#I hadn’t worn a skirt in forever

[luveline]

𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

one | two | three | four

Finding out you’re a princess isn’t half as intimidating as suddenly acquiring a full-time bodyguard. Especially when that bodyguard is disarmingly handsome, charming, and can’t seem to stop flirting with you. 

bodyguard!james, fem!reader, implied chubby!reader, shy!reader, princess diaries au, all characters in their 20s or older, star-crossed lovers/ forbidden romance, slowburn, background wolfstar

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

You hadn’t realised moving right along your hemisphere would be enough to change the weather. The UK is cold and often rain-soaked, while Genovia has been nothing but sunny. It's a nice change, and the sun on your skin almost removes the insecurity of wearing a dress that isn’t yours. You feel pretty. You feel as yourself as you have in the days since this whole thing began. 

“Sorry,” James says, standing in the sunshine with his hands crossed primly behind his back, “you’re what?”

You sit up properly in the window seat. He deserves every ounce of respect that you can give him, he’s been nothing but caring and kind since you met. You almost regret your decision to leave, if only because you wont get to witness him and his nice friends. 

Who will be separated once again, your brain adds helpfully. Thanks to you. 

“I'm going home.” Your sketchbook is supple under your hands, a thick and expensive leather bending from the force of your squeeze.  

He has the most professional look on his face you've ever seen from him. “If you’ve forgotten something-”

“James,” you say. You'd said quite plainly only moments ago your intentions. “I can't be a princess.” You soften your tone. “I’m sorry.”

“You are a princess. By blood.”

Sleeping on it hasn't made it a truth that’s any easier to accept. You are biologically the daughter of the late Prince of Genovia. He was your father, and now he’s dead. It is agonising to think of, and so you can’t. You look down at the sketchbook pressed flush to your linen skirts, the fabric plain and yet gorgeously rendered. It’s the nicest thing you’ve ever worn. You wonder if they might let you keep it after you renounce your title. 

“I can't do this,” you say quietly. 

You’re ashamed of yourself, but you really can't do this. You cannot live through your life changing in such a huge way, you aren’t built for it; you've only just learned to function in your tiny flat on your equivalent uni course. You’re finally in a position, as lonely as it might be, where you feel okay with who you are. If you were to accept the task theyre trying to hoist upon you, become a princess, live forever in the limelight surrounded by a better breed of royal, it’ll destroy you.

“You can. Of course you can.”

You look up cautiously. James’ mouth is set in a line. He looked so pleased when he walked in, and he'd given you a compliment subtly and easy as breathing. You worry he wants to take it back now that you’ve thrown in the towel, but he’d never do anything so spiteful. And it’s silly —you’re thinking about a compliment while his life and job are teetering. 

It’s just one of the reasons you aren't cut out for this. 

“It’s your job to be a good judge of character, right? You read people,” you say tentatively. 

He nods. “Yeah. That’s how I know you can do this.”

You set aside your sketchbook and pencil, wringing your hands together as you stand. “You must see it, James. I’m not meant for this, I’m…” Weak, you won't say. There's no use in dramatics. You plaster a smile over your worrying and wear it like you're sure of yourself. “It will be better for everyone if I give up now.”

James looks over his shoulder. Upon his entry, the guard at your side had moved to the doorway to stand with Daniels, and so the room is empty besides the two of you. He takes a step toward you, and he drops his head noticeably. As if he could intimidate you when he's so so sweet. 

“It won't be better for everyone,” he says slowly. “Not for the people of Genovia, they need an heir to take the throne.”

“Julianna–”

“Julianna isn't eligible.” He shakes his head. “It’s hard to explain. But Genovia needs a queen, a good queen, someone with a good heart.”

Your heart leaps into your throat at the idea of ruling. “James, you don't even know me. I could ruin everything.”

“You said it yourself, Princess. I’m a good judge of character.”

You fall silent. You don't want to argue with him, you don't have even an ounce of malice for him. 

"You're a princess, you– you haven't even tried," he says pleadingly. 

You trick yourself into thinking James wants you to stay because he wants to be your friend. You know you're desperate for one. Back home, the closest you have to friends are the people who wait at the same bus stop each morning and each night, or your classmates at the college. James could be your friend, you know he would be if you stayed. He's remarkably kind. 

But James wants you to stay for a myriad of reasons. For Genovia. For his friends. 

"I just want to go home," you confess weakly. 

Heat rises to your cheeks and throat, a lump you can't swallow. 

"Okay," James says. "Alright." 

He nods at you, a picture of a perfect professional, and turns to leave. You open your mouth to say something, but you don't have a clue as to what, and by the time he's left the room you've drummed up nothing more than a pitiful, "James." 

You're part way to unexplainable tears when Remus appears. He looks startled at your expression, and you can't make any sense of it yourself, so you mumble, "Please don't ask." 

"Do you want a tissue?" he asks sympathetically. 

You shake your head. 

Remus looks unhappy again, as he had on the plane. His pale skin is nearly grey. You debate asking if he's doing okay, but you've just told him to leave you alone. You assume from his expression he'd prefer the same. 

"Do you want to come have some dinner with me?" he asks. 

"That's okay, I don't think I'll be in need of any etiquette training after all," you say. 

"As friends," he says. "Please. I don't like going down to the kitchen by myself, Marlene harasses me." 

Marlene, a dark haired, dark-eyed girl with a sweetheart shaped face and hands covered in tiny burns, does harass Remus, but not in the way you'd thought. 

"Eat up, Moony," she says, placing yet another plate in front of him, bringing the total up to ten. 

You sit thigh to thigh with him on a small bench set aside in a room just off the kitchens that says 'Staff Only' on the door. Despite this, no one has objected to your sitting down. At least, not yet. 

"Marlene, I physically cannot eat all this." 

"Ah, but the Princess will help." Marlene smiles at you. She seems genuine. "She needs to get used to our cuisine." 

You can't endure the awkwardness of explaining your situation. You smile 'til your eyes crinkle in the corners and take a big mouthful of some mysterious soup rather than speak. 

"Ah, Remus, we've been making bone broth for Her Majesty, it's supposed to do wonders for your heart," Marsha adds. She's the opposite of Marlene but no less beautiful, pale and blonde as cornsilk with fine eyebrows and translucent lashes. In the sun leaking in from the window, she's quite golden. "We can set you some aside whenever we make it for her, love." 

Remus smiles. "Thank you." 

Marsha and Marlene both sequester themselves again behind the huge silver ovens. You've never seen anything like it, a marvel of modern machinery in the industrial instrumentation that heats the room. The windows have been thrown open to combat the thick and fragrant air, but you're still sweating. 

"D'you need a drink?" he asks. 

"I can't get them." 

"Please, Princess. I don't need another person trying to take care of me." He doesn't say it spitefully, but you're sorry all the same. 

"Sorry, I wasn't trying to patronise you–" 

"I know," he says, standing up. "Trust me, I know. You're just being polite, because you're nice." He smiles. "I'll get us a carafe, okay?" 

A carafe. Of what? Do royals drink only from carafes? Is it weird to ask for a coke? You turn your gaze back to the rich foods that have been laid out in front of you and pick up a fork. Then, upon reflection, you swap the fork for the appropriate one, and finish the small portion of chicken ragù you'd set aside. 

"Ah-ha!" a familiar voice calls. "Y/N! Here you are. Is my Remus with you, or are you very hungry?" 

You twist on the bench to face him. "Your Remus?" 

Your question slipped out, really. Sirius grins and sits down to your right. "We have to talk funeral." 

"Oh. Alright." 

He clasps your forearm for a gentle second.

"Sorry. Truly. I'm so sorry for your loss. I promise I'll make this as easy for you as I can, okay? You'll be in the public eye, and I want to make sure you do nothing that anyone can fault you for." 

He has a strange mouth. Not ugly, a million miles from it, but unexpected. It pulls down into a grimace as he talks, his hand patting yours. 

"I won't have to speak, will I?" 

He shakes his head firmly. "No. All you have to do is look pretty and dress well. You're already doing the first part beautifully by yourself, and I will make sure you have plenty of options for the second part, yeah?" 

"Oh, hi, Sirius," Remus says, back with a carafe and two glasses.

"Hello," Sirius says, "did you get asked about the bone broth yet?" 

Remus sits on your other side and huffs. "Yes. Did you put them up to that?" 

"The opposite! I told them not to bug you about it because bone broth sounds a little…" 

"Old-fashioned?" 

"Inhumane." 

You laugh and fail to smother it with the back of your hand. It feels weird because it hadn't explicitly been a conversation involving you, but neither tell you off or give you a funny look. Remus laughs at your laughing and pours your drink for you, a pale orange liquid topped by slices of orange, blood orange and white flowers. 

You take a cautious sip. 

"Have you seen my darling James this morning?" Sirius asks Remus from behind you. 

"Not since he left my room."

