#remember kids when in doubt just add more glitter | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

missgeniality · 3 years

Text

A Date With Destiny (m)

“Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves, alone - we find it with another.” - Thomas Merton

➺ Pairing: Jungkook x Female Reader

➺ Trope: Strangers to Lovers, Idol!AU

➺ Genre: Fluff, Smut, one comedian in the mix

➺ Rating: 18+

➺ Word Count: 11k

➺ Summary: You are a boss lady in the tech industry travelling to world for work. He is a chart-topping artist touring the globe to perform in front of millions of fans. In the cosmos of life, you are not likely to cross paths. Luckily, fate has a different plan for you two.

➺ Warnings: dom!jk, unprotected sex (sex is cleaner when you pack your weiner!), hickeys galore, lot of spit, oral (male and female receiving), balls receive attention, throat fucking, cum eating, edging, masturbation kinda?, cum play, pussy slapping, pussy sniffing, fingering, squirting, spanking, pain kink?, tit slapping, reader teases a bit but this man is a tease maestro, cum stuffing (is that a thing even?), Jungkook’s THIGHS need their own warning

➺ Author’s Note: @ppersonna is an angel among us peasants. Thank you so much for all your help with this! This is my first attempt at writing, and the tiniest feedback goes a long way! Hope you enjoy!

When you die, the first pit stop you make is to the coffee gods.

Without coffee, this whole month would have been a disaster. Back-to-back meetings, daily flights, countless documents being read, it’s a miracle your eyes are open and fully functioning.

Being the Chief Technical Officer of a well-established company at your age had been anything but a cakewalk. You had strived hard and crossed many boulders to come to where you are. But if reaching that point required huge amounts of effort, now your work is tenfold.

“Why can’t I just get longer flights so I can nap in them?” You mumble into your nth cup of coffee - not keeping count is for your own sanity.

“Because longer flights apparently have crying children. You, our resident baby-magnet hypothesized that shorter flights equal more time in hotel rooms ‘sleeping’. Guess who sleeps in said hotel rooms? Everyone but you.” Your personal assistant and part-time truth-spouter Jake offers helpfully.

“Past me was such an idiot.” You shoot back, wondering if you could inject the espresso right through your veins.

Jake pouts. “Woman, you take on jobs that an intern could do. If you weren’t such an unnecessary perfectionist I would be on the beaches of Thailand, getting sensual massages and eating some pretty pussy. But here we are, on our way to Seoul. So quit your whining because clearly, I have lost more.”

“What if I wanted to do that too?”

“Can I watch?”

“Right.” And that was the end of the conversation.

Passengers on flight KE654 from Bangkok to Seoul are requested to report for boarding at Gate 45A. First Class passengers will be boarded first, followed by Business class and lastly Economy. Please keep your boarding pass ready for checking.

Jake stands up, groaning. “This is where we say goodbye. Do you wanna pretend like we’re strangers and have a hot one-night stand when we land?”

“Sometimes I think it’s your natural response to flirt with a breathing being. Do you ever accidentally just, you know, flirt with a tree?” You try to sound sarcastic, but you’re genuinely curious.

“If a day comes when a hot specimen like me has to flirt with a tree, humanity is doomed. Catch ya later!” He blows you a kiss before leaving for the restroom. You shake your head in awe, a small smile finding your lips. He knew how to get your mind off things.

For all his flirting, Jake’s interest in you is perfunctory. He looks after you, keeps you from starving or gouging your eyeballs out, and calms you when things are too hard. He’s seen your worst. You’ve seen him drunk out of his mind, bailed him out when he “accidentally” smoked up, and heard every new pick-up line his ingenious brain churned out. Basically, you’ve seen his worst as well.

You take a look at your boarding pass. 3C. Jake would be in business class, and you in first. Not your choice, the company makes the rules. It's for the better, he says. Apparently, he can ‘prowl for his hunt better’, without your judgmental glare. You nearly vomit on him just for his choice of words.

Entering the flight, you stash away your hand baggage the first place you find the room and head to your seat and-

Holy. Shit.

Jeon Jungkook is sitting on your seat.

Jeon Jungkook is on your flight?

BTS is on your flight?

What are the odds?

Granted, you’re not a 16-year old obsessive fan, collecting photocards and waving light sticks through the screen, but even in your adulthood you’ve admired their music and shows, routinely keeping up with their discography.

Hell, you even learned Korean years ago to better understand their songs. Maybe you are an obsessive fan.

But you can’t approach them like that. They no doubt want some privacy and not be recognized. God forbid you approach Jungkook with crazy eyes, just to be escorted off the plane for stalking. While you liked their work, you had your own, and getting thrown off this flight does not help you there.

So, you’re just gonna have to speak to him like just another passenger.

BTS who?

Biggest boyband who?

You only listen to Frank Sinatra.

“Excuse me?” You call out, a shiver of a whisper leaving your lips. You immediately chastise yourself for being so star-struck.

Big, round eyes glitter under the bucket hat. The softest ‘huh’ throws a lasso over your heart, and holds it captive. He adjusts his hat, inked fingers making a brief yet lasting appearance. The epitome of tenderness, you muse as his eyes flit here and there to figure out the situation. After finding no one to help him out, he gently offers “Yes?”

You feel extremely guilty for marring his serene face with creases of trouble. “I think this is my seat. See, 3C.” you say, pointing to the seat and then to your ticket for good measure. Did he suspect you recognize them? No. Do you look like you’re over-gesticulating? Totally.

“Oh.” His brow distresses further, the sight has you ready to give the man your seat and hide in the bathroom for the rest of the flight. “But even I am 3C.”

His ticket shows the same characters as yours.

Huh?

With both your faces contorted in confusion, an air hostess comes forward to help.

“We both are booked on the same seat. How does that happen? Do I need to catch another flight?” You suddenly pour out, remembering the countless commitments you have in Seoul that would go down the drain if you don’t make it by tonight.

She's quick to reassure you. “Do not worry ma’am, I’m sure there must have been an error in the printing. I’ll be right back.” At the same time, Jungkook is approached by someone, probably one of their staff, to discuss the issue.

The air hostess returns smiling. “Ma’am, you both were booked on the same seat but this adjacent seat was left empty. We are extremely sorry for the error. You may take 3B.” She reiterates the same message to Jungkook in Korean, who then looks mighty relieved.

Goddamn, his eyes got bigger. How much bigger can they get?

“All okay then?” He glances sideways, smile irradiating your senses and waking you up better than all the coffee could.

“All good. Sorry for the trouble.” You add, even though it isn’t your mistake in any way.

“No no. No trouble” He beams back.

Aw, you are in trouble.

As the flight is about to take off, you can see the rest of BTS in the rows ahead of you, with some other staff members taking up other seats. There’s one old man with a scowl on his face, whom you can’t place with the BigHit group. Great, no crying kids. Unless the frowning grandpa snores to the heavens, you can actually catch a good four-hour snooze. Take that, Jake. Hope a kid blows snot in his face.

Looking at your neighbor, you find him busy searching for a good video game on the screen. The other members seem to be using this flight to catch a nap, except him. You always wondered whether their on-screen persona was real or not. Now you could say at least one of his characteristics is true.

Turning away, you bring your focus back to the document at hand. The schematics for a new product your company was launching. You had spearheaded its conception and looked over every single detail in its manufacturing. The Seoul branch is one of the main players in its production, and your last stop before heading back home. You must have every word in this file burnt in the back of your eyelids to make this deal smooth.

Reclining your seat, and putting your legs up, you got down to business.

An Angel was calling you.

You want to wake up, but you couldn’t, fearing the Angel would stop singing to you. Something is poking you, but the voice just drowns it all out.

Wait...

Fluttering your eyes open, you see Jeon Jungkook staring right at you.

“Hi... They, umm--Food? Want to eat?” the Angel utters. Jungkook utters. Tomato, to-mah-to.

“Oh!” you exclaim, wiping non-existent drool on your face. His palm on your shoulder quickly retracts at your exaggerated attempt to hide your embarrassment. “Thank you so much.”

Then, he does that thing. He smiles. Eye scrunch and all.

Fuck the coffee gods. When you die, you want to meet the Grand Master and ask him what crack he was on to hand over so much power to one man’s smile.

The food is placed on your table, and you thank the hostess graciously.

“Do you need anything to drink?” She asks, to which you only shake your head. There was enough caffeine in your system to shoot a horse to the moon and you were still drowsy. There was no need to catalyze this process with booze.

“Your Korean accent is pretty good.” Your next-seat resident comments. Ah, you had conversed with the hostess in Korean.

“Thank you very much.” You giggle, roleplaying an acne-prone teenager talking to her hunk of a crush.

“Have you been speaking for a long time?” He pops a huge morsel of food after asking. Well, that’s another on-screen quality found to be accurate.

“Six years now. Comes in handy for my work.”

“Oh! Did you have to learn it for work? That’s fascinating.” Another mouthful went in. You didn’t even know it was physically possible to hold that much rice using chopsticks.

“Uhh.. no..” You tussle your hair, trying to stop your cheeks from turning beet red, “I just listened to some music and consuming more content.. and subtitles are a bore, plus I needed a hobby at the time so..”

Your unnecessarily long explanation was cut short by Jungkook’s child-like laugh, enjoying the pickle you were putting yourself in.

“Hey! I just didn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable situation, that’s all.” you try to be cross, knowing it’s inconceivable since God himself seems to have given him whatever he wanted. If big ol’ Almighty can’t stand against his charms, you are but a mere pleb.

He looks at you kindly. “Thank you, that was very thoughtful. I’ve been speaking to so many foreigners trying to get across to them I got surprised when you spoke so fluently.”

He went back to chomping on his food like it was his last meal, completely unaware of your staring.

You both speak for a long time. He explains their latest shoot and fan meeting, and you listen to him pour out his love for his job and fans as much as he could articulate. The rest of the emotion is portrayed by his now widest eyeballs (they cannot get any wider, you confirm by asking him - a request he apparently gets a lot) and intense gesticulation. It is very gratifying to listen to his past schedules, and you slip in a quick prayer for not having a job where you had to maintain public appearances while having a schedule as persevering as theirs. Sure, you had a ton of commitments. But can you throw your hair in a bun and aggressively scowl at a monitor and still meet your target? Fuck yeah.

You went on to tell him about yourself - your job, your travels, the reason you were in Seoul. He listens to them with rapt attention throwing in appropriate questions without interrupting your flow. He gives the right amount of sympathy; just enough to show that he understands why you have three sets of nightwear and a futon in your office, but not too much where it seems like you should “take a break” and “think about the joys of motherhood” - as you are often told.

During the conversation, you digress a little to take in his slight features. The apple of his cheeks, in full display, when he tells you about how he pranked his members. The light pout of his lips when he talks about the times their path seemed too far-fetched, when every single obstacle felt like the end of their career. The stars in his eyes when he speaks of how he feels during tours, meeting the endless number of fans, the drive that keeps him going. They all make an endearing package. Eager to please, you kept the conversation going with gusto. The meal is followed by a snack break, after which you had effectively exhausted all conversation topics that could be brought up with near-strangers.

A quick alcohol break later, (yes, you caved, the catalyst was welcome) you both doze off, seemingly exhausted from recollecting respective timetables. He wakes up soon after to play video games and talk to the other members. But you fall into a deep slumber, with an Angel’s chuckles in the background guiding you through the sleep.

Jungkook wakes up to see his character dead. The video game was forgotten after his conversation with you began.

He spent an inordinate amount of time talking to you. And now that you’re asleep, he is only thinking about how much he enjoyed the conversation. Jungkook is not a speaker. His introversion leaves much to be desired in that department. Most of the time, his members cover for him, play the role of dutiful wingmen, and introduce him to their friends. And still, it took him a long time to talk freely.

But something about you made him open up.

Maybe it was the way you listened to him, lips slightly parted when you were absorbing every single word he let out. Maybe it was the questions you asked, treading lightly and skirting any personal questions. Maybe it was the fact that you pretended to not know him at first, mindful of his privacy. The butterflies in him could be explained by this.

But.

It could also be how graceful you looked, even though you’re dressed in sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. It could be how you carried yourself, with great elegance and poise, even though your work was taxing. It could also be your toe socks, and your glee when he showed you his.

Your personality is infectious. He already misses you, despite you being inches away, desperately wants to exhaust every second of this journey engrossed in you.

He wonders if you feel that way too.

Speaking of whom-

A snicker escapes his lips when he turns to face you.

In your sleepy haze, Jungkook sees that a) your mouth is wide open, b) your hands mindlessly fiddle with the reams of pages on your lap, and c) your eyes scrunch as sunlight pierces through the flight to bounce off your face. Cute, he muses, trying to locate the source of the criminal rays irking you.

The window letting the sunbeam in is beside an old man sitting on the other end. He is eyeing the magazine in his hands with abject disapproval, like the booklet had sullied him and his family.

Gathering up the courage, Jungkook calls out for the man.

“Excuse me, sir. Do you mind pulling the window shade?” He asks, in the sweetest voice that his hyungs would melt at first listen.

Puppy eyes are met with the geezer’s piercing glare, making Jungkook wonder if he accidentally said something strikingly offensive instead of what he thought he said. About to backtrack his words and try again, he gets interrupted by the man letting out a big grunt, after which he continues in his endeavor to telepathically set fire to the magazine. He does not forget to give a nasty side-eye but completely refuses to comply with Jungkook’s request.

“And my team thinks my glares are spooky.” You pique, having witnessed the whole interaction, “I ought to have him on board”. Jungkook snorts, and you take that to be his agreement.

Pausing, you throw caution in the wind and add, “Thank you though, that was very sweet of you.”

He eyes you demurely. “No problem, you looked like you needed the rest.”

“Listen, I-”

“So I was think-”

Ladies and gentlemen, we have just been cleared to land at the Incheon International airport. Please ensure your backpacks and suitcases are stowed away in the overhead compartments or underneath the seats ahead of you. The flight attendants are currently passing around the cabin to make a final compliance check and pick up any remaining cups and glasses. Thank you.

High-quality curses almost make it to heaven (speakers). The announcement dissipates all the courage you had mustered, feeling a rush exit your body. You had almost asked for his contact - and by the looks of it, he had wanted it too. Or maybe your hair is a rat's nest and he was just going to point that out. Guess you will never know.

You shyly smile at each other before going about following the instructions. Your half-read document gets stuffed back into its bag, to be read once you have no distractions in the form of eye candy armed with saccharine speech. Well, you have Jake to distract you plenty, but you can shoo him away by threatening his paycheck.

As the flight descends, you look over to your neighbor - one last time, you guess - and surprisingly lock eyes with him. Anything that had exited you comes rushing back, veins in full alertness. A moment’s awkwardness later you both burst out laughing, each doing their best to hide their crimson cheeks. You find one more online fact to be true - Jungkook’s peak happiness laughter, eye crinkle and nose scrunch, can melt your whole entire heart.

“Hey mami, come here often?”

“For the last time Jake, I will not hesitate to donate your bones for science.”

“Well, I heard bone, it's already a win for me.”

You let out a sigh of exasperation. There is no reforming him.

“How was the flight?” Jake questions as you approach the baggage belt. Looking out for your somber black suitcase, you try to play it off like you did not spend the whole time in the company of a stranger who is on the fast track to your heart.

“The usual. Sleep, eat, read needlessly printed out documents that could have been shoved into on email, repeat. What about you?”

As Jake starts an account of his flight experience in exorbitant detail, you took the opportunity to try and find your ride. Once you locate it and get in, you catch the end of his sermon.

“-and the name of the book will be ‘How to manage a farm - ‘cause chicks gon’ be crazy!’. What do you think?”

“I think it was a good idea I chose to zone out.”

“Y/N come on! It’s a self-help book for poor souls born without my raw charisma. Men and women out there want me, but I can’t satisfy them all. I will just resort to making more of me! It will have pointers, DIY’s and pick-up lines crafted by yours truly - wanna hear one?”

You throw your bag in front and turn to him. “Do I have a choice? Go ahead.”

Grinning like a Cheshire cat, he starts. “Am I cute? Squish my cheeks. Am I hot? Clap my cheeks.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Points for creativity. You’ll still get wine splashed at you.”

Jake was not one to give up. “‘It’s good we don’t need eye condoms, or you’d be on your way to delivery.’”

“Just… don’t have kids, okay? This gene must be stopped, right here.”

“Okay, this one is my all-time favorite. ‘Rack so big, I don’t motorboat, I motorship.’”

That’s it. The guffaw itching you since the start of this conversation is out of its cages, populating the air in the car. Wiping stray tears from your face, you face Jake, seeming very pleased with himself. Undoubtedly, he is coming up with absurd scenarios to ease your nerves. No book is in the works (one could only hope).

“Thank you, I feel much better now. You can stop coming up with these.”

The goof has the gall to look appalled. “I was going to cut you ten percent of my book commission but I guess that’s out. Hmph.”

“I’m at the receiving end of all these pick-up lines. I should make twenty at least for all the nuisance I’ve put up with.”

“All right mami, we’ll shelve this for later. Here’s the schedule for today. You have a 10 a.m. breakfast meeting with Dr. Park Shin Young, Lead Research Scientist of the project. Then you have a bunch of seminars to attend, which will go on all afternoon. There’s a bar right beside this venue.”

“How is that pertinent?”

“So you know where to find me.” He continues, unperturbed. “After which there’s an evening meeting with the whole team to demonstrate the product and a marketing meeting right after.”

“Am I required for the marketing meeting?” Your expertise is limited to the technical field. PR work isn’t your cup of tea, but they stubbornly demand your presence.

Jake exhales. “We’ve been through this. You CAN doze off during the meeting, but you have to be there. Just pretend you’re a college student, sitting in one class, completing assignments for another.”

“But if I’m there I feel the need to pay attention.” you whine.

“Clearly you weren’t one of those college students,” Jake says, perusing through his diary, “Stop being a pedant and do one of those things people do. Loving their jobs and whatnot.”

Before you can retort a reply, the driver pulls up to your destination and you exit the car.

Eleven at night is when you finally check in to the hotel. The tedious day warrants your heels coming off before you even reach your floor. There’s an irritant drumming, from the balls of your feet right up to your temples, that beg for your attention. Setting your footwear on your bags, you massage your feet for temporary relief as the lift took you closer to a more permanent one.

Once your suitcase gets parked in the closet, you head to the bathroom to soak your day away with the bath bomb kit you were gifted in one of the seminars. The ball fizzles as soon as it hits the water, dispersing in tiny bubbles and a heady aroma of vanilla and lavender. The soft amber tones of the walls, the lambent gold lighting, and the ambrosial air put all your senses at ease. You sink in; the bathwater permeating warmth through your skin. Crackling bubbles with every move; the water teases your neck, soothing the laceration with every lick. Every pulse point on you is enhanced - you let yourself float wherever your mind takes you.

A familiar face makes its presence known. You allow yourself to think about him, after pushing his visage away all day. Something about him… felt like home. Soothing, comforting, always speaking in dulcet tones unless something humorous pulled out a loud laugh. Even that wasn’t jarring; it was the exact opposite. Felt like sunshine filled your lungs every time he cracked up. Made you want to keep talking to him, keep him amused and entertained. You can’t imagine he converses with every stranger like that.

But maybe he did; maybe this is some unspoken celebrity culture you were unaware of.

All you know is that this was a once in a lifetime experience. There’s no way you are encountering another personage ever again. There’s no way you’re encountering him again. Luck can only thrive so far.

So when you exit the bathroom, clad in a towel, remnant bathwater dripping from every end, the last thing you expect is Jungkook, spread out on the bed, casually flipping through his phone like it’s his own abode.

“J-Jungkook?”

Y/N. In his room. In a towel. Dripping wet hair. Emanating a delectable aroma.

Y/N. In person.

He is dreaming. He has to be. He's been thinking of you ever since the flight, so now he is delusional. Nothing else. There’s absolutely no chance that you’re in his room, let alone… like this.

Right?

“What are you… what are you doing in my room?”

Wrong.

Jungkook knows he should say something. He should not be gawking at you like he is doing now. But God. You look so pretty, eyebrows arched up in confusion, jaw about to be unhinged, hands fluttering around not knowing what to do.

He forces his body to action.

"Y/N!" He exclaims, finally averting his eyes to face the wall.

Pause.

"Wait, what do you mean MY room? This is my room!"

You’re baffled. "Huh? How is that possible? This was given to me!"

“I really don’t know, Y/N, there must have been some confusion! Please, you have to believe me!”

Jungkook wants to turn around and face you. He desperately wants to clear the air. He can see that this looks bad. He obviously looks like an enamored creep, waltzing into your space. You probably think he does this all the time. Many a time people have misunderstood him, his celebrity status not earning him many points. You must think the same.

And now you’re going to tell him to get out and never see you again, he hypothesizes. His brain is working overtime trying to remedy the situation, without noticing your now relaxing demeanor.

“Oh, okay.”

“I’ll fix this, I’ll go to the reception and fix this. You don’t worry, I didn’t see anything, you can trust me, I’ll go an-”

“Hey, hey,” your tone gentle, “it’s okay, trust me. Just, let me get dressed and I’ll come down with you.”

Your soothing response almost has Jungkook on his knees. Whoever orchestrated this meet, he is just thankful for this good turn. Anyone else would go berserk, and rightfully so.

But you’re not anyone else.

He isn’t just anyone.

Technically, he isn’t a stranger, you try to justify. You should have been more shocked, enraged, or at least doubtful of his intentions. But you weren’t. You had accepted his explanation, let him stay in your room while you changed in the bathroom, and now are en-route to the main desk to rectify this error.

The air around you two is strained; he won’t even look you in the eye. Any question you have is replied to concisely, leaving no room for a chat. Nothing to disperse the tension between you two.

Like now, in the elevator, Jungkook has done the math and maintains the maximum distance between you. Opposite ends of the diagonal of this lift, his peripheral vision probably barely picks you up. However, his evasion helps in a way--you are able to study his full form.

He is dressed casually, and any lesser man would have seemed casual enough. On him, it is a whole new game. Ripped jeans hugging his sturdy legs, the slashed fabric allowing you a peek of his dangerous thighs. A plain white t-shirt tucked in to show off his lean waistline. The only thing holding you back from having a full-blown wet dream, wide awake, is his chestnut overcoat, saving his modesty and yours.

Jake was right, eye condoms are the need of the century.

To be fair, Jungkook had the worse end. He saw you scantily clad, post-bath glow and everything. You wonder what is going through his mind.

Definitely nothing like the debauchery unfolding in yours.

He has probably seen his fair share of women, and one hot to trot lady isn’t anything new. If anything, him dodging you is a sign of his civility, something you are lacking apparently--ready to jump his bones.

Stop thinking about his thighs, you whore. Get back home and trusty old Vlad the Impaler will take care of you.

The employee’s jaw almost hits the desk as Jungkook explains the situation.

“Ma’am, Sir, we are extremely sorry about this confusion. We usually keep another key for family members, but somehow you got them both. We are deeply apologetic.”

“Yes, it’s okay, I’d just like my room key now and-”

“We will give you the best of our service to make up for this disorder. Not that we didn’t plan on giving you the best anyway, but now it will be top-notch! Please allow us to have your room cleaned again ma’am. Kyuyoung-ah! Get the people to prep 5338 and set 5337 again, and add more flowers!”

“Hey, that really won’t be necessary, we can just go back and forget about all thi-”

“And!” She continues, relentless, fully intent on doing her job, “Here are coupons for our round the clock pub! The ambiance is phenomenal, and our bartender makes a mean drink! You can use the facility for free during your stay. Hope this compensates for our gaffe. Once again, we are extremely sorry!”

She extends two passport-sized coupons that you hurriedly grab, wanting this quandary to end.

The walk back to the elevator is less tight-lipped, only because Jungkook starts his deluge of apologies. Even though you had felt the same way on the flight, he was going overboard. You quickly assuage him and deflect his concerns.

“It’s okay, Jungkook. It really is. I know it was a mistake.”

“I know, but I shouldn’t have just walked in like that. I should have checked.”

Your expression is the visual form of a question mark.

“Do you go around making sure your hotel room doesn’t have a surprise occupant?”

You’re taking this too lightly; it's obvious you are doing it for him. He can only laugh, broad delicious shoulders loosening in relief.

After a delay, you add, “You can’t help it if fate wants us crossing paths like this.”

The quip makes Jungkook lose a beat. He cocks a brow in surprise - at that juncture, his features lose all boyish charm and turn unquestionably irresistible.

Then, in a flash, the expression is replaced by his usual grin, back to his boy-next-door spirit. Are there world records for this speed? Jungkook needs to sign up to one.

Collecting the stars floating around your head, you return the favor, thankful that the barrier is now broken.

After a quick break of courage gathering, you turn to him. “How come you’re staying in this hotel? Thought you’d be home.”

A thought is building in your mind; that this is too personal a question. But before you can take it back, you hear a chime. Jungkook moves. And somehow, you are moving with him.

The elevator door opens, and people walk out.

But that’s not where your attention is.

You are focused on the sole patch of your body in contact with Jungkook’s arm.

The palm of his hand sitting at the small of your waist is what had guided you away from the elevator. Even through the fabric of your t-shirt, his hand is sending goosebumps all over your body. The air feels twenty degrees too hot for you.

Jungkook is simply being his chivalrous self, while you are ready to get arrested for public nudity.

Woman, you are a disgrace. Get laid.

Jungkook will high five himself once he gets to his pad.

Is it right to get so euphoric about the smallest act of intimacy? That too with a near stranger? He has no answer. You are special to him; that much he knows. And someone up there agrees with him as well, letting him run into you again (albeit under crude circumstances; he’ll take what he gets). In this proximity, he can hear the slight gasp that escapes you once you recognize his hold, feel your muscles tense, smell the flowery fragrance you still carry. The fragrance that takes his mind on a rewind routine; one he forces to a halt. He feels lewd for taking pleasure in that misfortune, but he can take pleasure in the present.

Entering the elevator, Jungkook has taken note of one thing: the roles have been reversed. On the downward voyage, it had been him avoiding you. Now, even with the closeness, you refuse to meet his eye. Something on the carpeted floor has your unrelenting attention. Letting his gaze dip to you, he bit back a smirk. Good to know you are as affected by him as he is by you.

“It’s a shoot.”

You relent, looking up to him. “Huh?”

“You asked me why I’m here, it’s a shoot. The site is close by, so we don’t waste time traveling. Once the shoot is done, we will get back home.”

“Ah, that makes sense.”

You beg your grey matter to find some topic of conversation to halt the blood rushing to your cheeks. The atmosphere is frozen again, but not like last time. Any unease earlier present has drifted. The tension that once kept you from closeness now keeps you from moving apart. His hand sits unmoved, continuing to rest on your hip. Jungkook can hear the loud thudding of a heartbeat, but he cannot discern whether they are from his heart or from yours.

