instead of picking them up right away.

“Bell peppers? Bell peppers. I don’t mind them,” he said. “Do you need them taken away?”

“They’ve got a bit of a weird aftertaste,” admitted Davepeta, picking a few peppers out of their meal to offer to John, who mixed them in with his earlier taken noodles without question.

The teasing trailed off after that, Davepeta slipping their foot back into their sandal, though their tail occasionally made appearances below and above the edge of the table, whipping around and curling around itself when they ate something they particularly enjoyed.

“Wanna get ice cream for dessert after this?” John asked. “I know a place that has really good cones and flavors.”

Davepeta perked up and nodded, beaming. More adventures? More adventures. More things to try and places to go on their date, of course they were game.

“We can fly for that part I think since it’s a ways off from here,” John said. “The shop is kinda crowded, it’d be nice to find a spot to eat them afterwards too.”

“I think I know a few spots,” Davepeta said, toying with a piece of beef before popping it into their mouth, licking their upper lip afterwards. “Think you’ll be able to keep up if I go fast?”

John smirked. “You’re speaking to someone who’s the master of wind, I think I can keep up.”

“Yeah, yeah, heir of breath, blah blah blah. You’re not used to racing against a sprite like me,” they said smugly, playfully preening themselves for a moment before going back to picking at what was left on their plate. “But yeah, that sounds good to me!”

The rest of their meal passed in easy quiet, John winding up comfortably full with room for dessert by the time it came to pay. He pulled out his wallet, but Davepeta was already quicker to pay, leaving him to handle the tip instead. Deciding to be quicker on the draw, John promised himself he’d at least pay for the ice cream once they bought it, to even things out.

They left hand in hand before taking off to the sky, Davepeta unfurling their wings even if they weren’t really needed for flight, with John just glad that he wasn’t attached to his hair looking anything but windswept and messy as a gust knocked them sideways and added a bit of fun to their journey. John eventually pointed down at the top of a specific building, the two of them lowering down about a block away before walking the remainder of the distance on foot, remaining hand in hand. Davepeta’s skin was warm and soft against John’s palm, and all he could do was pray his hands didn’t go sweaty from nerves.

Why was he so nervous? He didn’t need to impress anyone, the hardest part had already happened! Davepeta had asked him out suddenly a brief while ago, and since there was no reason to say no he’d rolled with it. The more he’d thought about where it might lead, though, the more nervous John had grown. Thinking about holding hands had already happened, thinking about their lips and their throat and everything else just made him more and more flustered, yet he couldn’t help it. Everything about them was glowing, and every time they talked it sounded like music to him.

...Fuck, he had it bad didn’t he.

“I think I’m gonna get the toffee and coffee,” John said after looking at the menu. A double scoop sounded doable, plenty sweet and bitter to tide him over. Davepeta took their time looking over the menu before deciding on strawberry cheesecake and a key lime pie flavor, letting John pay as they smoothed a crest in their ice cream with their tongue. They didn’t walk very far before taking flight once more, Davepeta taking the lead this time, tugging John along by the hand towards… the woods? John was surprised by how dense the brush looked, but when an opening appeared, Davepeta began to steer them downwards and he followed without question.

The clearing was pleasant, grasses and flowers aplenty in the open sunlight, fallen trees blocking the way save for deer trails. It seemed deep enough that foot traffic would be at a minimum, if there was any at all that didn’t reside on four legs. All around them was birdsong and the sounds of the forest. Peaceful. Quiet. Davepeta released his hand only long enough to pull a thin branch back out of the way for him to pass with his ice cream, taking a seat on one of the larger fallen logs. How old had this tree even been? Part of John wished he could understand tree rings, or however the heck they figured out the age of trees, just to get an idea of how ancient the fallen one actually was before he’d been able to use it as a chair.

They sat side by side, arm to arm, as they ate their ice cream. Davepeta was eating a little quicker than John, curling their tongue around sections of the treat and pulling them in without getting brain freeze, while John continued to lick from bottom to top to avoid getting the sweet sticky flavors all over his hand. The weather was warm, so activity had to be constant to keep ahead of the melting.

“Hey, John,” Davepeta suddenly said. “...Why did you agree to go out with me?”

“Huh? Well… I dunno,” he said. “You’re sweet, and pretty, and it’s nice to be around you. We like a lot of the same things. And, well. I mean. You asked,” he chuckled. “It seemed like a good move, you know?”

Davepeta considered the answer and seemed to be content with it, continuing to lathe their tongue over their ice cream for a moment before speaking up once more.

“Hey, John.”

“Hmm?”

“What do you think of this?” they asked.

Unable to see what they were speaking about, John turned his head to take a peek, only to be caught in a kiss. It was chilly from ice cream, and a little sticky, sweet with dessert flavors and their own lips behind it. All things considered it was a good first kiss… except Davepeta didn’t pull back after a moment. Instead, they tilted their head and pushed forwards a little bit, catching John’s bottom lip between their sharp teeth and toying with it. John heard the softest crunch possible as his hand tightened on his cone, threatening its stability with his anxiety.

Anxiety? What was there to be anxious about? A really attractive sprite was kissing him and… John sighed out a soft breath and relaxed more, kissing them back.

Ice cream melted down over his fist in thin rivulets by the time Davepeta let him loose, grinning and flushing a gentle shade of green over their pearlescent features.

“...Wow,” John said eventually, grinning. Lovestruck. Fuck, he did have it bad, and he couldn’t care less who knew right then. “Oh, shit,” he hissed upon realizing his ice cream was melting so fast, licking along his fist before stuffing some of the mound into his mouth and biting down. Another hiss and he tossed his head back to huff warmer air as he swallowed the treat down with a grimace, groaning under his breath. “Augh, brain freeze, brain freeze!”

“Hah! Who even gets brain freeze from ice cream,” chuckled Davepeta, taking a large bite of their own quickly melting treat before grimacing and tilting their head back with a quiet groan.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did a certain sprite get brain freeze too? Hmm? After razzing me about mine? How convenient, it’s almost like karma!”

Sulking, Davepeta lapped the ice cream away from their hand before munching on the sweet cone, glad to be free of the pain in their teeth and head. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Victory is sweet or whatever,” they snorted.

When John finished his cone, he rubbed his hand on his pants without a second thought to clean and dry his fingers of the residue, then leaned back and looked up towards the sky.

“Hey, Davepeta. Since you asked why I said yes earlier… why did you ask me out?” John asked, glancing over briefly before looking to the sky again. “I mean. You kind of have your choice of everyone in the world, why me?”

“Because I like you,” Davepeta replied simply. “The parts of me like you too, in their own ways, but at the end of the day you’re precious to me. And I wanted to try keeping you by my side.”

Birds sang overhead and behind them for a moment as the air settled between their realities, binding them together in the air they breathed. Davepeta soon scooted closer, twining around John’s nearest arm and resting their head on his shoulder in the quiet peace.

“I was worried you wouldn’t say yes at first. That you’d think I was joking or something,” Davepeta admitted, before grinning up at him. “But then you said yes and it’s been great so far!”

“All we’ve done is eat so far,” John laughed.

“Well, yeah, but we’ve also…” trailed off Davepeta, catching John in another kiss. There was no ice cream to worry about this time, no timer in the back of his head, no cold against his mouth. John could feel the slight cleft of their upper lip, the strong press of their mouth, the soft give of their lower lip as they parted naturally against his own. Instead of teasing his lower lip this time, Davepeta began to press against his side more fully. John felt the push of their breasts again and hitched his breath, but the pressure only increased. Slow and steady, Davepeta coaxed John to the side, getting him to lay mostly on his back on the fallen log as they leaned over him, weight welcoming and warm against his chest.

John’s mind blanked. All he was able to focus on was tactile sensation now, warmth and pressure, birdsong, the feeling of breath against his face, of long legs straddling his thighs and caging his upper body in place. When Davepeta deepened the kiss, he followed without even thinking of it, opening his mouth in invitation and groaning under his breath when he felt the first slip of their tongue against his own. The aftertaste of key lime pie was still there, sweet and welcoming as fingers combed through his hair bit by bit.