You choke on your drink. Hands smashed to your mouth, juice drips down your arms and ruins the bodice of your dress, sticky orange and spit everywhere. The boys either side of you splutter in shock, though Sirius begins to laugh as Remus presses a tissue into your hands. 

"Are you okay?" Remus asks, patting your back. 

"I'm fine," you say hoarsely, wiping yourself down with impressive speed as the heat of embarrassment rises. 

"Something go down the wrong pipe?" 

You're honest by accident, extremely startled by your choking and the subsequent question, "I didn't know James and Remus– that you were– sorry, I was just surprised–" 

"Oh, no," Remus says, sounding almost as embarrassed as you now, "no, we aren't. I mean, he's my best friend. He's like my brother." 

"Oh," you say, squeaking, desperately hoping the ground will open up and eat you whole. 

"We aren't romantically involved," Remus says, and you get the sense that's where he plans to end this conversation. 

"Yet," Sirius whispers in your ear. 

Remus shakes his head at you solemnly. 

Desperate to get away from an awkward conversation despite Sirius' good humour, you stand up from the bench and duck your head at both of them. "Um, I'll just go get some paper towels. Sorry. For spitting." 

"Forgiven," Sirius says easily. 

You rush away from them both out of the alcove and into the main body of the kitchen. Heads turn as you walk, and some staff even take the time to incline their heads to you like a small bow, but you ignore them all and head straight for Marlene. She smiles when she senses your approach, full lips cherry red and shiny as she asks, "Is there something I can do for you, Your Highness?" 

"I'm so sorry," you begin, "I've made a mess, could I get some kitchen towel? Sorry." 

"Of course! Can I have someone come and clean it up for you?" 

"No, please, it's my mess, and you've been gracious enough to allow me in your space. I couldn't have anyone else do it." 

"It's really no problem," Marlene says, but she walks to the utility cupboard south of the huge pantry and produces a roll of kitchen towels for you. 

"Thank you." Then, because you might be leaving soon, and she should know, "I– I've never had so many nice foods at once. I can't cook, at home. Everything I eat is from a jar or a tin," —you cough, worried that was an overshare— "and it's nothing compared to all of this. You guys are amazing." 

Marlene's smile softens. You hadn't realised she was being diplomatic until genuineness welled to the surface of her expression, her eyes suddenly brighter, and her smile unrestrained. "We work hard, and we love what we do. Thank you, Your Highness."

You rub your lips together and nod. Spinning on your heel, you navigate out of the kitchen as quickly as you can without running clean into someone and return to the staff alcove, where Remus and Sirius sit with their heads together, in the middle of a conversation you can't hear. 

You hesitate a few steps away. Remus smiles widely, so widely his face changes completely, and Sirius' hand drifts to his elbow. His thumb presses into the crook, and they both giggle together like kids. You're paranoid that they're laughing at you, and wondering how you could think for even a second that Remus was sleeping with James, when Sirius tucks his hair behind his ear and says, "I can't believe we're finally in the same place again." 

You back away. Not sure what to do with yourself, not sure if what you've already done is the wrong thing. You're guilty, and you're afraid of making the wrong choice, having already made it.

A hand pats your shoulder. 

"Sorry, Mikkelson," you say. 

It's not Mikkelson. James' hand lingers on your shoulder for a half second before he takes a step back. 

"Walk with me?" he asks. 

—

James takes you out to the Palace Gardens. You insist on walking side by side, and he agrees for the most part because here is where you're best protected.

"I'm sorry for leaving so suddenly. I had something to do. How are you feeling?" 

"How am I feeling?" you ask softly. "I don't…" 

"You had some very big news yesterday. So, how are you feeling?" 

You squint in the sun. James supposes you aren't used to it, considering you'd been living in one of the rainiest cities in the UK, which is one of the greyest countries in the world. 

"I feel fine," you say. 

Truth or lie. Probably a lie, but James can't call you out on it, considering your relatively new relationship. A professional relationship at that, the lines of which he has already crossed multiple times. 

He can't help it. You're not weak, you aren't in need of his protection for lack of character —you're quite obviously very brave considering the insane pressure of your situation. Brave, but it's James' job anyhow to be your shield. 

You get this look on your face like you're deep in thought, he's seen it every day since he met you five days ago, and it reminds him of his melancholy friends. He wonders how he's going to get rid of it. 

"I've spoken to our Palace doctor." Even though it is not his job, James seems to have taken on the majority of your care. Your lady in waiting has yet to arrive, and Sirius is rather busy arranging your presence at your father's funeral (and hounding Remus, having missed him dearly). "She would love to have an appointment with you, to assess you, and to adjust for your medical needs. But it's not the physical that I'm concerned about, it's your head." 

"My head." 

"Yes. I would love for you to talk to a counsellor, or a therapist while you're here." 

"What's the point?" you ask sincerely. 

"Your father has passed away," he says. "That takes a toll." 

"I didn't even really know him." You speak so softly to him, like you're worried your voice will disrupt the summer air. 

"I know. That doesn't always make it easier. I want you to experience the compassion and care that you deserve, that's all. If you don't want to talk to anyone, I understand. But if you'll humour me, I'd appreciate it." 

"When… do you want me to see her?" 

"The doctor?" James winces at his own surprise. "You can see her whenever you want to. She's completely at your discretion." 

"Oh, okay. Well, when is best for her?" 

James doesn't smile, but he wants to. "I believe she goes home to pick up her son at six. So before then would probably suit her best. But she's on call twenty four hours a day and paid well, I promise." 

"Okay. Um. Well, how do I do that? Make an appointment, or?" 

"I can make it for you. Or Sirius can."

"I can't make it myself?" 

"No, you can. Do you want me to call for someone to get her? Or you can ask the phone to connect you?" 

You stop walking at your slow pace and turn your body to the beds of flowers lining the path. Small and dainty flowers much like a Californian wildflower bloom contained to rows. 

"Would you mind doing it for me?" you ask. You sound shame-faced. 

"No, I wouldn't mind. When do you want to see her?" James asks. 

"Not today, please. Maybe tomorrow." 

James makes a mental note to ask you about it tomorrow. She really is on call —there's no need to make an appointment. But there's also no need to correct you and no need to worry about it now. 

"The Prince, may he rest in peace, will be buried in five days. You're sure you don't mind staying until then?" He doesn't want you to leave, but the memory of your plea twists his guts. I just want to go home.

"I–yes. Of course. I owe it." 

James doesn't know about that. But the Prince never did any harm to you, though he never made any efforts to take care of you, and so it won't hurt for you to attend. Still…

"You don't have to go if you don't want to. I know that Lily and Emmeline stressed that your presence was desired, but that's political. It's the image of the country, of our country. And the UK, who's royal family, as you know yourself, are deeply embroiled in scandal and, ah, what's thought to be empty rhetoric." 

You're starting to look rather frazzled. James decides to pull back his professionalism a touch. 

"Genovia protects the image of the Royal family because they've seen how ire builds in other countries. Deserved ire. They want it to seem as though you are cohesive, cooperative, and not–" 

"A secret." 

"Yes. If you'd gone to Oxford, they would've lied," —he shouldn't be saying this, for the record— "and said you'd been extradited for your safety. Or spun some tale about a normal childhood." 

"But I'm a drop out who lives in a one bedroom flat." 

"Yes." He watches the side of your face. Your eyes are glued to the flowers and unwavering. "I don't think there's any shame in that." 

"Thanks," you mumble. 

You don't believe him. He doesn't mind. He has plenty of time to convince you of your worth. 

"Would you like to pick some of the flowers?" he asks. 

"I don't want to ruin anyone's hard work." 

"They won't mind." 

You crouch down, reaching for the flowers. Your fingers weave through the dark stems of gorgeous purple and pink flowers, their colours so marvellously vibrant yet their shapes elegant enough to suit. You choose a purple flower with white edges and pick it gently. After a moment, you pick a second. 

You stand, holding the flowers between your thumb and forefinger. 

You clutch your flowers like small lifelines as he walks you back into the palace. You worry audibly about the location of your new sketchbook, and don't seem to like it when one of the guards who'd been watching you this morning seamlessly removes himself from a wall with the book in hand. 

James asks you what you want to do and you don't know. You aren't hungry, you aren't in the mood for movies or music and it might seem disrespectful for you to be seen at the theatre —not that James thinks you would spend much time there anyhow. You don't want to do anything at all, so James suggests that you retire to your private quarters and have some time to yourself. 

He takes up station by the door, listening to the dull scratching of your pencil for a good hour. He wonders if, occasionally, you're talking to yourself: there isn't much to go off of, the suggestion of your voice rather than the reality. You could be humming. You might be clearing your throat. 

An hour later and there's silence. 

James pulls his radio from his shoulder. Guarding you when you aren't up for talking is, unfortunately, rather dull. And he worries what it is you're upto; quiet is indicative of absence. 

"Sirius?" he asks the radio. 