Continuing after a pause, “I will be here for a few days now.” he adds, the suggestive hint of the words masked by his innocuous smile.

“Ah.” You lamely add. You ought to kick yourself - but at this closeness, you might hit him too.

The span of your separation is contracting, even though none of you move. Like the land underneath you is shifting, because even Mother Earth can’t handle the sexual tension in this confined space.

“Ma’am, Sir, you’re here!”

The booming voice of an employee disrupts the scene. You jump, wondering how you didn’t hear the door open, while Jungkook takes a graceful step back unscathed.

“Your rooms are ready, please follow me.”

The walk back is quiet, except for bashfully exchanged glances and racing pulses. When you finally reach your respective rooms, he speaks again.

“Want to accidentally cross paths with me at the bar?”

The heat reaches your ears. A moment of silence prompts you to look up, and you are held hostage by his eyes. His gaze flickers, intense and probing. Then, as if it never happened, his eyes narrow and his smile softens, harmless and easy. Again, this has to be witchcraft.

“Maybe we’ll let destiny decide. Hasn’t failed us so far.”

Now, alone in bed with nothing but your thoughts, you wonder when it will ever happen again.

Three days. Three days before it happens again.

Three days filled with conferences, a ton of files, and a lot of battery acid disguised as coffee. Apart from the success of your work, the highlight of your time is when Jake tried to fix his shoe heel at a meeting and ended up gluing his fingers together. In a quiet room filled with immersed employees, he had yelled, “Superglue, my ass!”.

The punctuation was not vocalized.

Tonight was your last night in Seoul. It was supposed to be a night to yourself, but an office party pulled you out of your cavern to get dressed. You put on an elegant dress, a black and silver number, only to find the ‘party’ was the most monotonous excuse of networking. High-end businessmen exchanging cards over non-alcoholic fizz was not your idea of a party, so you quickly excused yourself.

The coupon still weighed heavy in your purse, carrying memoirs of the last time you saw him. You had wanted to go earlier, but always held yourself back. What if he wasn’t there? What if you missed your chance? Why did you have to sashay away with a cool statement that night instead of clawing your way through the lust-filled air and settling things then and there?

You supposed a drink at the hotel bar on your last night couldn’t be a bad thing, even if Jungkook didn’t show up.

So here you are, sipping on your wine and trying to appear nonchalant as you look out the window overseeing the city’s skyline. One ear is trained to the door of the pub, the slightest peep from that corner alerting your antenna.

So far, no sign of him.

This won’t work, you tell yourself. Second time’s a charm, third time’s pushing it too far.

But as you wave the bartender to top up your drink, the corner of your eye catches movement; one, two, three heads appear through the door. Signature multichromatic mops of hair make their way in, forcing your pulse to marathon mode.

And then you hear it.

You hear his trademark cachinnate echoing through the structure. Multitudes of contrasting sentiments fill your gut. Are you sensing relief, that fate served its purpose without fail? Or is it the anticipation of how events will unfold? A sense of titillation, that a three-day old bond makes you feel more than year-old relationships you’ve had? You pry your eyes from that direction, trying to appear aloof when you are anything but.

When you think you’ve gathered your composure, you look up. Like a hare falling for its bait, you are trapped, because he is looking right back at you.

Jin and Jimin are laughing about something that happened on set today, but Jungkook only has eyes for you. He can’t believe his luck.

The past few days, his schedule had no give. After every shoot, the only thing he remembered was taking off his shoes and falling into a deep slumber.

So today when the shoot wrapped up earlier, Jungkook grabbed his trusty wingmen and open bar enthusiasts to utilize his coupon, and possibly test his kismet.

“Wasn’t she on our flight?” Jin observes, tracking Jungkook’s sight.

“Oh yeah! Dude, is she the one?” Jimin keenly notes. “How do you keep bumping into each other like this?”

Jungkook downs his whisky, the burn felt from the throat to his diaphragm. “I don’t know, hyung. I don’t know what to do.” Beckoning the bartender for a refill, he tears away from your sight.

“Okay, liquid fortification is all good but how about,” Jin stops briefly to pluck the coupon out of Jungkook’s hands, “we handle the drinks department while you attend to her?”

Jimin nods in assent. “The worst thing you could do is spend time with her slurring and garbling while she ditches your sorry ass.”

“Hey! I won’t do that. Just, ” Jungkook gulps, “I don’t know... We’ve met like, hardly a few times. It really doesn’t make sense. What if we’re not on the same page?”

Jimin frowns, and even Jin seems unhappy with his reasoning.

“Things don’t have to make sense. You’re two consenting adults. You like her. By the way she’s eyeing you right now, I’m sure the feeling is mutual. You said it’s easy to talk to her right?”

Jungkook pouts, but sees his point.

“Then go with that. Don’t chart out a plan, just go with your heart.” Jin adopts a soft smile of encouragement.

“Meanwhile we will grab the others and exploit this coupon to the full extent!” Jimin gleefully appends.

Jungkook’s eyes crinkle as he laughs with the other two. They are right. Carpe diem, right?

Finding you again, his breath hitches. You look beautiful. The sleek black dress with silver embellishments over the torso. It hugs you in the right places, accentuating your already alluring frame. Your shoulders bare, elegant collarbones waiting to be tasted. Hair tied up, exposing the delicious curve of your neck, a stretch Jungkook wants to pepper kisses onto, without missing a spot. You look exquisite against the backdrop of the night.

Carpe noctem it is.

“Did you really dress up to use the coupon?” The tongue-in-cheek query breaking your line of thought.

A breathy chuckle leaves your lips, hopefully masking the frenzy in your heart.

“I had a party. A very dull party. Figured I preferred my own company over that.”

“Do you prefer your own company over mine?”

He’s still standing, tall frame waiting for your permission to occupy the next seat. God, he looks amazing.

“Not at all.” The words leave huskier than you intend, but they convey the message.

He takes the seat, a mere step away, his cologne wafting over to your side. The alcohol buzz makes the scent feel stronger, every bone in you wanting to dive in nose-first.

Apparently you have been staring, because he nervously chuckles “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Should you go the modest route or fuck it?

Fuck it.

“You look... great today,” is all you get out. Stupid brain spewing half-baked goods.

Understatement of the year. He looks like sin incarnate. All black attire highlighting his golden skin, the dichotomy of his whole look has you understandably tongue-tied. Black jeans - no rips, sadly- with a dark grey high-neck t-shirt, tucked in of course, because pain is the only constant for you. A black trench coat is thrown on top to seal the look. The obsidian outfit sends desperate need through your body, an intense desire to rip it all off surging through you. Somehow, through all these layers you can sense his fit body, his rippled muscles, his sturdy pecs, like they have an aura of their own.

“Ah, thank you. You look amazing as well.” Halting a moment to sip his drink, he resumes. “Sucks that you dressed up for nothing.”

“Well, you liked it. So it's not for nothing.”

If looks were potent, Jungkook’s own could set you on fire. Gaze coolly raking over your figure, the tick in his jaw betrays his reaction. A chill passes through every part of your body under his intense scrutiny.

“Are there other things you would wear… if I liked it?” He carefully treads.

“There are certain things I’m wearing right now that I’m sure you would appreciate.”

If not for the shrinking distance between you two, you couldn’t have caught the low hiss. His animalistic need, usually kept well under control, is raging against its bonds, screaming to let go. Your exquisite gown, flowing down your curves, accentuating the swell of your ass - God save this dress from his feral hands. Against his will, he restrains himself. He would make this a lasting encounter.

“How many drinks have you had?” He needs you to remember every single moment.

“Two glasses of wine, don’t worry. You?”

“A shot of whisky, that’s all. Haven’t even finished my second drink.”

Gone were his cherubic appearance and dimpled smiles; the man in front of you is oozing pure sex appeal. His clenched jawline, furrowed brow, and perfectly placed tresses add to his raw masculinity. The cusp of your thighs is damp; if this is his effect here, what will it be behind locked doors? You wonder whether this is the same man that gushed about old-era video games in the flight.

“Well, if you are wearing them for me, I’d be a fool to miss them.” he brings you back to the present. Twinkling eyes match your eager ones as you give a small nod.

Every step you take shoots a thrilling tingle through your spine. Every inch of distance closed forces you to close the next with doubled speed. Every foot forward adds to the thick air, laced with hunger, desire, and an inordinate amount of trust placed in the hands of a stranger.

The first time you two walked back to the elevator, his move had caught you unaware.

Now, the arm wraps around your entire waist, body flush against his, yet you yearn to get closer.

Last time, you couldn’t match his gaze, skin burnt a crimson hue.

Now, your eyes are locked together, any movement in your surroundings be damned.

Michael Jackson rising from the dead and performing Thriller wouldn’t tear you away from your current view (sorry MJ, maybe next time).

When the doors close, he places a palm on your bare back, bringing you to his chest.

“I’ve wanted this so bad, ever since I met you. It’s insane.”

The hand caressing your back makes you sigh. “Not if I wanted the same.”

His grip tightens. “The things I want to do to you...” eyes searching yours, ”tell me you can handle it.”

“Oh baby,” you drawl, “I’ll do whatever you want. Whatever it is,” your lips hover on his, “I can take it.”

The elevator doors opened too soon for your liking, and Jungkook drags you through the corridor. You’re practically hanging on to him, feet barely responsive, the faint buzz of wine making you giddy. His hawkish gaze soaks in everything you do, memorizing every response to his touch.

You lean over to lay wet kisses on his neck. Pleasure searing through his veins, Jungkook’s knees almost buckle. He pushes you against a wall and locks you in with his form.

“Uh-uh-uh, honey,” he tsks, “you’re not making this easy on me?”

You pretend to ponder. “Well, I didn’t plan on making it easy.”

He smirks, all sex, and the wetness between your legs is making its presence known. Leaning into your ear, he whispers, “Unless you want me to have my way with you right here…” and all your brattiness dissipates.

Satisfied, he grins. “Your place or mine?”

“Hmmn, depends.”

He cocks a brow. “On?”

“Am I gonna be able to walk tomorrow?”

That damned smirk. “Your place it is.”

Jungkook’s lips are on yours the moment your door is locked. He cages you against its frame, teeth clashing and biting anything they find. You let your hands roam all over, searching for something to hold on to. A throaty sound leaves Jungkook when your digits card through his hair and tug on it, a sound you gladly swallow.

Time seems to have taken a break. Your thoughts are blank. You chase the kiss like it's the only thing you know, the only thing you’re born to do, your sole mission in life before you die. The bruising pace Jungkook set is eagerly matched by you. Gravity is slowly losing its meaning, and you’re nothing but a stray entity floating in space. And this kiss is your only source of air.

Jungkook pulls you towards him, closing the nonexistent distance between you. Heat rises from his chest, the feeling is hypnotic beyond reason. A taste of you has ruined every other flavor. He kept his eyes half-open, sneaking peeks at your flushed face whenever you come for air. His fingers explored your body, grabbing your ass and pulling you into him. Your clothed crevice jolts at the friction, hips hounding for more.

The moan that leaves you gets muted, because Jungkook takes this opportunity to take control. Tongue forcing its way in to explore every corner of your mouth, it melds with your own muscle. If this were a dance, it would be a fierce tango, oozing with sexual tension. Breathing is now trivial, this kiss is imperative.

Jungkook’s hands grab your hips and twirl you, both of you now facing a full-length mirror. You can witness your neckline being abused, mulberry blossoms left in place. The sight has your sex clenching, and lips liberated, you couldn’t stop yourself from mewling.

“Fuck, Y/N. I’m going to make you scream so loud, the hotel reception will hear you.”

With your head spinning in lust, you try to form your words right. “An- And what? Discuss how a second room for you was - oh god - was useless?”

Jungkook pauses to admire his craft; your neck, shoulders, and collar are now littered with bruises, like a garden of hyacinth at his disposal. The view is maddening, your lusty gaze locked on to him in the mirror. His mane is tousled, no doubt your handiwork, and his hand is tracing the outline of your dress.

“That cursed day,” He chokes out, “You were so fucking hard to resist you know?”

You turn back to face him, hand reaching back to undo your halter neck, “You have me now.” Stepping back, you let your gown fall.

He froze. You are standing in front of him, robed in only your black lace-embroidered strapless bra, and matching panties, each adorned with a white bow. The swell of your breasts barely caged in the cups, making Jungkook drool at sight. All the wind was knocked out of his lungs; you look like a prisoner’s last meal, waiting to be devoured.

“On your knees.” he commands.

Not a second is put to waste. You begin undressing him, unbuckling the pants and aggressively pulling them down. Next come the boxers, and you are faced with-

Wow.

You mean this in the nicest way, but, what a dick.

He is already hard, the mushroomed tip angry and red, leaking a drop of precum begging to be tasted. The girth exceeds your expectation, already visualizing the delicious visual of your cunt stretched thin. He is going to reach places even Vlad the Impaler couldn’t; you are already brimming with anticipation for the final act.

And his thighs. Nothing angelic about them. Taut. Muscular. Sinewy. Something uncivilized in you wants them to trap your frame between them, caging you, pinning you down. You press kisses on his inner thigh, letting your tongue poke out when you hear him exhale. A sharp bite shocks Jungkook, but you only smirk.

“Wanted to do that since I saw you.”

The stare that meets you is practically challenging you to try that again, and perhaps reap some delicious consequences.

You bring yourself back, giving his cock the full attention that it deserves. Looking up, you see his half-lidded eyes, assertive and arresting, compelling you to go on.

You bring your palm up to him. He raised a brow in question.

“Spit for me.”

Jungkook almost busts his load when he hears you. “Fuck, so dirty.” he garbles out. Rolling his neck in an attempt to divert his blood, he takes your hand and drops a thick glob at the center of your palm.

A throaty moan arises from you, and his dick is harder than ever.

“Go on baby, show me you can suck dick like a champ.”

You give him a confident look; you’re about to rock his world. Starting with small licks, you tease the slit and taste the pre-cum lodged in it. Meanwhile, you work the spit along the shaft; you spit on it again, the original amount insufficient to cover the length. You can feel his dick twitching against your attention, eager to be sheathed. Interspersing with some long drags on the underside, you zero in on the pinched skin under the head.

Jungkook is staring at your jerking him off. The sight of you, clad in lingerie is blowing his mind. If that was not enough, the mirror in front is providing a sumptuous secondary perspective. The smooth stretch of your back, the swell of your ass, the panty fabric barely able to cover the expanse, everything on you is making him short circuit. Seeing you on your knees, your deferential nature stirs something in him. If he doesn’t control himself, he will bend you in half and ride you to sunrise. He doesn’t want to scare you, but fuck, his depraved early man instincts are telling him otherwise.

“What are you- ohhh, holy shi-”

Instead of slipping his cock fully into your mouth, you hold it up, and pay careful attention to his balls. Jungkook’s hands come to rest on your head, a telltale sign of his unraveling. With a smile, you let your tongue swipe through every nook and corner till they are coated in saliva.

“You think you’re such a fucking tease, ” He grabs you by your now unraveled tresses and pulls you back, “Ease up baby, your throat is in for a treat.”

In one quick swoop, he lodges himself at the base of your throat, provoking your gag reflex, but you restrain the urge to pull back. Breathing through your nose, you suck and swallow whatever you can; his girth isn't giving you much to work with.

Jungkook growls. “Such a tight fit. Like you’re meant to be like this. Forever.”

The last word slips out unwittingly.

Alarmed, his eyes flit down to gauge your response, but all you are doing is looking back at him.

Fuck, your dovelike eyes are captivating. They look so angelic, a complete contrast to the perverse posture you are in. Not an ounce of displeasure in response to his words. Pure, unadulterated affection for him. Only for him.

“God, you’re going to be the death of me.” Jungkook husks. “You’ll do anything for me, you said?”

Muffled whimpers impart your compliance, and you bob your head up and down for good measure. The tip of his cock hits every ridge of your throat, the vibration releasing more fluid down.

“Pleasure yourself, baby. Touch yourself, but don’t you cum.”

Your brow distresses further, a disgruntled whine leaving you and reverberating around him. Already so turned on, the lightest friction would make you combust.

Jungkook’s teeth clench. “Edge yourself for me, sweetie.”

It's like your body is tuned to his command. Slipping two fingers under the band, you part and slide them on either side of your throbbing nub. Despite you avoiding any pressure point that might push you over the edge, the pleasure threatens to tip you over.

You look over for his approval. Swallowing, he nods. Your self-stimulation is making him dizzy. It's time to get serious.

“Such a good girl. Don’t stop, okay? I’m going to fuck your throat raw.” Starting with mellow jerks, “Hope you don’t have to speak anytime tomorrow.” he rasps.

The carpeted floor grazing your knees only adds to the revelry. You’re not in control of yourself anymore. The back of your gullet is aching as Jungkook shoves into you again and again. An amalgamation of his salty juices and your dribble lewdly coats your chin and neck; you must look ravished. Everything with Jungkook feels augmented; every single motion of his making your sex clench.

He is close - you can feel his grip on your hair tightening.

“Can I cum on you?” words slither through his clamped teeth. You frantically nod.

With a loud grunt, he pulls you off and releases all over your chest, a stray pump landing on your chin. Thick liquid, dripping from your jaw onto your collarbones and breasts, the whole scene is filthy good. Your unfilled cunt is aching to be replete with the cum.

Post-orgasmic glow is dazzling on him--hair drenched in sweat, tufts sticking to his forehead. His breathing is heavy and resonant as dilated pupils take in your soaked state. Bending down, he crooks a finger under your chin, anchoring his attention on your dewy stare. The onyx embers in his eyes bore into yours, studying for any hesitation in them. A microscopic moment of tenderness, unspoken words exchange between you.

Satisfied to find only searing hunger, his digits collect the beads of cum on your jaw, pushing them back into your mouth. Your eyes roll skyward, relishing the briny taste, nearly asking him to do it again. Leaning further, he grabs the wrist of your hand that is thoughtlessly rubbing your sex - you didn’t even realize you were still doing it. You feel drained, like you orgasmed vicariously through him.

“My turn.” He wears a devilish expression on his archangel eyes.

Lips connect once again as he pulls you up. If he tastes himself, he is relishing it, with his tongue exploring the deep cavern. With wobbly ankles, you let him guide you to your bed, dropping on your back. He follows you, pouncing on you, plunging into your mouth again like a beast hungered. Bodies melting together like an icicle under the summer blaze, your hands hunt to frisk his skin. Realizing he is yet to undress, you yank at this t-shirt, attempting to liberate him from the offending fabric.

“Tsk, greedy.” he bit your ear, soothing the sting with a kiss.

“Cruel is what it is.” You huff, like everything he’s doing is not a blissful affair.

How do men do that? Violently ripping their shirt off and leaving a messy mop of hair in its wake, nevertheless looking like they could walk a runway the next instant. Jungkook was no exception. The moment he pulls his shirt off, you are rendered speechless.

Chiseled chest like the work of an artisan. Droplets of sweat race down the paths traced by the sculpted abs, an intense desire to taste them forming in you. He is a mesomorphic dream who puts Greek gods to shame. Swallowing, you let your hand trace the outline of his pecks, feeling him shudder against your touch.

“Jungkook, please.”

Who was he to deny you?

Leaning up to you with a wicked smirk, Jungkook drops a thick line of spit right on your hardened nipple. The concoction of his cum and spit soaks through the lacy material. A lone finger circles, avoiding the spot that requires the most attention. You arch your back, begging him for more, just more of anything. The wet fabric amplifies the emptiness in your cunt.

“Aww,” he coos, clearly amused by your neediness, “undo this for me, sweetness. Let me see you.”

Moving at lightning speed, you unhook the bra, swinging it away to a corner of the room.

“Oh no.” He mock-frowns, veins bulging on his arm as he controls himself. “Look at these tits, fuck.” Mind reeling with ideas, filthy ideas, of all the things he wants to do to you. “You’ve ruined everything else for me.”

You tremble. “Good, so have you. Want you for myself. Want you,” pulling him close, “to do your worst.” you end with a whisper.

Jungkook’s jaw tightens. “Careful what you ask for,” he grits before diving headfirst into your bosom.

He licks and laves and bites and laps--your breasts are on fire. Continuing his marking spree, new blemishes make an appearance on your torso. Nibbling on one nipple, he pinches the other; pulling moan after moan from you.

Your hips barely touch the bed, bucking up in response to Jungkook’s sinking teeth into your ample bust. He has decided to not leave an inch without his saliva, and like a man on a mission, covers every part with rapt attention.

“Yo- You don’t have to--oh holy fuck--you don’t have to, cover me in marks you kno--ohh my go-” The sentence is spastic, piercing mewls breaking your flow of speech and thought.

“These fucking tits,” roughly clasping your pert breast in his large palm, “they look so much better like this.” The proud smile he shows has not the slightest hint of regret.

Catching a break, he twiddles your nipples, letting his other hand sit on your covered sex. He is teasing you; you recognize that. Just giving you opportunities to disobey, to take all the pain he has to offer.

It’s a good thing you like the pain.

You slowly roll your hips, trying to grind against his palm, taking whatever help you can get.

A sharp smack lands on your clit, shooting your eyes open - you don’t even know when they closed. Jungkook’s hand is soothing the site of the blow, the pain converting to pleasure under his touch.

“Patience, sweetness,” the gravely whisper sending tingles down your spine, “such a good girl for me.”

You give him a slight nod - he smacks you again, once, twice, thrice, without a break. Your entrance is smarting, but you want to give him everything. Biting your lips to stop the labored moans escaping, you clench your eyes and savor the burn.

Your show of obedience has Jungkook’s heart thronging. Fuck, he was enjoying toying with you. Playing you like a fiddle. You produce every tone he desires in the form of wanton melodies, he wants to play them over and over again like his favorite song.

“How are we doing?” he asks, a shit-eating grin plastered on him. Before you could answer, his fingers shallowly enter your soaked pussy, still hampered by the cloth.

“You- fuck, you said I was the tease here?” Your hands are at his wrist, begging to pull the scrap of cloth aside and have his way.

He comes to face your sopping mound, pausing only to speak “Never said I wasn’t,” and starts pressing soft, feathery kisses. “That day, seeing you dripping in that towel, I dreamt of having these legs around me.”

“I swear, at least take it off - oh Jungkoo-”

Without warning, he kneads your ass and pushes you into his face.

You feel like you’ve been on the edge for hours. The suckle on your engorged clit along with the abrasion of the lace gets you so close. So damn close. So, so clo-

The tightness in your belly finally snaps and you howl, gushing your vat of arousal onto his face. The high was more intense than you had imagined, so high that you wonder if you will ever find your way back to reality. You feel like a rock in space, aimlessly floating in the vast nothingness.

You dimly notice Jungkook toying with the lacy hem of your panties, pulling it back to snap it against your hip. The sting is soon forgotten, along with your panties flung across the bed, as he parks himself back between your legs.

“You smell incredible.” He approves, taking a long whiff of your honeyed center. “Look at you, so messy.” He licks a long stripe along your crease. “Messy girl, I should clean you up.”

“Wait Jungkook-” you oppose, lids heaving in pleasure. “I need you inside me, please. I can’t take -oof”

Gnawing at your sodden folds, he let his nose press against your clit. “You’re so fucking tight, you think you can take me?” He shakes his head. “Gotta stretch you out, gotta make me fit.” He presses his tongue against your nub, feeling it throb in anticipation. “And I think you can give me one more.” He ends, before invading your drenched channel with two fingers. You are putting up with his torments the best you can; walls fluttering against his lips, legs entwined behind Jungkook’s back trapping him between your thighs.

“Ah! God - I, I can’t-” Your eyes are screwed shut, hands bunching the sheets in your grasp.

His fingers fluctuate between scissoring motions, their lengths opening you up for him and curling inside, fingertips finding the rough patch inside. He adds a third finger, pussy straining to accommodate them all. Your thighs clench in the burn, and he groans into your pussy at the pressure. Increasing the pace, he pumps into you harder and faster, sucking your puffy lips in tandem.

“Please, please, harder - let me cum - please oh go-”

“Fuck yeah baby, your pussy is just sucking me in. You like that? You like me shoving into your cunt?”

“Uungh yes yes I love it!”

“Doesn’t it hurt? Or are you such a slut for pain? Tell me, tell me you’re a pain slut.”

“Fuck, Jungkook, don’t you stop- I am! I am a pain slut! Your pain slut!”

“Goood girrrll,” he husks out. Even though he is taking charge, your words are what control him. “Only mine. My pain slut will come for me now.”

A spray of cum ejects out of you, coating Jungkook’s chest and inundating your legs. The coherent part in you recognizes that you just squirted, but the neanderthal side shuts all recognition of anything that is not Jungkook’s cock. Even after two climaxes, you are hungry to get more. More of him.

If you don’t fuck him now, you will lose your capability to reason.

Limbs still heavy and reeling from the ravaging, you pick your pieces and drag Jungkook to the headboard.

“I’m going to ride you.” you declare and straddle him.

Jungkook is staring fixedly at your still-leaking cunt. Running his tongue over his lower lip, and licking the remnant syrup of your release. You position yourself, letting the drippage fall directly on his erection. He twitches, eyes still feasting on the mess you are making.

Finding purchase on his shoulders, you lower yourself. Jungkook’s breath staggers as you drag your inner lips along his hard shaft. You repeat this motion till your fluids drip to his balls.

“Y/N, I swear to God, if you don’t stop with this-”

“You’ll do what?” you challenge, an eyebrow raised in response to his threat.

He grabs you by your waist, jerking you up before bringing you down on his dick. Your cunt, creamy from his earlier ministrations, gives no resistance to his hardness. His cock twitches inside as you bottom out. Pulling you closer, he bites your lip and tugs at it.

“I’ll do this.”

A sharp spank makes you clench around him, the supple flesh of your ass ricocheting in response.

“Go on baby, ride me.”

The low-grained command sets you in motion. Slowly gyrating your hips, you feel every ridge of this length inside. Jungkook’s grip on your waist tightens, and you’re sure you will see evidence of it tomorrow. Your grasp on his shoulders isn’t faring any better.

“You’re so tight, fuck, and so wet. Who made you like this, huh?” A second spank punctuating his question.

“Oh God, you-”, you barely manage to recognize your own voice, “You, Jungkook! Only you!”

“That’s fucking right, only me.”

Hips snapping, he meets you halfway. Both of you are lost in each other, lewd sounds of your skin slapping and juices quelching barely muffled by your desperate whines and moans of passion. Eyes locked in like magnets, neither of you could look away.

Jungkook pulls back a little, slapping your jiggling tit. Your sex clenches, and the following slap has you lodging yourself in the crook of his neck, searching for a reprieve.

“Want some help?”

One swift move and you are on your stomach, face pushed into a pillow, and ass out. A final spank lands right in the middle, and you can feel it pulsate everywhere. He pushes back into your glistening core, taking control of your pleasure and pain. One hand carding through the nape of your neck, pushing you down, the other hand grabbing your waist and setting the pace. The new angle hits deeper, you feel so full.