Unsure of where to put his own hands, John settled first for resting his hands on Davepeta’s waist, kneading at their hips the longer the kisses went on. Slowly though, ever so slowly, Davepeta lowered a hand and grasped one of John’s, pulling it up further along their long body towards their chest. He hesitated, trying to stall his hand for a moment, but Davepeta’s insistence soothed his concerns. Eventually, John had a hand full of breast he didn’t know what to do with, and broke the kiss to gasp for air.

“I- What’s. Are you sure? I mean, I’m kinda-” John murmured embarrassedly, glancing from Davepeta’s eyes down between them where his hand rested. Further down he was trying and failing to keep his body calm, already half erect again and just fucking praying in the back of his mind that his date didn’t notice how little control he had over himself. He couldn’t arch his back away from them to hide it, after all, the bit of tent was there for them to observe if they moved forward at all.

“If I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t have put your hand there,” purred Davepeta, grin widening when John gave a gentle, hesitant knead of the flesh beneath the shirt. “Have you got any idea how long I’ve wanted your hands on me..?”

John had assumed things didn’t work like the movies, and yet here he was, with a ridiculously attractive person straddling him and putting a hand on their chest as if it belonged there. ...It did feel pretty damn nice, soft and warm. He understood the appeal of them more intrinsically now, and decided that since it seemed to be okay to be there, that… perhaps he could be a bit more daring. His hand ventured lower again before slipping beneath Davepeta’s shirt, riding up over their pearly skin to the base of their bra and up over the cup. When there was no sign of this being a negative, he bit his lip and slid his fingertips inside the front of the bra, feeling at their bared skin as if he were trying to memorize it.

Davepeta ground their hips down and forwards gently, and John saw white for a moment, hand stilling. Whoops, okay, apparently he was a little more than half erect now. His brows lifted in surprise as he huffed a breath out, though Davepeta merely purred at him again, leaning forwards and down to kiss at the side of his neck, pulling his collar back out of the way to expose more flesh to their mouth. Another grind, and John’s fingers squeezed more firmly, earning him a groan of appreciation.

...Okay. Okay, that was a nice sound, how could he get more of those.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

“Maybe another time,” Davepeta murmured against his throat, smirking and giggling a bit when John tensed up and held his breath in. “I’m kidding… I mean it, but I’m just teasing right now,” they tried to clarify. “I don’t think either of us are quite ready for that yet.” Getting John to touch a boob was one thing, getting him calm enough to handle a very different set of genitals might be something entirely different. It was hard to tell, really, just how much effort their mutual interests might take to have happen.

That helped and didn’t help, but John’s brain was soon plenty occupied by Davepeta continuing to rock their hips, upper body swaying against his palm and fingers as the breast he’d been teasing slid free of the bra entirely to rest overtop of the fabric.

“Gimme another kiss,” John murmured softly against Davepeta’s pointed ear, free hand raising to comb through their hair when their lips locked once more. All it took was a few strokes to the horn for them to groan once more, deepening the kiss with an eager lick.

The pair moved in tandem easily after that, grinding together at the hip lazy and slow, John kneading at their chest and playing with their horns whenever he could remember to get his hands working, Davepeta bracing their upper body on the tree trunk beneath them and trying to not bite John too hard whenever he broke the kiss to nip and kiss at his throat.

It felt natural.

It felt normal.

It felt like they’d been doing this for ages instead of it being spur of the moment, caught up in one another’s charms so thoroughly that time held no meaning anymore. It was just them, nature, and the sunlight showering down on them from above.

Davepeta gently scratched at John’s sides whenever he focused both hands on their chest or their horns, and outright moaned when he left a hickey on the nape of their neck. He took his time with it, not wanting to hurt them, but also wanting to make it solid, a primal part of his brain wanting to show that not only he’d been there but that he’d been so welcomed there he could take his time and make something like that stand out. When he pulled back to check his work, the top edge of it looked so pretty peeking out over the top hem of the collar that he hummed and ducked down to boldly add a few more pearls to the string he had started.

The grinding eventually slowed to a stop, and Davepeta rolled, dragging John along with them to the ground, soft moss against the edge of the log giving way to the rich looking grass that spread out beyond them like a blanket. Their hair was mussed, their cheeks were flushed, and neither of them wanted to be apart for any length of time. They wound up side by side, watching each other’s face and eyes through crooked glasses and shades as the clouds rolled on overhead. A bird lit upon the space they’d been sitting on, twittered at them till one of Davepeta’s ears twitched, and then flew off once more.

Davepeta smirked, amused.

“...And to think, I thought you might be kind of shy!”

“Me? Shy?” John asked, confused. “I don’t think I’m that shy..”

“Maybe it’s just because you’re smaller than me, you give off this kind of shy air,” Davepeta admitted. “But geeze, once you get used to something it’s like you were made for it!” they teased.

John flushed, but smirked back, crooked teeth giving his face an impish appearance.

“Well. You started it, to be fair.”

“Finished it too,” Davepeta said proudly.

“...Wanna have another date next weekend?”

“Of course!”

“My place? We can watch movies and stuff.”

Davepeta lifted their chin and pecked John’s forehead, right between his brows.

“I’m aware your taste in movies sucks, but I’m sure you’ll find a way to make them all entertaining anyway,” they laughed.

“Hey! I’ll have you know, my taste in movies is fantastic, and your information is outdated! Trust me, movie date will be perfect. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll-”

“Nicolas Cage is banned.”

“...Oh so that’s how it’s gonna be,” John said, smirking when Davepeta laughed again, their voice like bells. “Well how about THIS,” he said, hands jutting out to attack their sides with tickling fingers, laughing when they started to kick and giggle at him, wings flapping a few times behind their body against the grass.

“Uncle! Uncle!! Ahaha!”

John kissed their nose as he stopped tickling them, and settled back on his side.

“Okay, okay. ...But Nic stays. Trust me, he’s worth it. I’ve come to appreciate his work all over again over the years.”

“Whatever you say, John,” Davepeta chuckled, satisfied with how the day had gone. “Whatever you say.”

#davepetasprite^2 #davepetasprite #davepeta #john egbert #homestuck #my fic

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shapeofreality · 3 years

Text

Shape Of Reality

Blinding light fills your vision, prompting you to close your eyes. Soon after, searing heat surrounds you. An unpleasant burning scolds your skin and the urge to cry out is making itself clear when half a second later, it vanishes.

“What the heLL-“ you start to hiss, but your mouth suddenly snaps shut abruptly without your will, and your eyes widen in slight panic at the bizarre action.

All you can see is bright whiteness that threatens to shine too brightly, but you can tell that you’re floating. Somehow you are.

You squint your eyes and attempt to pinpoint your surroundings, more importantly an exit, but to your dismay, you see nothing.

Suddenly, the white scenery around you glows more fiercer and sharper than you thought it could, taking you by surprise.

For a couple moments, you go blind.

Then, excruciating pain courses over your body, ten times worse than the previous blistering on your skin from before.

It ripples through you like electricity, and when you open your mouth to scream this time, whatever unknown force that resides here lets you.

The agony lasts a bit longer than the burning, but only by a few moments.

It’s gone, but something feels different. Drastically different.

Your fingers feel numb and there’s two twin weights seated heavily on your back. Your limbs feel oddly longer and sturdier.

Before you can open your eyes, wind whips harshly at your face and you can feel yourself hurling through the air.

Everything is a blur.

You hit what feels like soft grass, but you crash into the ground so fast that you flip over and tumble a few times.

During the commotion, you had bitten down on your lip to withhold your scream, but now, you can taste blood.

One last ache washes over you and you wince, but finally will it in yourself to blink your sore eyes open.

At first, everything seems normal.

You had landed in the middle of some lovely meadow. There are a few trees around, accompanied by several bushes and flowers. The sound of birds singing pleasantly resonates in your ears.

The sunlight is warm on your skin.

And then you look down.

Your own sharp scream of pure horror and shock that flies out of your mouth uncontrollably startles even you, but it isn’t as startling as what you’re screaming about.

You don’t have skin.

You have scales.

You don’t have hands, you have fucking paws.

And it takes you a moment to process that the heaviness on your upper back near your shoulder blades are also wings, and that you have talons and a tail.