Sirius does not often wear a radio, and he has his pager even less. It's a wonder he gets anything done. 

"James?" Remus asks, his voice crackling over the channel. 

"Hey, is Sirius with you?" 

"He's not. He's assembling a potential funeral wardrobe for Her Highness. Do you want me to go look for him?" 

James almost laughs. "I have people for that. Mikkelson?" 

He can practically hear Mickey's groan at being picked on before the man picks up his radio and says, "Yeah, sir?" 

"Find Mr. Black, won't you? Thank you." 

Hoping Sirius is on his way, James knocks your door. 

He, professionally (and he is trying so hard to be a professional), should call you Princess or Your Highness. But both titles make your skin crawl now that they're fact, so he opts for neither. 

"Are you alright in there?" he asks. 

You don't answer. James sighs and eases open your door. He wouldn't usually, not every silence is ominous, and your privacy is a right, but your safety is the priority and at the moment you're a high level target whether James agrees with that assessment or not. If he were to ignore protocol, and you were annihilated, he would go to prison for a long, long time. 

You're asleep at the desk. 

James is honestly surprised. It can't be comfortable, and your bed is probably one of the comfiest in the world with a state of the art orthopaedic mattress and duck-down pillows and quilts. What's worse, your desk chair is solid wood and likely fifty years old. The crick in your neck and the damage to your back will be extraordinary. 

And yet, it isn't James' job to wake you up. 

Professionally, James should leave. He should go back to his posting at the door. He has no need to wake you. 

You're frowning in your sleep. When you wake, he imagines you'll have graphite rubbed into your cheek. 

James sighs and leaves the room. 

"You wanted to see me?" Sirius asks, sounding spritely as he walks down the hallway toward him. 

"Hello," James says, and if they were in school he would stand up from a slouching pose against the wall and collect Sirius into a bear hug, slapping his back, maybe pulling a lock of his hair while saying something flirtatious. 

He stands at rigid attention. 

"Drop the stance, my love," Sirius says. James snorts. "There's no one here to see you." 

"It's not the point." 

"I know. What did you want? I'm quite busy." 

"Could you start carrying your pager, please? Or better, a radio? Then you wouldn't have to cross the entire building to find me." 

"You could've called me?" Sirius suggests. 

"I don't have a phone while I'm working." 

"Well, that's silly."

"I was…" He lowers his voice. "I'm worried the Princess is lonely." 

"Then go talk to her." 

"I can't. You know as well as I do that the point of my being here is to protect her to the best of my ability, and that requires an unaffected point of view. I can't give her my full attention while giving her safety my full attention, that doesn't add up." 

"Then grab a couple of other men and then go speak to her." 

"This is my job, Sirius. I'm paid to do this." 

"Not paid to make sure she's in company," Sirius says. He smiles at James like he's won the argument and James, brimming with brotherly affection, wants to chop him in the stomach. 

"Her mental health–" 

"Yes, I know. Just as important as physical. And while you wear the badge with pride, James, it still isn't your job." Sirius leans against the wall opposite. The hallways here are huge. It is quite the gap. "I was thinking I'd make her an appointment with Cindy." 

"She said she'll make one tomorrow." 

"Oh, brilliant. You know, Cindy's getting a divorce?" 

"I didn't know that," James says. "How do you know that?" 

Sirius taps the side of his nose before crossing his arms tightly across his chest, looking smug. "She's very single now, Jamie. And very pretty, she's a redhead." 

"Sirius…" 

Sirius stands, stretches and meets James at your doorway. "Okay, fine, I can see you're not in the mood." 

"It's not because of you." 

"I know that, thanks," Sirius says, stepping on James' steel-capped boot as he pushes past him. 

"Sirius–" 

Sirius pulls his hand back from your door handle. "What?" he asks.

"She's sleeping. Try to wake her nicely." 

"If she's sleeping, why does she need company?" 

James nods toward your door insistently. 

Sirius does as he's being asked because he's a sweetheart with entirely too much time for James, despite also being on the clock. James can't see anything from his position, but he can hear your conversation. 

Sirius lets himself into the room. He likely shakes your shoulder with care as he says, "Princess Y/N, poor darling, are you alright?" 

"Sorry," you say scratchily. Here James thinks you might've lifted your head and discovered the crick in your neck. "Oh, I'm sorry, am I supposed to be somewhere?" 

"No." There's an unmistakable fondness in Sirius tone, hiding just beneath the practised facade that comes with working for Royalty. "Do you want me to help you into bed? Or call for an attendant?" 

"No, no, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to… Sorry. What did you need?" 

"I have some clothes picked out for you to wear to the funeral proceedings. I want your opinion, but I don't need it right now. You can go back to bed if you like." 

"No," you say. James feels for you. No, no, no. "I can do whatever you need me to." 

"Why don't you freshen up, first? James stole you at dinner, I'll go have him order something sweet to the fitting rooms, alright?" 

"Yes. Thank you." 

"You're welcome."  

Sirius emerges from your room and gives James an elbowing. "You could've woken her up. You're not heartless." 

"I'm technically not allowed in there if she doesn't permit me." 

"She doesn't know that, and I'm sure she'd prefer a wake up call than to be left like that." Sirius rubs one of his eyes with the heel of his hand. "Sorry, I'm not shouting at you. But I really don't think you need to worry about permission and not speaking to her. She's not Julianna," his voice drops to a murmur, "she doesn't think she's above us." 

"I don't care if she does," James says honestly. Not because he thinks you should feel superior, but because he learned a long time ago that people do, and there's nothing he can do to stop it. "Mary's back tomorrow. If she catches even a whiff of how I've been behaving–" 

Sirius holds James' gaze. "Poor girl had pencil on her face." 

"Yes." 

"They're going to eat her alive." 

"Probably." 

"But we won't let them," Sirius says. 

"Not willingly." 

Sirius nods. "Are you coming with us?" 

"Yeah." He checks his watch. "Couple hours left yet 'til six. Are you off at the same time?" 

"No, are you kidding? I finish at three like a normal person." 

"That's not normal. Ever heard the phrase nine to five?" 

"Normal compared to the royals, who work never to never." 

James shushes him. Sirius shushes James back. 

"Are we ready to go?" you ask. 

James grins at the shock on Sirius' face, as if to say, What, you didn't hear her? Even though he'd barely heard your approach himself. A picture of politeness, Sirius ushers you down the hallway with him. 

You trek down onto the first floor, through the huge foyer and into the main section of the palace hiding behind the grand banquet hall. Here resides the fitting rooms, not too far from the servants quarters in case the tailors or maids are required. 

Sirius calls for an attendant despite the horror on your face at the suggestion as he leads you into the biggest fitting room. It's almost like a shop, in that it houses racks upon racks of clothing no doubt loaned in for Sirius' perusal. 

He drags a smaller rack to the centre of the room. 

"How do you feel about trying things on? Do you need a partition?" Sirius looks at you for a few seconds. "I'll call for one." 

You look like you've been slapped. 

James clears his throat. "He knows you're shy," he says. 

You take that much better. "Yeah. I do want the partition. Please." 

James weighs up the possibility of your possible murder and decides the chances are still too high to offer to leave. He truly won't be able to see you behind the partition, and it's not worth the administrative hell in any case. He hates how his job makes him constantly aware of how you might be murdered, but he likes knowing he could protect you with force. It evens out. 

"A fancy education may have helped me be where I am today, but it doesn't account for style or taste." Sirius smiles, propping himself on the arm of a suede armchair. "Which is my saying that you don't have to like what I like, and if you hate stuff just say. I won't be offended, Your Highness." 

"Please, no Your Highness," you murmur. 

"James says I dress like a socialite with too much money and not enough taste." 

"I do say that," James says.

You laugh under your breath. "Well, I'm sure you've better taste than me. I've never been to an event like this, I don't want to embarrass myself, so, um, don't let me." 

"I won't," Sirius says. 

Sirius understands the fashion tastes of the elite even if he doesn't personally enact them. He passes you an outfit, and you disappear behind the propped up partition to change. With the windows closed and the curtains drawn, only the overhead light is in play, and your shadow is reflected onto the floor to the left. James averts his eyes. 

You try on a couple of outfits. James tries very hard to look as though he's not paying attention to your squirming unhappiness at the fit and look of your clothes. You get more and more embarrassed as time moves forward. The attendant Sirius summoned, a tailor named Melinda, offers suggestions of alterations and what she thinks would suit your silhouette most. 

"Do I have one?" you ask.

"A silhouette?" Melinda asks, a push pin in between her teeth. "Sure you do." 

"My stomach–" 

"Is that a problem area?" Melinda asks. 

"I thought so–" 

"If you're worried, we can find something that fits the to the chest and loosens at your abdomen," Sirius says, "but I don't think you need to worry." 