“Jungkoo--unghh I need to cum! Need to- umph- cum so bad!” You are wailing at this point, shame lying somewhere near your flung clothes.

“Fuck, babe, me too. Go ahead and play with yourself, nice and slow.”

It takes a few swipes for the tightness in you to detonate. Tears flood your face as you unravel, your orgasm crashing into you like waves of a tsunami. You clench tight, wetness flows out of your hole as Jungkook pumps in and out, chasing his high.

He comes undone soon after, ropes of his ejaculate filling your insides. He stays in, plugging you as if to not allow any of it out. But as his member softens, he gives in, turning you on your back to meet his face.

Butterfly-soft kisses are exchanged after the blazing encounter. He asks you if you’re okay between breaths, a tender murmur you almost miss, as if you weren’t screaming your lungs out moments ago. Nuzzling into his neck, you confirm.

A snort disrupts the silence. Looking up, you see Jungkook chuckling.

In response to your cocked eyebrow, he says “Want to talk about what a freak you are?”

“Want to talk about what a hypocrite you are?”

“Hey, you asked me to spit on you!”

You mock-gasp, hand on chest for the extra effect. “My breasts need medical attention after your attention! Freak!”

Laughter echoes in the room as you two tumble in the blankets, and you feel his release seeping out of you. Turning to him, you pout, “Your mess is leaking out of me.”

Jungkook gets up to leave the bed, and you expect a wet towel coming your way.

What you don’t expect is him parting your legs, gunmetal eyes following the rivulets escaping your abused hole.

“Your cunt smells so good with my cum on it,” he purrs.

He gathers the escaping thick liquid and pushes it back into your quivering core.

Jolting with oversensitivity, you try to stall him but he is fingering you with a vengeance. The ache and soreness soon dispel, bringing forth a new wave of ecstasy. His unrelenting stare concentrates on the mix of fluids on his fingers. With a few strokes on your sensitive bundle of nerves and fingers stuffed inside, you come again, legs shivering and pussy overflowing, his juices intermingled with yours.

You are dazed; you’ve lost track of everything. The room is spinning in front of you and your body feels like lead. All you can manage is to arch your neck, and plead, “No more, you freak.”

Jungkook giggles, eyes crinkling in good humor. Ah, the duality of this man is a force to reckon with. You can’t believe this is the same man that fucked you into your bed like a primordial beast. There’s no way you can move anytime soon.

After a clean-up interval, you are wrapped in each other's arms, melting into the embrace. His musky fragrance putting you at ease, you tuck your in the nook of his neck, basking in the aroma. Hands pressed against his broad chest, exuding warmth for you. His hand cradles your head, snuggling in closer till there is no space to cover. Sweet nothings whispered into each other’s lips, tender kisses exchanged in place of the scorching ones that had passed. You drift in and out of your slumber, fearing the sun would ascend too soon and break you apart.

A dim glow from the other end of the bed wakes you up. On turning you find Jungkook, dressed in his now-wrinkled clothes, seated on the edge. His gaze, pensive. You lay a hand on his thigh.

“Oh, did the light wake you?”

The alarm on his face makes you smile. “No, your absence did.”

The corners of his mouth turned up, eyeing you with softness.

“I have an early schedule. I didn’t want to wake you, but, ” he lets his palm rest on yours, “I also didn’t want to leave without it.”

Neither of you know how to walk away from this. The silence is deafening, unuttered sentiments hanging in the still air. Jungkook’s chest is heavy.

This is insane. He wants to lay you against a bed of flowers, treat you like the delicate petal you bear resemblance to, worship your body till the sun succumbs to your blazing passion. How is he to explain that his heart is beating through his chest for someone he knows for mere days? He rifles through his memories for a similar instance.

He finds none.

Maybe you don’t feel the same way. Maybe, you are blissfully unaware of the tumultuous emotions lurching in the pit of his belly. He can’t assume you will echo his lovesick needs, but he can’t let go.

You inch closer.

Fervid feelings die hard. He probes your eyes searching for an intensity matching his.

You let your lips convey the answer.

Passionate as ever, you draw him into the kiss. His lashes flutter against your rosy cheeks. At the moment, there is no dominance in him. Almost like his tongue, dragging across your swollen lips, is healing the brutality of last night. If you pull back, he comes after you; an incessant tug of war no player wants to win.

“Please Jungkook,” you choke between kisses, “Please tell me this isn’t the last of us.”

He is hovering on top of you, the galaxy in his eyes twinkling at your words.

“Please, I don’t want this to end.” You continue against his lips. Head versus heart, you fought a losing battle; how were you to stall the inevitable? Fueled, you plunge your tongue into him, determined to make your ardor known. The void of ferocity is filled with slow sensuality; like he is the sole reservoir to quench your thirst.

“Y/N”, he breathes out, “I feel like I know everything about you and nothing about you at the same time.” Resting your foreheads against one another, he continues. “I’m not about to let fate decide when we cross paths again.”

A grin finds your lips. “Destiny really pulled its weight here, didn’t it?”

He wordlessly nods, not wanting to break the tranquility in place. However, it is short-lived; his phone’s ringer makes sure of it.

“Yeah, I’ll be right down.” Something the speaker says turns Jungkook scarlet red. “I said I’ll be right there!” he yells before ending the call.

“The members are asking why I wasn’t in my room.” he clarifies, waggling his brows. You join his laughter, happy to have just the simple moment with him.

After exchanging numbers (and a photo for keepsake), Jungkook presses one last kiss, lips promising to find each other again. Somehow, you don’t say goodbye. You just stare at his disappearing body, confident that the next encounter is not far.

Jake is babbling about his night, how he managed to ditch the god-awful party and hang out with some overenthusiastic college-goers who paid for his drinks with their trust fund dough. This is usually the time you ask him if he’s proud of mooching off of children, but today his exaggerated narrative is cracking you up.

His forehead creases. “What’s up with you today? You haven’t vowed to skin me alive even once.”

“You like it when I threaten bodily harm?”

“I’m kinky like that.”

You just shrug. Erotic images make a fleeting appearance in your mind, but they are interrupted by your flight announcement.

“Aren’t you glad this is over? You can go back to overworking yourself in your office instead of a hotel!” Jake remarks, throwing his bag over his shoulder. “At least your back won’t break in the travel.”

Thinking over your experience in the city, you confess “Actually, I look forward to returning here.”

A thought slips in, curving your mouth into a smile. You quietly add,

“And yeah, my back was broken all right.”

Thank you for making it to the end! Please do let me know what you think!

2K notes · View notes

psychewithwings · 3 years

Text

Bitter Taste: Iwaizumi x f/reader Pt. 1

pt. 2 here

THIS IS SO LATE and I’m a fuck up hahahaha (kinda ironic this was 2 weeks late for Mental Health Awareness month)

I am crediting my girl @kuso-deku for giving me Iwaizumi brain rot to begin with. I am also crediting @gixxie and @idonotagreebitch for helping me talk through my ideas... and crediting @doinmybesthere for the wonderful idea of a mental health awareness collaboration the link is here. PLS READ THE REST OF THE WORKS. Everyone deserves the love.

TW: manipulative male/female relationships, gaslighting?, subtle shit head crap that most men do (don’t worry Iwa is a peach as always tho, it’s Ushijima that’s the problem)

Iwaizumi stands and stretches in the cinema. The movie had been good, but long, he figured it was a little after midnight. “What’d ya think?” Kuroo asks as they exit the theatre. “I hated the ending…” Oikawa gripes, “I hate endings where everyone just dies.” “You are such a princess Tooru, I swear, it’s a metaphorical ending… did you not catch all the symbolism in the opening credits?” Iwaizumi sighs and turns his phone back on, trying his best to ignore their bickering. Slowly, notification after notification pops up… all from you. He blinks, surprised. You had declined his offer to join him for the film, stating you had previous plans attending a close friend’s birthday.

Iwa opens the messages from you. He sees first the selfies. You look beautiful, extravagant even. Your dress is beautiful, it compliments your figure perfectly with the corseted bodice. It’s white and so is your lace mask. Broad, feathered angel wings rest on your back. Angelic would have been a word he’d used to describe you before, but now, it was confirmed. He wants to keep staring at the photos but Kuroo and Oikawa are starting to become too curious about the contents of his phone. He scrolls and relaxes his face to look more casual. But it’s hard when your intoxicated messages are so darn cute.

hope the movie is good!

okay so I guess there’s an open bar? Is it my birthday too?

if you wanna come by after the movie I’msure you coul

this partyyyy suckssssssss assssssssss

wish id gon wiht u xx

You are clearly drunk and he laughs to himself before Kuroo peers over his right shoulder. “Well she’s thinking about you at least,” he smirks. Oikawa peers over Iwaizumi’s left shoulder, “ooo play the voice message.” Oikawa taps the message before Iwaizumi can give him an answer.

“Hiiiii Iwaaaaaa, hope you like the moovie and you’re having a good time, cuz I’m having a preetyy good time, they gots free margaritaaass. Okay byeeeee”

The guys laugh and Oikawa presses the next one.

“Hey Iwaaa, I made up a song about you, ready?

Iwaizumi

Doesn’t know what he does- to me…

Sshfhsijknfhahaha I cant remember the rest som’n bout… som’n I dunno. Byeee”

“Okay, Ushi says that I need to say sorry for sending so many…” you pause and then whisper, “drunk messages, but I’as only tellin’ ya I ssink ‘r awesome ‘n you should totally come to this party and hang out with me… you’re awesome, okay byeee”

Oikawa and Kuroo pause and look at Iwaizumi. “Ushi?” Oikawa asks, “like Ushiwaka?” Oikawa’s eyes are narrowed and he gags dramatically in disgust. Iwaizumi nods and walks to exit the theatre. “Wait… that’s her friend who’s having the birthday party?” Iwa grimaces as Kuroo chuckles. “No wonder you’ve had a stick up your ass all night.” Iwa glares at him, “they’re just friends… apparently… I don’t know, she said they’ve known each other for a really long time…” Kuroo claps Iwaizumi on the back. “I think you should definitely go to the party.” Iwaizumi starts to object but the ring of his phone draws attention, and he answers it. “Heyyy you're outta th’moviee, heheeheheha,” you slur. Iwaizumi laughs softly and smiles, “yeah, I’m out of the movie now, are you… good?” There is so much background noise, it almost drowns out your sweet sleepy voice. “I’m soooo good… … I just-” he can hear your voice drop to a drunken whisper. “I’z just hoping to see you today,” you mumble finally.

Iwaizumi can feel his heartbeat quicken, his head reeling. “Oh really?” He plays cool but then instantly regrets it when you give him a serious answer. “Yeah, I was really hoping you’d come to the party, even for just a little,” you murmur. Iwaizumi can’t help but chuckle. You were pretty cute like this, not normally so transparent. You were actually quite hard to read, so sweet but guarded and teasing too. You were a friend of Oikawa’s first and he had met you through him. He’d liked the way you sat cross legged on the couch smiling, chin in your hands while you asked questions and listened to his answers. Your eyes sparkle when you hear something you like, and your face lights up when you talk about things you find interesting.

“Ya don’t have to, I can just see ya another time,” you add. He’s been silent too long which causes him to speak without thinking. “No, I’d love to see you, I’ll head to you now.” Kuroo and Oikawa are silently cheering him on and Iwa turns away in embarrassment. “Really? Okay! I’ll drop my pin… as the kids are sayin’ these days hahaha.” “See you soon, drink some water okay?” “Mhm, I will, see ya soon!”

You were at a club owned by Ushijima’s family. A place called ‘Eagle’s Nest’. He’d only known you for a few weeks but he couldn’t help his infatuation. It was immediate, the night he had gone to Oikawas for game night. You spoke to him so easily not knowing him at all and laughed at his little side jabs to his long time friend. The way you looked at him… Iwa knew then that he wanted to see you smile, hear your laugh, and that he would be happy to assume the responsibility of making that happen.

He was surprised when you had declined his offer for the movie, feeling that you both had some definite chemistry, but Iwaizumi was even more surprised when you had said that you had prior plans with his old time rival Ushijima Wakatoshi. Iwaizumi hadn’t seen him since high school but they knew a few people in common, Oikawa being one of those people. Oikawa could sure hold a grudge but Iwaizumi took all of his comments with a grain of salt. Ushijima often came off entitled and cold, which would leave Iwaizumi with a bad taste in his mouth. Maybe Oikawa had the right idea holding a grudge… But grudge or not he wanted to see you, hear your voice and admire you all dolled up.

When Iwaizumi arrives at the club he is met with a large security guard. “Invitation?” he grumbles. Iwa remains calm but a small trickle of fear runs down his back. Iwaizumi gives the guard a casual smile before he starts to answer but he is interrupted. “Iwaaaaa,” you cry from the top of the stairs. The mask you’d had on is now resting on top of your head, the delicate features of your face now exposed. The floofy skirt of your dress bounces with your excitement as you run down the stairs. You crash into him, throwing your arms around his neck. You bury your face in his collar and still momentarily. Drunk and bubbly, you melt when Iwa wraps his arms around your waist in return, avoiding your costume’s wings. “Mmmm,” you hum, breath hot against his skin, “you smell good.” You pull back and stare into his wide eyes. “You look incredible,” he offers, a slight pink tint to his cheeks. You grin in return and simply take hold of his hand. “He’s with me,” you beam at the guard. Iwaizumi is doubtful this trick will work here. But he is surprised when the guard steps aside saying, “as you wish Miss L/N.” You giggle and pull Iwa towards the doors. “I’ll bring you some cake later, okay Jurou?” Jurou laughs, “just have fun darlin’.” “You’re the best,” you call behind you as you push open the doors. Iwaizumi can’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy knowing that you are on a first name basis with one of the body guards at the Wakatoshi’s club. How close were you with Ushijima?

Blue and purple lights illuminate the vast space while black tiles make up the main floor. The dance floor is sunken, in the middle of the club with a small set of stairs leading down to it. It’s made entirely of glass, beneath is a saltwater garden of different plants and coral.

“You’ll need one of these,” you explain, swiping a simple black mask from the welcome table. You hand it over to him and pull yours down over your eyes. Iwaizumi adjusts it to where he can see. “You look so handsome,” you admire. He grins, “what about you? You’ve got wings!” You laugh and adjust your mask back on top of your forehead. “I’m a swan, and Ushi said I couldn’t be a swan without wings!” You spin for him, trying your best to flap the feathered wings. Small pieces of confetti glitter rain from the skirt of your dress. Iwaizumi takes in your face illuminated by the lights of the club. Blue and pink dancing over your cheeks as you smile up at him. “What?” you giggle nervously. Just a few weeks but he is mesmerised by your everything. He shakes his head and tries to move on. He wanted to tell you how he felt but this wasn’t the right time. It should be when you’re sober, when you can take in his words properly.

You coax him down towards the bar. “You’re sure it’s okay to sneak in uninvited guests?” Iwa questions. “Well, I asked Ushi ‘nd he said it was okay, so yeah!” You grin but notice Iwaizumi’s reserve. “It’s really okay, I promise, let’s just get a drink,” you suggest and take his hand. “Only if you drink more water,” he smirks. You roll your eyes at Iwa, “I drank some water before you got here actually.” You look back at him as you both head down to the bar. “I’ll prolly regret that yurr seeing me like this tamorow, ya know,” you call over the blaring music. “It’s cute, you’re cute,” he assures as he leans against the bar, “I didn’t know you thought about me this much until I saw all the snapchats and voice messages and texts.” You cover your face in humiliation, “I knowww, I’m sorry but you were on my mind a lot, alot alot, and couldn’t stop think about ya, and the booze told me to keep on messaging…” You trail off, finding the last shred of your filter to keep you from talking. The bartender hands you your water and you take a long drink.

“Iwaizumi,” a voice projects over the baseline. Ushijima stands tall advancing towards where you both stand. His expression is neutral though, his eyes keep darting to you and then back to Iwaizumi. Ushijima is dressed as a knight, his silver mask hangs languidly around his neck. “Ushiwaka,” Iwa acknowledges, “this is a hell of a birthday party.” You giggle and point at Ushiwaka, “he’s 28 today; getting sooo old.” In that moment, Iwaizumi watches him do something he had never seen him do before. Smile… and then laugh. Ushijima wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. “You’re just a baby, you’re only-” You wave your hand in front of Ushiwaka’s face, shushing him. “No, no, Iwa doesn’t knowww, don’t tell him,” you plead. “She’s only 23,” Ushiwaka says. You hold your face in your hands once more and groan. Ushijima pulls your hands from your face, “just barely twenty three too.” You glare at him and look back at Iwaizumi embarrassed. “Did she not tell you her age?” Ushijima asks Iwaizumi. Iwa shrugs, “She didn’t, but I never asked,” Iwa shrugs casually, addressing you now, “didn’t seem important since you carry yourself so well.”

You turn to Iwa, mouth open like you’re about to respond but Ushijima swipes the glass from your hands before you can finish. “Drinking water?” You look up at him. “But it’s my birthday… and this is a party… you need something stronger…” Ushijima beacons the bartender with a single flick of his hand. The barman pours three double shots of a clear liquid from a foreign looking bottle. Ushijima takes a glass and hands it to you, before handing another to Iwaizumi. Ushijima gives him a wink as he loops his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. He raises his glass, the violet lights illuminating the liquid. Iwaizumi follows his lead. “To my Juliet, the belle of the ball,” Ushijima bellows. You smile slightly and shake your head. “No no, to you Ushi, it’s your birthday, not mine, we are celebrating you!” Your eyes find Iwa’s, but you leave your glass raised. Ushijima grabs hold of your hand that’s still wrapped around the glass. “Cheers,” He tips the glass towards your lips and you swallow the clear liquor as he feeds it to you. You down it all in one go and Ushiwaka smiles wide once again. “She’s good, huh?” With that, Ushiwaka clinks his glass to Iwaizumi’s, “to you brother,” he assures. Iwa is surprised with the sudden sentiment. “And to you,” he replies before downing the shot. The liquor is surprisingly smooth, expensive, and strong. Iwa can feel his head starting to get light from the small portion that was in the glass and Iwa wasn’t a light weight. “Strong huh?” Ushijima smirks. Iwaizumi nods then turns to the bartender to signal for a water.

Ushijima turns to where you stand swaying slightly with the music. “Look at her, she gets drunk so easily,” Ushijima smiles. “How are you feeling, princess?” he shouts over at you. Iwa turns away and downs his water in disgust. ‘Princess?’ Ushijima shouldn’t be calling you that if you’re both just friends. You blink and give him a smile and a thumbs up. There was a natural innocence about you, a childlike wonder and curiosity, the embodiment of sanguine. Ushijima’s air was sometimes sinister, like he was taking advantage of your natural trusting nature. Iwa watches as Ushijima’s large hands rest on either of your shoulders and he pushes you back and forth like a pendulum between his palms. You giggle and try to push him away, “Ushi stooopp.” He laughs with you and continues pushing you around, “you’re so cute and small though, see?” He places a hand on top of your head and you still. “I said to stop,” you mumble. “And I did,” he retorts before letting you go.

Iwa watches the sudden weight of gravity find you as you stumble in your heels. He catches your arm just in time. Your arms find their way around his neck once more, your face in the crook of his neck. You pull away and Iwa examines your foggy eyes. “You okay?” You nod, pushing off of Iwa’s chest. You fix your hair, “it’s fine, he just messin’” you turn to Ushijima, “and someone doesn’t know when to quit.” You’re pulled away into Ushiwaka’s arms. He sways you back and forth, your back held against his chest while he says soft apologies. He whispers something to you and you nod. Iwaizumi wanted to pull you away from him. Not because he was jealous, but because the way that Ushiwaka was behaving with you was odd.

“Y/n is a little bit tired, why don’t you join us in VIP?” Iwa smiles and gives his thanks, trying his best to hide his scowl. Iwa follows after you and Ushiwaka, upstairs and under velvet ropes hoping that he will find a good moment to pull you away. But instead you are pulled onto the couch beside Ushiwaka. He lights a cigar and offers one to Iwa, but Iwaizumi declines with a simple, “no thanks, don’t smoke.” It’s strange the way that Ushiwaka keeps whispering in your ear, giving you sips of his drinks, and blowing smoke in your face. “Ushi, stop please, the smell is making me sick,” you whine. But he just pulls you closer to him, chuckling all the while and does it again. You’re laughing and poking his face, but it’s not out of joy... Watching Ushijima interact with you the whole night has been like watching a cat toy with a mouse.

Iwa grimaces when Ushiwaka tickles you. “Stop-stop-don’t-stop,” you giggle and howl. “She said to stop!” Iwa raises his voice. Ushijima’s eyes shoot towards Iwaizumi while you squirm off the couch. Your eyes are heavy as you walk towards a dark hallway and disappear into the shadows. Iwa’s eyes flick to the entrance to the hall. Ushiwaka sits in a contented silence, sipping a drink, “she’s so dramatic,” he sighs. He continues smoking, arm rested over the back of the purple velvet sofa. Ushijima takes a sip of his drink, swirling the ice in his glass. Iwa doesn’t move to break the silence no matter how expectant Ushijima’s expression was. He stamps out his cigar in the tray before addressing him.

“She’s awfully talkative, and incredibly fond of you…” Ushijima starts, an odd smirk painting his expression. Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow in intrigue and Ushijima’s face hardens. “She won’t shut up about you since she met you… it’s annoying...” Iwaizumi, remains quiet, the silence settling over the men like a thick fog. The only sounds are muffled club music and the ice tinkling against Ushijima’s glass. “I’m going to be honest as a friend… bad idea.” Iwaizumi can feel the rage bubbling inside his gut, “I don’t think that what’s going on between us is any of your-” He’s cut off by Ushijima.

“I’m really looking out for you Iwaizumi, girls can break hearts and Y/n is kind of known for that… she’s just a sweet soul, makes friends easily, but love? That’s harder for her… doesn’t have the best taste in men I’m afraid, I want to protect her and you from a situation where I can already see the conclusion… I get that you like her, everyone does.” Iwazumi leans forward, “does that include you?” Ushijima is stone faced, then gives a cold laugh. “You’re funnier than I remember, Iwaizumi.”

Iwaizumi rises and heads towards the hall you disappeared down. If he sat in front of him any longer he was going to say something he regretted… and you still haven’t come back. He slips into the dark hallway as you’re exiting the bathroom. Your mask has been removed and even in the dim lighting you look pale. “Hey, what’s happened?” You look up at him embarrassed, your dress almost as wilted as you are. “Got sick…” you mutter. You’re shaking slightly, arms wrapped around yourself. “Oh Y/n, are you alright?” he sighs. His arm starts to reach for you but he thinks better of it, pulling it back to rest by his side. His eyes widen as he feels the warmth of your hand in his. He didn’t figure that you would want to be touched right now. But your fingers interlace with his, your skin soft. “Are you good to drive?” you whisper. His hand instinctively tightens around yours protectively. “I only had whatever Ushijima gave us, it was strong but I’ve had water- yeah I’m good.” “Would you mind taking me home?” you ask, as you start to walk back towards the VIP room. “Sure, course,” Iwaizumi replies gently. He feels how your thumb brushes over the back of his hand in silent gratitude. The gesture has his heart beating hard against his ribs. Iwa walks forward, his eyes on you and nothing else. Your brow is furrowed and your expression painted serious which was unusual from how he knew you to act.

“Iwa’s taking me home now,” you announce and walk towards the stairs. Ushiwaka’s face hardens, “I can take her home, you shouldn’t trouble yourself,” he addresses Iwaizumi. You smile and turn around facing Ushiwaka. “But Ushi, ‘s ur birthday, you can’t leave this party jus’ ‘a take me home,” You turn to Iwa now. “Let’s go,” you say and Iwa nods, still holding your hand. “Where’s my hug, princess?” Ushijima calls after you. You stop in your tracks and close your eyes, taking in a deep breath. You drop Iwa’s hand slowly, hesitantly. You walk back slowly and stand before his open arms. He lifts you and you groan. You’re still hugging him tightly but not quite with the same intimacy as before.

As Ushijima places you down you turn to look back at Iwa when Ushijima catches your face with his large hand. He coaxes your face back towards him then leans down. Ushiwaka locks eyes with Iwaizumi as he whispers something in your ear. Then he presses his lips to your cheek, still not moving his eyes away from Iwaizumi’s. Iwa tries his best to remain neutral but he can feel his lip creeping upwards in contempt. Ushiwaka is too prideful for his own good it seems.

You take Iwa’s hand again, leading him towards the exit. An exasperated look rests on your face. “What did he say to you?” Iwa asks. You sigh and shake your head. “‘S nothin’, ya shouldn’t worry your pretty lil head ‘bout it.” Iwa can’t help but allow a smile. He raises an eyebrow at you, “think my head is pretty?” he asks. He’s met with your hazy gaze, “I do,” you say simply. Iwa wasn’t prepared for such a straightforward answer to his question.

Once out of the club, the valet pull Iwaizumi’s car around. He’s careful not to let you walk too far on your own. Sick, in those ridiculous shoes and still quite drunk, he opens the car door for you before hopping into the driver's seat. “Will you put your address in?” Iwa hands you his phone and you type it in as asked. “Thanks for doing this,” you sigh. “Yeah of course,” he says as he puts the car into gear. A few streets of city light pass by in silence. Your hands are resting in your lap but your body is still trembling. “I can- umm- pull over if you need me to…” You wave the thought away with your hand, “it was the smell of the cigar more than anything…” Iwa’s gut begins to boil again. Your voice is soft, almost defeated. He speaks before thinking better of it. “Does he always treat you like that?” You look at Iwa and make eye contact briefly before his attention is back on the road. “He was being a little extra weird today, maybe because y’all used to play volleyball together or… I dunno really, he just gets like that sometimes…” You trail off, allowing your thoughts to fade into the rearview. The silence is deafening and you feel the need to break it. “He’s really nice too though, don’t get me wrong, he cooks for me and calls to check in, he even gets me little gifts, so I know he cares.” Iwa shakes his head, “if he cared he would have stopped when you asked him to.” You take a breath, “I know but he was just having a night I guess…” Iwa pulls into your driveway as the GPS notifies him that he has ‘arrived at the destination’. He puts the car in park, “you don’t have to make excuses for him… it’s okay to be angry, if that’s how you feel.” You start to open the door, your fingers on the handle. “I’m not angry though, I’m just kinda hurt.” You open the door and start to get out, “okay, maybe a little angry too.” You laugh to yourself but not out of joy. It’s an ironic laugh and Iwa can hear the pain ringing inside of it. “Let me walk you inside.”