A second screech rips out of you - or maybe you were still screaming - and you panic fully now, clutching wildly at the grass with your new... claws.

“HOLY SHIT-“ The first tangible words shoot out of your mouth as you move to stand up. Or, well, attempt to stand up.

Your mind isn’t quite catching up with what your eyes are seeing, so you automatically try to stand on two legs, only to fall down not so gracefully on your back.

“FuCk-“

You land on your wings and flinch at the foreign feeling.

Humans are supposed to have four limbs, not six.

But... you’re not a human anymore. You’re a fucking dragon.

You must be dreaming... right? It has to be the only reasonable explanation. People can’t just morph into fucking dragons.

“This can’t be happening-“ you cry out in alarm, rolling over and wincing in fading pain.

You hesitantly sit up and out stretch your right wing to examine it. The new limb flexes and moves, and you can’t help but be mesmerized by it.

Curious now, you twist your head as much as you can to get a good look at your new body. Surprised, you find yourself satisfied by your appearance; your scales are a mix of your favorite colors in a nice, blending way.

With this thought, you jerk your head back to stare at the sky, eyes widening.

Where the hell are you?

How the hell are you going to get back?

What brought you here?

This time, when you try to stand, you make sure that you use all fours... instead of standing up. It’s incredibly strange, but it obviously works, considering your new state.

You wince one last time, and awkwardly fold your wings against your sides.

The blades of grass are soft underneath your paws as you start to walk. Maybe you could find someone to help you. Hopefully.

Someone had to have heard you with all your earlier screaming.

“There’s gotta be someone here that can help me...” you mutter half-heartedly. A little prick of doubt is rustling inside you, but you push it away.

A couple minutes pass by, seeing that the sun hasn’t moved much from its place in the sky.

You twist your head around to examine your surroundings. For some reason, it feels oddly familiar. Like you’ve seen it before.

Your eyes start to widen in realization, whispering to yourself, “Oh my god, it can’t be-“ You turn around in a circle, blinking furiously to try and see if what you’re thinking is true. “I’m-“

You get cut off when the sound of approaching, loud wingbeats resonates nearby, making your new ears twitch and perk in awareness.

“Hey, you!”

The voice sounds behind you, and then the landing of paws on the ground.

You have never heard that voice before, but you felt like you knew it.

And when you turn to see the source of all the noise, you can’t help but gasp in mixed surprise.

A particular group of four dragons and a sphinx are staring right at you.

“HOLY FUCKING-“

Amen takes a step forward with a stern lash of his tail, snapping, “Quiet! Do you have any idea where we are right now?”

His black eyes seem to bore into your soul and you snap your mouth shut.

“I- I think-“ you stammer, your wings flaring out a little, but you don’t notice. If you‘re correct, you are near the cult clearing.

You were in the fucking game. Or- story?

“Your screaming might’ve attracted-“

“Easy, Amen,” Devotee snorts, shifting his weight on his paws. “This girl doesn’t seem like she’s in an okay state.”

“This could be a cultist playing dumb, Dev,” Serqet cuts in, her fur bristling just a bit. She casts you a narrowed glance. “We should be careful.”

Poison lifts her chin up a little, looking at the others briefly. “If they were a cultist, I’m sure they would’ve dashed away by now,” she reasons. “Maybe she just escaped the cult, thus her screaming.”

Serqet’s whiskers twitch for a moment and she seems to be considering Poison’s reasoning.

“Well, maybe Ser’s right,” Apollo chimes in. “She could be faking it- what dragon is dumb enough to scream after escaping? This could be a trap.”

You continue to stare wide-eyed at them, too in shock to speak up.

You’re a dragon. You’re in fucking Dragons’ Life. You’re standing in front of your beloved characters that you had made with your friends. You‘re in the Gospel Cult Roleplay, the story that you all had been doing for over a year.

To see them in person, to see them right there? It absolutely went beyond your belief.

“I’m- I’m not a cultist-“ you finally force out, your words not as confident as you’d like them be.

“Oh, really?” Amen huffs skeptically.

“Uh- yes,” you cough anxiously. How can you convince them?

Telling them that you are technically one of their creators of their lives and actions wouldn’t exactly be a good option. They will think you’re crazy.

But... maybe you could use that to your advantage.

“My name’s (y/n),” you introduce yourself, swishing your tail instinctively. “I’m not a cultist, I swear- I know your names are Amen, Serqet, Poison, Devotee, and Apollo. I know that both of you-“ You gesture to Devotee and Amen, “grew up in LA. I know Apollo was on the run from the cult. I know that Serqet was banished from her home because of an idiot named Nimbus. I know Poison lost four children before. I know that Amen lost his sisters because of his father, I know Devotee wants out of his father’s organization-.. I- know a lot of things...”

The squad gapes at you with seriously widened eyes and they share alarmed glances with each other. The information you had just spilled contains some facts that the cult couldn’t have learned, and it was staggering.

“How-“

“I come from another world,” you explain hurriedly. “And- and I have no fucking clue how I got here in the first place so-“

“Slow down, slow down-“ Devotee intrudes in your explanation, shaking his head lightly. “I think you’ve made it clear that you’re not a cultist.”

Serqet still looks a bit unsure but seems to agree for the most part, while the others nod.

“(Y/n), you said, right?” Amen speaks up, tilting his head slightly.

You shiver momentarily as your name rolls effortlessly off his tongue, but you will yourself to nod.

“Well, uh- assuming that you know everything, you know Edgar, correct?” he inquires.

You nod once more. “I do.”

“Well, maybe she could help you find a way out of our world and back to yours,” Amen points out. “She’s pretty skilled.”

You feel yourself brighten up and nod again. “That sounds great- thank you.”

Devotee steps forward to stay alongside Amen, twitching his ears.

“You know Emperor then,” he quips, narrowing his one eye at you. “You know things about him? Maybe you could help us defeat him.”

You blink. You hadn’t even thought about the demon cult leader yet. You know he is the villain, obviously, but you can’t help but wonder what it would be like to see him in person.

“I do know a lot of things about him- I guess I can help-“ you say, your brows furrowing. For some reason, you are unsure even though the words had already slipped out of your mouth.

“Great,” Serqet says in obvious approval, flicking her tail. “But we really gotta move- we’re in cult territory right now. We came here to find some good ambush spots but I think we found someone more helpful.”

She shoots you a somewhat grateful look, and you summon a small smile at her.

To your surprise, she smiles faintly back at you.

Apollo perks up from beside the group, chirping, “Let’s go-“

He stops short when shadows cross over the ground, and you hear more wingbeats. Judging by the heroes’ tensing stances, you assume that who is arriving is someone you know.

“Well, well, well,” a deep voice coos from behind, and you freeze. “What do we have here?”

It has to be who you think it is.

Not daring to even breathe, you slowly steer yourself around and once again, you’re hit by a tremendous amount of shock.

Emperor is standing right there in front of you in the flesh, his beady emerald eyes gleaming with confidence and a hint of curiosity, and the way he holds himself up radiates dominance.

His feathers ruffle a bit in the light breeze, and you see his dark, sharpened talons flex in an also subconscious way.

But what strikes you the most is the fact that his beaming eyes are locked onto you.

You can’t help but stare back, seemingly fixated into his trance.

It is only when he speaks, do you blink and finally inhale sharply again.

“Aren’t you a pretty thing?” he hums, an obvious smirk playing on his jaws.

It takes you a couple heartbeats to realize that the compliment from the demon is directed to you, and you blink rapidly for a few times.

He must see the disbelief on your face because he chuckles, then drags his gaze off you to the main squad that is now behind you.

“You must’ve experienced quite the scare for your screams to be that loud,” he continues, examining the heroes behind you. “I understand you, really, mortal. These heroes are quite horrifying to look at.”

You hear them mutter curses directed to the demon and you can practically feel them roll their eyes.

Emperor hums, lashing his tail. “What’s so special about you?”

If he knew of your knowledge, there would be no doubt that he would try and take you.

“Nothing you need to know,” Amen snarls protectively.

Devotee lashes his tail as his talons twitch, adding, “She’s with us.”