James agrees. You aren't skinny and James isn't stupid, he knows the immense stigma surrounding your body type must have battered your self-esteem growing up, but he thinks you're pretty and that you've a lovely shape to you. The idea that you have to hide certain body parts when there's nothing wrong with them in the first place has him biting his tongue, wanting to comment and knowing he definitely should not. You've looked nice in everything you've put on, smart and proper for an unfortunate event. 

"I don't know," you mumble. 

Sirius has amazing crisis averting senses, having micromanaged a spoiled narcissist for years. You don't require nearly as much petting or fawning, and you aren't throwing a tantrum either way. 

"Let's finish for today," he says. "We can look at everything with fresh eyes, and I'm off at three."   

James cringes and Melinda looks at him like he's grown a second head; you don't mention the end of a shift in front of the royals. He knows this, and he knows that you don't know this, so Sirius is absolutely pushing his luck. You're a thoughtful girl —you immediately agree. 

Though that might be on account of how you look like you've been thrown a life raft. "Okay, thank you," you say, beginning to put clothes back on their hangers. 

Sirius waves you away. "Leave some work for the rest of us, Your Sweetness." 

Again, second head. 

James opens the door and takes you back through the maze of the Palace before Sirius can commit a sackable offence. You're as quiet as you've been all day, your footsteps the only proof that you're present as you climb the steps to the second floor. 

Professionalism, James thinks. 

"I think you looked nice in everything," he says. 

The opposite of professionalism. Oh, he could vault over the bannister. 

He just wanted to see you smile today, a real smile, or at least hear something sure in your voice that proves he's made the right decision. That you won't be totally miserable if he convinces you to take on the mantle. 

"Yeah?" you say, though you don't give him any time to answer. "I don't– I don't want to look good for a funeral, it's a funeral, but I know it'll be on TV, and maybe in the newspapers, so I don't want to be badly dressed and I don't have a clue what I'm supposed to even like…" You nibble your lip for a while before heaving a big sigh. "Sorry, I'm doing this again, I'm giving you jobs that aren't your job." 

"It's relatively easy to tell you that you looked good. It's not a job." 

"You don't have to comfort me, is what I mean." 

"That's also easy… and it will definitely be in the newspapers. For a long time."

"Oh, sugar." 

James holds his hand out as you trip up a short step, but you don't fall, and you don't need his offered help. He tucks his hand behind his back again and follows your lead. 

"Newspapers, the news in general, people, they can all be very, very horrible, but I think the focus will be on your DNA, rather than your outfit. I mean, the gossip rags and tabloids will absolutely pick you apart, but they do it everybody, and I won't let you read those." 

People are cruel. They don't even realise it. 

"Whatever outfit you choose, you'll look good, and people will hate it anyway," he says. 

"That sounds awful." 

"It is. But… they can't stop you from being you. It's better to do what you want to do without worrying about how it'll look to everyone on the outside. You should do what you think is right." 

Okay, he's not exclusively talking about clothes anymore, but his point stands. 

"What if I look like an idiot?" you ask him quietly. 

"You'll look like an exceedingly well-dressed one." 

A sharp veer. Even the word 'professionalism' is starting to annoy him. 

"Don't stress, yeah? We'll work it all out tomorrow." 

You rub your elbow as the two of you approach your room again. "Thanks, James." 

He's on a knife's edge here. Break the rules and face Mary's wrath. Stick to them blindly and drive you further and further from the crown. 

James, selfishly, needs you to want this. And if you need a friend, a real friend, to do that, then he can toe the line. He decides it right there on your door jam.

"Princess," he says, "I have to talk to you about something." 

"Okay… what is it?" 

"When you go home, I'll be coming with you." 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed! if you did, I’d love it if you let me know <3 also sry the next part should hopefully be delivered faster lol

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter scenario #james potter oneshot #the marauders #marauders era #marauders

[bwabys-scenarios]

Reunited

Part 30

Illumi x Reader x Feitan

part 29

part 31

taglist: @tsukilover11 @mercyboluthecrazychicken @sxyriii @shidoni-san @living4tomrua @lemonslut @honeylunalove @sugarrushdaydream @canthebest1 @whorermoviestar @fabitheraven @ashdownunderscorebeloved @astresoleil @ranzxki @smuttysammie22 @yandere-enthusiast

if you’d like to be ADDED to the taglist, please comment a red heart ❤️, make sure you’re able to be tagged/mentioned, and have your age in your bio(IF YOU ARE ALREADY ON THE TAGLIST, YOU DON’T NEED TO ASK TO BE ADDED AGAIN!!)

warnings: suggestive, also uvogin is his own warning

PRESENT TIME

She clapped her hands together, smiling down at the man. “Let’s go on a date, then!”

Feitan stared at the girl, wondering if she realized what she had just said.

“… date?”

She nodded. “Yes, a date! It’ll be a lot of fun!”

He set his fork down. “(Name). Do you know what you’re saying?”

She tilted her head. Feitan knew she could say weird things sometimes, not completely understanding what she actually meant.

“Yeah? We can walk around town, shop a little, and have lunch together!”

Feitan rubbed his temple. “(Name).”

He leaned forward, just inches away from her face.

“If date, won’t end very… friendly.”

Feitan eyed her lips for a moment, before pulling back. (Name) stared at him confused, her cheeks heating up.

“But… friends can go on dates too!”

Feitan hummed. “We can if you want, but us going on date means I get to kiss you, touch you.”

“Fei.”

He glanced at her face, his eyes softening. She was blushing, her eyebrows furrowed.

“I don’t like being teased.”

He laughed and pinched her cheek. “Who said it’s teasing? Silly girl.”

Her mouth dropped open, her hands swatting at his hands. “What?”

He snickered, pushing himself out of his chair. “Joking. Go get ready, we leave in 10.”

——————

(Name) walked out of her room in a pair of jeans and tshirt. Feitan had just put on the coat he always wore, waiting by the door for her.

“Take forever to get dressed,” he grumbled. She folded her arms over her chest, giving him a pout.

“Well I didn’t know if I wanted to wear jeans or a skirt. But it’s cold today, so I chose jeans.”

Feitan raised an eyebrow. “Could just wear my coat if cold.”

“Fei, you coat would NOT fit me.”

He shrugged. “Steal you jacket.”

“Don’t steal on my behalf, Fei. We don’t need a repeat of the McDonald’s incident.”

“I thought it was a success.”

“You threw me out of a window!”

“Too slow.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t respond fast enough at you throwing a burger in my face and screaming ‘RUN!’. I was banned from that location. They have a picture of our faces on the front window!!”

He rolled his eyes. “Baby.”

She let out a sigh and grabbed her purse. “Let’s go. I want to try and check out the market before it gets too crowded!”

The two left her apartment, Feitan following behind her. It had been a year since he’d last seen her, so he wanted to take in every detail of her appearance.

She wore a different pair of sneakers than she had before. He already knew this, she’d texted him whining about her old ones being too worn out to wear anymore, but it was different in person.

All the little differences in her appearance were noted in his mind. The little scratches on her legs, her hair a little longer/shorter than it had been before, and a change in her aura.

She knew nen now, her aura controlled around her instead of steadily leaking from her body. He felt… conflicted. He didn’t know if he should be proud of her progress or worried.

(Name) hadn’t told him what her nen ability was yet, and he wouldn’t ask. That was dangerous, sensitive information. He wouldn’t blame her for not wanting to tell him, he wouldn’t tell her his.

“Fei?”

He was pulled from his thoughts by (Name) waving a hand in front of his face.

“What?”

She gestured around them. “We’re here!”

The crowd was already huge, (Name) holding onto Feitan’s arm to keep from being trampled. People seemed to give Feitan a good amount of space due to his intimidating aura.

“Fei, what do you want to look at first? Oh my gosh!”

She didn’t let him answer, dragging him to a stall selling accessories and makeup. Feitan watched as she browsed the wares, her eyes settling on a silver bracelet.

It was simple, with a bunny charm hanging from it. Feitan could picture it on her wrist, of course she would be drawn to something so cute.

“Ma’am, how much is this?”

The woman behind the booth smiled, tilting the box containing the bracelet to the side so she could see.

“It’s 30,000 jenny!”

‘30,000!? That’s enough to pay for all my monthly bills…’

(Name) looked for a moment longer before sighing and walking to the next booth.

“I didn’t think everything would be so expensive…”

(Name) sulked on the side of the road, crouched down and poking at the dirt with a stick.

“Should’ve let me steal for you.”

Feitan leaned against the wall of a nearby building, watching her as people passed by.

“They’re small businesses, that wouldn’t be right.”

The man scoffed. “Some aren’t, like jewelry place. Obviously steals goods and spikes up the price.”

He could recognize it, as Chrollo did the same thing.

“Well… I don’t want to be the reason you steal, anyways.”

Feitan scowled. “Why you even care? I steal all the time. Easy.”

She poked her lip out in a pout. “I don’t care if you steal. I just don’t want to be the reason you get in trouble, or god forbid hurt.”