#iwaizumi #iwa #hajime #hajime x reader #iwa x reader #iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu #hq #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi hajime #pls protect me iwa

92 notes · View notes

spaceecoffe · 3 years

Text

The Owl House x Slavic Mythology, Part 2 (this one will be longer)

Okay, so in this post I will tell you about few things. First of all you need to know something: slavic mythology is hard to uncover. It is not so easy to find true informations about this like about Greek, Roman or Norse mythology. A lot of Slavic beliefs were twisted by christian propaganda (like in last post I told you about Domovoy bringing good luck to you house -> with a time christians started to tell a story about mean house demon Domovoy and that all the good things he did were actually done by Angels, ugh). It is also twisted by patriarchy that with time didn't want people to believe in some powerful female demons or goddesses.

Slavic mythology for sure was kinda like Boiling Isles: most of demons and nature wants to kill you in some strange ways, but there were also some good demons, good characters and good gods/goddesses. And when you search for some informations you need to remember this. I'm writing it here because one of characters in this post suffers from her story being twisted by christians and men. And you can also see influence of patriarchy in first part.

But lets start the main stuff:

1. Witches and Wizards

Oh, yes, first thing you can think of is a second episode of first season "Witches before Wizards" AND I LOVE IT. Why? Because it destroys traditional look on the witches and wizards, of course! But from the beginning.

In slavic beliefs witches were women who signed a pact with the devil and gained from it magic powers. They used it to turn other people lives into hell by hexes and all that stuff. It was hard to recognise them, but people say that normally woman drinks a glass of vodka (or apple blood!) on three times while witches do it in one sip! Also, if you look deep in their eyes you will see head of a goat. But it could be any women in yours surrounding: single one, old one, married, young... You couldn't trust any woman!

And that is the misogynistic view on witches. The truth is that witches were a wise women who helped other. They often were herbalists and healers in their villages. But people didn't understand how they did their "elixirs", they only knew they worked, so the ones that were jealous about their knowledge create this story about "terrible and scary witches".

At the same time there were Wizards. They were the ones that people looked up to. And it's all because Wizards used their magic for a science and not hexing people! Like, you know... The only thing women can do is to be mean to other people and only think about how to make others lives worse, while man think about more important stuff. But, fortunately, wizards had also some bad traits, like being too ambitious.

So when Luz goes to Boiling Isles it appears that it is full of witches. Not only women witches, but also men. And this is kind of amazing because we finally abandon this archetype of only women being witches. At the same time (in second episode) we can hear King saying:

"Wizards are only old people with glitter in their pockets"

Oh, how I love this! Why? Because there always been a discourse in the topic of magic. When magic was used from science (by wizards or by alchemists) it was good, but when it was coming from nature (used by witches or folks) it was satanic and scary. But here? Here everything is opposite. We know now, thanks to Lilith, that magic in Boiling Isles is highly bonded to the nature and it is used from it. That's why everyone there is called witch, regardless of gender.

Why it is so important for me that witches are cool on Boiling Isles and wizards are only having glitter in their pockets? It's because at the same time that witches were burned on piles in Poland (1600s), you could go on Cracovian Academy (now Jagiellonian University) and get education in being Wizard or Alchemist.

So yeah, this episode just destroyed the archetype of good and wise wizards against bad and wild witches which should happen more often. But until Tolkien's books will still be "best fantasy" I doubt we will se more of breaking this stupid rule (and also sexism in fantasy).

Also, fun fact, in this episode we see Radegast in clothes with stars:

and also we hear that he was "looking at the stars" when Luz came. I know that wizards are usually depicted with some star-theme, but he really reminds me of the legend of Pan Twardowski, the most powerful wizard in Polish (some says he was a German actually) history. He signed the pact with the Devil to gain his power but run away from him to the other side of the moon, were some says, he still lives. He also probably was a real person (Jan Twardowski) who worked on Zygmunt August's court as magician and astrologist, sometime between 1530 - 1570, while as I said, witches were burned on piles.

But let's move to the second thing!

2. Eda, The Baba Yaga

Oh, yes! You've seen this coming. And also it was greatly showed in this amazing post, which you have to read! But I will put in my tuppence here.

First of all, who was Baba Yaga? You heard about her for sure, but probably all of this were lies. Surly, she was the most powerful known witch. She could do almost anything with her magic and she also could brew any potion. As you probably know she lived in the house on chicken legs deep in the forest.

As for her look she was small, old with a big nose and a lot of wrinkles:

She doesn't look nice, does she? Isn't that strange that the most powerful witch in our beliefs has to be so "ugly" (ugh, I hate this word but I have to use it here I think)? The truth is that probably she never looked like this. Historians thinks that at the beginning she was one of the most important goddesses in Slavic Mythology. She was in control of life and death, she was the personification of nature and its power. Some people also believe that she was the one responsible for children initiation to adult life. One of the historians, Zygmunt Krzak, said:

"This is about the reviled figure of the ancient goddess, a characterisation created by religious and secular male elites fighting against matriarchal religion."

So now we can see how Eda works as alternative Baba Yaga from Boiling Isles.

First of all, she IS the most powerful witch on the Boiling Isles. She lives deep in the forest and she is great at brewing potions. Everyone is scared of her but at the same time, if someone is in trouble, she will totally help. Also, in episode one of season two we can see how she actually care about animals (and probably all nature).

But, most importantly, she is against Emperor's rules. As I said in subsection 1, being a witch is all about taking your power from nature. And actually what Emperor is doing is fighting with this, just like christianity when it started to appear on slavic lands. Emperor forbids to use wild magic, he tries to cut witches away from nature. He makes them join covens that can control their magic so they are becoming more and more distant from the natural magic. And Eda is this one person on whole Boiling Isles that is against it and that's why Emperor's Coven tries to change her image so people would think of her as a scary and wild witch which should meet her punishment for being that close to nature.

Another thing that reminds me of Baba Yaga is, of course, how she took care of Luz and helped her to became the witch. This is how initiation of children looks like. Yes, Eda did this in her own way but if not for her, Luz would never went do Hexside and problady wouldn't ever found out about glyphs. So yes, Eda was that one witch who helped Luz, the child (or "her kid") to become real witch, and that is probably what real Baba Yaga was doing.

Also...

Yes, I don't have to comment that, you know what I'm showing to you. But I just want to remind you that Kikimores hate chicken so it naturally goes that Kikimora is on the opposite side to Eda, The Baba Yaga.

The last thing I want to add is that Belos clearly do the same thing to witches on Boiling Isles that christians did to slavic folks (and yes, a lot more cultures in the world but here I'm focusing on Slavs). That is why I am almost sure that he is a human, probably Philippe, because this is just what people of middle and west Europe always did to different cultures -> "Veni, Vidi, Vici" as Julius Cesar said.

Part 1

#the owl house #toh #emperor belos #the owl house emperor belos #eda the owl lady #eda clawthorne #luz noceda #the owl house luz #slavic mythology #baba yaga #baba jaga #the owl house x slavic mythology

39 notes · View notes

qlala · 3 years

Note

Is it cheating to submit a fic request for the pride post you just made? I neeeed the whole thing (I'm on my laptop, but insert the big gay eyes emoji)

fjskdgjslg "big gay eyes emoji" you know what? just for you. just for you i have written this. i'll clean it up and upload to ao3 later but for now: have 2.7k of len dragging a sunburnt, tipsy, and glitter-covered barry back to his apartment, and happy pride!

Len wasn’t the type to begrudge anyone a good time, especially when the good time involved loud music, leather harnesses, and throwing water bottles at cops. Central City’s annual pride parade came as close as it got to challenging that attitude; families, fellow queers, and queens descended on the city waving more flags than the United Nations after a hurricane, all decked out in color combinations that Len hadn’t been able to keep straight since the ‘80s.

The end result was the kind of crowds that could make a grown man feel claustrophobic in the middle of a city block, and that was without the visible haze of alcohol wafting off the whole event.

But what the parade lacked in personal space, it made up for with one very important commodity: unattended wallets.

The flock of sunburnt twinks in denim cut-offs made Len’s job almost too easy—a hand on a sweat-slicked lower back, a flash of blue eyes, and most of them wouldn’t have noticed their wallets going missing if Len had dangled their IDs in front of their faces afterwards. (While there were plenty of women dressed in just as little clothing whom Len certainly wouldn’t have minded getting within robbing distance of, he’d found queer women as a group to be less enthusiastic about uninvited touching and more enthusiastic about wallet chains, even when three sheets to the wind off of canned rosé.)

He’d taught a dozen visiting suburbanites the importance of not keeping valuables in their back pockets by the time he spotted a familiar profile in the crowd.

His usual red getup wasn’t much more modest than some of the outfits Len had already seen, but even knowing the shape of that body didn’t prepare Len for seeing Barry Allen stripped to the waist, bright-eyed and flushed and shimmering all over with a fine dusting of glitter. Len noted, on auto-pilot, that it didn’t seem like he’d put any of the glitter there himself; he was standing dangerously close to a drag queen throwing handfuls of the stuff on anyone who got within arm’s reach of her. It set the sun refracting off every dip and plane of muscle across Barry’s chest and stomach. Barry’s hair, already wild and dark at the roots with sweat, was full of it.

Len’s feet were carrying him closer before he gave himself permission to move. Barry managed to drag Len into his orbit at the best of times; visibly tipsy and dripping sweat, Len would’ve had better luck resisting the turning of the earth.

Up close, Len could take that Barry had lost his shirt somewhat recently; the slight touch of pink spanning his shoulders and chest had nothing on the serious flush across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. He had a spray of new freckles as well. They were barely distinguishable under the haze of glitter stuck to his skin, but Len noticed them at once, the change unmistakable on an otherwise unchanging face (not a scar to be seen, even after three years of running into burning buildings and jumping in front of bullets; Len was equal parts frustrated and relieved).

It looked like someone had painted a few strokes of color across one of his cheeks at some point, but it was smudged to hell and back. The back of one of Barry’s hands was stained a tell-tale matching purple, and Len could only guess at what it had been at the start of the day.

He stepped into Barry’s space as easily as he had the rest, taking care to keep Barry between him and the source of the glitter, and hesitated for the briefest moment with his hand above Barry’s spine. He’d never touched Barry like this, skin to skin; the gloves had never come off between them, metaphorically or literally. Kept things neat.

Nothing about Barry was neat right now. He turned even before Len touched him, and the movement brought Len’s hand into contact with his side instead. It took everything in Len not to pull it back in a flinch, and he met Barry’s curious glance with a tightly-controlled smirk.

He’d expected Barry to step back, maybe add a bit of blush to those already-pink cheeks. Instead, Barry’s eyes took a belated second to focus, and then he gave Len a face-splitting grin.

“Snart!”

That time, Len did have to pull backwards to avoid Barry dragging him in for a hug. To think he’d been concerned about a hand.

Barry didn’t seem the least bit put out, smiling loose and easy like Len hadn’t iced him to the door of a bank vault the last time they’d seen each other. He hadn’t taken Barry for such a cheerful drunk—he seemed inclined toward melodrama on a good day—but Len would take it over any of the alternatives.

“Barry. Fancy seeing you here. And so much of you, at that.” He let his gaze slide down his bare chest and stomach, pulse ticking up at the warm brown of his nipples and the sharp vee of his hipbones that invited his gaze further down.

“You’re overdressed,” Barry disagreed. He wasn’t quite slurring, but there was a careful deliberation in his tone that told Len it was a near thing. He took a step closer and peered at Len, suspicion evident in those pale green eyes. “And… sober.”

“I’m not here to score. Perks include keeping my shirt on.”

For the briefest second, Barry looked almost disappointed. But it was gone in a blink, confusion taking over. He glanced down at himself, puzzled. Then his expression cleared, and he looked up with another easy-going smile. “I got hot.” His gaze dropped again, to Len this time, and he licked his lips. “Aren’t you… you gotta be hot in all that.”

Len was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and thin jacket, and it hadn’t hit eighty degrees all week. But he wasn’t in the mood to argue with drunk logic. And besides, another scan of the nearby revelers had made something unpleasant begin to scratch insistently at the inside of Len’s chest, and he tapped Barry under the chin with one knuckle to bring his attention back up.

The contact startled both of them—Len’s control had slipped, something he could not afford to happen around Barry Allen—but Len recovered first. “Where’s the rest of your team of do-gooders?”

“Lost ‘em.” Judging by the return of Barry’s crooked grin, it was an accomplishment, not a concern. “Cisco said the shot was too strong, but I didn’t wanna go. He’s the d…” He faltered, brows pulling together as he frowned. “S’the designed. Designinated, superhero, anyway. Shh!”

He shot a pointer finger toward Len in a movement that Len clocked, alarmingly, as intending to be pressed to his lips, as if he were the one who’d been chatting about Vibe’s secret identity. Len had three years of dealing with the Flash to thank for being able to catch Barry’s wrist in time to stop him, and he glared at him for the attempt.

But Barry only gave him a crinkle-eyed smile and twisted his hand in Len’s grip to clasp his wrist back. “S’so good to see you here. I didn’t think…”

“Don’t tell me you had me pegged for straight.”

Barry made a frankly insulting noise halfway between a scoff and a hiccup and tilted Len a condescending look.

“Speedster, remember?” he asked, far too loudly, even for a crowd currently screaming along to a pop song that’d been bad enough the first time Len’d heard it in 2000. “I see it when you...” He let go of Len’s wrist to make a gesture with two fingers, parting them in a V and sweeping them up and down Len’s body, the muscles in his forearm shifting distractingly under Len’s hand. God, the kid had to be a hundred degrees. “When you check me out. In the suit.”

Len smirked. “It’s cute you thought I was being subtle.”

“You’re cute,” Barry muttered, childish and sulky, and Len took it for the compliment it wasn’t.

“You had a point, Barry.”

Barry still looked displeased with him, but his brow was furrowed again when he met his gaze. This close, it was impossible to ignore that Barry had an inch or so on him. “About what?”

“You didn’t think…?” Len prompted him.

Barry stared at him blankly, and Len rolled his eyes and let go of his wrist.

“Get out of the sun, Barry,” he said. “Find a park bench. Wait for your little friends to come find you. Shouldn’t be hard—you’re as red as your suit.”

Barry either ignored his last comment or didn’t hear it. “Iris is here somewhere,” he said, possibly to himself. “She’s…” He twirled his finger absently beside his head. “Curly, today. And… bikini.”

Len strongly considered abandoning Barry to his sunburn to go find out for himself. But Barry was beginning to sway a bit, and a man closer to Len’s age than Barry’s was giving Barry’s toned back a speculative look from a few feet away, and Len gave in to the unsettled feeling gnawing at his ribcage. He refused to call it worry. It was annoyance—or, at the very least, the feeling was annoying him, which was close enough.

“As much a sight for sore eyes as that would be,” he said, allowing a magnanimousness he didn’t feel to color his tone, “I doubt Miss West ran away from her group and got heatstroke. Unlike some people”

Barry didn’t look the least bit chastened, lips curving up mischievously in a way that drew another couple interested looks. Len needed to get them both out of the crowd before he started breaking noses.

“Tell you what. Give Cisco a call, tell him you went home. My bike’s on Kingsbridge, away from the parade route.”

Barry’s smirk sharpened. “Trying to get me out of here, Snart? I thought you weren’t here to score.”

Len gave him a flat look, ignoring the decidedly interested way his body was reacting to Barry’s tone.

“You can barely stand.”

Barry’s eyes glittered at the challenge, and Len realized his mistake.

“Barry—”

He hadn’t even finished biting out the second syllable when the world spun out from under him, the noise and the heat and the press of the crowd swallowed up in a hair-raising charge of yellow lightning. Exactly two and a half seconds passed in a blur of movement, just long enough for Len to realize Barry was supporting the back of his head with one too-warm hand. Then the world came skidding to a stop around them. Barry’s momentum carried them both forward several feet even after their new surroundings materialized, and they very nearly went straight through a window again before Barry seemed to remember how to stop.

Len considered pushing him out the window anyway for the stunt. True, he’d been itching to get another taste of that feeling, the ozone snap-drag of Barry’s power like a live wire under his hands, but he’d rather have waited until Barry could pass a breathalizer.

He realized Barry still had an arm around him and shoved him off. It did nothing to dim Barry’s self-satisfied grin, and Len had to look away or risk giving into the interested once-over Barry was skimming over his body again.

“Pretty sure the point of a designated driver is not doing that.”

Barry followed him when he took a step back. Len made a calculated decision, decided the risk of touching Barry again was worth it, and pressed his fingers to the middle of Barry’s chest—right where the Flash insignia would be on his suit, his brain offered unhelpfully—and pushed him backwards, hard.

Barry unbalanced and wheeled back a step. Then the backs of his knees hit the edge of the couch, and he toppled, satisfyingly, back onto the dark leather cushions.

It was a nice couch. The whole apartment was nice, actually. Len could’ve drawn a perimeter of possible locations based on Barry’s speed and how long it had taken them to reach it if he hadn’t already known the address.

“Sit,” he said. And then, with a smirk: “Stay.”

Barry rolled his eyes. “Gonna have to ask nicer than that if you wanna boss me around in bed.”

The way he threw it out there, easy as anything, almost made Len miss a step as he turned away. He wasn’t going to lay a hand on Barry, not when he was drunk on sunlight and skin and whatever concoction Cisco had apparently cooked up for him. But hearing him say it, like they’d already gotten all of the messy parts out of the way—it set off warning bells in Len’s head, flashing past all the possible off-ramps he would’ve taken if Barry had ever tried to have the conversation in a more linear fashion.

“You’re drunk,” Len said, which was a coward’s answer, and behind him, Barry made a vague noise of agreement.

“Probably,” he acknowledged. “You could stick around ‘til I’m not.”

Christ. Len didn’t trust himself to look at Barry again, not when he knew he’d find him sprawled out and shedding glitter all over what had looked like a very expensive couch. “Stay,” he repeated, and went off to find the kitchen.

By the time he got back with two glasses of water, the problem had solved itself; Barry was out cold on the couch, his painting cheek pressed to the throw pillow he’d curled himself half-around. He was shivering faintly in the air conditioning, all cooled sweat and goosebumps, and Len resigned himself to the now-familiar impulse to help him that stirred in his chest. He put one of the glasses down on the table and, not trusting his hands, knocked his knee into one of Barry’s where it was bent close to the edge of the couch.

Barry buried his face into the pillow with a noise of displeasure, and Len said his name again.

“Last warning,” Len said. “Ten seconds, you find out if I put on steel-toed boots today.”

Barry groaned, and if the sound hadn’t made Len’s pulse skip, the easy shift of muscles in Barry’s arm as he pushed himself up to sitting again would’ve done the trick.

“Water,” Len said, unnecessarily, as he passed him the glass.

Barry took it with the tips of his fingers, as if it were something personally offensive to him, and took a single, polite sip before putting it down beside the other with no small amount of distaste. Then he glanced between the glasses, and up at Len, a dirty spark already lighting behind his eyes again.

“Don’t get your hopes up. They’re both for you.”

Barry let out a breath with audible annoyance and dropped back against the couch cushions to glare at him.

Len felt a modicum of sanity return to him. This, at least, was familiar ground: Barry, frustrated, asking for too much, too soon. True, it had always been about the hero business until now, but Len knew a pattern when he saw one. Give Barry an inch, and he always took a mile.

Len gave Barry one last, appraising look. He looked ridiculous, all self-righteousness and bare skin. There was only one break in the otherwise even coat of glitter, there on Barry’s side: faint, but unmistakable, the outline of Len’s hand on his waist. The feeling in Len’s chest coalesced into something pleased and possessive. He met Barry’s glare with a slow curl of his lips, then gave him an inch.

“Call me when you’re sober, Barry,” he said, letting his voice slip into the Cold drawl just to watch Barry’s eyes go dark. “And you can show me how well you sit up and beg.”

He could see the impatience radiating off of Barry’s frame, the effort it was taking him to stay on the couch instead of closing the space between them.

“Call your friends,” he reminded him. “Enough people got a look at your face today without the CCPD splashing it on every milk carton, too.”

In the elevator, Len reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the thin black wallet he’d liberated from Barry during their sprint across the city. Two and a half seconds: child’s play. A little extra incentive for Barry to track him down in the morning, not that Len thought he needed it. He flipped it open, noted the deer-in-the-headlights picture of Barry on his driver’s license with amusement, and then thumbed open the bill compartment.

Len smirked. Barry wouldn’t miss a few dollars; he owed him for the dry-cleaning it was gonna take to get the glitter out of his jacket, anyway.

#coldflash #leonard snart #barry allen #the flash #my fics #is 10 pm on a tuesday peak posting time? no! is it when i finished this? yes!#also this is blatantly nyc pride sorry #write what you know etc

73 notes · View notes

alecmagnuslwb · 3 years

Text

Twelve Rounds

Read on AO3

“You know on the scale of the Qresh heist, your best plan, and the Leith escape route, your worst fucking plan, this is somewhere way closer to Leith,” Magnus whisper yells in the small space between them.

They’re trapped in a closet, oh the fucking irony, with a couple dozen guards just on the outside, guards that the guy they’re supposed to be picking up and taking back to the Rack wasn’t supposed to have.

Alec just rolls his eyes wiggling a hand into the miniscule space between them to undo the latch on his thigh holster. The fact that Magnus is blaming this on him, when the plans only gone to hells because Magnus’ intel was bad. It’s not because of Alec’s plan, Alec’s plan was simple and efficient dammit.

“Easy in, easy out,” Magnus had said tossing the tablet across the table at Alec nearly knocking over the very expensive, treat himself glass of hawk Alec had ordered. “The guy’s not smart and has never so much as bought a weapon to protect himself, the trip alone to get him won’t be longer than twenty minutes. We pick him up, we bring him back, warrant done and we make an easy 500 joy.”

Alec had scrolled through the warrant, reading it with a doubting eye.

“This guy has had six warrants on him go untouched, you sure it’s that easy?” Alec had asked and Magnus had just waved it away the rings on his fingers glittering in the low light of the bar.

“I already sent out some feelers, the intel is good,” Magnus said with a smile. “He’s just not wanted for anything big so no one’s ever bothered going through with the pick-up, now the price has gotten a little higher and I think we should add a little padding to our current bank balance.”

Alec had sighed dropping the tablet down. “The ship still needs new nav panels, they’re about to fall off, babe.”

“Exactly and 500 joy will fix those right up and we’ll still have some leftover to get a room for the night, a fancy one at the Westerley Inn instead of above the bar, maybe for a few nights,” Magnus said leaning across the table getting incrementally closer and closer to Alec. “Think about it, Alexander. No sleeping in the cold ship, nice fresh warm sheets, no running out of hot water in five minutes.”

Alec had wanted to say no, fixing the nav panels before taking on another warrant, easy or not, should have been the priority. But after being Killjoy’s together for seven years, lovers for six and husbands for two he’d always found himself saying yes to every single request, idea and silly whim Magnus had ever had.

Alec let out a long-suffering breath, “Fine, let’s do it.”

Magnus had beamed leaning across the table to kiss him once before accepting the warrant and running off to the ship to get things ready. Alec had smiled, shaking his head in amusement at his husband.

Now he wishes he had a better resolve to just say no.

“I’m not the one who got bad intel,” Alec whisper yells back. “If your intel had been good my plan would have worked.”

Magnus scoffs attempting to cross his arms in annoyance but realizes at the last minute there isn’t enough room to do so. He settles for poking Alec in the side once instead.

“Really?” Alec whispers looking incredulously at Magnus. Magnus just shrugs huffing in annoyance.

“How was I supposed to know the intel was bad,” he argues. “It was from a trusted source.”

“Jace is not a trusted source, if you had told me it was Jace of all people I never would have even agreed to take the warrant in the first place,” Alec whisper shouts back. He feels ridiculous whisper fighting with his husband in a poorly lit linen closet. They should be playfully bantering to the annoyance of their catch with a completed warrant in their hands right now.

“He’s your brother,” Magnus hisses back.

“Exactly and I know just how stupid he is,” Alec replies attempting to wave his hands around as he speaks angrily the way he likes to. He gives up after a second realizing there’s just not enough space to do that. “He fights, he’s a great shot, but his intel is garbage because he never thinks ahead. Simon is who you get the intel from.”

Magnus sighs and Alec can tell from the look on his face he knows Alec’s right.

“I have half the mind to just slip out of here and call it all off n-” Alec starts, but Magnus lifts a hand slapping it over Alec’s mouth silencing him. Through the closet doors Alec hears the slow purposeful footsteps of at least six people maybe closer to eight walking outside.

Magnus drops his hand but not until the footsteps have disappeared.

“Good news I think they’ve given up searching for us in the house,” he whispers biting his glossy bottom lip in thought.

“Bad news there are two dozen of them and there’s two of us,” Alec replies. “Not to mention the guy we’re supposed to be taking with us.” He tacks on suddenly remembering the whole point of this at the last moment.

“We’ve faced worse odds and lived to drink about it,” Magnus says with a smile. Alec’s face doesn’t budge determined to hold onto his stony annoyance.

Magnus sighs tilting his head and slipping his arms around Alec’s waist. “I’m sorry my intel was bad and that your brother is stupid,” he says pouting in that frustratingly fake, but frustratingly sexy way that Alec never can quite resist. “And also that you’re plan sucked.”

Alec huffs out a breath unable to fight the smile creeping at the corner of his lips.

“You fully loaded?” Alec asks tapping at the side of Magnus’ thigh holster.

“For you?” he says shifting his hips up against Alec’s. “Always.”

“Magnus, be serious,” Alec says not able to resist shifting is own hips back in retaliation.

Magnus groans then his face goes fully solemn. “I’m always serious about you and my load.”

Alec only barely stops the laugh he lets out from being too loud. He is married to a ridiculous, brilliant, beautiful man.

“Twelve rounds a piece, that’s one shot per guard for both of us. And then the hopes that the idiot we need to catch doesn’t count them or doesn’t know how many are in a sidearm and buys it when we threaten to shoot him too,” Alec says pointedly shifting a bit to the side so their hips are no longer pressed together, trying to ignore the thoughts Magnus’ completely unsubtle innuendos put inside his head.

“Don’t miss,” Magnus says with a wicked smirk unholstering his weapon and bringing it up to the ready. Alec does the same with a matching smirk of his own.

“For you?” he says winking once before reaching his hand above Magnus to push open the closet door. “I never do.”

Magnus chuckles delighted and uncaring if the guards hear them as Alec shoves open the door. Magnus spins gracefully his electric blue ammunition flying down the hall instantly hitting through the wrist of the first reacting guard. Alec moves behind him the two of them working in perfect tandem like they always do bobbing and weaving as they should around and over one another disarming the guards one by one hitting them in just the right spots to take them down, but keep them alive.

They’re not here on a kill warrant and even if they were they’re not fans of taking out more than the target anyways. They’re only getting paid for them in the end.

Alec ducks behind a near wall Magnus covering him as he heads towards the door of the house already wide open the hot Westerley desert air blowing inside.