The two heroes’ claims makes you glance back at them, but the squad soon walks up to stand beside you, all of them glaring at Emperor.

It is only until now do you notice Aqua and Cryptic holding themselves up beside Emperor, along with several other cultists you don’t know the names of.

“I can sense something about you, dear,” Emperor purrs, ignoring the defensive statements and locking gazes with you again.

You stare back helplessly.

“You’re... different,” Emperor continues, flicking his tail. His next sentence is clearly spoken to the heroes’, but he is still staring at you. “I’m afraid she won’t be yours for much longer.”

You step back, taken aback by his statement.

This time, Amen and Devotee move forward and use their wings to shield you.

You blink in surprise at their protective gestures.

“Alright, we’re leaving now, Emperor,” Devotee snickers, his left wing tip brushing your snout a bit.

Amen’s right wing tip brushes against Devotee’s on your snout, and he chimes in narrowly, “We can do this the hard way or the easy way, demon.”

Emperor tilts his head back and laughs, his wings flaring out slightly and his feathers shaking a bit.

You see Amen and Devotee tense while Emperor laughs for a few more moments.

Suddenly, the demon’s head falls back forward and his face becomes coated with an expression of darkness.

Two words slip blankly from his mouth.

“Get them.”

You can’t help but shriek in slight fear when Amen lounges forward to crash into Emperor himself, and the demon’s goons rush to the heroes.

From the corner of your eye, you see Poison knock Cryptic off her paws, resulting in the mage hissing in fury and throwing Poison back with a burst of her magic.

Serqet charges in on the other side, barreling into some cultists and using her own magic against them.

Devotee stays near you, and you squeak when he suddenly uses his left wing to pull you against his side.

“Stay close, (y/n)!” he barks out gruffly, using one of his trembling paws to knock an incoming cultist away, sending their jerking body to the side.

Apollo, on the other side of the group, throws a stick at one of the cultist’s eyes, and with that one winded out, he claws at another’s one neck and shoulder.

Devotee’s wing brushes your side as he fends off another attacker with bared jaws.

You observe the battle, panic slowly rising in your chest again. What will happen if you die here?

You definitely didn’t want to find that out.

Amen’s snarl is loud amongst the sounds of the battle and you jerk your stare to see the red and black scaled dragon slice through one of Emperor’s tendrils.

Emperor dodges one of Amen’s lunges and two large tendrils slam into Amen from his side, sending him flying to the side of the meadow.

Devotee’s eye widens and then narrows when he sees the demon racing forward towards him and you, and you shuffle back in fright.

The former cult leader raises back partially on his hind legs to bring his undoubtedly twitching paws upon Emperor, but the demon snarls knowingly and summons several tendrils to wrap around Devotee’s wrists and yanks themselves to the side.

Devotee crashes onto the grass and his paws don’t affect the shadowy tentacles. More of the snakelike entities hold him to the floor and he snarls furiously.

Emperor snickers triumphantly as he approaches you, and you find yourself unable to move as he starts to tower over you.

You should run or fight back or something, but before you put your mind to move, Emperor is clutching your left wrist tightly, his talons threatening to dig beyond your scales.

Up close, you could feel his aura stirring and his smirk is bright and twisted.

“You’re coming with me, strange mortal,” he declares.

You try to respond but he turns swiftly and uses his right wing to pull you close to his side now, and you flinch at the sensation of his feathers brushing your scales.

You gasp when there’s suddenly a tendril shaped into a form of a spear pointed at you, dangerously close to your neck.

The heroes cease fighting when they take notice of your state, and the still standing cultists retreat to stand behind Emperor.

The tendrils release their holds on Devotee and he immediately scrambles up onto his paws from his spot on the ground.

Three cultists are dead, and Emperor tuts lightly at the sight of the sight of his defeated followers.

“Shame,” he notes breezily, then straightens his posture. “Thank you for my lovely prize, mortals,” he tells the squad in a slight snicker.

You gaze at the heroes whose expressions are a mix of disappointment and frustration, and you freeze when Emperor’s feathers brush your scales again.

You blink in surprise once more when you see that Amen and Devotee are both staring at you with look like seemingly worried gazes.

“You won’t get away with this,” Serqet snaps, her golden glare piercing through the demon.

Emperor simply scoffs and though the spear-like tendril vanishes underneath his shadow, it is clear that the threat of you gaining a sliced neck is still present, so you and the others don’t make a move.

“But you see, Serqet,” Emperor chuckles dourly, “I already have.”

With those words, a tendril or two wraps around your torso firmly and you squirm when you find yourself somewhat chained to him.

His feathers shake and he takes off into the air.

“W-wait!” you announce meekly, ducking your head in slight embarrassment. “I- uh, can’t fly..”

You have never used wings before; you’ve only been a dragon for a good couple of minutes. You’re sure that if you attempted to fly, you’d be more of a mess.

Emperor hovers in the air for a few moments, the sound of his soft wing beats the only thing filling the silence as he narrows his eyes at you as if he was evaluating your statement.

“You really are a strange mortal,” he mutters, then he motions an arm up stiffly, and soon, the tendrils lift you up into the air as if you weighed nothing.

As the ground seems to fall underneath you, you stare at the heroes in a frightened manner, and they stare back with seemingly frustrated and determined gazes.

Emperor throws them one last snicker before flying off, and you squeak when you start moving in the air as well, the tendrils keeping you bound to him firmly.

The wind softly strokes your scales and you force yourself to breathe in and out, trying to calm yourself as the forest underneath you blurs.

You find yourself glancing at Aqua and Cryptic, who are flying on each of Emperor’s sides, while the remaining cultists surround the other sides and the back.

Even if you were to break free, even if you knew how to fly, you know you wouldn’t make it far.

The wind actually starts to feel nice on your scales, and though there are cultists soaring behind you, you decide to extend your wings out to get a sensation of soaring yourself.

Suddenly, you feel eyes on you again, and your wings immediately hug your sides when you see Emperor glancing back at you blankly with a hint of curiosity.

You lower your gaze away quickly back to the trees, but as you continue to move, you see that the forestry is starting to space and clear out.

You feel your fists clench in anticipation; you must be getting closer to the notorious clearing.

Soon enough, the trees disappear, and you seen the slight ravine leading towards the entrance. You lift your gaze up, and if you focus enough, you could see the magical barrier surrounding the cult area.

Emperor and the others slow down, and you see the demon leader wave a paw in the air. He waits for a few moments before moving forward and through the barrier.

You brace yourself as your form approaches the wall of magic, and you flinch when you feel it cascade over your body like a cold wave.

The others follow you and Emperor, gliding effortlessly down into the clearing.

At the sight of them returning, you are finally aware of the amount of many eyes of cultists and demons directed towards, mainly, you.

There are cultists guarding the entrance, some outside of their dens, some in the many sections of the clearing, and others standing on ledges. All of their gazes are a mix of curiosity, coldness, and suspicion, and you find your wings clinging even more tightly to your sides.

Emperor had landed on the far side of the clearing you had seen in a screen so many times, a bit secluded from the workers of the clearing.

You feel relieved when you feel the grass underneath your paws again, and then the tendrils are tugging you closer to the demon who has had made you land near him.

The rest of the patrol lands near you two as well.

He turns and waves a wing at the cultists, and they promptly leave to refresh themselves. Aqua and Cryptic remain standing with you.

“Cryptic,” Emperor addresses her, and the lead mage obediently raises her head to acknowledge him.

“Please let the mages that I have found the source of the burst of strange magic we sensed earlier,” Emperor continues, “I’ll question her, but make sure that they’re ready in case I need their assistance.”

Source of strange magic? You’re pretty sure your head is spinning again. Did they sense you coming into their world?

Cryptic flicks her tail and nods. “Of course, Emperor,” she quips. She waits for a moment, and only does Emperor gesture with his wing for her leave, does she saunter away.

Emperor finally looks to Aqua, who noticeably straightens her form when she sees that his attention is now on her.

“Aqua, you can tell the cultists the same thing. Make sure you lead another patrol tonight though,” he orders.

The young mage dutifully nods as well. “I will, sire.”