She glanced at him, smiling softly. “You’re important to me. I won’t tell you what to do with your life, I know you’re strong. Just… just…”

Feitan placed a hand on her head, rubbing it. His touch was rough, but (Name) leaned into it anyways.

“Sensitive. Fine, won’t steal for you.”

He helped her to her feet, leading her by the hand away from the market and to the department stores.

“Tourist trap. Let’s shop there instead.”

———————

“Fei.”

He looked up from browsing the lingerie section to see (Name), a few items of clothing over her shoulder.

“Can you come in the changing room in a minute to zip me up? I need a nice dress, and the only one in my size has a zipper.”

He stared at her for a moment.

“… sure?”

She sighed out in relief. “Thanks!”

He followed her and waited outside the dressing room as he listened to the sound of her clothes dropping onto the floor.

‘Does she enjoy getting me riled up?’

He folded his arms over his chest, only moving when he heard (Name) call for him through the cracked door.

(Name) stood in front of him, wearing a floor length lilac colored dress.

“Does it look okay? God I hope it fits…”

It took him a minute to answer, his gaze focused on her boobs squishing against soft fabric.

“Looks… good.”

“Thank you. The zipper is back here.”

She turned, revealing her bare back to him. Had she taken off her bra, or had she not worn one at all? He didn’t know and didn’t care.

‘Focus. Just zip her up.’

He stepped forward and ran his hand along her back, sending a shiver up her spine. Feitan smirked at her reaction, reaching out to pull the fabric together.

He began zipping her up, but at the middle of her back it stopped.

“Feitan? Is something wrong?”

He tsked, attempting to zip her up again to no avail. “Won’t zip.”

(Name) sighed, letting go of her dress. “Oh… I wonder if I…”

She sucked in, but Feitan shook his head. “Not stomach, this.”

He couldn’t help but grin when he reached up and cupped her chest, squeezing the soft flesh of her boobs.

Her reaction was delayed, the girl seemingly in disbelief. When she regained her composure, she smacked his hands away.

“Feitan, you perv! Why-“

He cut her off by wrapping his hands around her waist and pulling her flush against him.

“Shh. Overreacting.”

She squirmed in his grip, her face heating up. “Feitan, wh-“

He let her go suddenly, giving her an innocent look.

“Look.”

(Name) blinked, looking at herself in the mirror. From her position, she could see that her dress was now zipped up.

“Wait… how-“

“Squished them down so I could zip it up.”

(Name) covered her face. “Oh Fei, I’m sorry I assumed you were being a pervert. Thank yo-“

“Who said I wasn’t? Enjoyed every second.”

(Name) paused, her jaw dropping. He was looking at her with a smirk, leaning against the wall.

“You look good. Suits you.”

With that, he unzipped her so she could change back into her clothes and left.

——————

(Name) crossed her arms.

“Feitan. Why?”

He tilted his head. “Why not?”

Feitan held a set of lacy black lingerie. “Would look good on you.”

The girl pushed the lingerie away, glaring at the man. “Not funny, Fei. You know pink is my favorite color.”

He was a bit taken aback by her comment. Was that what had irritated her?

She joined him in browsing the lingerie section, picking up a few pairs of panties and bras.

“Should I get the ones with the bows or lace?”

She’d really flipped this on him, the man glad he had his coat to hide his blush behind.

“Don’t care.”

“You seemed to care earlier.”

Was she teasing him?

Feitan groaned, pointing to a random pair before storming off. He didn’t want to get a boner in the middle of a department store. He was already struggling with the memory of her breasts in his hands, he didn’t need to imagine her in different sets of lingerie.

“Feitan wait up!”

(Name) ran behind him, carrying her shopping bags in one arm and her purse in the other.

“You’re so fast. If you’re going to run off at least bring me with you.”

Feitan grabbed her shopping bags with one hand and her hand with the other.

“Shouldn’t tease me. Wouldn’t leave if didn’t.”

“To be fair you teased me first.”

He couldn’t argue with that, only glaring at her from the corner of his eye.

“… where next?”

She took a second to think before responding.

“How about some lunch? I’m starving!”

He rolled his eyes. “Not starving.”

She pouted. “But it feels like I am!”

A small smile pulled at his lips. God, she could be so cute sometimes.

“Alright. I pick.”

Feitan lead her to a random restaurant, allowing her to get them a table. He didn’t like talking, reserving his words for the Spiders.

And (Name).

They sat down, a waitress asking what drinks they wanted and leaving them to look over their menus.

“Mmm…”

(Name) scanned the menu, noting a few things she might like. As she mulled over her choice, she peeked over her menu to look at Feitan, only to have to hold back a giggle.

She knew he was short, however she couldn’t but snicker at the fact the menu covered him completely. His grip tightened, the man placing it on the table to glare at her.

“Why laugh?”

She put a hand to her mouth. “Just remembered a joke someone told me.”

Before he could question her further, the sound of her phone buzzing caused her to jump.

“Oh, maybe it’s my friend! He’s supposed to be here too…”

He watched her take her phone out, the smile on her face fading to a frown quickly. She sighed and typed out a response before stuffing her phone back into her purse.

“Who was that?”

A sigh left her lips. “Someone that’s coming to York New and wants to meet up with me.”

Something harsh bubbled up in Feitan’s chest. “Who?”

“A friend.”

He frowned. “Name?”

She tilted her head. “Do you really need to know?”

“Yes.”

(Name) tapped away at the table with her nails, staring at Feitan with her pretty (e/c) eyes.

“It’s Illumi, the assassin.”

Feitan’s head whipped around to give her an incredulous look, a scowl on his face.

“The creep that kidnapped you? Not going to see him, right?”

(Name) didn’t meet his eyes, playing with the hem of her sleeve.

“Well… he said it was important…”

“(Name).”

He was serious now, his eyebrows furrowed. “Don’t. What if he takes you away again? Hurts you?”

“He wouldn’t do that, I-“

“You don’t know that. He’s assassin. Good at tricking people. Smart.”

She folded her hands over her chest. “I’m not going to fall for something like that. I think he’s an okay guy, before I left he was really sweet to me…”

She had a soft look in her eyes, something that made Feitan seethe. He didn’t want anyone else to make her look like that.

“Sweet to you? What happened to make you leave, then?”

(Name) stayed silent, looking down.

“Something bad, huh?”

Feitan scoffed, running a hand through his dark locks.

“If he hurt you, I kill him for you. Just say the word.”

(Name) began to giggle, but stopped when she met his dark eyes.

He was being completely serious.

“Fei…”

She took his hand, the man stiffening. “You’re my sweet Fei, you know? I don’t want you hurting people because of me.”

Her sweet Fei. Him.

“Yours?”

“Of course.”

He let out a shaky breath, his hand trembling slightly. Feitan hated how happy being called hers made him, even if she only meant it in a friendly way.

“Excuse me.”

The two glance up to see the waitress standing there with their drinks. Her cheeks were a faint pink, with her eyes on their hands.

“Apologies, but I brought your drinks!”

She placed the drinks down, (Name) using her free hand to sip on it.

“You two look so cute by the way! Probably the cutest couple I’ve seen in a while!”

The waitress was gone before (Name) could correct her.

“This is the second time a waitress mistook me and a friend for being a couple.”

“Second?”

“Yeah, happened when Illumi took me out for dinner.”

His frown deepened. He’d taken her out for dinner? Like… as a date?

“Anything else happen?”

“Oh, um…”

‘I wonder how well he’d react to knowing I’ve basically been engaged to him by his parents…’

“Promise you won’t get mad?”

This took Feitan by surprise. What had happened to make he ask that?

“Try not to.”

She sighed. “Well… his parents KIND of want us to… get… married.”

The silence that followed her sentence was so thick that you could hear a pin drop from a mile away.

Feitan’s eyes went from surprised, to confused, to angry, until settling into an unnerving glare.

“Do you want to marry him?”

“Well… I’m not sure.”

Feitan blinked at her. “Not sure? You actually want to marry assassin?”

“No, I mean… I don’t know. He’s nice, or well… he was for the most part.”

“Barely know him.”

She sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. We hadn’t even gone on a date, but the butlers said he was like… madly in love with me or something. I don’t think it was true though, he’s gorgeous. I’m not sure how he’d fall in love with me.”

‘I know why.’

He looked her up and down. Feitan didn’t understand why she was so self conscious, she was gorgeous.

His eyes lingered on her lips again. Today, they were shiny, covered in that peach flavored lipgloss she liked so much. The first time she bought it, she couldn’t stop talking about how soft it made her lips feel.

“Fei? The foods here.”

He blinked, dragging his eyes from her lips to the waitress who sat down their food in front of them.

——————

(Name) walked along the city with Feitan right behind her. You’d think from the appearance of Feitan alone, no one would dare to approach them.

Sadly, some people are stupid.

“Hey, broad.”

(Name) continued walking, not thinking the rude comment was aimed at her.

“Hey, I’m talking to you bitch!”