“Shit,” he says harshly just before catching sight of one of the last guards hovering outside of the door. Putrid yellow ammunition makes its way around the corner narrowly missing him. Alec ducks behind a shitty looking old couch that reminds him annoyingly of the chair he never saw his father get up from as a child.

Magnus comes sliding in next to him a grin on his face. “Got mine,” he says popping his head up once over the edge of the chair. Another round of ammo whizzes past him, actually grazing the stark neon pink patch of hair at the front of his head.

“Well he’s almost out of ammo, or he’s a terrible shot,” Magnus says ducking back down quickly.

“We’re also almost out of ammo, I’ve got one round for this one guy,” Alec says. He takes a deep collecting breath. He dips his head around the corner of the chair catching sight of the guard in the reflection from the window. The guard doesn’t take a shot despite Alec’s vulnerable position which tells him he’s definitely down to his last round as well.

He starts to make the move to take his final shot changing course at the last second.

“Switch me,” Alec says to Magnus holding out his gun. Magnus doesn’t question him taking the weapon and unholstering his own empty one and placing it in Alec’s hand.

“Shoot high and cover me,” he says not bothering with a countdown knowing Magnus will know exactly when to take his shot. He moves from his safe spot behind the chair immediately staying low.

The guard shifts just slightly from his perfectly shielded position taking his final shot at Alec just a shy too wide. Magnus takes that as his queue just as Alec’s about to reach the doorway shooting once high into the wall roughly right above the guard’s head startling him into a crouch.

When he stands to his full height Alec’s right in front of him waiting with a big smile.

“Hi,” he says with a large grin raising the base of his gun and smacking it into the center of the guy’s forehead hard just once knocking him fully unconscious.

Magnus sidles up behind him standing up on his toes just a bit to look over his shoulder at the unconscious man.

“Technically you missed,” Alec says turning to look at him over his shoulder. Magnus chuckles.

“You told me to, I was just being a good husband and listening,” he says holstering the empty weapon. “We should go find the warrant.”

Alec nods pointing over to a wooden barrel tilted up against the side of the house. Magnus gives him a ‘you’ve got to be kidding me look’ before walking over to the barrel kicking it once dislodging the lid as it goes down.

And out comes tumbling the mark with a high-pitched screech.

“No tracks?” Magnus asks gesturing to the clear sand before them guessing that’s how Alec knew he was in the barrel.

Alec shakes his head. “This one,” Alec explains pointing to the unconscious guard at his feet. “Shot his eyes over to that barrel right before I knocked him out cold, so either he really loves pickles or..”

“You should have hired better security,” Magnus says lifting the man up from the ground cuffing his hands together behind his back.

“Raj Laghari you are being taken into custody for six active level three warrants against you ranging from petty theft to extortion, you’ll be taken to the Rack where you will await further charges, trial or imprisonment as seen fit,” Magnus rattles off pushing the guy along in front of him.

Raj starts crying and Alec just rolls his eyes. This guy is an idiot, that much intel was right. They walk quietly back to their ship locking Raj up in the cargo hold before prepping the wavering nav to take them back to the Rack.

“I can’t believe you were going to try and call it off you know how it goes,” Magnus says tossing himself into the chair at the head of the ship. “The warrant is all.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alec says casually, Magnus knows he’s loyal to the code even when he’s frustrated. One of these days a quick and easy job is going to be just that.

Alec slips into Magnus’ lap uncaring that he’s taller and that this chair is far too small to fit both of them comfortably.

“Fuck the nav system, we’re staying a full week at the Inn,” he says tiredly pressing a light kiss to Magnus’ temple.

“Hells yes,” Magnus says in glee kicking the nav switch with his foot before pulling Alec in for a proper kiss.

#my fic #malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #shadowhunters #malec fic #killjoys meets malec #just combining two of my favorite things #writersmonth2021

16 notes · View notes

halfway-happyyy · 4 years

Text

The Autumn Cottage

Happy Saturday friends! Autumn has arrived in full force where I live and I couldn’t be happier about it. To celebrate, I have written a sappy, smutty piece inspired by the current weather and this ask that I received: Can u give us a oneshot about a snuggle fuck w alex in a cozy cottage in the fall?

One of the greater joys in her life had to have been waking up to autumn's fickle fingers trying to desperately to reach her from the comfort of her woolen blanket. She watched, sleepy and bleary-eyed as leaves in shades of crimson and burnt umber drifted past her window in no particular direction. Her fingers roamed over the left side of the bed in search of him. Alexander's silhouette was barely visible through the indigo morning light, though she could make out the prominent line of his nose, and the slight curve of his bottom lip. Unmistakable in the minimal glow of dawn was the familiar glitter in his eyes, the glint that said so much about him and then nothing at all in equal measure.

“Good morning.” She whispered, and even that felt like too mighty of a disturbance in the stillness of their bedroom in the cottage. Though if he minded, he never let it show.

“Good morning yourself, kid.”

She reached the tip of a finger towards him wordlessly and brushed a feather-light touch down the bridge of his nose. Moving lower, she outlined his lips and grinned into the air before her as she felt him smile against her touch. She moved around his face with care, tried to memorize each delicate crease and wrinkle in her wake, tried to commit to memory the aspects that he resented about himself, even if she loved them beyond measure.

“Beautiful,” Alexander murmured as he brought the back her wrist to his lips, kissing the soft flesh there passionately. He brushed the pad of a calloused thumb over the rounded curve of her warmed cheek. “Like watching a flower bloom right before my very eyes.” They stayed like that for longer than either of them cared to admit; she could count on one hand in the past year that she had spent a weekend with him like this- alone and entirely undisturbed from anything and everything. He had broached the subject of a rented cottage in passing one morning a few weeks ago. It was one of those mornings where something had gone awry at every turn, and everything had been a blur. He had been late for something important, that much she could remember. He had rushed around the kitchen in a fury, muted Swedish curse words coloured every second sentence. He was out of breath when he reached the front door, weighed down by his leather laptop bag, but before he left, he turned to her and smiled. “Let’s get away together, kid.” She had taken it with a grain of salt until he returned home that evening, tired from a rather long shooting schedule, but in a fantastic mood all the same. “I mean it. It’s about to be a beautiful autumn. Let’s get away, just the two of us.”

“Shall I make you a coffee, or are we just going to lay in bed and stare at each other all day?” She offered him a cheeky smile and an exaggerated eye-wiggle which he simply laughed at.

“I have half a mind to choose the latter option, but I really do need some caffeine this morning.”

She nodded finitely and leaned in for a kiss, the innate push and pull of it caused a fire to ignite deep within her for him. She could easily spend the rest of her life doing this very thing; loving him fiercely and being loved back just as hard in return. “Alright,” She gasped as she pulled away from the allure of his hot, wet mouth. “Meet me in the kitchen.” She rose from the bed silently and padded over to her suitcase that was propped up on a wicker chair in the corner of the room. She noticed Alexander’s cream Sherpa sweater hanging over the arm of it and she ran a fingertip over the unbelievably soft material.

Alexander must have been watching her because when he spoke, his voice still gravelly from recent sleep, he startled her. “I’d be happy if you wore that, today.”

“You would?” She had been eyeing it ever since he’d brought it home from a shoot a month ago. She longed to wrap it around her frame, the sheer feeling of it luxe and utterly comforting on her bare skin. Especially as the months would inevitably grow colder.

“Watching you wear my clothing does something for me, kid. I love seeing how happy it makes you.”

With a small smile, she lifted the sweater over her head and let it fall into place on her body, the hem of it falling just above her knee. She pulled her hair from the confines of it and let it fall in waves down her back. “How do I look?” She asked.

“Beautiful,” Alexander murmured.

Satisfied with his answer, she made her way down the hardwood-floored hallway to the kitchen. She had thought at first that the silence of the cottage would be too loud; that city life had turned her into a creature who thought she craved noise on a near-constant level. But to her pleasant surprise, it had taken less than twenty-four hours to grow accustomed to it, and she knew now that she would miss it dearly when it was their time to go home. Eliciting a yawn, she stood on tiptoes and tried to remember which cupboard Alexander had hidden the coffee beans. Without warning, a large hand reached up above her head with ease and produced the bag for her with a sly smile. “I’d have found them eventually…” She muttered.

“Oh, I have no doubt of that. But- would you have been able to reach them?”

She shook her head and let out a small laugh. “Cheeky, vertically-adept bastard.”

They made their coffee together in silence. It had been one of the many things that drew him to her in the beginning. Where conversation seemed forced with every prospective partner and lover in the past- everything flowed the way it was supposed to with Alexander. There had never been a need to fill the quiet with empty words and small talk. It was a wonderful change of pace. “You hungry yet, kid?”

She remembered the basket of farm-fresh eggs in the fridge, thought of the loaf of homemade bread next to the coffee machine and her mouth watered tantalizingly. “I could definitely eat.” She watched him move around the kitchen with ease; watched the way his worn sweatpants hung low from the edges of his hips. She watched the way his muscles flexed in the light pouring in through the stained-glass window above the sink. She had always been struck silly by the beauty that this man possessed; but the notion that his soul bested his looks would never cease to leave her in utter awe. “What have you got on the go today?” She asked, a fork full of fluffy scrambled eggs rested in her hand.

Alexander passed a napkin over his lips, swallowed the bite of food in his mouth and shrugged. “Thought I might chop some wood for a fire tonight.”

She could hardly contemplate it now; the thought of watching her man hulk through multiple logs of wood caused her to physically clench her thighs together. “You plan on doing that soon?”

“After breakfast.” He confirmed.

True to his word, after the last dish had been washed and dried and properly put away, he stalked over to the coat hook in the front foyer and threw a sweater over his naked chest. Turning to her, he eyed her up and down and cocked his head to the side; a small smirk pulled at the edges of his lips. “Care to keep me company?”

Reaching for a blanket and the book that she had started yesterday morning, she nodded her head. “Lead the way.”

It was warmer outside than she had originally anticipated, though the autumn wind had picked up a little more voraciously, and she marveled at the falling leaves the same way she had earlier that morning. The sky above her was cloudless and a bright azure blue and she found herself thanking a higher being for the blessings in which she had been given. Opening the book to the page she had last left off on, the sound of an axe ripping through the middle of a log rang out through the clearing and she knew then that she would not be getting any further reading done this morning. Instead, she watched in awe as Alexander lifted the axe high above his head and brought it down with a force she had rarely seen before, the log splitting into two pieces and falling away from the stump. It was poetry in motion, really. Alexander’s hair was the longest she had ever seen it; the sandy blonde tresses were grown out and regularly fell over his eyes but she reveled in it. Of the many years that they had known each other, he had always kept a mostly clean-shaven face but quarantine, and the filming of a particularly brutal Viking revenge drama had rendered him more manlier and distinguished than she had ever thought possible. “You are fulfilling lumberjack fantasies for me that I never knew I had!” She called out to him.

Alexander tossed his head back, a hearty laughter bubbled up from the back of his throat and exited his mouth like music from a box. “You can lie to me, but you can’t lie to yourself, kid. I see the way you look at me when I put on my old and holey plaid jacket.” He took a break from chopping wood to wipe the sweat from his brow. “To add to this- you also purchased me a very expensive axe a few years ago for my birthday.”

“Guilty,” She muttered under her breath.

“But rest assured I am elated that this-” He gestured to himself. “Does it for you.”

The morning continued on in much the same fashion until maybe an hour or two later when Alexander joined her from her perch on the wrap-around porch. Falling into a bench opposite her, he took a few moments to try and regain his breath again. Beads of sweat gathered at the base of his forehead and his broad chest heaved under the weight of recent physical duress. They each viewed each other with a hunger usually only attained after seeing one another for the first time in months. “Come here.” He ordered, softly. She rose from her spot without hesitation and sauntered over to where he sat. He pat the front of his thigh twice, a silent instruction for her to have a seat. She straddled his lap with ease and wrapped her arms around his neck; the heady scent of his perspiration and body wash made her lightheaded with want. It took every ounce of self-control not to grind shamelessly down on his steadily growing erection. As he held her tightly to him, his warm, broad hands rubbed reassuring circles into her back. She shivered into the touch as Alexander kissed his way up the side of her neck, his mouth leaving trails of fire in its wake. “You cold, kid?”

“No.”

He kissed his way up the base of her throat, past the jutting outline of her jaw, and finally to her lips. His mouth still tasted faintly of the maple syrup he had poured over his pancakes hours earlier and the urge to devour everything he had to give her was overwhelming. “You like me like this, don’t you?” He smirked. “All sweaty and dirty from working hard and chopping wood for us?”

“Yes.” Her eyes slid shut and her head fell back as he continued kissing and sucking at the sensitive skin at the base of her throat. All the while his hands roamed greedily over her sweater-clad body, squeezing, and rubbing as they traversed.

“You want me to take you right here, baby girl?” His voice grew gravelly again, though it had nothing to do with sleep this time. “I don’t even have to touch you to know that you’re already soaked for me.” The wind had picked up again and had begun to blow her hair around her face, the cool breeze a welcome reprieve to her heated body. Alexander was fully erect now, his hard cock throbbed tantalizingly at her thigh. She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and lifted the hem of the sweater to reveal her panties, and the wet patch that had grown steadily in the crotch of them. Alexander reached for her and slid two fingers past the flimsy material to her soaking folds. Immediately she leaned towards him to tuck her face into the crook of his neck, but he stopped her with a soft click of his tongue. “I want to see your face when you come for me, baby.” He brought a free hand up to caress her cheek, and as he held her, he brushed a thumb over her bottom lip. She parted for him without thought and began to suckle softly at it as his other hand started to delve deeper inside of her. He had perfected a rhythm with her now; one that no matter how many times he had pleasured her, would always be the fastest way to get her unravelling for him.

“More,” She gasped when two fingers just wasn’t enough anymore. Alexander nodded wordlessly, his gaze searching her own. He added a third finger inside of her, the stretch of it almost too much to bear.

“So fucking wet for me, baby.” He groaned, as he began to pump harder into her. He could feel her clench around him, could feel the soft, wet button of pleasure at the tips of his fingers. She sucked harder at his thumb the closer she neared to her orgasm. “You’re going to come for me soon, I can tell…” He murmured as she started to ride his fingers. “And don’t you dare be quiet about it.” He warned.

These words had helped to spur the wave of pleasure building in her belly and she arched her back against his fingers, her nails digging miniscule crescent shapes into the soft skin of his shoulder blades. “Fucking hell, Alex…”

He nodded up at her. “You look so fucking beautiful like this, my queen. That’s a good girl. Come for me,” He then angled his fingers in such a way that he had her screaming his name into the wind before them, her voice raw with unbridled pleasure. She continued to ride his fingers until she came down from her high, dropping her head to rest in the warm comfort of his neck. She couldn’t be sure how long she had taken solace there, but he eventually patted her bottom. “You came so good for me.” He pressed warm, wet kisses against her temple.

Taking his chin firmly in her grasp, she gazed at him. Unending vast oceans of blue peered back at her and took her breath away. “It’s your turn.” She crashed her lips against his again, the need to have him inside of her entirely all-consuming. He lifted her up in one fell swoop, standing tall from the bench as she wrapped her legs around his waist to keep from falling. He carried her into the warmth of the cottage, stumbling down the length of the hallway to their bedroom where he laid her as gently as he could manage, on the bed. He made impressively quick time of ridding himself of his clothing, and as he stood before her, naked and unbearably erect, she realized that she genuinely loved the man before her. It had occurred to her before that she felt this way, but she could honestly say that no matter what they would go through together, no matter the pain he would put her through in future, she loved him deeper than she had ever loved anyone before. “Come here,” She insisted.

Alexander crawled up the length of the bed, holding her head in his hands as he did so. He entered her all-consuming heat with a loud groan, the feeling of him stretching her to maximum fullness was incomparable to any pleasure she had experienced before. Having him inside of her was a comfort that she never knew she needed until it had happened. As he moved inside of her, his head dropped to her shoulder where he scattered dozens of open-mouthed kisses to the skin there. She held him tightly to her as he bucked his hips against her, his cock managing to hit all of the essential nerves each time he bottomed out. He was muttering nonsensical things now, random pieces of Swedish and English found her ears and she smiled into their embrace. She clenched around him after every other thrust, and soon his movements had grown sloppy. “Fuck,” He growled as her fingernails raked through the soft, firm skin of his broad back.

“You feel so fucking good, Alex.” She gasped against his bearded cheek.

He cried out as his hips stilled against her own and she could feel the familiar throb of his cock as he spilled everything he had to give, inside of her. He allowed himself a few more powerless thrusts, and another low whimper before he pulled out of her completely. She found his sudden absence almost painful. They remained like that for an unknowable amount of time, each just trying to catch the breath that they had lost a while ago. Eventually Alexander turned on his side to view her, bringing the back of her hand to his lips and kissing it gently. “I love you, kid.”

A crimson leaf lay next to his head on the down pillow, and she smiled softly to herself. “I love you too, Alex.”

#alexander skarsgard #alexander skarsgard x reader #alexander skarsgard imagine #alexander skarsgard oneshot #smut #writing #drabble

217 notes · View notes

x0401x · 3 years

Text

Jeweler Richard Fanbook Short Story #17

Feel free to message me about possible corrections, and please consider supporting the creators by purchasing digital copies of the official releases: Novel || Manga || Fanbook. In case anyone is feeling generous: Ko-fi | PayPal. ( ╹◡╹)っ’･*

← Previous || Index || Next →

Play of Color

Shaved ice.

A summer that everyone, from kids to adults, knew about. But how to say this in English? I’d never been taught that. Could I even say it to begin with?

The beautiful man responded clearly to my offhand doubts, “‘Shaved ice’. Other options such as ‘ice frost’ and ‘snow cone’ also go into the category, but if you are to to regard the context of ‘ice that was shaved’ as important, then I believe ‘shaved ice’ is appropriate.”

“I see, so it’s a direct translation for ‘ice that’s been shaved’. Got it... A-Aaah! Didn’t you put too much syrup? Ah—”

“I will add more ice.”

A rattling sound echoed through the jewelry shop, where there was nobody but the shopkeeper and his employee. Sitting on the tabletop was an ice shaving machine. As one would expect, we couldn’t commit the barbarianism of placing it directly on a glass table, so three cloths were stacked under the machine’s legs. It wasn’t the manual and nostalgic type but an electric one.

A customer had come over with a paper bag from a famous home appliances mass retailer and bought a glittering yellow diamond that they had reserved, but on this occasion, they ended up forgetting the bag from the electronics retail store. The shopkeeper immediately noticed it and contacted them by phone, but they were in the Narita Express, going straight to Bali for vacation. Apparently, they would only be coming back in the beginning of autumn. What luxury.

The customer who was heading to the southern island had casually said, “You can use it if you’d like—actually, please use it and tell me how it went”, then bid goodbye to Richard with a lighthearted voice and hung up. Inside the paper bag was a brand-new ice shaving machine. It also came with small syrup bags. Seven types of them. The mango, ramune, cola, lime and peach ones were a shock to me, as lived in a world of strawberry, melon and lemon ones. So people could enjoy even things like the pleasure of actually visiting stalls at home nowadays?

That was how we decided to choose at our own discretion a time on the following day when there were no reservations, and began holding a shaved ice party for just the two of us. However, when I said in a joking tone that I honestly never thought we’d really get to be the first ones to use something that a customer had forgotten, Mr. Richard Ranashinghe de Vulpian sighed grievously.

“After what happened yesterday, he contacted me to inform that he had arrived in Bali. He posted on social media, ‘I forgot my ice shaving machine, so I asked an acquaintance to try it out. I’m looking forward to it’, so it seems we need to take a video of the shaved ice as fast as possible. Think of this as also a kind of service.”

“There’s all sorts of jobs out there these days.”

Marketing that introduced new products on social media wasn’t something uncommon these days. But I heard that this sort of business was strict about many things, such as obligations and deadlines, so it might be serious stuff in its own way. I thought up until this point, but then my head whispered, “No, hold on” to me. If this was really the case, then bringing along an ice shaving machine immediately before going to Bali didn’t make any sense. Could it be...?

“Did that person leave this here on purpose? It’s clearly something that you can’t bring into an airplane and would get in the way during the trip.”

“That is possible. But it is not something for a single jeweler to judge. There is a possibility that they thought they would be able to enjoy shaved ice at a beach resort but were mistaken, and are now feeling down. Oh... oh, mgh...”

“Ah, the ice turned into water. Didn’t you put a tad too much syrup?”

“Nonsense. From the market price, it is obvious that the more syrup, the merrier.”

“You told that wholesaler who came to buy a ring with lots of decorative diamonds the other day that ‘more doesn’t equal better’, though.”

“Those are two different things,” he said in an eloquent, beautiful Japanese that sounded like it had been cut and trimmed, at which I prostrated myself with a “hahaa”.

Despite the force in his eyes being certain, he seemed to be having trouble putting an appropriate amount of syrup. When he put an abundant amount of the mango, ramune, cola, lime and peach ones all together, the ski slope-like white canvas turned into a color that looked like that of Shinjuku’s gutters during a downpour. Richard would surely call this shade of gray “smoky quartz” or something like that. The fluffy pile of ice was gone, leaving a sleet – or just plain water – in the glass bowl. It would’ve been fine if he had added them little by little, but on second thought, I was thinking this way because I was Japanese, so I was used to the way we added shaved ice syrup to some extent.

As the jeweler, not discouraged, put his bowl under the ice shaving machine, pressed the button and added more ice with crunchy noises, I called out to him, “Hey. Can you lend me that for a bit?”

“I do not mind.”

I took the bowl of water in my hands, adding the syrups of each type little by little. I felt like the jeweler was staring fixedly at me, like, “You’ll only use that tiny little bit of them? Seriously?” but I ignored him. As they said, the last drop makes the cup run over.

The result was...

“Tadaaah.”

A snowy mountain had changed its form into a richly colored shaved ice. I thought it was pretty good, if I could say so myself.

His eyelashes fluttering as he blinked for a moment, the gorgeous jeweler whispered, “Hoo. Excellent. Beautiful.”

“Well, being told that by someone who’s like an incarnation of the concept of beauty is flattering.”

“Ahem. Anyway, this color is extremely tasteful. It bears a close remembrance to ammolite.”

“‘Ammo... nite’?”

“Not ‘ni’, ‘li’. ‘Ammolite’. Ammolite is a gemstone that derivates from living creatures, of which the components obtain an iridescent effect during the many years of fossilization.” Saying this, Richard opened a video on his phone and handed it over to me. I exchanged it for the bowl of shaved ice as if it were an assembly-line system.

What appeared on-screen was a cross-section view of the ammonite. It was split vertically like a CT image taken at a hospital. The contents were a rainbow-colored stone that sparkled brightly. A gradation of red, green and yellow. It changed depending on what angle you looked at it. A while ago, when I heard about the opal, it was revealed to me that this kind of effect was called “play of color”. Still, to think that the inside of a shell could go through such a transition. There was too much depth to the things that happened in nature, and they were immeasurable.

“So can this be called... a stone too...?”

“This would be something that happened about forty years ago, but it was classified as a ‘gemstone’ by the Gemological Society of America. Of course, I do not think it should be pushed through, even if the costumer themselves happen to say that ‘this is a fossil’.”

It apparently depended on how you thought of it. Thinking back, this applied even to the general idea of gemstones.

I flicked the phone’s screen, head-over-heels for the prism-like shells that showed up one after another. Some people used them as pendants or brooches by processing the glittering part with gold.

“How pretty. Hey, do we also have ammolites here in Etrang... eh?”

“There is a possibility that we will one day. Something the matter?”

The beautiful jeweler had been scooping the shaved ice with a tiny spoon and eating it. He wasn’t eating it in a rushed way at all, but half of the iceberg was already gone. With perfect moderation, so that the proportion of the colors of the syrups that I had added one by one wouldn’t crumble.

“D-Did you like it that much?”

“I have never eaten shaved ice at Japanese stalls. Having a frozen desert in a refreshing place like this has a nostalgic air to it.”

He had never waged shaved ice at a stall. Did that mean he had eaten shaved ice at some fashionable shop? Probably not, I thought. A normal Japanese person wouldn’t eat shaved ice at that pace. The reason went without saying. This pace was – how should I put it? – dangerous.

“Richard, hey, listen well. Shaved ice is—”

“Why are you coming close?”

“I’m telling you something important. You have to eat shaved ice at a high pace.”

“But why are you shortening the distance between us? You are too close.”

“Don’t get hung up on minor stuff. More importantly, you already ate a lot of this shaved ice, right? Aren’t you tired of it? I can eat the rest.”

“It is terribly disconcerting to hear this from the father of this work of art, but I do not see any reason for that whatsoever, thus I humbly decline.”

“Aah! Don’t gulp it down! I said don’t gulp it down!”

“I am not. I do not eat that way.”

“Like I said, that’s not what I’m talking about...”

“It is impolite for me to eat by myself. Hurry and make yours to eat as well.”

“Whatever happens got nothing to do with me...”

Glancing backwards at the jeweler as he gave me an aloof nod, I began making my own shaved ice.

Later on, after Richard pleased the customer by sending them pictures of the shaved ice, he reported back to me. He probably reported because the pictures he had sent to the customer was of the shaved ice that I had made for myself, on which the colors were scattered in the form of a whirlwind. I smiled back, replying that I was glad, and not saying anything else. I also didn’t tell him that, by the time he remembered we had to do a photo shoot of it, the beautiful jeweler was making a face that looked like a boy having a worrisome migraine due to some anguish towards the meaning of life and death.

Summer was not yet over. We also didn’t know yet whether or not the customer in Bali would come to retrieve the ice shaving machine. Etranger wasn’t that big, so Richard was probably troubled that it was left there. But if they didn’t come to get it, I might be able to enjoy eating shaved ice with Richard in the summer every year for a while, I thought. And each of these times, I’d be sure to make a shiny mountain of ice in the colors of a rainbow, just like an ammolite. Just like the sparkly smile that Richard showed, I thought that it’d be great if such a summer came around and was looking forward to it.

#housekishou richard shi no nazo kantei #housekishou richard #jeweler richard #the case files of jeweler richard #nakata seigi #richard ranashinghe de vulpian #richard ranashinha de vulpian #jr short story collection #tsujimura nanako #yukihiro utako #novel #my translation #richard

35 notes · View notes

emotionalcello-makefanfics · 3 years

Link

Additional Tags: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, One-Sided Love, Romance, Canon Compliant, Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan Manga Spoilers, Kissing, Implied/Referenced Sex, Crying, Eren Yeager-centric, Sad Ending

Words: 6k

Summary: Eren has a dream that he will never live to see. So, at least, he wants to make this one small dream come true.

Eren has always been a dreamer.