Emperor does the same wing gesture again to send her away, and you watch her fly up to one of the ledges to a cultist group.

You stare at her, confused. You have no idea what time in the plot you were in right now, but since the cult noticeably had more demons, Emperor and Aqua weren’t hiding their relationship, right?

Or maybe you‘re wrong. A lot has happened, and your mind is still rushing with the fact that you are with the characters in the first place.

Then, a sense of awkwardness creeps up onto you, and the realization of being alone with the fearless leader finally dawns on you.

You force yourself to stare down at your paws, refusing to meet his gaze that is undoubtedly focused on you.

His tendrils haven’t let go of you yet either, and when you feel them tug you again, you look up, a bit scared.

“You still cannot fly?” he inquires blankly, and you merely nod in reply.

He narrows his beady eyes at you and lifts off again, the tendrils yanking at you suddenly so you’re lifted up with him. You yelp momentarily.

You can still feel eyes on you so you shut your mouth and place on a blank expression. You cannot look scared in front of these dragons.

The demon observes you briefly before flying to his den. His tendrils tug you inside impatiently and you make haste to follow him inside.

As you walk in, you take a moment to examine his den.

You don’t see Aqua’s flowers on one of the shelves - they may have wilted, depending on the time of the plot you were in - and there’s a desk with several books against on section of the wall.

There’s a small bonfire in the corner of the room, and near it is a nest made of many leafy bedding and soft moss. You blink curiously when you see claw marks on the wall near the nest.

Emperor stops in the center of the den and turns to you, and the tendrils release their hold on you, sliding back to him.

You freeze, your breath catching halfway up your throat again. You know you can’t run; he most likely locked the entrance to his den with magic.

Like when you first saw him minutes ago, you find yourself unable to speak as you stare back into Emperor’s unnerving gaze.

He finally breaks the silence, drawling out slowly, “So...”

You finally breathe again when he starts to near you, his movements straightforward and smooth. He then swiftly moves to the side, and soon, he is circling you, analyzing you.

“What is your name, strange mortal?”

Oh, telling a demon your name was truly unwise. But he would know if you lied, and you weren’t going to take the risk of facing the consequences.

“(Y/n),” you tell him quietly, meeting his eyes every time he passed in front of you. You find yourself slowly sitting down, flinching and curling your tail to you when you feel his tail brush yours.

“Lovely,” he hums, but you are unsure if he means your name or the fact that you responded without much hesitance. Yet, the word makes you lower your head slightly.

He stops in front of you, and you shrink down a bit, feeling small underneath his stare.

”Well, (y/n),” he starts lowly.

Your name coming from his voice makes you shiver and blink hard, and he continues to speak.

“My name is Emperor.” He pauses and smirks. “But you already know that, don’t you?”

This time, you blink in surprise and you lift your form up a little. “W-what? But how do you-“

“You’re not from this world, are you, (y/n)?” he presses, taking one step forward. “The demons and mages, along with I, sensed your upbringing here, dear.”

“Oh-“ you whisper, your tail curling towards your legs even more as you tilt your head back to stare wide-eyed at him.

“Yes,” he affirms, swishing his tail once. “There is magic radiating off of you right now, strange mortal,” he comments, tilting his head ever so slightly. “It is.. fascinating.”

What were you going to do? “We are going to have a very interesting time together, (y/n),” he suddenly purrs.

You exhale shakily.

What have you gotten into?

—

It has been a week since you were captured by the cult.

Emperor has ordered you to stay in his den, and if you were caught outside without permission, he had promised there would be severe punishments.

He did allow you to peek outside every once in a while, and you were always grateful for the moments of fresh air.

He had spent most of the time with you simply studying you and asking you simple questions, mostly about your unknown sense of aura that surrounds you.

Thankfully, he never seemed to need sleep, so sleeping right beside a demon was the least of your worries.

Though he was rightfully frightening and rough, considering his well-being and status, he never made a move to hurt you.

Despite his odd treatment, you didn’t want to live like this. Like some sort of piece to study, to keep and feed like some sort of pet.

You still had your family back in your real world. Were you missing in your world? Were your friends and family looking for you?

And you have yet to tell him about your knowledge of him and the rest of the characters. If you tell him what you know, he would undoubtedly use it to his advantage.

You shake your head, a popping crack from the bonfire startling you and breaking you of your thoughts.

Emperor refuses to let you touch his work, but lets you read some books he had deemed safe for you to use to pass the time.

So here you were, laying in the nest and flipping through a book. The language was something you had never seen before, but the demon leader had given you a little sheet to help translate it. It helps pass time indeed.

“(Y/n),” a familiar voice announces at the entrance of the den, making you snap the book shut instantly.

Emperor stands, partially inside of his living space with his feathers ruffling a bit.

You stiffen, unsure of what he wants. You prick your ears, awaiting what he has to say with you.

“I have decided something,” he says almost absentmindedly as he saunters further into the den, closer to you. His stare suddenly focuses into one of concentration when he finally reaches you.

His emerald stare is calculating and curious.

He tilts his head slightly at you, and you stare back silently.

His next words are a shock, and you cannot hide your surprised expression.

“Would you like to go out on a walk? Or stay here?”

Go on a walk? Stay in clearing?

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wolfalarik · 4 years

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Control || Full Moon Solo #1

“Alarik, komm zurück!” The woman’s voice called out after him, as he giggled and turned left hiding behind the nearest building. His back was pressed up against the wood that made up the building and he brought a hand up to his mouth as he let out a few giggles so she wouldn’t hear him. It was his favorite game they played and it was their game. When Nicholas had outgrown this game a few years ago leaving it just for his mutter and him to play when his older brother was with his vater doing ‘big person stuff’. It wasn’t fair but his mutter promised him that one day he would be able to join them but for now it was just them, playing their game when the chores for the day was done. “oh wo oh wo kann mein kleiner wolf sein?” Another giggle left him before he jumped out from behind the building and let out a small playful roar. His mutter jumped and put a hand over her heart as if the small child had really scared her. It was also part of their game, he knew he didn’t scare her for real but one day he was going to! “Alairk,” she said smiling at her son before reaching out for his hand, the smile still on her face. Even at a young age, the boy knew that this mother’s smile was one of his favorite sights in the world. “Come along. Vater come home soon.” Her English was a bit rusty as the pack was learning it slowly before their big move in just a few weeks. The boy preferred his mother speaking the language she sang to him at night in, but he was also one of the ones that had to learn the new language, though he had picked it up faster than his mother had so far.

“Mutter, do we really have to leave?” The boy asked as he held his mutter’s hand and let her lead him back through the village and to where their house was. Since Vater was the most important wolf of their pack, they had the biggest house in the village, which was something the young wolf was proud of. One day it was going to be his...okay it was supposed to be his brother’s but they were moving so it wouldn’t be any of theirs but he could imagine. Even at a young age he knew that one day he would come back and claim this land as his family’s, creating a new pack one where he could be the alpha instead of a nobody like Nicholas said he was. “I will miss my friends.” Glancing up at his mutter, he pouted some hoping that maybe if he looked sad enough that he could convince his mutter to convince his vater to let them stay in their family land. Where they are supposed to be. Catherine let out a small sigh, almost sad as she stopped their walk back to their house and bent down so her bright blue eyes could meet his hazel ones. Reaching forward he brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes and behind his ear. It must have come loose from their playing. “kleiner wolf,” little wolf was his nickname from her and only her, “we must go. We are no safe here. Vater will protect us across sea.” Her voice was calm and as smooth as the honey that he collected with his older brother sometimes from the bees in the woods. It wasn’t fair how she could make his worries disappear like that, but that was what mother’s were for, the little wolf just had no idea yet. “You friends come with as well.” She said with a smile on her face and the boy broke out into a big grin. “Really!?” He asked all excitedly, causing his mutter to chuckle and nod her head. Okay so maybe this wasn’t so bad after all. If his friends were going, maybe he could go with...but he was still going to come back when he was all grown up. That was already decided.