(Name) felt someone put a hand on her shoulder, her hand immediately grabbing Feitan’s and squeezing it.

With a look, he knew what she was trying to say.

‘Stay calm.’

But it was hard when some random thug was grabbing her like he knew her.

“My apologies, is there something you need, sir?”

The man laughed. “Yeah, I need you to come back to my place for a fun time.”

She frowned. “Sorry, but no thanks. I’m out on a date with my husband.”

‘Husband?’

Feitan was too shocked to breath, his face going red.

The man looked to Feitan, snickering. “This your husband? Little shrimpy wouldn’t be able to do a thing if I decided to take you all for myself.”

The girl pushed his hand off of her, (Name)’s once calm face twisting into one of anger. “Don’t talk about him like that. We’ll be leaving now.”

She pulled Feitan behind her, the man grabbing her again soon after.

“Where the FUCK do you think you’re going, bitch? I said you’re coming with-“

Before Feitan could unsheathe his word to sever his arm, (Name) turned and kicked the man between the legs so hard that even Feitan hissed out in pain.

“Come on Fei. Let’s go.”

She kicked the man in the stomach for good measure before grabbing Feitan’s hand again and continuing in the opposite direction of the man.

Once they were far enough away, (Name) let out a sigh before collapsing. Feitan caught her, picking her up and sitting her down at a nearby bench.

“That was terrifying. You alright Fei?”

She was shaking, her hands trembling as they cupped his cheeks.

“I’m fine… you look like you’ll throw up.”

“God, maybe. Did you see how big that guy was?”

She sighed and leaned against Feitan’s shoulder. “He was a real asshole. I was okay until he insulted you. Pissed me off…”

Feitan glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

‘She… did she do that for my sake?’

“Don’t worry. Weakling’s words don’t bother me.”

She sighed in relief. “Good.”

“But…”

Feitan grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him.

“Called me husband. Don’t remember consummating any marriage.”

He grinned down at her, his eyes narrowing. “Jog my memory?”

She tilted her head. “Fei, I was lying. We’re not actually married.”

She smiled. “Unless you want to be.”

Feitan let her go, turning away quickly. “Wanna marry me Fei? Don’t you loooove me?”

“Shut up.”

“Come onnnn~ the chapels only a block away!”

He stood up and began walking away.

“Hey, wait! I’m sorry for teasing you, slow down!”

Feitan and (Name) sipped on boba as they strolled through town, stopping at a store every once and a while before (Name) suddenly stopped to check her phone.

“Oh! My friends want to meet up! Sorry Fei, but I gotta go!”

He tilted his head. “I go with you?”

“No, sorry you can’t. I don’t want them to potentially recognize you and get you arrested.”

He huffed. She wasn’t wrong to worry, but he wanted to stay by her side just a little longer.

(Name) gave him a quick hug before jogging off to where she was supposed to meet her friends. As she did, he got a text on his phone from Chrollo.

Boss: we need you at the hideout, Feitan. You can bring your woman if you want.

Feitan groaned. When were they going to stop teasing him over that?

Feitan: be there soon, she left to meet friends

The short man watched (Name) until she was out of sight, then turned to go in the opposite direction.

He was already starting to miss her, but bringing the peach lipgloss he’d snatched from her purse to his tongue to taste, he relaxed.

‘So that’s what her lips taste like…’

———————

“Leorio, Gon, Killua!”

The three boys looked up to see (Name) approaching, the girl waving.

“(Name), it’s been forever!”

Leorio jumped out of his seat and pulled her into a hug. Killua frowned from his seat.

“You were supposed to be here 15 minutes ago.”

(Name) broke away from the hug to plop down into a chair next to the boy. “Sorry, I was with a friend.”

“Friend? Who?”

“The grumpy one.”

They all nodded in understand.

‘She still hasn’t mentioned him by name. Weird.’

“So, is Kurapika coming?”

The three glanced between each other.

“Ah, is he not answering your calls either?” (Name) asked, a look of concern on her face.

They shook their heads. “Not even a text back.”

They all sighed together.

“Well, we just ordered lunch, do you want me to call the waiter?”

“No, it’s fine, I already ate!”

The group talked for a bit, the other three eating their lunch before they went back to the place the boys were staying.

“Greed island? What’s that?”

Leorio and (Name) sat next to each other, the girl holding a pillow to her chest.

“A legendary game.

“We’re trying to get a copy at the auction.”

Leorio hummed. “But why a game?”

“I think this game holds a clue to finding my dad.”

“Huh? The game holds a clue to finding your dad?”

(Name) tuned out of the conversation, scrolling through her phone. Gon and Killua had already told her everything before.

She stared at the message Illumi has sent her as a reply.

Illumi: I will text you a date and time. Be safe.

She reacted to the message with a thumbs up as a response.

(Name) watched the boys look up different terms for auctions, giggling to herself when Leorio got an idea.

——————

“Come on down, let’s have some conditional auctioning fun!”

(Name) stood beside Killua as Gon sat at a table, holding his arm out. They had decided to have Gon arm wrestle people in an attempt to make money.

“Here’s what’s up for bid! A Diamond worth three million. Comes with appraisal of the store where I just bought it! Arm wrestling will decide the winning bid. The first person to beat this boy wins the Diamond! You must pay a 10,000 Jenny entry fee!”

A crowd had gathered as Leorio yelled out the conditions for the auction. (Name) and Killua gave each other a look as people lined up to try and win the Diamond.

They watched as Gon arm wrestled a man, his fake groaning almost comical.

“He’s really bad at lying.” (Name) whispered to Killua. The white haired boy snickered.

“Yeah, he’s way too honest.”

Hours passed by with little luck for Gon’s challengers. (Name) groaned, leaning against the wall.

“How long are we gonna go at this?”

It’s was (Name)’s turn to hold the Diamond now. Killua shrugged. “Until Leorio lets us stop.”

“Okay, next person!”

A woman appeared from the crowd, (Name)’s eyes widening at the sight. She held out the money, Leorio smiling.

“Well, we have our first female challenger!”

The crowd cheered for her, but (Name) was silent.

‘Is that… Shizuku?’

She handed Killua the Diamond. “I’ve got to go, sorry!”

(Name) left as Killua yelled after her, chasing a familiar aura.

“Feitan!”

The man was waiting with one of the spiders, Franklin. He turned, his eyes widening when the girl appeared in front of him.

“(Name)? Why out so late at night?”

She waved her hand. “Oh, I was just in the area with a friend when I sensed your aura.”

He frowned, leaning forward and sniffing her. “Smell like cologne. Your friend a man?”

(Name) pursed her lips. “You shouldn’t sniff people, Fei. It’s creepy.”

Franklin snickered as Feitan turned red, seemingly embarrassed.

‘Creepy? She thinks I’m creepy?’

“Tch, answer my question. Stupid.”

“Yeah, they’re all men actually. I don’t really have any girl friends. Oh, I guess besides Pakunoda.”

Feitan stared at her. “… do you like any of these friends?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why does that matter?”

“Answer.”

(Name) rolled her eyes. “Well, maybe one. He’s a pretty blonde. Very cute.”

“Name? Occupation? Address?”

“Fei!”

She laughed, but again, stopped when she noticed he wasn’t.

“Oh, you’re being serious.”

They stared at each other, the silence only being broken when Franklin spoke.

“Well?”

(Name) blinked, turning to see Shizuku walking towards them.

“I lost. He’s strong.”

(Name) internally praised her friend, a small smile on her lips.

“That little boy?”

Shizuku frowned, looking at (Name). “Weren’t you over there a moment ago?”

The two men immediately turned to look at the girl, her eyes widening. “Oh, um. Yes I was. I was going to challenge him, but after seeing so many people lose I gave up haha.”

Shizuku tilted her head. “Weren’t you holding the Diamond?”

(Name) froze. She wasn’t sure why, but it didn’t feel safe for them to know her friends. Although she trusted Feitan, she knew he was a thief capable of murder. Especially if he got jealous.

“Oh, yeah. I wanted to check it’s authenticity so they allowed me to look.”

Shizuku hummed. “Makes sense.”

Feitan watched her from the corner of his eye. She wasn’t telling the complete truth.

‘No matter. Get it out of her later.’

“I sort of wanted that Diamond.”

“You should have used your right hand.” Franklin put a hand on her head.

Feitan nodded. “Yes, why didn’t you use stronger hand?”

“Oh, right… he extended his right hand, so I did the same. I’d like to challenge him again.”

Feitan sighed. “You can’t, no time. We have our job.”

“Yes. Besides, buying and bidding would be wrong. We’re thieves.”

Feitan glanced at (Name). “If we want something, we take it.”

——————

“No.”

They had returned to the Phantom Troupes hideout, Chrollo having just finished exposing the plan.

“Why not? You know I worry about you. I can-“

“You’re not coming.”

The two had begun arguing once Chrollo suggested (Name) tag along to see the spiders in action.