Ever since he was a kid, he’d stare upon a wall and imagine the world outside. He’d dream about what he would do when he finally gets to go outside the walls. Armin would dream with him. The days inside the cramped walls would be a little brighter when he gets to dream of soft shredded ice falling from the sky and rivers of red molten rocks. The waves of glittery blue saltwater, the waves of green hills unending. To stand on top of the mountain and gaze upon the blue sky, seeing where it starts and ends in the horizons.

The dreams wouldn’t have gone wild nor wonderful had it not been for Armin. The naive creative boy that he always is, came up to him with big blue eyes filled with dreams that infect Eren on sight.

Looking back now, Eren doesn’t know whether his dreams had become everything he lived for, or a slow poison killing his insides.

Because all his dreams are dead the moment his lips met the back of Historia’s hand.

He grimaced at the memories. It took every will that he has to not vomit then and there at Historia’s feet.

Everything was never the same after he knew.

They ride out to the beach, and there it is. Infinite saltwater, blue as the sky, glittering in the sun. Yet he can’t feel happy about it, he had seen it with the previous’s attack titan’s eyes. The magic is gone before he gets to experiences it on his own.

His eyes stare longingly at the ethereal scenery in front of him, but all he sees is the enemy across the ocean.

Eren had a lot of dreams. Hopeful little dreams that all lead to one thing. He wants to be free. Free to explore. Free to be who he wants to be. Free to love. He can have none of those, because of the enemy that lurks behind the glittery waves.

If we kill the enemy, the one waiting for us on the other side, will we be finally free?

Not realizing that he said his musing, Armin steps by his side.

“I don’t think we can ever be fully free,” his blue eyes are as blue as the sky, as blue as the water. Eren wondered if Ymir put those eyes in him because this moment was destined too. “Even the people across the ocean aren’t free too, that’s why Grisha ended up inside our walls.”

Eren had fallen to a deep depression after the memories barged in, Armin’s words almost sealed him into rock bottom.

Almost, until Armin adds, “But we’re people. As humans we’re given a will, a choice to do things, even if there are consequences, nothing can ever truly stops us from doing what we want.”

Yes, this moment is truly meant to be, Eren thinks as Armin’s eyes filled with hopes and dreams, like it always meant to be.

“There’s always going to be enemies, Eren, but we worked our hardest to break out of the walls, and though we’re not fully free yet, we’re still rewarded.” Armin looks at him, and for a moment, the clouds parted, and it’s bright. Ever since the medal gifting, Eren had slowly ignored them all. This is the first time in many months that they meet eyes again, and of course, the hope and dreams latch on deep and rooting yet again.

“Right now, we’re being rewarded with the sea,” Armin looks down to the conch he’s holding, lowering it to the crystal clear water to sit in the sand. “We have big dreams, and it hasn’t come true yet, but the small dreams do. Didn’t we always dream to see the sea? Now we finally do, it came true. We broke out of the walls, the possibilities expand, there’s going to be a lot of small dreams coming true before the big one.” Armin looks at Eren with a mischievous glint, but Eren is too mesmerized to see what’s coming. “Like how you... can enjoy... a fist full of salt!” Armin throws a big splash of salt water on Eren’s mouth.

It’s so salty that Eren almost hacked his tonsils out. He doesn’t remember ever eating something so salty, ever. He used to beg his mom to put more salt in their dishes, but salt was a rare commodity and they’re far from rich. Now, Eren just had a fist full of salt.

Eren paused, and everyone’s stiff stares turn worrisome for him when Eren broke down into a manic laugh. As if the salt in the water isn’t enough, Eren contributes with his tears streaming down along the water in his hair.

Swimming in the clear blues, salty mouth, and vision almost whiteout by brightness, Eren feels like flying. He takes the saltwater and splashes Armin back along with Mikasa behind him.

Armin’s face broke into a wide smile and kicks the water at him. Eren gets completely wet, so is Captain Levi behind him. They all paled at the Captain’s scowl, but then Hanji squeals, “WATER WAR!”

And Eren will take water war over the other war he’s going to evoke.

++++

Small dreams

Or so Armin had said.

Once again, Armin filled him with hope. Maybe not all of Eren’s dreams are dead. It never occurred to him that he could settle for less.

Once upon a time, Eren dreamed of living in a cabin far in the woods. Where he can run and not bump into someone. Where he can breathe in crisp air instead of the damp breaths of other people. He dreamed of making a family in that cabin. Be in love, never feeling alone.

He had planned to do that with Mikasa. It’s so easy to love Mikasa, how couldn’t he? A stoic face that only brightens at Eren. She’s a quiet kid, but she shows affection with actions. Like how she’s always beside him no matter how petulantly Eren pushes her away sometimes. She’s distrustful but still trusted Eren the most. Her smiles are rare, but when she does, it’s always for Eren. It’s endearing.

Also, she’s beautiful. She doesn’t realize it and Eren sometimes wants to scream at her. But Eren never said anything to her, never admitted out loud. He knows since the day he met her that Mikasa is special. She’s calm, collected, mature and so strong. Eren never gets why she loves him, but Eren is afraid if she realized how special she is then she wouldn’t choose the lame, regular, non-special Eren.

But he wants her. He promised himself if the war is over then he’d confess his feelings to her and just... love her.

Eren wants to feel loved, to be loved, to be wanted and cherished. Wants all the romantical shit with that person. He’s loved by Mikasa, and he knows if Eren asks, Mikasa will never say no to Eren under positive circumstances.

Now that Eren knows the truth about Ackermans, he can never see Mikasa in the same light again.

Mikasa’s love -now that he gets a double-take- is scary. She gave her whole heart in her palm, her full dedication and love only for Eren, no questions, no hesitations, no doubts. What did Eren do to deserve it? To work for it? Nothing.

All Eren did was save her, and gave her a scarf because she looked cold and Eren’s mom taught him to be good. If Mikasa was a depraved kid lacking affection her whole life then Eren would’ve understood why Mikasa was taken by him. But no, Mikasa’s parents were good to her, what Eren did was not special to her.

She loves him, sure, like a dog loves its master. Unreasonably unconditional. And the dog doesn’t know what’s good for themselves, blindly loving their masters. Just like how baffling it was that a selfish serial killer like Kenny suddenly have a heart to follow a hidden king just because he begged prettily.

Having Mikasa love him doesn’t bear the same euphoric feeling. Eren isn’t special, just a lucky kid at the right time, she could’ve imprinted on anyone. Eren had thought this dream is dead.

Eren still loves her, she’s still a person, just a fucked up gene. So at that night infiltrating Marley with the team of survey corps, Eren asks her, “Why is it that you care so much about me? What am I to you?”

Mikasa blushes prettily, her breath quickens.

“You are family,” Mikasa admits shyly.

Unlike the dog that loves its master, Eren knows better. It’s not that Mikasa is pushing him away, Eren is family, Eren is her everything, that’s why all she said was those three words. And she feels all these things without any reason at all, so much that she can’t compute.

Then the family of the boy he helped offer alcohol, and Eren gulped it down. In a way, Mikasa broke his heart. Eren wasn’t special to her. Eren isn’t wanted, he’s being obsessed by, being followed by someone that doesn’t know better.

Morning comes. They’re in a boat on the way back to Paradis Island. Eren decides to give his dream one more try. Maybe it doesn’t have to be romantic? He settles for even less.

He finds Armin by the deck at 6 AM. The only ones awake around are them, the captain behind the wheel, and the fishes under.

His blue eyes take in the dark sea, the pinkish color of the dawn sky.

Eren knows why they both are the only ones up this hour after a whole night drinking. Turns out being a Titan means that you regenerate everything. They don’t get drunk too long, and they don’t get hangovers.

“Armin?” Eren can’t help the desperation in his voice, not in front of Armin. His best friend has seen him at his worst, and he’s still here, it must mean something, right? “What am I to you?”

Armin -who had been looking at him curiously the moment Eren spoke- drops his jaw. They look at each other for a while, and Armin seems to sober up from his shock and looks stern.

A pair of arms smack on either side of Eren’s face. It sobers Eren of all the melancholic brooding, even more now that Armin is putting a nagging face on. “Eren Jaeger, you listen to me. We’ve been friends since we’re gaggling children. You were a trouble-seeker even though you’re weak, couldn’t even land a punch on some goons! We all survived childhood purely thanks to Mikasa.”

“At least I tried to fight, unlike you, taking it laying down,” Eren growls, lifting his hands to pinch both of Armin’s cheeks. Gone the baby fat, they’re a little bit skinnier from growing up, and a bit too many muscles replacing it.

“Ow!” Armin grabs Eren’s wrist and to Eren’s surprise, Armin pulls his hands away easily. The strength stuns Eren’s mock anger away, and Armin looks at him with a solemn gaze. Eyes tinted pink look a bit lilac purple.

“I could never understand why you would befriend a weak kid like me, but then I figured it out.” Armin takes a deep breath, and suddenly Eren feels weak. Why is Armin looking at him like that? “You, Eren, are the most important person in my life. The one I cherished the most, and closer than family. No one realized how big of a heart you have, and your pride gets in the way of asking for help. But you care so much about everyone when no one was looking.” And Armin looks at him, Eren hears ‘but I did’, from Armin all the same.

“You’ve been different since we stepped into Marley,” Armin says, freezing Eren on the spot. Eren hoped he schooled his face as well as he thinks. “Whatever it is, you’re not alone. Alright? You have us, and we’ll always be on your side.”

Eren was done before he knew he started. Tears bursts from his eyes, lips frown deeply, holding back sobs.

“Oh! Eren, uh...” Armin awkwardly pats Eren’s back and Eren pulls him into the hug. It takes exactly one second for Armin to completely melt and wrap him into a tighter hug.

His heart bleeds. Armin did two things with his words. Makes Eren feel loved, and tore him a betrayal yet to be done.

It hurts because Eren knew, they can’t be on his side. They won’t, and that’s how it’s meant to be.

“Armin, can I try something?”

“I... guess?”

Maybe it’s Armin’s unpredictable blush or Eren’s half-broken heart, but it’s easy to just dive in. Eren didn’t realize how small Armin’s face is until he cups it, touched its cheekbones, trails the jaw, cradles the back of his blond hair. Leaning in is easy. Once meeting Armin’s lips, he felt some sort of instinct. It tells Eren to leans closer, tilts his head, licks the lower lip, and parts his own.

Eren wondered why lips taste so sweet and feel so soft, or was it just Armin?

When Armin’s arms find his sides and clutches, Eren feels heat riding up his spine, up to his head. He wants more. The morning is cold and every gentle move Armin does to kiss him back warms him with life. Finally, Armin parts his lips too, and instincts take over again. Tounge between teeth, roaming into his mouth.

Still, the best feeling of kissing is not how Armin feels on him, but how Armin is feeling him up. Armin kisses back with curious vigor, lips moving quicker, hands clutching tight. When Armin moves his hand to cups the back of his head and grabs his hair, Eren shivers. Eren wants more, wants Armin to want more of him.

Armin doesn’t feel the same, as he shows by stepping a wide step back. Eren gasps at the sudden space, cold strikes him like a slap, arms awkwardly hugging where Armin was less than a second ago. Blue eyes widen, in shock, but not in disgust, and Eren hoped.

“But... I thought Mikasa...” Armin stutters, hand on his lips. Eren empathizes, his lips still tingle too.

“I don’t think of her that way.”

“Liar, I saw you... You...” Armin’s words died away. Yes, he saw Eren looks besottedly at Mikasa when no one was looking. It changed though, and even though Eren isn’t transparent, Armin can read him like a dog-eared book.

“I don’t think of her that way anymore,” he corrects.

It’s true. Eren did think of her that way, not anymore. Eren loves Armin, but he never thought of him that way, now he can, and somehow it makes sense. His wild dreamer of a head can see it.

Armin’s silence is discouraging. Self-consciously, Eren feels that he might be moving too fast.

...

What’s Eren doing? What’s next? Going on a date? Be boyfriends? Share sweet nothings under the stars until Eren eventually betrays them all?

He knew he had to give up on his dreams, small as it is, and he won't live to see his one most important dream come true. Eren sees the suffering and the screams, but not the peace that came after.

Still, a part of him yearns and reaches desperately before Eren can pull away.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Eren says, every word ripped from his flesh. Eren smiles apologetically at Armin’s confused expression. “It’s nice... I-I... You’re my everything too.” The confession is terrifyingly easier. Eren feels the heat on his face now, and the shaking cold of his fingers.

Armin takes a deep breath with his slacked jaw, still startled, but something changed in his face, softer.

Eren walks away, but a strong grip holds his wrist. Eren realized that strong as Armin is, he’s not as strong as Eren’s. Eren is just so weak for him. Since when? How could he never notice?

Well, he notices now, and it makes him flush when he kisses him. It doesn’t mean anything. Nothing can come out of it. Eren can’t dream of it.

“Since when?” Armin asks vaguely, but Eren still knows.

“Since just now,” Eren says truthfully.

Armin lets him go then. Eren doesn’t look at him when he walks away.

+++

But Eren never stopped yearning.

Everything starts coming to place. So fast, so perfectly that it scares him.

These moments with his friends are numbered, and with all the power given to him, he can’t stop time.

He remembers what Armin says, and what Eren can realistically take from it. Enjoy it while he can. Cherish his friends while he can. As embarrassing as it sounds, Eren was saying the truth when he said he wants none of them inheriting the Attack Titan. These people live through hell with him, and he’ll make sure all of them make it in the end. No need to bear the Titan for the sake of foolish wars. It all will end with Eren, and it’ll make one of Eren’s dreams come true. The friends most precious to him will live in peace till they’re old and grey.

All of this is for the dreams that Eren will never live to see.

But the small ones, his mind says in betrayal, it can come true right?

Those words are what got him yearning still for the one thing he had given up on, or trying to at least.

Nothing changes between him and Armin. Eren has more practice in acting, he finds it easy to have a poker face, seems like his face does the same thing if he’s in despair, so he lets it take over. Armin is a bit different. The tension is there though faint. Lurking glances at the corner of his eyes, disappearing just before Eren could turn and see. It was Eren that says they don’t have to talk about it.

He hates it. Hates that even without meeting his eyes, Armin still gives him hope.

Eren knows he’s been sneaking into Annie’s jail cell. A part of him feels jealous, another part feels relieved. Relieved because Armin can move on, and maybe they’d pretend they’re never a thing to begin with. Yet Armin never stopped staring, and Eren could never really let go.

Eren knows that inherited traits from previous owners of the titans are possible and real. Eren is almost entirely sure that Armin’s affection purely came from Bertholdt. Eren had the same lingering feelings too. Bursts of instincts and thoughts that came out of nowhere. He feels weird with his hair short. All he thinks of his mother is not her love anymore, but guilt. So he clutches the feelings he knows are his own. New as it is, his feelings for Armin are one of the things he’s confident in. One of few.

He’s a compilation of previous Attack Titans now, but he’s still him. Eren is more than a shell, more than a pawn. Still his own self. Still Eren Jaeger. Still his mother’s son.

“Still human.”

“What?”

Eren snaps back and sees Mikasa’s searching eyes. They’re helping around Historia’s orphanage again. The horse he’s brushing is nudging him to continue where he left off.

“Nothing,” Eren mumbles.

Mikasa looks like she wants to say something, but she doesn’t. She drops the hay she was carrying to the feeding bin and steps out of the barn with a worried look.

Eren can’t help but wonder if Armin would’ve said or done something different.

+++

It’s dark, nothing but the moon, the fireflies, and his oil lamp for light. His friends are back at the orphanage having a game night. Eren had said he was tired and wanted to sleep early, then sneaking out to take a walk alone along the dirt path from Historia’s orphanage. Eren feels misplaced in the group, detached. They’re all smiling, having fun, but Eren feels like he’s alone. For all the plan to work, he just needs to keep his mouth shut and trusts Floch and Yelena to carry on the plan.

Eren wishes he could tell someone. Wishes that it didn’t have to be genocide. Wishes he could live to see his dreams coming true and live for them. Wishes he has someone... just someone to cry on. To share his fear because Eren is terrified-

“Eren?”

He didn’t hear anyone coming, he was that deep into his head. Of course, it’s Armin, and of course, he looks worried.

“Oh,” Armin says, sad. “You don’t have to hide when you needed to cry.”

Eren takes a deep breath, taps his face, and turns out the dampness in his face was not from the humidity.

“Talk to me,” Armin is close to begging, but not quite enough for Eren to fold.

Eren can’t talk to Armin, or he’ll say it all, undo a nail in the dam and all the water will break through. All the fears nearly choke him to death if he lets it.

“Do you have small dreams?” Eren asks because he can’t handle doing the talking.

“I do,” Armin says easily. He gestures to one of the trees facing the clearing Eren was heading towards. They sit there, watching the sparse clouds moves. “The sea is one of them,” Armin says once they sat, the oil lap turned off. The moon is full, Eren can see every detail of Armin’s face.

“What else?”

“Well there’s the mountains, and the snowy dunes, Onyakopon says it’s called the artic... I want to travel the world.” Armin looks to the moon with his hopeful eyes, and Eren’s heart is pulled.

Yanked painfully.

“You can do that,” Eren says, trying to smile.

“How about you?”

Eren looks down to his hands, “I’m not a dreamer like you,” He lied terribly, “It’s hard to, isn’t it? We’re still in the middle of the war, there’s a chance we won't make it.” I won’t make it.

Armin furrowed his eyebrows, “This is not the Eren I know,” his voice rising, “The Eren I know won’t give up until he has vengeance! His goals and hopes and dreams! Until he’s free! The Eren I know is always brave!”

Eren grits his teeth, his dead dreams flash in his eyes. “Fine! I’m a coward! I’m setting my expectations realistic Armin! We can’t always have what we want because we’re tied with obligations-”

“Why does it matter! Why is it ever the reason we stopped dreaming, huh?” Armin rises to his knees, looking down at Eren with fury coated with shadows. The moon looms upon his blond hair, tears falling down his face. “And we’re all scared Eren! I don’t think I ever stopped being scared since a Titan peeked from the walls of our home and literally kicked the gate open... the Titan that I am now.” His voice weakens, hands by his side shaking in balled fists.

Eren wants to touch him. Pull him to sit down, wipes his tears, pull him into his arms, curled into him, because yes, Eren is scared too, more than he’s sane to handle sometimes.

“But being brave means that we keep trying despite being scared... Being brave means that we have something to push through fear. That’s why we can’t stop hoping, having dreams! You can’t stop hoping Eren!” Armin sits back down, hands clenching on Eren’s shoulder. “Don’t give up on them! If you do... then... then what do you fight for?” Armin’s voice is broken and desperate.

“For all of you,” Eren says weakly, “I told you that before. I want all of you to be free.”

“But what about you!” Armin shakes his shoulder, “What about your dreams for you!”

“There’s none! Alright?!” Eren snaps, gripping Armin’s hands, and pushes him away. His breath is fast and shallow. A bundle of nerves wanting to run. Stars break behind his lids

“Eren, please!” Armin clutch his wrist, “You have to have something to live for. Don’t...” Armin’s broken voice makes Eren look, not surprised to see Armin looking heartbreakingly sad. “Don’t throw your life away so easily! I know our years are numbered and no one can tell whether we die in this war or not... but I’d-I’d... if we found peace within our years, I’d... want to spend however little left of my life with you.”

A sob came out first before the tears, Eren can’t hold it back. He’s been clutching everything hard so close to his heart that he just couldn’t hold himself together anymore. He wanted to say it all, lay the sins he hasn’t committed, and be loved despite so. He knows Armin would, and he would help. Eren wouldn’t be alone, but he can’t.

Armin will have his dream come true, having peace in his lifetime.

Armin’s war will be over in a few years.

Eren’s war will never end, not till he dies.

“Please, don’t let me hope,” Eren begged.

“But-”

“I can’t have small dreams, I just couldn’t!” Eren snaps again, throwing up all his anger in his throaty scream, “I can’t! I tried Armin but I kept wanting more. I want more and everything! Nothing is ever enough and this fucking war is...” this fucking fate, her fucking wish, “It’ll take everything from me.”

“No, not yet,” Armin says solemnly with new determination, face still wet from crying. “I have a plan okay? Don’t you trust me?”

Eren is thrown again between pain and anger. His scowl rained down with tears. “You know I do!” I’ll betray you but you’ll pull through, I believe you will. “This has nothing to do with it. We... it just... I can’t...”

“Tell me what it is,” Armin begs, “I’ll help it come true, I’ll help in any way I can. Please.” Those honest eyes look at him, tear down the walls he puts up. Why does Armin always make him hopeful? Even though Eren has nothing left in his future? Why?

Why after years of guarding his desires, one look from Armin unravel him instantly?

His heart finally bare of walls, hands clenched so tightly they shake, Eren screamed his soul out, “I WANT TO BE FREE!”

He screams so loud to the blank indifferent sky that his voice echoes. He hadn’t dared voiced that dream of him anymore, knowing he’ll never have it. It was all he wanted, but there’s a chain of fate in his neck.

Even though he’s chained, doesn’t mean he’s muffled. Not anymore, his heart yearns openly. “I want... I want a life! A long life with someone I love. A cabin in a large space in the forest, where the air feels cool in our lungs. I want kids on my own, I want to grow old with someone! Someone that loves me despite who I am,” despite what I’m about to do. “I just want to be myself.... not a weapon, not a soldier, not a tool.” Not fate’s fool. “I just want to live... build a life, build a home, be with someone that cherishes me for me.”

Eren makes a mistake in looking at Armin, finding the blue eyes mimicking the heavy rain pouring from Eren’s. The worst is the despairing look on Armin’s face, the full mournfulness of the usually boyish hopeful look.

Eren’s mouth still loose, the adrenaline from the truth makes him brave, “I want... I want more than just a kiss.” Armin’s expression doesn’t change, still in that heartbroken despair, it’s like he’s not surprised. “I want to go... spend time with you... more than-than just a friend.” At that, Armin finally looks surprised. Eren’s face burns, but it’s easier to say without the suspense of how well Armin is going to take it. Whether it’s a yes or no, the answer is already chosen by circumstances.

“You-You’d want that?” Armin’s tone in disbelieve.

“Yeah,” he croaks, already sore from screaming.

“I thought...” Finally, Armin looks down, “I thought you were just curious about the kiss, not necessarily me.”

“Well... both of that. The kiss and... you.”

Out of nowhere, Armin barks a laugh, stilling Eren looking at him like he’s crazy. “Geez, I should’ve known. You’re really an all-or-nothing guy.”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing,” Eren pouts.

“No, not bad, but by gods, your actions can be baffling sometimes,” Armin smiles. Oh if only he knew.

It’s eerie how they can fall to banter easily, smoothly, and Eren can’t help to imagine a lifetime of this. He tamps it down instantly.

Eren feels oddly lighter, but he knows tomorrow he won’t. He’ll mull about tonight, and nothing will be done about it, then it’ll add to the list of things he broods about.

“Wait,” Armin says, before Eren gets to ask what, a pair of lips landed on him. It’s more chaste than before because Eren still put up his guard. It’s still too sweet and Eren still got poisoned.

They lean back, flushed and a bit breathless. Armin is flustered, nervous, but Eren is carefully stoic, which means he’s despaired.

“You didn’t have to do that for me,” Eren clips.

“Unlike you, I’m more selfish.”

“You didn’t even like me like that.”

“You don’t know that.”

“And Annie?”

Armin sighs, “I don’t know why... but I just feel if we could’ve had time, me and her could be something.” Eren knows the reason, an indescribable instinct. “But Eren,” His hand grips Eren’s, pinning Eren at place with his gentle touch. “Annie and I didn’t become anything. She’s frozen in a crystal, and you’re here.”

Eren should feel like chopped liver, really, but why is he hopeful instead?

“And I want you.”

Eren watches his best friend, watches closely. Their transparency towards each other goes both ways.

“I know maybe... my feelings aren’t as deep as yours yet, but I still want you.”

Eren finds no lie, and it’s harder to not let his soul soars in joy. Yet.

“Nothing can come out of this.”

“Who says?”

“Armin...”

“See the smaller picture,” Armin put his hands on Eren’s face and his mind stops. “I know you’d always want more, but isn’t having something small is better than not having anything at all? Did you ever regret kissing me the first time?”

“No.” Eren knows he’s utterly defeated yet again by Armin’s wits.

“Would the future you regret kissing me some more?”

Eren weakly smiles, “I-I think future me will thank present me.”

“Well.”

They both lean in this time, knowing what to expect, but still getting surprised by what they get.

Their third kiss is better, both of them anticipate it, both of them wanting. They know better how to slot their bodies together. Their lips were a bit chapped, tasting like the apple pie they had for dessert today. Their hands move more confidently. Eren goes along Armin’s back and jaw, feeling the newly shaved undercut. Armin’s fingers go to his nape, feeling his grown-out hair. Those fingers trail down Eren’s chest and pull his shirt.

Suddenly Eren’s backed against the tree trunk. Momentarily they part their lips, just to look. Eren doesn’t know what Armin is finding that makes him blush and doe-eyed, but what Eren finds is that Armin wants him too. Armin, who could’ve waited for Annie, who could’ve had anyone, wants Eren. No genetic conditioning. No previous titans making him like Eren. This is Armin as he is, wanting Eren as he is.

That’s all he needs. It’s all he wants.

Eren is wanted. Not as a tool. Not as a weapon. Not his power.

Just Eren.

When they kiss again, skin touch skin. Hands pressing on pulses. Their breathing sound loud in the dead of the night. No one is listening but them.

No one stopping them.

In the protective cradle of the forest, they finally get to be curious teens fooling around.

++++

They’re not anything, but not nothing either.

Something noticeably changed between them, but it’s not hard to hide what they are when even they are not sure what they are.

They have nothing but stolen kisses, sneaking out in the night to spend time alone. They don’t really talk, just touches that keep getting bolder. Eren’s feet coming up Armin’s legs under the table as he explains strategies. A hand on Eren’s inner thigh at a group dinner. Sex in the closet. Disappearing at night. Sneaking into each other’s room. Sneaking out in the morning.

Eren admits that feeding his hunger is exhilarating, he’s never felt this alive since he sees the future. Eren would never admit that this happiness scares him.

Eventually, the carpet will be pulled from under his feet, and Eren will have no one to blame but himself.

But Armin was right. Small dreams coming true are still better than dead dreams. Eren is living in his little secret of peacefulness whenever he’s pulled aside where no one can see them.

“Eren,” Armin murmurs, voice hoarse, curling towards Eren for warmth. Eren pulls the blanket over their naked shoulders, shimmying closer. He nuzzles on top of blond hair and smells the sun. Legs bare and long stretching along with Eren’s, Armin rest his temple against Eren’s. Since when did Armin get this tall? Armin plays with Eren’s shoulder-length hair. Since when did his hair get that long?

How did time pass so fast?