Leaning forward, she kissed his forehead and rested her lips there as she took in the moment, just two the two of them. Whispering so soft he could almost not even hear it she said “Ich liebe dich, mein kleiner wolf.” --------------------------- Stepping off the ship he looked around and rolled his shoulders and inhaled the fresh air. He never got used to spending that much time on a ship and was starting to get sick of them. “Welcome to Havanna,” he muttered to himself before slinging the stachel that held his things over his shoulder and continued into the city. He hadn’t been to the city before, having island hopped over the years never finding a reason to go to the city until now. Keeping his head down he moved through the city with ease trying to blend in as he looked for what he needed. For who he needed. A wind shifted and a scent caught his nose, causing him to glance up as he recognized the smell. He didn’t know it personally but he know that it was who he was looking for. The lead he had gotten warned him about that. Moving through the city he eventually found his way towards the outskirts where it started to get darker and a bit more dangerous to those who couldn’t protect themselves. “Care for a drink, sir?” A girl called out to him and he shook his head, not even sparing her a glance. A drink was never just a drink for a girl who was dressed like that and normally he wouldn’t be opposed to taking up on her offer, buying her company for the night but tonight wasn’t a normal night. He shouldn’t even be out but he had only a few more hours before the moon was going to make its way into the sky and he had to be out of the streets by then. His body was already screaming at him, making him feel like an imposter in his own skin. Turning a few more corners and he was finally there. With a heavy exhale he reached up and knocked on the door waiting for a response. The woman who answered was darker skinned, her hair wrapped up in a colorful cloth but it was her eyes that caught his attention. They were bright orange. He was used to abnormal eye colors; his mother’s was a bright blue and his own were a yellow when he embraced the animal inside him, but he had never seen bright orange ones before. It almost made him a bit uncomfortable with the way she scanned over him, her eyes lingering a bit longer on the ring that now sat on his left hand. The jewel shining bright already as if it was begging to be seen. “You are here.” She said before opening the door for him to enter the house and headed into the kitchen not even looking to see if he would follow her. She already knew that he would. “Excuse me?” He asked confused but still ever polite. His mother would be proud of him for that...not much else she could be proud of him for anymore, sadly. Glancing around he took in the small house trying to figure out what he was getting himself into fully. She was the only one who could help him apparently according to his lead. Even if she had what seemed like a two headed snake floating in a jar… “I saw you come here. Took you long enough. Sit.” She demanded pointing to the chair by the fire. Not wanting to piss off someone who apparently had a lot of magic, he did what he was told and folded his hands in his lap just waiting. “You came to get a cure, no?” Staying silent he nodded his head to her question. “There is no cure.” His heart broke in his chest. Fuck. “However I can help...for a price.”

“Price? What price?” Though if this witch could do what she said she could, Alarik would give up whatever it took. She wanted a finger? She could have it. Gold? His first born son? All of it was hers. Once upon a time as a young child he loved what he was, had plans and dreams of embracing the animal inside him and becoming who he was supposed to be. Following in his father’s footsteps and his older brother’s being an alpha of his own, but that story didn’t have a happy ending. Not anymore and he was ready to leave it all behind. The witch’s lips turned into a smirk, revealing sharp teeth that almost looked sharper than his when he was in full wolf mode “A vial of your blood.” Oh well that was easy enough. Shrugging his shoulder he held out his arm ready to give it up. “Eager are we?” She said laughing moving to grab a knife. “I just don’t want to feel like this anymore...I don’t want to be this anymore…” He explained closing his eyes as she cut into his palm and turning his hand over so it could drip into the bottle she had ready. “I don’t want the pain of a transition, I don’t want to be hindered by the moon and letting it decide what I do and don’t do...This isn’t who I am anymore.” There was silence as the witch grabbed a strip of cloth and wrapped it around his palm, setting the vial of blood to the side to mess with it later on when he was gone probably. He had no idea what she was going to use it for and honestly he didn’t care, though he probably should have been concerned… “Shirt off now.” With a nod of his head he lifted it up over his head ready for whatever next came. “I will place it here.” She said tapping his chest over his heart lightly. “It will not cure you...only stun the effects of the transition. It varies between wolf to wolf.” Alarik stayed silent as she explained, nodding his head signaling that he understood. “The spell is an old old one. It must happen under a full moon and can not be tampered with.” “Full moon? Tampered?” Alarik asked, brows creasing in worry now. Hold on he was going to have to shift for the tattoo to work? The witch just nodded and grabbed what appeared to be silver chains and began to wrap them around his wrists, causing him to let out a hiss of pain as it felt like his skin was now on fire. Cursing, he wiggled some but not trying to get free this time. It wasn’t his first time being chained with silver, it just was never something he was going to get used to or find pleasure in. “If something happens to the mark, if the skin is broken at all, the spell will fail and you will transform next full moon. That shift will be extremely painful, some have not even survived it because of the pain.” As she spoke she grabbed her needle and ink, moving closer to Alarik and the fire both. “Okay...make sense.” All that pent up shifting all coming out at once? Yeah that would fukcing hurt like a bitch. “So don’t get stabbed in the chest, eas--FUCK!” He cried out as soon as the needle hit his chest. Clenching his fist tightly so he didn’t move, he groaned with every poke on his chest that was made. As the witch worked at what felt like an agonizing pace she muttered under her breath a language he didn’t understand but he didn’t try to figure out what she was saying. He was more focused on not passing out. As she worked he could feel the moon rise high above them, feel the wolf try to climb out of him. Nails dug into the wooden arm of the chair, growing into claw like features. His teeth elongated into fangs and his eyes turned bright yellow. The hair on his arms started to grow where the chains weren’t lying and he could feel his body begin to thrash in the chair, his bones wanting to break and reheal in ways that turned him into the wolf he was every full moon. “I need you to stay still,” she said that fell deaf on his ears as he let out a scream of pain, his body not happy that he couldn’t shift. That he couldn’t give into what was in his blood. He had done this transition over a thousand times now and it never got any easier. It actually felt like it got worse the older he got. “I am almost done!” The witch called out but he wasn’t listening. All he could focus on was the wolf trying to get out of him, pissed off now. But then it stopped. He could feel the moment the last bit of ink hit his skin, causing the wolf inside him to fall silent for the first time in his life. Taking a shaky breath he tried to open his eyes but when he did, he turned his head and threw up at the feeling in his stomach. “That is a common reaction,” the witch said almost pleased. Mostly because her work was done now and that it had worked on him. “I will get you some water.” He didn’t hear as she stood up and left the room. All he could do was sit there, panting in his sweat, head lulled to the side as he took in the silence. His stomach was nauseous, his head felt like it was being split open and the new mark on his chest burned but it was worth it... there was no more wolf controlling him.

For once in his life he was in control.

#wolf in disguise ( solo )#*alarik come back #*oh where oh where is my little wolf #//also this got long and feelsy for me #//also some mention of pain and blood i can tag it if anyone needs me to

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thecardsimagine · 5 years

Text

Alone and Together

Aaah, my work for the @fieldsofvesuvia gift exchange!! I love gift exchanges and am glad I got to participate in it! Big thank you to all the hard work of the mods!!

I had the pleasure to write for the amazing @amorizel and I hope you like it!!! >-< ♥ __________________________________

Sighing inwardly, Muriel let himself lean against the sturdy trunk of an oak tree, facing the clearance in front of him. If it were only him, he would not have spent his time lingering here, after all, there were more important things he needed to tend to. But leaving Dea alone in the middle of the woods was not an option either, as he feared that she would never find back to the hut or the end of the forest on her own - in one piece even. Though, admittedly, he may have underestimated her, even after all the time the two knew each other.

Letting his shoulders fall in defeat, he watched her as she tiptoed through the field of forest flowers, careful to not accidentally break one of the flower’s stems by stepping on them carelessly. A gust of wind drove through the apprentice’s appearance, swaying the fabric of her clothes softly and freeing some strands of hair from her braid. With the deep magenta fabric of her skirt, it was almost as if she belonged right there, between the flowers, with the dark, shadowy forest in the background. Even the blue touches of her outfit only blended her more and more into the scenery, rays of sun breaking through the crowns of the trees too, and seemingly playing with her form.

Even from afar, he heard her hums. Muriel would have always recognized the familiar tune of Asra’s lullaby anywhere, something the magician had often sung to Muriel when they were children. But coming from her, it was as if he had never heard the song before, her interpretation so close and yet so far from the original. It wasn’t unpleasant, he admitted.