“Why? Can you give me any good reasons?”

“You’re weak. Don’t even know your nen.”

“I do! My nen is actually super useful I’ll have you know!”

This caught the rest of the Phantom Troupes attention.

“Useful? Can you explain how?”

Chrollo had stood up from his seat and began approaching her. She nodded, looking around the room.

“Does anyone have anything sharp I can borrow?”

They regarded her with wary eyes.

“I’m not going to try anything stupid, there’s like… at least 10 of you here. I’m not strong enough to take you out with a single sharp object.”

Chrollo handed her a knife, much to Feitan’s annoyance.

“What are you-“

(Name) held the knife in the air and stabbed it into her own arm, sinking through into the other side.

“(NAME)!”

Feitan rushed forward, his eyes wide with panic. There was so much blood pooling onto the floor, all of it hers.

She stumbled a bit, gritting her teeth as tears fell from her eyes. “Shit, this does not get any easier with time. Hang on Fei, just wait a minute.”

Chrollo watched with great interest as she pulled the knife out and let it drop to the floor with a clang.

“Oh wow, now this is a show.” Hisoka purred from his seat. Feitan shot him a deadly look, barely able to hold himself back from grabbing (Name) and rushing her to the nearest hospital.

He needed to trust her, but god was it hard when the entire room smelled like her blood.

(Name) closed her eyes in concentration, raising her arm up shakily to her lips, where she planted a kiss on the wound.

To everyone’s shock, the stab wound began to heal instantly, stitching itself back together as she sighed in relief.

“You’re a healer. Interesting…”

Feitan was by her side before she could blink, grabbing her arm and flipping it just to see it had been completely healed.

“Told you I’m useful.”

She smiled at him, proud of herself. He pulled her closer to him, squeezing her tight.

“Scared me, never do that again.”

She patted his back before pulling back and standing in front of Chrollo.

“So, yeah. That’s how my nen works. Kind of.”

He held his hand out for hers, inspecting her arm. “I see… not a scar in sight. You can’t even tell you’d just stabbed yourself.”

He dropped her arm and grinned. “Well, I think it would be a great idea for you to accompany them tonight. That’s an order, Feitan.”

The man didn’t respond, only staring down at the pool of blood with worried eyes.

For a man so used to blood, the sight of hers unnerved him more than he cared to admit.

——————

(Name) sat in the hot air balloon, pouting. She’d been ordered by Feitan to guard it, saying a healer wouldn’t be needed inside.

She didn’t really mind all that much. After all, she assumed they would be stealing or killing someone.

She didn’t want to see Feitan kill.

Bored, (Name) scrolled through her contacts and clicked on Kurapika’s name.

‘Might as well try again. What harm can it do?’

She called him, half expecting him to not pick up.

“(Name)?”

(Name) jumped at the sound of his voice. “Kurapika? You picked up! Oh my gosh I’ve missed you so much.”

Her words caused the Kurta to blush, Melody smiling beside him.

“I’ve… missed you too. Are you doing well?”

“Yeah, so are the others. Have you been remembering to eat?”

The man sighed. “Yes. It’s hard not to when you text me everyday during meal times.”

“Hehe, sorry. I just worry about my sweet boy.”

His face turned a dark red. Did she say HER sweet boy?

“I-I-I apologize for worrying you.”

She sighed. “Don’t. It’s fine. Anyways…”

(Name) leaned against the basket of the air balloon, using Feitan’s coat as a blanket.

“When will I get to see you again? I miss your pretty face.”

Melody giggled next to him.

‘He’s talking to someone he loves. How cute.’

“As soon as my job allows it. I promise.”

She giggled. “I’ll hold you to it.”

Kurapika groaned when he heard the sound of his boss beeping in.

“Sorry, I have to go. Boss is calling.”

“Oh, that’s alright. Be safe, love you!”

Kurapika froze, his jaw dropping. Before he could respond, he accidentally ended the call.

“Shit- Hello, Boss.”

The girl giggled. ‘I bet that made him blush. What a cutie.’

The girl sighed. They said the job might take a while, so she rested her head against the basket of the air balloon.

(Name) soon fell asleep, cuddled up under Feitan’s coat.

——————

“Ouch!”

(Name) woke up to being flicked on the forehead.

“Fell asleep during job, stupid girl.”

Feitan hovered over her, the other spiders climbing into the basket.

“Oh, Fei, you’re back.”

She rubbed her eyes, yawning. The man patted her head. “Tired?”

“A little.”

He smacked the top of her head, Shalnark snickering in the corner. Feitan had been so gentle with her, it was amusing.

“Well wake up. Job not over.”

She whined. “So mean…”

Feitan grabbed his coat from her and pulled it over his shirtless form. “Hey, I’m cold!”

(Name) pouted up at him, crossing her arms over her chest.

He huffed. “Baby. Should have brought jacket.”

He ended up dropping the jacket of his tuxedo into her lap. “Use this.”

Feitan inhaled the lingering smell of her scent on his jacket, a small smile on his face.

“Thank you, Fei.”

He looked down at the girl to see her cuddled up under his jacket, smiling up at him.

“This is much better.”

It was hard to control himself, but he did. He didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of the other Troupe members by pouncing on her like a wild animal.

“Tch.”

Shalnark plopped down beside you. “Hey, share. I don’t have any sleeves.”

He pulled a bit of the jacket towards him, getting awfully close to (Name).

Because he didn’t want to make a scene, Feitan stayed quiet.

But one look at his eyes would tell you he was beyond furious. He knew Shalnark didn’t mind the cold.

‘Bastard. Touching what’s mine.’

(Name) moved closer to Shalnark. “You’re cold? You’re so warm!”

She leaned against his shoulder, smiling up at him.

“Oh. You’re pretty too.”

“Pretty?”

Feitan sat next to (Name) and pulled her towards him with more force than he had meant, the girl nearly falling across his lap.

“Hey, my blanket!”

Shalnark whined and attempted to join (Name) again, but stopped when Feitan glared up at him.

‘Aww, play time is over.’

The blonde rolled his eyes and leaned back.

But a part of him felt weirdly… warm.

‘Pretty, huh?’

———————

(Name) quickly fell asleep again, occasionally nuzzling against Feitan’s shoulder. It was quite the sight, the other spiders stealing glances at the pair.

Uvogin had just ended his call with Chrollo.

“She’s really asleep, huh? Must trust us an awful lot.”

Uvogin let out a laugh, instantly causing the girl to shoot awake.

“Mom I’m awake-“

Instead of her mother shaking her awake, she was surrounded by the band of thieves she’d been accompanying.

Her face instantly heated up, and it didn’t help that Uvogin and Shalnark were laughing at her.

“I guess Uvogin is a mom now!”

Nobunaga snickered, Uvogin clapping him on the back.

The girl hid her face in Feitan’s jacket. The short man held back a laugh himself, patting her shoulder.

Soon after they landed to air balloon, Feitan pulling a ski mask over her head.

“H-hey! What-“

“Hides your identity. Use In.”

(Name) huffed, using In as he helped her out of the basket. “Fine…”

They stood on a cliff, looking over a large crowd of people in suits. “What, are they the mafia or something?”

She had been joking, but no one laughed.

“Yeah.”

“Fei. You pissed off the mafia?”

“Not just me.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Uh huh.”

“COME DOWN HERE!”

“WE’LL EVEN LET YOU DECIDE WHETHER YOU’LL BE DROWNED OR BURIED!”

Shalnark laughed. “There’s a whole crowd…”

“I don’t have to suck them up, do I?”

“No, they don’t matter.”

(Name) looked at them incredulously, though it was hard to convey with her face concealed.

“Hey!”

They all looked to Uvogin who stepped forward. “Stay out of this. I’ll handle it…”

He slid down the cliff, the mafia raising their guns. Feitan turned (Name) around. “Don’t wanna watch.”

(Name) could hear the sound of flesh being ripped apart and bones cracking, and for once she didn’t question Feitan. She had seen Uvogin eat a live chicken in front of her, she knew what he was capable of.

“His philosophy is to be the strongest of them all. An ordinary gun wouldn’t even scratch him.”

“Physically, he’s the strongest.”

“It’s like a gorilla stomping on ants.”

(Name) pouted, glancing at Feitan.

“Oh? More of them!” Nobunaga said.

“They came all the way here, merely to be killed.” Franklin stated. (Name) leaned against Feitan, the man holding her up with ease.

“Just watching isn’t fun, let’s play cards.”

(Name) perked up. “Ooo, sounds fun!”

The group sat in a circle, Feitan standing watch. As the group played, he’d steal glances at (Name). He couldn’t see her face, but he could practically sense her hesitation.

“Uvo will be okay, right?”

(Name) placed another card down, a frown on her face.

“Are you kidding? He’s the strongest in the troupe, physically.”

She sighed. “I know, I heard earlier. Even so…”

Shalnarks eyes softened slightly. “He’s tough. You don’t need to worry.”