“Go back to sleep, it’s still early,” Eren says with familiar affection, a soft spot dangerously tender. He kisses the top of the blond hair by instinct and felt his heart squeeze. He wants to keep Armin here, in his arms, forever.

“I can go back to my room if you want,” Armin offers sleepily, knowing that Eren has been having difficulty sleeping, but not knowing the real reason why.

“Never, stay,” Eren feels a lump in his throat, small mercy grants him for it not to show.

They’re in Eren’s room at the furthest corner of the house that’s far inside the woods. They’re here for Titan experiments, the only other people in the house are Hanji and her assistant.

The window curtains are parted so they can see each other, can’t risk the lamp on to alarm anyone. As always, whenever they’re together, the moon is their only witness.

Eventually, the carpet is pulled from under his feet, Eren has no one to blame but himself. Still, his small dream coming true is still better than nothing at all, Armin was right, nothing surprising there.

He tucked Armin closer to him, caressing his back languidly, not wanting to let go ever. Tears building up his eyes, chest contracting, heart pounding, crying silently.

“I love you, Armin,” Eren says, as clear as saying hello in broad daylight. The body in his arm tensed. Blue eyes still bright even in the dark, open wide in shock, but the softness in his expression means Armin at least expected it.

For a while they say nothing, just stare and touch. Eren’s hands snake up to cup Armin’s jaw that keeps getting more defined. Both of them are nineteen, still growing, and Eren can never see what a handsome man Armin will grow into. Will he keeps his soft features? Or will he has a growth spurt to grow really tall and broad-shouldered? Eren will never have the answer.

But Eren has this.

This Armin that’s his. This Armin wants him. This Armin gave his firsts to Eren and given Eren’s firsts. He’ll take it, he’ll keep it till the day he dies.

Small dreams partially coming true. Is it still better than dead dreams?

“You don’t have to say anything,” Eren adds, knowing he still visits Annie, still has indescribable feelings for her. It doesn’t stop Eren leaning to kiss him by the sunlight roots. This part of Armin will forever be his, Annie can have the rest of Armin’s life.

Armin nuzzles closer, face buried in the crook of his neck. Shaky breaths hit Eren’s skin, arms tightening around his torso.

“I wish we have more time,” Armin’s voice broke, “I wish we’re not.... here.”

Eren hugs him closer, letting his heart falls. He knows Armin doesn’t mean it the same way as Eren would, but he lets himself wishing for it too. Wishing that this was another world, in another time, where they can be something and have more than a decade to live.

“I know. Me too.” Eren doesn’t let himself sob, so he just curled.

They say nothing more. Just holding each other until they fall asleep.

Or, only until Armin does.

Eren counts the seconds to his deep breaths before detaching himself from Armin. He doesn’t look away from Armin, not even when he picked up his clothes from the floor and dresses. Eren let one more tear escape as he put one last kiss on Armin’s temple and lips. Eren tucks him under the blanket and closes the curtains so the morning light won't be too harsh on him.

One last look before he closes the door, let his chest cave in, nurse the hurt that’ll last his short lifetime. Eren takes a deep breath, wipes his tears, and closes the door gently. Too weak for goodbyes.

Eren sneaks out into the stables, sushing the horse with pets and apples he stole from the pantry. Cloak on, hiding his face, he rides out into the pier where Yelena and Floch are waiting for him there.

Eren retraces his plan with Floch, and goes out on the boat with Yelena towards Marley. She hands him the Eldian uniform that fits him suspiciously well. Eren doesn’t hesitate to pierce one of his eyes and cut his leg.

When he’s finally at the Eldian camp, the despair in his eyes is barely acting.

++++

+++

When they meet again, Armin sees him with nothing but betrayal.

No love left there to scavenge.

But, once upon a time, Eren was wanted for the human he is by someone who could’ve chosen anyone.

Those eyes had looked at him fondly. He was precious to someone.

His small dream did come true.

#eremin #eremin fanfics #shingeki no kyojin #snk fanfiction #eremin fanfic #eremin fanfiction #eren yeagar fanfiction #armin arlert #eren jäger #they said bethrlsod name is hard #which yager is eren??#emocel's #attack on titan fanfiction #whenever i think of attack on titan i bleed a little #especially that Miche scene #i don't get horrified a lot but that scene....#haunts me

10 notes · View notes

a-solitary-marshmallow · 4 years

Text

Slow Going

Sometimes the world shifted.

Or at least, it felt like it did; like he was on the deck of a boat being tossed about by waves, getting knocked off his feet the moment he’d found them steady. The silver-haired man whose face looked so familiar – his brother? – explained in a soft voice that it wasn’t the world, it was his own mind. Something about memory guns and relapses and memories and slow recovery. He couldn’t quite understand it. He tried, but it was like trying to put together a puzzle with pieces missing.

For the most part the world was stable enough. They lived in a house – his house, apparently. The man was his brother. The sweet-faced kids were his niece and nephew. Or… great niece and nephew?

Definitely great. They called him ‘grunkle’.

He knew that something big must have happened, back before he’d woken up in the forest a few days ago. Everyone here seemed so sad. It made his chest ache, a black stain of worry spreading through him. But no matter how much he asked no one would explain it to him. Or… maybe they already did, and he’d forgotten?

Maybe everyone was sad because they missed this ‘Stan’ character. The kids, his brother, and that weirdly familiar man-child who came around every day looked upset whenever he asked about the guy. Even though some of them called him by that name? Was it his name?

He groaned and sat up from his bed, abandoning any hope of getting back to sleep. Not with his brain being all screwy and this headache pulsing in his temples. The dull throbbing always seemed to spike up when he hit a particularly frustrating block – like when he’d spent ten minutes staring at a stranger only to realize the face staring back was his own reflection in the window. Or when he forgotten how to tie his shoelaces. The bad days came and went like waves on the open sea.

He groaned again, one hand scrubbing at his face as the other fumbled around for…

For?

His hand found a pair of glasses on the bedside table. That old guy wore glasses, right?

-a bright-eyed child with a book in one hand, gesturing excitedly, poking up his glasses when they started to slip down his nose-

Yeah, his brother, Ford. Must be his glasses then.

He pulled on a rumbled jacket and trudged downstairs, smothering a yawn in one hand. From the chill in the air it must be early, so he was careful not to make noise and wake the kids, who he was pretty sure slept in the basement or the attic or something. Were they still there at all? Still, there was a clattering coming from the kitchen. He followed it curiously.

His brother glanced up when he entered. The man – his name was Ford, he reminded himself – was doing… something at the stove. Something that was resulting in sizzling and a bit of smoke.

“Oh, Stanley, good morning. How are you?”

Stanley! That was his name, he remembered now. He got the feeling that he’d forgotten it before. Jeez, it was a bit embarrassing to forget your own name. Since when was he having memory problems anyway? He couldn’t… remember…

“Stanley?” Ford stepped closer, his eyes searching Stan’s face. “Are you alright? Are… are you having another episode?”

Stan shook his head and suddenly remembered the glasses in his hand. He held them out.

“Episode? Of what, Ducktective? No, I’m good. Are these yours?”

Ford’s eyes landed on the glasses and he bit his lip. “No, Stan, those are yours.”

Stan blinked. “…I have glasses?”

Ford gently took them from his hand, unfolded them and slid them over Stan’s face. The world sharpened around him.

“Oh! So that’s why everything was so blurry.” Now that his vision was clear he could see the mess of what he hoped were eggs sizzling in the pan over Ford’s shoulder. Well, less sizzling, more hissing and blackened around the edges. “Uhh – hey, Ford? What the heck is that?”

Ford brightened at the use of his name. Then he had the grace to look sheepish.

“Ah, yes. I was attempting to make breakfast – though it has been some time since I’ve cooked. I seem to be a little out of practice.”

Stan snorted and ducked past his brother to take the pan off the heat. “Yeah, no kidding. These eggs look more scrambled than my brain.”

“…they were supposed to be pancakes.”

This time Stan couldn’t suppress a loud laugh. “Alright, move over. Time to let the pros work.” He tipped Ford’s disaster-cakes into the bin with a flick of his wrist and pulled out a fresh bowl. “You’re gonna wanna mix the eggs and milk together before you add ‘em to the flour. And put that measuring cup away. When it comes to pancakes you gotta measure this shit with your heart.”

He found he didn’t have to ask where the flour was kept, or the whisk. His hands found them instinctively. Stan’s autopilot was on a roll as he chatted away.

And then he turned and caught a glimpse of Ford gaping at him. Stan hesitated.

“…what? I got something on my face?”

Ford shook his head quickly, a warm smile spreading across his face. “No. Please, continue.”

“Uhh… sure.” Stan shrugged before resuming whisking the batter. “You wanna pass me the ladle so I can fry these bad boys? And see if we’ve got any jam in the fridge. One of the scamps – err, was it Mabel? – she likes the stuff, right?”

“They both do.” Ford explained. “Mabel has a higher tolerance for sweets, though, so it’s an easy mistake to make. I – Stan, is that glitter?”

The surprise in Ford’s voice made Stan stop and look down at his hands. Sure enough, clutched in one fist was a jar of bright pink sparkles. When had he picked it up? Just looking at it made his head throb.

“I… I guess so. Why do I…?” He looked around helplessly. “I don’t remember why…”

Suddenly he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing. He was in a kitchen, cooking. Or he had been. How did he know how to cook? He couldn’t remember the recipe, or where he’d learned it.

Ford gently pried the jar of glitter from his hand, reading the label out loud. “Industrial strength edible glitter. I suppose this is how Mabel makes her cooking so… vibrant.”

How did he get here? Why did his head hurt?

“Do you remember a few weeks ago?” Ford prompted. “The biscuits she made were glittery. She made me come up from the basement for a formal tea party and gave us all pretentious names. I was worried the glitter may be toxic so I tried to run a few tests on them to make sure they were safe, and you told me I was being silly.”

…glitter. Biscuits. Pancakes. Stan winced and rubbed his forehead at another spike of pain.

“…right, yeah. The, um, the glitter.” Just like that, the world was coming into focus again. The boat righted itself. “I… lost a bet with – what’s her name? Mabel – and for the rest of the summer every pancake I made hasta be filled with glitter. Somethin’ about makeup for your insides.”

Ford smiled eagerly. “Stan! You remembered something without direct prompting!”

“…you told me about the thing.”

“About the glitter, yes, but not the bet! This means you’re getting better!”

Stan was still kinda confused, but it was hard to be crabby in the face of that sunshine grin. It made him feel all warm inside. Safe.

So he laughed and rubbed the back of his neck, letting the headache fade into background noise. “Yeah, well. You’re still gettin’ glitter with these pancakes. A bet’s a bet.”

“Of course. I doubt even amnesia would save you from Mabel’s wrath if she found out you went back on your word. Do you happen to remember what she would have had to do if she’d lost?”

“Err…” Stan racked his brain. It sent another twinge of pain through him but it was worth it when his brother was smiling like that. “Somethin’ about that pig. I was probably gonna make her kick it out or somethin’.”

“You love that pig.” Ford said dismissively. Stan punched him lightly in the arm and it just felt right.

“You take that back! No way am I attached to a piece of living bacon!”

“Fine, fine. Then for the sake of your dignity; you love Mabel and she loves that pig. Ergo, you would not have made her kick it out.”

“Ah, whatever.” Stan flapped his hand. “Didja want these pancakes or not, mister smarty-pants?”

“I would love nothing more.”

Stan rolled his eyes at his brother’s fervent tone. It was just pancakes. Not like Stan had risen from the dead or anything. Ugh, drama kids.

But – it was nice. Stan wasn’t sure why the familiar-but-not-too-familiar banter filled him with a bittersweet feeling. His brother’s smile, the ease of working in a kitchen he could have sworn he’d never used but somehow knew like the back of his hand, it all just felt right.

Stan couldn’t remember what he’d woken up thinking about that morning, but he did know that he was happy. And wasn’t that enough?

#gravity falls #the stans #fic #my fic #my writing #oneshot

60 notes · View notes

masjestickingdom · 4 years

Text

The Waiting Game

Pairing: NCT Jaehyun x reader

Genre: one shot, fluff, slightly suggestive (implied smut)

Summary: It’s been a month since you last saw your boyfriend. When it’s finally the day to meet him, his late appearance has you coping with feelings that make you go out of character.

Note: Along with the previous post, this is a lighthearted scenario to “lighten” up the mood for what’s to come... (*hint, hint*) Until then, enjoy this scenario!

_______________________________________________________________________

When you hear the music of the keypad, you jump up from your couch and rush your way over to the door. When the music comes to a stop and the door handle is angled, your eyes widen in anticipation. The door swings open, and your face immediately drops.

Today is the long-awaited day you’ve been waiting for: at long last, you get to spend the evening with your lovely boyfriend, Jaehyun, since his departure for his world tour a month ago. Waiting for a month without any physical contact or voice calls was unbelievably painful, but you managed to pull through. Right now, though, you’ve been waiting for him all afternoon and all that waiting is starting to mess with your brain.

“What’s with the face?” the man standing in front of you asks, taking off his sneakers.

“I thought you were Jaehyun,” you answer with a visible pout. “But you’re just Johnny.”

The tall man rolls his eyes. “Gee, I’m glad to see you too.”

He steps out of the entryway and swings his arm around your shoulders, guiding you away from the precious entrance.

“Your boyfriend’s still working on the dance he missed out on yesterday,” Johnny informs you, but his words mean nothing to you.

You turn your head around, hoping to hear the same notes from the keypad.

“He’s not going to come back sooner just because you’re staring at the door like a weirdo-”

There they are, those notes, the notes you’ve been another minute waiting for. You and Johnny simultaneously exchange looks at each other, yours being smug and Johnny’s reflecting the image of a surprised kangaroo.

“How did you do that?” he asks in wonderment as you slip out of his touch.

You’re back to square one, staring at the door, waiting for the handle to be angled. This time, Johnny joins you with an amazed expression. During the three long seconds you wait, you hear indistinct conversations, to which you hope that among the numerous voices behind that door, one of them belongs to your boyfriend.

“Who takes so long to press the keypad?” you say, impatience evident in your tone.

“Kim Doyoung,” Johnny replies easily.

After an eternity of three seconds, you see the door swing open in the same manner it was done before. You and Johnny stand there, watching the door open as if everything is in slow motion.

The first person to walk in is, as Johnny predicted, Doyoung. The moment you realize it’s him, you get on your toes to see the faces following behind him.

“Jaehyun?” you call, hoping that you get a response.

“Nope,” Johnny responds instead as another member comes into view. “It’s Yuta.”

“Jaehyun?” you try again.

“Nope,” Johnny says, popping the “p”. “It’s Taeil.”

“Jaehyun?”

“Nope. Haechan.”

“Jaehyun?”

“Nope, Mark.”

“Jaehyun?”

“Hey, there’s no one left,” Johnny points out.

There it is, that empty feeling in your heart once again. You feel dejected, wondering if Jaehyun can hear your telepathic message, pleading him to come early.

Your misery catches the eyes of the incoming members, causing them to crowd around you.

“What’s wrong?” they ask, genuinely concerned about your state.

You were never like this before. In fact, you’re considered to be the chiller one of the friend group.

“She misses our hardworking Jaehyun,” Johnny replies for you, gently patting your head.

Upon hearing the problem, the boys try to cheer you up.

“We can play Mario Kart,” Haechan suggests.

“And eat ice cream,” Mark adds.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Yuta speaks, “he says that he can’t wait to come back.”

You look up at him with glittering eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he assures you, proud that he’s the one to lift your spirits. “Don’t worry. As long as Mia isn’t late today, he’ll be back in no time.”

“Mia?”

The light in your eyes fades, overshadowed by the growing sense of jealousy. You can feel your blood starting to boil.

“Mia?” you repeat for the second time in disbelief. “Isn’t Mia a girl?”

The boys exchange glances at each other, all ending up at Yuta, who raises his arms up in the air.

“It just slipped,” he says, defending himself.

“So Jaehyun’s working with a girl?” you pronounce slowly. “A girl. Alone.”

The boys are quick to correct you, “No, no, definitely not alone.”

“Taeyong and Jungwoo are there too,” Mark reveals, practically rapping.

Yuta furiously nods. “And Mia’s not the only teacher there, so the more, the merrier, right? In fact, the name’s Ale-”

Your dangerous gaze cuts him short.

The wide-eyed boys silently look at Yuta, swearing through their eyes.

“Oi,” Johnny sighs, rubbing his temples.

“So that means there’s more room for Mia to spend with Jaehyun while the other teacher focuses on the others?” you say, your voice rising with volume each passing second.

Your heart is racing and your hands are shaking. Your breath is becoming unstable and, for some reason, so are your fingers. Jaehyun is spending time with some female instructor before he’s spending time with you? That’s completely fine--except it’s not. It isn’t something you can do anything about--it’s his job--but knowing that he’s a fine-looking man, you can only imagine what the instructor will do to him. Heck, if you were her, you would probably feel him up too, no doubt.

And here comes that aching void in your heart.

“Hey, why don’t we all relax and go do Mario Kart like Haechan said?” Taeil urges after taking into account the time you spent sulking at the door.

As the boys drag you away, Johnny and Doyoung are left behind, watching you refuse to play Mario Kart.

“Well this is a first,” Doyoung remarks, stunned at your behavior. “I’ve never seen her so... mopey. It’s a shame that Jaehyun couldn’t be with us when she paid a visit to the company last week.”

Johnny shakes his head, pitying your downcasted state. “Not seeing him for a month and not being able to call him because of his schedule, that’s gotta be tough.”

No kidding. You’re dying without his touch, without seeing his face or hearing his voice. You’re literally going crazy.

“Hey, hey, hey, she’s biting me!”

Who’s yelling? It doesn’t matter. You’re going crazy.

...

The boys somehow managed to calm you down with a few rounds of Mario Kart. Technically, you calmed yourself down, considering you were so furious that you were a beast in the game and came out on the top.

“That’s right!” you shout, winning another round.

So you aren’t calm, but you’re definitely not thinking about Jaehyun and that female instructor the boys call “Mia”.

All is going well until you hear the all-too-familiar melody of the keypad. You speedily pause the game with your controller, earning you a few complaints, which quickly die down when you silence them with a simple glare.

“All I’m saying is that she obviously faked her stomach pain so that she could leave early with Alex,” you hear a voice you know all too well.

“At least our practice ended early,” another distinct voice responds. “I don’t think I could have handled being in that room for another moment.”

The boys’ eyes rapidly scan your face as they mentally prepare themselves for another biting session.

“I’m surprised that Jaehyun’s still practicing,” the second voice says, nearing the living room.

“He’s probably immune to the couple-y things Mia and Alex do because he has a girlfri-”

The former voice halts.

“Taeyong, Jungwoo, where’s Jaehyun?”

The two boys, who were innocently waltzing into the living room, stop in their tracks when they see the fiery look in your eyes. Before they have the chance to comprehend the situation, they are saved by the keypad. You hear the door open for the last time, and you vanish from the boys’ sight.

“Jung Jaehyun!”

You see the growing smile on your boyfriend’s face and tackle him with the biggest hug you can offer.

“I’ve missed you!” you cry, taking in his sweet, natural scent. “Why didn’t you come sooner?”

He snuggles his face into your neck. “I was going to practice a few more times, but I couldn’t let myself be away from you any longer.”

He pulls his face away from your neck to get a good look at you.

“I’ve missed you too,” he coos lovingly, leaning in for your lips, to which you move away.

You aren’t going to let go of your jealousy that easily.

You hear a couple of feet shuffling behind you, and your boyfriend peers over your shoulder, sending a questioning gaze to his fellow bandmates.

“Mark?” he calls, remembering how the boy once accidentally ruined your surprise birthday party.

The boys shake their head and point at Yuta.

“Hey, I was just trying to help,” the accused boy utters.

“Twice,” Johnny adds.

“Mia,” Doyoung words to Jaehyun silently, directing him to the source of the complication.

Grasping the situation with remarkable speed, Jaehyun nods, signalling to his friends to give them some space.

“I tried,” Yuta mumbles while the others leave you two to be.

Although you’ve missed Jaehyun, there’s this voice in the back of your mind that constantly reminds you of your jealousy towards the time he seems to be spending with other people more than you. You love him and understand him, but you simply want to see how he’ll deal with this jealous side of you, so you act childishly.

When you don’t look at him in the eye, he smiles and says, “You know Mia’s taken, right?”

“But it’s you,” you murmur, staring at your feet.

“You’re right,” he says, resting his hands on your shoulders. “It’s me. I’m in love with you and my eyes are only set on you.”

He senses that you’re starting to become looser, so he takes your hands in his and tilts his head forward to see you eye-to-eye.

“I’ll make up for the lost time,” he promises. “Pinkie swear.”

You still don’t respond, which takes up a lot of your energy not to do because you really want to lose yourself in those striking brown eyes of his, but you’ve been with him long enough for him to know how to work his way around this type of situation.

He lowers himself to your ears and whispers, “Hey.”

One word and he already has you melting with your legs turning into jelly.

And one final impactful statement from him has you hooked: “Let’s go to my room.”

...

Fifteen minutes have passed and there is still no word from either you or Jaehyun. The boys, gathered around the couch, start to feel anxious.

“Maybe they’re giving each other the silent treatment,” Mark speaks, breaking the silence.

“Shouldn’t we go check up on them?” Yuta asks, glancing at the door you and Jaehyun disappeared behind.

Johnny gets up on his knees and says, “I’ll signal something if anything’s wrong.”

He carefully makes his way to the door. When he presses his ear against the door, an instant smirk forms on his face.

“Why? What’s going on in there?” the boys ask.

Instead of respecting your guys’ privacy, Johnny decides to gesture the guys over to join him, and when they do, a lot of their faces flush.

“Th-this isn’t something that we should listen to,” Mark stutters, his ears red and eyes wide.

But all of them remain there. Another five minutes pass and that’s when it hits Doyoung.

"Wait isn’t Haechan still a minor?”

65 notes · View notes

orangeoctopi7 · 4 years

Text

A Time for Every Purpose

: Part 1 : Part 2 :

Mabel stormed up the stairs, tears streaming down her face. It seemed like every time she tried to take her mind off her troubles, every time she tried to cheer up, something came along and made things more complicated. Had it really only been two days ago that she’d been excited about turning 13 and planning their birthday party? Now she had much bigger concerns, like Bill threatening her family, and Ford extending the apprenticeship offer to Dipper and her.

What with the tears in her eyes and the thoughts swirling around in her head, Mabel didn’t see her brother coming, and collided with him as she scurried up the stairs.

“Oh, Mabel, have you seen Great Uncle Ford this morning? I need to ask him…” Dipper trailed off when he realized his sister was trying to hold back tears. “What’s wrong? Did Bill come back? Is someone hurt!?”

Mabel shook her head, wiping her face on the sleeve of her pajama shirt she still hadn’t changed out of.

“I did see Grunkle Ford this morning. He told me I could stay in Gravity Falls too, if I wanted.”

Dipper’s face lit up. Sure, he’d have to completely redo his pros and cons list now, but this took care of the biggest negative on it! “That’s great!” But then he remembered she’d come up here in tears. “...isn’t it?”

“No!” Mabel cried, trying not to break down again. “Now I have to choose between staying here with you in Gravity Falls or going home to mom and dad!”

“Well, now you know how I feel.” Dipper pointed out. “Isn’t this what you wanted, though? This way you don’t have to leave Gravity Falls behind. You get more time with your friends, a little more summer.”

“Maybe. I dunno.” Mabel sighed and sat down on the steps, very close to pulling herself back into sweater town. “That was mostly just wistful thinking because I was afraid that everything was gonna change. I didn’t think it would actually become reality!”

“Hey, I get it. This is a really big, scary decision.” Dipper sat down beside her. “But you don’t have to make it alone. I can help you make a Pros and Cons list if you want.”

Mabel turned to look at her brother. “Dipper, I know last night you said we had to talk about this when we were calm and not super emotional, but I don’t know if I’m ever gonna not be super emotional about this whole mess!”

“Well, maybe making a list will help.”

The colorful girl scrunched up her face. List making was more her brother’s thing, but maybe it would help for her to get on his level for a bit.

“Ok. As long as I get to use glitter gel pens to write it.”

* * *

Stanford stood in the empty kitchen, the phone in his hand blaring a dull dial tone now that Debbs had hung up. It slipped out of his hand and bounced against the counter door on its curly cord. The old inventor was reeling. What had just happened? True, he probably should have anticipated at least a little apprehension from the kids’ mother, but surely, after explaining the advantages and benefits of his apprenticeship, any parent would have been happy to give their children the opportunity to learn at the feet of an accomplished scientist? And not just any scientist, but a family member who loved and cared dearly for those kids! Instead, she’d acted like he was threatening to kidnap them!

Oh you fool, you’ve done it again. The negative part of Ford’s brain chided him.

The old researcher pushed the thought to the back of his mind, instead trying to justify his own reasoning. It was a pattern he’d seen again and again throughout his life. People left. It always happened sooner or later. Sometimes because they found someone or something more important. Sometimes because they realized the relationship was bad for them. Whatever the case, the outcome was always the same. Deborah was simply trying to delay the inevitable.

“Sooner or later”, yes, and you’re asking the children to leave too soon. That’s what Stanley was trying to tell you, but of course you didn’t listen.

“No. No, I’m not the one being unreasonable here…” He muttered to himself.

Wasn’t he? Stan, Mabel, Debbs, they’d all acted as though Ford’s desire to keep the children here was wrong. Even Dipper had been unsure about it.

But you wouldn’t listen to any of them. You’ve only ever hear what you want to hear. Just like with Fiddleford, just like with Bill!

Perhaps the pattern of people leaving didn’t apply to everyone. Only to him.

“What is wrong with me?” He groaned as he slid down to sit on the floor.

What’s wrong with you? You’re disgusting! Of course no one wants you! The freakish hands are only the tip of the iceberg. You push away anyone with the misfortune to actually get close enough to care about you, but not without doing some serious damage first. Because you don’t understand people and their emotions and relationships. You don’t even understand your own species.

Ford dug his fingers into his hair and closed his eyes tight, trying to steady his breathing. It was true! That was why he’d felt so at home in Gravity Falls, studying supernatural beings. That was how he’d survived thirty years in the multiverse, hopping from one alien society to the next.

The only ones who’ve ever really wanted you just wanted to use you. Bill, the Dean at Backupsmore, your father… Stan…

Stan… Ford wasn’t sure if he believed that anymore. Surely his brother wouldn’t have spent thirty years trying to fix the portal just to use Ford.

No, he was just fine using your identity to make a cozy little life for himself in Gravity Falls while you were gone.

That just raised further questions, though. Stan had a stable life here. He had to have known Ford’s return would mean giving up the identity he’d been living under for thirty years. Even if Stan hadn’t expected his brother to insist he shut his phony business down, he at least had to have known his livelihood would be endangered. Wouldn’t it have been easier not to risk it all and just leave Ford to his fate? The only possible explanation was that Stan cared enough, or at least felt guilty enough, to motivate him to continue trying for thirty years.