Finally, after searching for the right spot, she turned a few times in her place, mustering her surroundings thoughtfully before sinking down. Her skirt puffed lightly before falling around her legs, warming her exposed skin on the still rather early spring morning. “Muriel?” she asked, looking up at him and catching his gaze. “Are you not coming? The sun is nice!” At her words command, the sunshine intensified, adding sparkles to her wide, inviting grin.

But instead of following her, Muriel took a step back into the shadows, hiding his presence in the veil of darkness. “I don’t plan on staying here for long,” he mumbled, barely loud enough for her to hear. “Pity,” she chimed, picking the closest daisy residing next to her. “The flowers smell amazing! I couldn’t wait for spring to finally arrive!”

Letting his eyes wander, Muriel inspected the wide variety of colorful flowers that had already begun to peak their heads out of the ground. Winter had been rather warm like every year in Vesuvia, but he was still surprised to even see the daisies growing already, though they usually preferred the summer over spring. Admittedly, the forget-me-not’s were tempting to the gentle giant, a flower that he liked more than any other, but really, he still felt the urge to move on. A few strands of lavender he could spot too, though most still hid under the leaves of the clover which covered most of the area.

He listened up when he heard her chuckle, not having noticed that she had followed his eyes while her hands worked in her lap. “You are always so reserved, even though there is no one here other than us, Muri. Why won’t you let loose a little and sit with me for a while?” There was no reply from the taciturn hermit, and she only sighed with a smile playing around her lips. “Fine, I will be done in a bit.”

Without their gentle chattering, she fell back into humming the tunes of the lullaby, her voice alternating in volume. Her words ran through his mind over and over, making him huff quietly. Being reserved had been the best thing in his life so far, sparing him from having unnecessary talks and opinions on things. Even if sometimes it was a reason for awkward encounters, it just as much saved him from losing himself in dire times.

Before, there had been no one else but himself to rely on and care for, and he was content with that. It was not like Muriel needed someone else to live a simple life. It was good as it was. On times, Asra would keep him company for a while, but never longer than necessary. Asra was just different, and while he valued their friendship, there were times he couldn’t have relied on the magician for certain things. Certain feelings, certain breakdowns even.

And it had been fine, Muriel got along with himself and the silence just well.

Being alone was never necessarily bad, he thought. It gave him the freedom to think openly, sometimes loud, most of the time quietly. He didn’t have to look out for the needs of another person and his own he could tend to the way he wanted. That was good, it was a valuable part of his life, and yet… He had easily adjusted to giving up his previous lifestyle in favor of sharing parts of it with another person.

Even after all the time he knew Dea now, Muriel still remembered how much he had wished and prayed for her to go away and leave him alone. All the emotions and responsibility had overwhelmed him more than the memories of his past even. But by now, he could not help but feel bad for the way he thought about her, only time having been able to make him give up on his loneliness, to instead be with her.

After all, no matter how much he claimed it was alright, there had always been times he had wished for someone by his side. There was Inanna, but the wolf could have never given him certain things that he denied he needed. So even if there had been some company from Inanna or Asra over the day, at the end of each, Muriel was alone again. Even in the rare cases that he didn’t want to.

Many things had happened between them. Even though they had been separated for a while, the two had found together just as quickly again. This time, it was meant for the better portion of their life, though of course, Muriel could not shake the feeling that one day she may find something better and move on. But even in the short time they had been reunited, here she was, making his days a little brighter, his work a little lighter, and his worries a little less.

Dea gave him the chance to move forward - something he had feared so long. What would it be like, stepping out of the shadow now? Following her example and make the leap over the border between the forest and the clearing? Would it still be so scary if she was that close to him? Or would she judge him for asking himself these questions, like he did to himself in this very moment?

Not even his loneliness usually helped with all these questions, and though he had Inanna - he had early on realized that she was intelligent indeed - but not much of a help either. But lately, he had found himself able to answer more of the questions that would plague him all day long. Simply by asking someone else. Someone like Dea, who always seemed unfazed, no matter what he asked her. With the hint of a smile and a second of thoughtfulness, she’d answer him at all times, and though he kept telling himself to not rely on that help, he still found himself coming back with more questions.

Because she was always right there when he needed her. To answer, to comfort and to care.

“Muri?” she called out to him, catching his absent stare with a big smile. “I know you said no, but won’t you come over? Please?” Grunting, Muriel stood up straight - as much as his posture allowed -, brushing some bark off of the coat on his shoulders from where he leaned and stepped out into the lighted area of the forest. Awkwardly, he tried to imitate the steps she had made before, his big feet not being able to keep inside the small footprints she had left on the damp moss.

When she noticed what he was doing, she snickered lightly, bringing a soft blush to his face. Quickly, she got up, holding out her hand towards him. At first, he didn’t want to reach for it, but losing his balance on the last few tiny steps on his tiptoes made him subconsciously place his hand in hers, a hearty pull bringing him to the spot where she had sat earlier on.

Flush against her, both of them staggered a little to keep their balance on the patch of grass beneath them, but it only gained another gleeful giggle from her, Muriel quickly retaking his hand from hers. “Finally!” she mused, and with a swift wave of her hand, she indicated for him to bow down a little, so the two were more on one height.

Lowering his head, Muriel gave her an expectantly look, almost as if he was saying, “So what?” What he didn’t expect was her working quick to swing something forward from behind her back, putting it onto his head with ease. Standing up fully again, he reached up, touching the slightly moist thing on his head, half expecting it to be a bad joke and simply being some moss she put up there.

When he finally caught something between his fingers, he plucked it, bringing it down. The tiniest, pale blue flower spread out between the big fingers of his, he mustered the forget-me-not for a while before looking at Dea, brows furrowed. “Flowers?” he asked. “Your favorite!” she retorted. That brought a meek smile to his face, eyes gazing over the bell-shaped petal once more.

Her skin on top of his made him look up at her again, her gaze shifting from the flower on his hand to meet his, as her hands clasped over the one he held out. “It’s better when you are close like this. Otherwise, I have to fear you’ll leave me behind and forget me someday.” His eyes widened at her words from surprise. But soon after that, they closed completely as he thought about her words.

“That won’t happen,” he assured her, placing his other hand over both of hers, bringing a soft, relieved smile to her face.

Because he too, liked it better when he was close to her since his life was suddenly so much less overcome with shadows as long as Dea was by his side.

#fieldsofvesuvia2k19 #amorizel #Muriel #The Arcana #The Arcana game #The Arcana Imagines #The Arcana Headcanons #The Arcana Scenarios #The Arcana fanfictions #muriel the arcana #the arcana muriel #fan apprentice

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etherian-affairs · 5 years

Text

New celebrations and old issues aka, I made a fic about two OCs Jim, from HR and an OFC

(Submission, A Jim from HR fanfic oh my God. @helilart look at this.)

New celebrations and old issues

A short story about a genetically enhanced Horde administrator and the tired planetary advisor he employs getting ready for a party.

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Year 2068 Horde Planet - 28B-0003 - Tellus

“Jimndak, sir?” the assistant intoned, not even trying to keep her annoyance and exhaustion out of her voice this time. They had been at this for well on four and a half hours now. “I really don’t see why we’re still shopping, you already have several nice dresses.”

Here, it turned out, was another very exclusive and high end clothing boutique deep in the Old City. One of Jimndak’s favorite boutiques and the very few that knew of his body dimensions on hand.

A low groan was heard from one of the dressing stalls and the door to it opened, revealing its occupant. The creature that revealed itself was definitely not of this world originally. At seven and a half feet tall, with dusky blue skin and a stubbed nose and long ears like that of a bat, Jimndak cut a terrifying figure. The grey, skull-like markings along his face and sharp, talon-like hands only added to that.

The gorgeous dress the creature was wearing and how well his body wore it, did absolutely nothing to contradict that first impression of fear. The attitude the alien displayed next, however, would change that.

“Oh come on, Mira.” Jimndak whined, hands on his hips and now pouting. “You love dress shopping with me.” His deep voice was tinged in exhaustion too and his normally toussled mohawk was drooped with sweat. Mira had watched her administrator all day and his near manic actions were startling to say the least.

While normally active, Jimndak wasn’t one to exhaust himself like this. Not without reason.

“I do love shopping trips with you.” Mira assured, relaxing deeper into the seat to rest her sore back. “But not one that makes me go all across town and takes several hours. Besides, you haven’t told me why we’re going to great lengths in finding the "perfect evening gown”, as you put it, in the first place.“

—————-

A few hours earlier–

Half a world away from the Capitol and the Space Dock, the Old City was a quiet respite from the hustle and bustle the Capitol City teamed with. The older buildings were repaired years ago, verdent gardens and winding parks growing alongside them. The people, her people, living and playing almost as easily as they did before the Horde came and claimed their world.

She, and the other Planetary Advisors before her, had made sure of that.

They parked their Mothership far away and had taken a hovercraft to reach their destination, in an attempt to keep the locals from being frightened. But the Supplanter’s large size and tall, angular design made it impossible to be unnoticeable. The vessel floated next to a steep mountain range several dozen miles away from the Old City, glittering in the evening sun and its vertical engines glowing a deep purple while in idle.

At one and a half miles in height and nearly a quarter mile in length, the omnious Mothership dwarfed everything in the area except for the mountains it was parked next to. Even though its main armaments hadn’t been fired in over a decade, it was created to dominate. To control everything in its path and to dole out punishment if desired by its commander.

Again, there was an attempt to try and be inconspicuous with the thing, but it was an admittedly poor attempt on their part.

So the atmosphere within the city was tense, at first. But after a while things went back to normal. Or as normal as things could be with a warship hanging around.

"Do you think we should have parked the ship…behind the mountains?” Mira questioned, grimacing at their ship’s poor attempt at blending in with its surroundings. The floating skyscraper stood out from the jagged and natural peaks of the mountain.

They just exited their hovercraft when they noticed just how conspicuous the Supplanter was. And honestly, Mira wasn’t suprised in the slightest when her travelling companion didn’t give a damn about it when he answered back.

“Too late now, I’m not going back.” Jimndak shrugged, before walking away. “This is only our first stop of the day, so we best get a move on.”

“How many more are we going to have and why are we doing this?” the assistant asked suspiciously, looking back at the administrator with a slight glare. “You only said we’d be dress shopping.”

“I’m going to find the perfect evening gown, amongst other things, and you’re going to help.” Jimndak proudly told her, his eyes and teeth glowing a deep magenta as he pulled his assistant gently into the first store. “I’ll tell you more soon enough.”

“I have a bad feeling about this.” Mira mumbled to herself as she was dragged along into the store. The surprised gasps of the other shoppers greeted them both as they entered and Mira sighed deeply. Thanks to this impromptu visit, no one in the area had been alerted by their arrival ahead of time.

Today was going to be a long and tedious one, she just knew it.

———————

Present time–

“So, please Jim, tell me what’s happening.” Mira lightly demanded, sitting up in the plush chair to look up at him better. “You’ve been going at this nearly all day and you still haven’t told me what’s this is all about.”

The Horde Administrator looked down at his assistant, ears tilting in several directions in an attempt to hear any eavesdroppers. Jim already knew it wasn’t really needed since all the shoppers and many of the employees left the shop just as quickly as he and Mira had entered. He sighed heavily before taking the seat next to his advisor, almost sprawling in the chair, not caring about who might see him in this compromising position. Didn’t really matter, the only other person here besides his advisor, was the shop owner in his office.

“There’s ah-” Jim stuttered, the words difficult to say. The Horde Administrator looked at the ceiling for answers, naturally finding none. He knew about his assistant’s dislike of Horde social gatherings and he knew she wasn’t going to enjoy hearing about this one either. Truth be told, he wasn’t looking forward to it either.

“There’s a Queen’s Ball happening in less than thirty days. I was sent word of it yesterday.” He finally spat out, looking back at his advisor’s face once he was finished. The way her dark skin paled and how shaky her body became, Jim knew he had to clear up what the actual Ball meant, and quickly.

“Does that mean-” Mira whispered, her throat now becoming tight and dry. Her stomach already churning in fear.

“No!” Jim nearly yelled and winced at the frightened jolt his advisor had thanks to his too loud voice, his ears now drooping. The Administrator had to reassure his advisor soon, or else she was going to have a panic attack.

“No.” Jim began again, quieter and calmer this time. Jim sat up in his chair and turned his body towards Mira, lightly grasping her hand, knowing it would help her. He didn��t understand why it helped, this wasn’t covered in his programming and training, but it usually worked when his advisor was having an episode.

“It’s not like the Conqueror’s Parade. Lord Mirdak will not attend this function. As far as I know he’s still several hundred thousand quadrants away in the Delphiatmo Galaxy.” Jimndak explained. “The Ball is one of Queen Eldara’s grand parties she has every few years.”

“And why haven’t I heard about this until now?” his advisor asked, her voice stronger but hands still slightly shaking. “This is her planet. I thought she only came when HE came too?” Lord Mirdak conquered the Tellusian system, but it was Queen Eldara who ultimately controlled it. Horde Generals always moved forward in their conquest.

Queen Eldara liked pretty things and Tellus was a gorgeous planet. Naturally she had to have it and requested the world for herself.

“The Queen specifically asked for your presence this time.” Jimndak replied, still petting his advisor’s hand. “She’s been curious as to why you’ve lasted this long as a Planetary Advisor.” At five years and counting, Advisor Mira was one of the longest lasting Administrative Advisors Tellus ever had. Most of the others lasted two years at best, before burning out and walking away.

“I have a job to do and I’m planning to keep doing this until I die one way or another.” Mira stated, her eyes now looking at her Administrator, the hazel colored iris’s burning with some eternal flame. “I don’t see how that’s noteworthy.” Her job was to protect her planet and was going to do that with the only resources avaliable.

The Horde Administrator gasped at the vibrancy of his Advisor and he had to swallow a few times before he could speak again. There was a reason he made her his Advisor. Why she grew into someone he could actually call a companion.

“Th-the Queen does things that are only known to her. She’s…mercurial and hard to read on most occassions.” Jimndak professed, his knowledge of his direct boss just as poor as everyone elses.

“Do I really have to go?” Mira ventured to ask, knowing there wasn’t a way out of an apparent Queen’s Summons. The narrowed brows and deadpan look her Horde Administrator gave her answered that question.

“Ok , fine, I get it I have to go. But what am I gonna wear?” Mira queried. “I’m probably not allowed to wear just my work clothes, right? Just come waltzing in the Queen’s throne room wearing a shirt and pants. Ha! Then you would be needing a new Advisor.” She chortled, laughing at her own poor joke. It was terrible, but it made her feel better.

Jimndak perked up at her question, ignoring the bad joke, and stood Mira up along with himself and guided her to another section of the boutique. The new wing was full of suits, all in different cuts and colors. It wasn’t something Jimndak was fond of, but his Advisor was always a fan of pants and layers.

“I know you can’t choose to not go to the Queen’s Ball, but you can choose what to wear.” Jim reasoned, gesturing to all the suits Mira could pick out. “We have thirty days to find appropriate clothing and get them done to our specifications. So, take your time.”

“…I really don’t know what to say.” Mira whispered, in awe at all the different types of suits she could see, and imaging herself in nearly all of them. She tightened her grip on Jimndak’s hand and made the Horde Administrator look back at her.

“Thank you.” she smiled, feeling a warm blush move across her face. It was strange to her but it felt right.

“I’m glad you feel that way.” Jim said back, feeling an odd sensation of heat on the edges of his ears. Normally a sensation like this would have startled Jimndak, but now, he liked the warmth.

They both hoped the other didn’t know what that meant and slowly let go of the other’s hand, with Jimndak looking to find the store owner and leaving Mira to find the perfect outfit.

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Hope you and Helilart enjoy what I wrote. It was actually a lot of fun and I’m probably gonna write more.

:) love, Bad Ass Anon

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I’m losing my mind.

In a good way.

#jim from hr #my badass submitting friend #oh my god #holy shit #submission

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