Still, as noble as Stan’s intentions may have been, he still put the whole world, no, the whole universe, in danger by reactivating the portal. How could he have ever expected Ford to be ok with that?

A small part of Ford couldn’t help but wonder if he would have done the same, had their roles been reversed.

Then of course, there was Stan’s horrible timing. Ford had been this close to destroying Bill, to finally fixing his mistakes, when he was whisked back to Gravity Falls. It seemed like every time Ford got close to making a decisive strike against Bill, something went wrong. He only had himself to blame for the glue situation, but if Stan hadn’t...

It wasn’t like he had known.

He still shouldn’t have done it. It was far too dangerous.

If Stan hadn’t brought him back, he never would have met Dipper and Mabel.

Stan had put the children in danger on top of everything else.

If it hadn’t happened when it did, Ford would have died trying to take Bill down with him.

Ford had known the risks and had been prepared to make whatever sacrifice was necessary to bring Bill down. Stan had ruined his chance… hadn’t he?

You heard what Bill said. He hates you. Why can’t you just hate him back?

Bill always lies.

There was an abundance of evidence that Stan didn’t hate him. That he actually cared quite a lot.

Ford curled in on himself, the warring thoughts swirling in his head blocking out the rest of the world around him. He didn’t hear his brother coming until the old conman appeared in the doorway, eyes blazing with fury.

“Ford!” Stan shouted, his voice charged with anger.

He hates you.

Ford’s fight or flight instincts took over, and this time they favored flight. He had to get out of there. He darted out of the room as fast as he could.

* * *

Dipper was glad that Mabel had accepted his help to put together her own Pros and Cons list. Not only was it helping him redo his list, she also came up with several negative points he hadn’t considered, like the fact that he’d be leaving behind his friends back at Piedmont Junior High. While Mabel definitely had more friends at school, there were still a couple of classmates that Dipper would consider his friends, although he wasn’t nearly as close with them as he had become with Soos and Wendy.

Besides, he did kinda feel like he’d been neglecting Mabel over the past couple of days. He was just trying to figure all of this out, the rift, Ford’s apprenticeship, and Bill. Trying to comfort Mabel on top of all that just seemed like too much. Once he had the time to sit down and organize his thoughts, to really think things out, it became much less overwhelming. He trusted his Great Uncle to deal with the rift and Bill for now, and he was figuring out the apprenticeship thing.

It was interesting to see Mabel’s thought process as she put together her own list. She liked Dipper’s point value system, but they both scored the same things very differently. She thought getting to explore the caves behind the falls was only worth three points, tops, and she classified continuing to work at the Mystery Shack as a pro, not a con.

Dipper decided not to share his doubts on whether Ford would allow Stan to continue running the Shack out of his home. Mabel already had enough on her mind.

"So, once you finish your list, you add up the points on both sides and whichever has the most points wins." Dipper explained.

"How do you know when it's finished?"

Dipper shrugged. “Just… whenever you can’t think of any more pros or cons, I guess.”

“But what if I forget something important?”

“Well, I mean, it can’t be that important if you forgot it.”

Mabel sighed and started adding up her totals. Dipper did the same. Pros won out on both lists, although Mabel’s was by a slimmer margin. The boy laughed excitedly and beamed at his sister. She gulped. Despite what the numbers said, this still didn’t sit right with her.

“So we’ll both stay in Gravity Falls, together!” Dipper exclaimed. “I can’t believe it, this is like a dream come true!”

Mabel gasped. “Wait, that’s it!”

“What?”

“I think I finally figured out why I feel so wrong about this apprenticeship thing!” Mabel grabbed her brother by the shoulders. “You said you can’t believe it! Why?”

Dipper’s smile faltered. “Mabel, it’s just a figure of speech…”

“Yeah, but you used it now for a reason. Why?”

“Because…” Dipper stopped and thought about it for a moment. “Because if you’d told me two months ago that I was going to stay in Gravity Falls and work with the Author of the Journals, and that he was a long-lost relative, I’d think you were crazy.”

“Exactly. And I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to Gravity Falls. I wanted more time with my friends.” Mabel agreed. “You said it yourself. Taking Grunkle Ford’s offer is a dream come true. Because staying in Gravity Falls is like living in a dream, or a fairy tale!”

“...What are you getting at here?” Dipper asked apprehensively.

“If we stay here, that’s not preparing us for the real world! We need to grow up in the real world first!”

“Are you implying that Gravity Falls isn’t real? That we’ve just dreamed up this whole summer?” Dipper asked incredulously.

“No, of course not!” Mabel scoffed. “Sorry, maybe I’m not explaining this very well. Obviously, Gravity Falls is real. We’ve got real family and real friends here. And we’ve both grown up a lot over this past summer here. But would we keep on growing if we just stayed here all the time? Would we learn the things we need to grow up if we stay in a place where most of the grown-ups still act like kids? This is the kind of place where a nine-year-old can claim to be a child psychic and everyone believes him. This is the kind of place where the local kooky hobo is a genius inventor who builds death robots. This is the kind of place where a long-lost Grunkle can come out of a mysterious portal. This is the kind of place where a sad journalist like Toby Determined can have his own newspaper. Does that sound like the real world to you?”

Dipper grimaced. “Yeah, I guess I see your point. But… I thought you didn’t want to grow up?”

Mabel frowned and rubbed her arm sheepishly. “You’re right, I don’t want to…” She then looked up with renewed determination in her eyes. “But I know that I need to.”

The boy gave his sister a proud smile “You’re a lot more mature than most people give you credit for.”

“Thanks, Dip.”

“But…” His face fell. “I do feel like there’s so much more to learn about Gravity Falls… and I don’t want to disappoint Great Uncle Ford. I know he’d really love us to stay. I get the feeling he’s really lonely. The apprenticeship is everything I’ve wanted all summer… how can I just walk away from it?”

Mabel patted her brother on the shoulder. “Well, even if it’s not the right time to stay in Gravity Falls now, maybe someday when we are a little more grown up, we could move out here all year. So don’t think of it as walking away. Just think of it as saying ‘Not now’. And don’t worry about Grunkle Ford. He’s our family and he loves us! I’m sure he’ll understand.”

Dipper sighed and nodded. “I hope you’re right. Ever since Ford offered me the apprenticeship, I haven’t felt ready. He said I shouldn’t worry, because I’ve already accomplished so much, but I guess it’s not really about doubting my own abilities. It’s just not the right time in my life.”

“Guess we should go tell him, then, huh?”

“Oh yeah!” Dipper smacked his head. “I was heading downstairs to ask him to help Wendy with Bill-proofing her house. Maybe we can talk to him about it after that?”

Mabel nodded. “Yeah, making sure Wendy and her family are safe is more important. And it’s like Grunkle Ford keeps saying, we’ve got all week!”

* * *

After leaving Soos to look after the giftshop, Stan made a beeline for the kitchen where he knew his brother had been using the phone just moments ago. That nerd was about to get the talking-to of his life!

“Ford!” Stan called as he stormed down the hall. No response.

He pushed the door open brusquely. The kitchen appeared empty, and the phone was hanging off its hook.

“Ford?” He called again. Suddenly, a figure shot out from behind the table. Stan barely had time to register that it was his brother before Ford dashed out of the room. What the heck had he been doing hiding practically under the table?

“Oh no, you’re not gettin’ off that easy!” Stan grumbled under his breath as he followed his brother. Sure, he wasn’t as fast as Ford, but the nerd had scrambled away so frantically that it wasn’t hard to follow his trail.

Unsurprisingly, the string of jostled furniture and scuffed floors led straight to Ford’s room. Also unsurprisingly, the door was locked. Stan rolled his eyes and slid a bobby pin out of his sleeve. What was even the point of locking a door that was so easy to pick?

Stan’s frustration with his brother evaporated as soon as he opened the door and got a good look. Ford was sitting in the corner of the sectional couch, curled up on himself. It wasn’t too far off from Mabel’s “Sweater Town”. The old researcher’s breaths came in short, shallow gasps, and he was eyeing his brother with the sort of caution a normal person would give an angry moose.

Was Ford… having a panic attack?

“Hey…” Stan said softly, approaching his brother with caution. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Ford took a deep breath, and Stan could practically see his brother bottling up his emotions as the old nerd’s face became blank.

“Nothing. Nothing is wrong.” Ford said stoicly.

“Sure. And you bolted out of the kitchen just now because you saw a spider.”

Ford's blank expression flickered for a moment as annoyance crept in. "You startled me."

"Obviously." Stan rolled his eyes. "Anyway, I called Debbs back after she hung up on you."

"You were eavesdropping on me?" Ford accused coldly.

"Yeah, and it's a good thing too! I managed to smooth things over with her so the kids can still come back here next year, and you're still allowed to spend time with them!"

Ford didn't reply. He just kept staring straight ahead, stoney-faced.

"She just wanted me to have a talk with you. About you and the kids."

“She doesn’t have to worry. I doubt either of the children will want to spend time with me once they hear about this.”

Stan scoffed. “This isn’t gonna make the kids wanna stop spendin’ time with you, not by a long shot.”

“Perhaps not.” Ford agreed. “They’re still children, quick to forgive and forget. I’ll have to separate myself from them for their own good.”

“Wait, what?”

“Your original assessment was correct. I need to stay away from the kids. If not to protect them from the physical danger that comes with my line of work, then to protect them from the emotional danger of growing attached to a damaged man who doesn’t understand the simplest of human interactions.” He explained in a detached tone.

"Ohno you don't!" Stan retorted. "I didn't just stick my neck out for you, just so you could push the kids away! Those kids love your guts, and it'd hurt 'em a lot more if you just suddenly cut them off!"

"This is exactly what I'm talking about." Ford said clinically, as though he was explaining the problem with one of his experiments and not his own insecurities. "I have no understanding of the thoughts and feelings of others. The fact that you had to talk their mother into allowing me to continue spending time with the children confirms it.”

Stan heaved a sigh. "You still don't really understand why Debbs said no, do you?"

"I understand perfectly."

"I don't think you do." The old conman shook his head. "It's like I keep telling you, they're just kids. They still need their mom, and she still needs them."

"Yes, you were right and I didn't listen to you. Just one of many signs that I'm unable to properly interact with other human beings."

"I'm not finished! The thing you're not getting is just because you can't wedge your way into their parents' place, doesn't mean you can't be in the kids' lives at all! You're still a part of this family."

"And yet Deborah took my offer as a threat."

"Debbs doesn't know you from Adam, Ford! Of course she freaked out! I couldn’t explain the whole situation to her, but I did tell her those kids are the best thing that’s happened to you in 30 years.”

Ford couldn’t deny Stan’s statement. “I can’t do it again!” His prior panic finally burst out of its bottles. “I can’t stand to hurt another person I care about because I don’t even realize what I’m doing wrong until it’s too late! And I don’t even listen when someone tries to explain it to me!” His flare of anger died down, and he curled back in on himself again. “What is wrong with me?” He moaned.

Stan cautiously took a seat on the other end of the couch. “Nothin’s wrong with you.”

The old researcher scoffed. “A lifetime of my experience says otherwise.”

“Look, just because you’re not good with people doesn’t mean something’s wrong with you. Not everyone’s a people person.”

“This goes far beyond not being a people person. I’ve hurt everyone I’ve ever come into contact with.”

“Wow, exaggeration much?”

“How can you joke about this when you’re one of the people I’ve hurt the most!?”

The two brothers froze as Ford’s words hung in the air. Stan was at a loss. Since when did Ford feel like he hurt Stan instead of the other way around?

“See, you can’t even deny it.” Ford continued when Stan didn’t have a response. “It’s just eas-- It’s just safer if I just stay out of everyone’s lives.”

“You can’t just cut yourself off from the world, genius.” The old conman finally found his words again. “You’re the one who was sayin’ you don’t wanna be alone anymore.”

“...I don’t want anyone else to get hurt either.”

Stan paused as he tried to think of how to handle this. “We still gotta stop Bill, right? That’s not something you can do alone.”

“I’ve been doing it alone for thirty years.”

“Yeah, and that’s worked real well, hasn’t it?”

“I was about to end him!” Ford shouted. “I was seconds away from taking the shot, when you opened the portal again and whisked me away!”

“...Oh.” Stan squeaked. He didn’t know how else to respond to that. So he just moved on with the conversation. “Listen, even you’ve gotta admit, you’ve had more success with those kids' help. Dipper helped you get that alien stuff you needed. Mabel pointed out the glue problem you never even realized. If we’re gonna take down this Bill guy, your best bet is to work with us, whether you like it or not. And yeah, maybe it’s risky, but isn’t it riskier to just sit around waitin’ for Bill to make his move?”

Ford just stared coldly back at his brother. “You’re not going to apologize?”

Stan rolled his eyes. “I’m not gonna apologize for saving your life, no.”

The old researcher frowned and furrowed his brow, but he didn’t seem surprised by Stan’s response. He sat there thinking for a few moments before finally speaking again.

“I can see the logic in needing to work together to stop Bill. The children have proven to be incredibly resourceful in that department. And in less than a week, they’ll be returning to California. I suppose it won’t matter after that.”

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. “For cryin’ out loud, they’re just one state over, not on a different planet. All those arguments you were makin’ about the kids still bein’ able to stay in touch over the computer? That applies to you too, genius. You can even drive down and visit if you want.”

“It’s not about what I want. It’s about what’s best for Dipper and Mabel.”

“Heh, well, good to see we’re finally on the same page there at least. But I’m tellin’ ya, being their mad-scientist uncle is what’s best for them. And what’s best for you too.”

Ford was torn. He wanted to believe Stan’s words, but it was hard to ignore that negative part of his brain, telling him that Stan was a liar, and digging up all the times he had hurt people before. He pushed it to the back of his head for now. Better to focus on stopping Bill and protecting the rift. Speaking of which….

“If we’re both here, who’s guarding the lab entrance!?”

“Relax, I left Soos to keep an eye on things.”

Stan’s reassurance was immediately undermined by the sound of a fight breaking out in the giftshop.

* * *

“Hey Soos, you seen Stan anywhere?” Wendy asked as she reentered the gift shop.

Soos was clearing out the old inventory. After Mr. Pines’ Mystery Science Brother came in and asked Wendy questions about her dream, it had been a quiet day at the Mystery Shack.

“He was here a minute ago, but he said he had to have another talk with his brother.”

Wendy rolled her eyes. “Of course. Well, I’m just gonna take off then. I gotta take care of some stuff. Let him know I decided to take the day off after all if you see him.”

“You got it, dude.” He assured her as she left.

Soos had been wanting a word with his boss himself, but whenever the handyman was about to ask Mr. Pines a question, Mr. Mystery was suddenly busy, giving a tour for just two people, yelling at his brother, or listening in on an important phone call.

It was clear that Mr. Pines was hiding something, and not the usual somethings Mr. Pines would hide, like incriminating evidence or suggestion cards. No, Soos got the impression that Mr. Pines was hiding something specifically from him. It wasn’t all that strange for Stan to avoid talking about anything that even remotely resembled feelings. But it was strange for Stan to avoid talking about what they were going to do for the off season. And even stranger for him to refuse free labor. True, there was a bunch of major drama going down in the Pines family right now, but it wasn’t like Mr. Pines to let it affect how he ran his business.

“The Mystery Shack has needed to be rebuilt like four times in the last two months. Maybe Stan’s just worried because all this reconstruction is costing too much money.” Soos reasoned to himself as he worked alone in the giftshop. But he didn’t quite believe himself.

The bell over the giftshop door jingled, distracting Soos from his thoughts. He quickly ran to the cash register, ready to serve another customer. “Welcome to the Mystery Shack dude!”

“Hello.” A short man with a grotesque face and a tiny 1930’s style reporter’s hat replied.

“Oh, hey Toby! I see you got away from that griffin!”

“I was indigestible!” Toby Determined said as if he was proudly proclaiming he got a new haircut.

“That’s cool. What brings you here?”

“I’m here to interview you, actually!” the reporter explained. “Rumor has it that Mr. Mystery has a long lost twin, and you’re the man with the inside scoop!”

“I mean, it’s kinda supposed to be a secret.” Soos hesitated. “I’ve only told Wendy, and my abuelita, and the mailman, and everyone who was at Greasy's Diner during the lunch rush last Saturday…”

“You’d get to be on the front page of the Gravity Falls Gossiper!” Toby enticed in a sing-song voice, holding up today’s issue for good measure.

“I’ll do it!” Soos declared.

“Perfect! Now, to start off, I’ll need to take your photo!”

“Oh hey, when’d you get a real camera?” Soos asked as Toby pulled out a large camera with an even larger flashbulb.

“Oh, uh, just recently.” Toby chuckled nervously. “Now, you stand right over there, next to that display of bright, shiny, reflective crystals. And I’ll stand right here, next to this clearly out of order vending machine.”

Soos struck a pose where Toby had told him to stand. “Oh, dude, wait--” He remembered he was supposed to be guarding the vending machine just as the reporter snapped the photo. The camera’s flash reflected and refracted through the crystals, blinding the handyman.

“Ah! My eyes!”

“Ah! Also my eyes!”

Unfortunately for Toby, he hadn’t stopped to think that maybe he should protect himself from the flash.

“Uh, dude, could you do me a favor and not touch that vending machine until my eyes adjust back to normal?”

“Never!” The determined reporter declared. “The man in the color-changing clothes and funny goggles told me I could be with Shandra Jimenez forever if I brought him the magic sticky ball hidden in the secret basement!”

Toby felt around blindly for the machine’s key-pad and started pressing buttons randomly. Soos followed the beeping sound and tackled the little man to the ground.

“Not cool, dude! You are officially banned from our FCLORP team!”

“No!” Toby whined. “You guys are the only people who tolerate me!”

“Well, you should’ve thought of that before you tried to break into Dr. Pines’ secret lab, dude! Which, uh, which he totally doesn’t have. That… that’s not a real thing.”

Toby obviously didn’t believe him, as he continued to struggle against Soos for access to the vending machine. Soos easily stopped him by just sitting on top of him.

“Y’know.” the handyman mused as his eyes began to adjust back to normal. “Dipper and Mabel put up a much harder fight than you. I’m just sayin’ you might wanna start doin’ more exercise and stuff. I know a place at the mall that teaches karate! I’ve been goin’ there since I was ten.”

“Let me go!” Toby demanded as he flailed his arms and legs uselessly.

“No can do, dawg. I promised Mr. Pines I’d hold down the fort while he’s busy taking care of family junk.”

Soos didn’t have to keep Toby at bay for much longer. For the second time that day, Dr. Pines burst out of the Employees Only door. He had his blaster drawn, and Stan wasn’t far behind him.

“What happened!?” Ford barked, aiming his blaster down at Toby’s wriggling form. “What is that thing?”

“Uh, I think Bill got to Toby.” Soos explained.

The old researcher grimaced. “Bill must have used some sort of magical artefact to mutate him!”

“What? No, he’s always been like that.” Stan corrected him. “What’d the triangle promise you, Toby?”

“Triangle?” The reporter asked in confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“He said a dude in color-changing clothes and funny goggles told him he could be with Shandra Jimenez forever if he got the magic sticky ball in the secret basement.” Soos recounted.

“And nothing about that seemed suspicious to you?” Stan asked.

“Well, not particularly…”

“Why am I not surprised.” The old conman rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “Somebody’s pullin’ a prank on you, Toby. The Mystery Shack doesn’t have a basement.”

“Oh, but he was so convincing!” Toby whined.

“He is very convincing.” Ford said gravely. “Where were you when he found you? Do you know where he is now?”

“He just came into the printing room while I was finishing off this morning’s publication. He told me to bring the ball to the dump.”

Ford scratched his chin thoughtfully, considering all the information before him. “It’s probably a trap. I doubt Bill expected this attempt to work.”

“Really, what gave you that idea?” Stan asked sarcastically. “Hey Toby, if you leave now and promise not to come back, I won’t press charges.”

“Hooray!”

“Oh, and gimme a call if you see that, uh, prankster again.”

The reporter agreed and left. Ford immediately began pacing.

“This was almost a disaster! If Bill had sent a competent pawn instead of this distraction, the rift would be broken by now!” He rounded on Stan “Why did you leave the secret entrance unguarded!?”

“I didn’t leave it unguarded, I left Soos.” Stan defended. “And yeah, he’s a goofus, but he got the job done, so I don’t see what you’re complaining about.”

“Aw, thanks Mr. Pines.”

“Don’t get mushy on me, kid.”

“Everything turned out alright this time, yes.” Ford admitted. “But what if Bill sends someone or something more dangerous than a tiny goblin man?”

“I can totally handle it, dude.” Soos assured him. “I’ve fought puhterodactyls, haunted animatronics, and ate my way out of a creepy monster made of candy.”

“Really?” Ford looked at the handyman like he was just seeing Soos properly for the first time.

The conversation paused when Dipper and Mabel entered the room.

“Here’s everybody. Hey Great Uncle Ford, can I ask you a favor for Wendy?” Dipper asked. He then took in Ford’s frantic pacing and Soos’s rumpled clothes. “What’s going on?”

“Toby Determined just tried to break into the lab.” Stan replied nonchalantly, like he was commenting on finding gnomes in the trash again.

“What?” The young twins cried in unison.

“Was it Bill?” Mabel asked in concern.

“It couldn’t have been, the barrier spell is still up.” Dipper reasoned. “Right?”

“The barrier is still intact, yes.” Ford assured them. “It appears Bill convinced Toby to find the rift while possessing the same time travel agent as before.”

“Poor Blendin.” Mabel worried.

“I can’t believe Bill actually tried to use Toby.” Dipper said incredulously. “I mean, he can’t have gotten very far.”

“He didn’t.” Stan said simply.

“I sat on him.” Soos added.

“It seems like Bill is trying to set some sort of trap.” Ford explained. “Bill told Toby to bring the rift to the dump. I suspect he shared that information knowing that Toby would get caught, and that we would interrogate him.”

“That’s weird. Why would Bill want us to go to the dump?” Dipper wondered. “Unless…” the boy’s eyes widened and as he glanced at his sister, he knew the same awful realization was dawning on her. Neither of them had heard from McGucket since the party at Northwest Manor, the day before the portal reopened.

“Unless what?” Ford asked eagerly.

“Uhhh…” the young twins hemmed. They’d purposely forgotten to tell Ford about what happened to his old friend. How do you tell someone their best friend had driven himself insane and was now a homeless coot living in the dump? Although, considering Ford read Dipper’s entries in the Journal, the old researcher probably at least had an idea of how far McGucket had fallen.

“You remember your old research buddy, right?” Mabel asked awkwardly.

“...What does Fiddleford have to do with this situation?”

“He… kinda lives in the dump now.” Dipper’s reply pitched up at the end, almost like it was a question.

Ford stared at them agape for a moment. “I’d gathered that his mental state had deteriorated since I left, but… from what Dipper had written, it seemed like he was still working in robotics. How--why is he living in the dump!?”

“I think he’s just really bad with money.” Mabel shrugged. “He won a sweepstakes earlier this summer and he’s already spent it all on junky cars from Gleeful’s Auto Sales.”

“Yeah, I think he just used them for parts to build the Gideon-bot.” Dipper added.

“And you both believe he’s still at the dump?” Ford asked, distraught.

“Well, that’s where he’s lived all summer.” Dipper said slowly. “But… neither of us have seen him since the night before you got here.”

The old researcher finally stopped pacing and sat down heavily in the chair behind the cash register, running his fingers anxiously through his hair.

“Even if it is most likely a trap, that’s bait I can’t ignore…”

“We have to go find him and make sure he’s ok!” Mabel insisted.

“Yeah, but we can’t just walk right into an obvious trap!” Dipper exclaimed.

“So just sneak in.” Stan suggested. “It’s the dump, not the State Penitentiary.”

Ford shook his head. “Bill can’t be snuck up on, he has eyes everywhere. Our best hope is to take a direct approach and be prepared for anything.”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, of course you would wanna go in guns ablazing.”

“Says the man who thinks every problem can be solved by punching it!”

“Ok, ok.” Dipper held up his hands, hoping his Grunkles would be able to stop fighting long enough to come up with a plan. “But launching a full-scale rescue mission is probably exactly what Bill wants. We can’t leave the Shack and the Rift unguarded.”

“Eh, Soos can probably watch it again.” Stan said.

“Sure thing, Mr. Pines.”

“Actually, I think Soos’s abilities might be better suited for our rescue mission.” Ford suggested. “We’ll need an unpredictable element. Someone who Bill is likely to underestimate. I think you’d be better to stay and guard the lab, Stanley.”

“Fine by me.” Stan shrugged. “I honestly couldn’t care less what happens to Old Man McGucket.”

Ford scowled at his brother, but held his tongue for now.

“I think we’ll need more than just Stan to watch the Shack.” Dipper reasoned.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, kid.” Stan said sarcastically.

“It’s not like I doubt your skills, I’ve seen you punch dinosaurs and fight zombies, but Bill is really dangerous, and we can’t afford to take any risks.” The boy looked around the giftshop. “Where’s Wendy?”

“Oh yeah, she took the rest of the day off.” Soos remembered. “She said she had to take care of some stuff.”

“Aw man.” Dipper groaned. The lumberjack’s daughter would have been the perfect person to help Stan guard the Shack. She was cunning and resourceful and could bury a hatchet’s blade three inches into a tree from ten feet away.

Mabel tugged on her brother’s vest. “Dipper, you should stay here with Stan.”

“What? But I wanna go with Great Uncle Ford! And, uh, I was the last one who saw McGucket at the party!” The boy protested, trying to throw some weak logic behind his desire.

“I know, but… but…” The girl threw her arms around her brother as she failed to keep her voice from trembling. “I’m so scared that Bill is gonna hurt you again! Please, can’t you just stay here where you’re safe from him?”

Dipper returned her hug. “I don’t want him to hurt you either. Maybe both of us should stay?”

Mabel shook her head. “No, somone’s gotta go make sure McGucket’s alright, and if it is a trap, Grunkle Ford’s gonna need all the help he can get.”

“Just promise you’ll be careful.”

“Don’t worry, brobro, I’ve always got my secret weapon!” Mabel assured him, pulling out her grappling hook.

“I’ll make sure she’s safe.” Ford promised, making pointed eye contact first with Dipper, then with Stan.

“Yeah, you better. Otherwise it’s your funeral when her mom finds out.” Stan grunted.

“Does everyone have what you need to defend yourselves?” Ford asked. Mabel held up her grappling hook, and Soos grabbed a shovel out of the Shack’s utility closet. “Then let’s go! We’ll discuss a plan on the way there.”

#Gravity Falls #Fanfiction #Mabel Pines #Dipper Pines #Stanford Pines #Stanley Pines #My Writing

31 notes · View notes