Feitan patted her head. “Like we said earlier, gorilla stomping on ants.”

———————

Some nen users began fighting him, Uvogin not allowing his fellow Troupe members to join the fight.

From the sound of it, (Name) didn’t think he’d need their help.

“11.”

(Name) set down another card, glancing at Feitan again. “Fei, how’s the fight going?”

“Just ate someone’s head.”

(Name) shivered. “Like… a persons head?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Can’t be good for his stomach.”

Shalnark chuckled. “That’s what you’re worried about?”

“Well. He did eat my chickens alive without getting salmonella so…”

“Don’t try to figure her out. Strange girl.” Feitan stated, a smile on his lips.

They continued playing, until all of a sudden Shalnark covered his ears.

They all followed suit, (Name) quickly doing the same.

An ear splitting roar echoed through the desert, potentially deafening anyone that hasn’t covered their ears in time.

(Name) felt Feitan tap her shoulder a moment later, signaling it was over.

“You idiot! Give us a warning first!” Franklin yelled.

“What if our eardrums had burst?”

“Sorry, sorry. But that would’ve given my plan away. Besides, you guys had plenty of time to cover your ears before the sound reached you.”

“That’s true.” Machi said.

(Name) peeked over the edge, Feitan holding onto the back of her shirt.

“Are you alright, Uvo?”

He grinned up at her. “Better now that I got a pretty lady worrying over me.”

“Yeah, he’s fine.” (Name) said, Feitan pulling her back up. “Hey, you’re going to rip my shirt!”

“Better than you falling and busting your skull open.”

(Name) brushed the dirt off of her pants, looking over the group. “I wish I would have brought some snacks. Then we could of had a picnic.”

Feitan smacked a hand over his forehead as Shizuku nodded. “Should have. I’m hungry.”

“Shizuku! Would you suck the poison and leeches from my body? Your vacuum will do the trick.”

She finished picking up the cards before answering. “Blinky can suck out poison, but nothing alive.”

“What? Then what am I supposed to do?”

Shalnark leaped down, (Name) blinking in surprise. He’d landed over 30 feet below them without any issue.

“Let me see.”

Shalnark picked up the leech and inspected it. (Name) squeaked and hid behind Feitan.

“This is a spotted leech… it takes one day to migrate to the bladder, before laying its eggs and dying.”

“So?”

“The eggs will hatch shortly after, exciting through your urinary tract. It will cause enough pain to kill you.”

“Hey, don’t joke around…”

“However, they require a specific ammonia level to hatch. If there isn’t enough, the eggs don’t hatch, and can be excreted harmlessly. So until this time tomorrow, you should drink pee non-stop and be sure to urinate frequently!”

He squished the leech, giving Uvogin a smile.

“Don’t scare me like that… Shizuku, can you take care of the poison?”

“Yes!”

“Someone go to the city and get lots of beer.”

Franklin nodded. “I’ll go.”

“Make sure they’re ice-cold!”

“Don’t get too greedy!”

Shizuku joined the two, Blinky out and ready to work.

“Okay, get that poison out of me.”

The sound of chains wrapping around something caused the three to pause.

When they turned to see what was going on, they saw Uvogin covered in chains wrapping around his body.

He was launched into the air with a yell, quickly disappearing from sight.

Feitan grabbed (Name), throwing her over his shoulder as he jumped down.

She held on, trusting him enough to not scream.

“Did you see that?” Shalnark asked.

“Yeah.”

“Those chains came out of nowhere to wrap around his body.” Shizuku said.

“Is it a new shadow beast? Uvo can’t move because of the tranquilizer and the leeches still inside him.” Nobunaga stated plainly.

“Then that’s that… let’s go and save him.”

Feitan sighed while patting (Name)’s butt. “Good grief. He’s so much trouble.”

“Hey!”

She wiggled out of his grasp, the man holding her by the waist as she pouted down at him.

“I have a trace for now. I used In to conceal the thread, so as long as they don’t use Gyo to spot the needle, I can follow them anywhere.”

Machi held an invisible thread, (Name) quickly suing Gyo to spot it.

“Okay, let’s find them before they notice it.”

“This is our chance to finish the remaining Shadow Beasts.”

(Name) furrowed her eyebrows.

‘That aura… felt familiar.’

——————

A problem quickly arose when the group found a car to steal.

“Not enough seats.”

Feitan glanced between (Name) and the car, sighing.

“I can just stay behind.”

“No, dangerous.”

“Then I can ride in the tru- OW!”

He flicked her forehead. “No. Dumb ass. Hurt yourself.”

“Just have her sit in your lap. She’s your woman, isn’t she?”

Feitan shot Nobunaga a look, but couldn’t deny his statement.

“Wouldn’t it make more sense for Feitan to sit in my lap? He’s lighter than-“

Feitan grabbed her wrist and dragged her towards the car, pulling her to sit in his lap. She squeaked, struggling against his iron grip.

“Stay still.”

(Name) whined and wiggled a bit more, until she felt Feitan’s fingers dig into the soft flesh of her thighs. She glanced back at him to see his face hidden behind his coat.

“Face forward, stay still.”

With not many options, (Name) decided to listen.

#reunited illumi x reader x feitan #reunited illumi x reader #x reader #anime x reader #headcanon #reader insert #requests open #hxh x reader #hxh imagines #hxh illumi #hxh feitan #hunter x hunter feitan #hunter x hunter x reader #feitan portor #illumi hunter x hunter #illumi zoldyck #hxh headcanons #feitan #hunter x hunter chrollo #illumi x reader #chubby reader #chubby!reader #anime x chubby reader #female reader #fem reader #chrollo hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter headcanons #hunter x hunter kurapika #hxh kurapika

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Just One Sip: Chapter Two

Just One Sip: You take a job as a security guard at an old manor to pay off your crippling student debt. You did not expect to be guarding a mysterious man trapped in a glass cage or to fall under his starry eyes. You were going to break him out, but becoming his snack was not part of the plan.

Warnings: Morpheus Getting Jealous Of His Dream Self (And Then Has A Melt Down Because Of It).

To Note: Vampire!Dream x Female!Reader, It’s a little dark but Reader doesn’t complain.

Word Count: ~5.1k

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You had nice dreams. Wonderful even. They kept you happy and entertained, lost in a paradise of endless greenery and sun. You didn’t remember when you had last felt this relaxed, this stress free, this happy… and it was all because of the man who held your hand and pulled you about, showing you every nook and cranny of the wonderful forest and fields. It was a fantasy you never wanted to wake up from because you felt truly happy, and you hadn’t that warm touch in years.

You were dressed in some fancy thing, a dress with flowing skirts that felt light as a feather and soft against your skin. You’d never worn something like it, but it was nice to feel dressed up in a carefree way. Looking up at the man, you tried to figure out why he felt so familiar to you. His incredible blue eyes stared deep into yours like he wasn’t surrounded by the beauty of nature. No, he looked at you like you were the only thing he could see.

He lifted his free hand and brushed his fingers along the crest of your cheek, almost as if he was marveling your beauty. You felt a shiver run up your spine when his thumb stroked your skin further. Tightening your grip on his hand, because you feared what you would feel without him, you stepped closer to him and peered up into his face. How could one man be this beautiful?

You couldn’t help but raise your own hand and brush your fingers along his face. He let you, of course, leaning into your touch, savoring it. Your touch traveled along the curve of his jaw, appreciating how he seemed to be sculpted by the gods, or perhaps something even higher. Then your fingers trickled over the arch in his cheek. Marble. Or maybe pearl. You couldn’t decide which. One hard. One delicate. Both perhaps? The man’s eyelashes fluttered as his eyes closed and he leaned into your touch. Oh yes, he was both indeed. Hardened like marble. Delicate like a pearl. You thought it incredibly beautiful that he could be both.

“I wish this could last forever,” You spoke softly, continuing to trace his face. In a matter of seconds, the skies overhead darkened. Blinking in confusion, your eyes turned skyward as clouds quickly covered the beautiful and shining sun. They continued to darken, rapidly extinguishing the bright and carefree day. You looked back to the man, only to find that he had vanished without a trace, gone from your touch. Twisting in place, your eyes frantically looked around, you couldn’t just suddenly be alone! Then something splashed onto your face. Cold. Wet. Looking up, more droplets fell from the sky as the heavens above opened up. Your paradise soon became a nightmare.

So you started running away from what had once been an idyllic view. You wanted away from this rain, from this cold. You wanted that warm sunshine back. The fields quickly turned muddy, splashing your skin with wet clay and coarse material, then you found yourself flying across a forest floor, sharp branches and rocks digging into your bare feet. You couldn’t shake that feeling of dread and misery, no matter how fast you ran or how far you went.

The darkened forest twisted and bent in front of you, spindles of darkness curling around branches and turning them sharp, menacing. It was like they were clawing for you, trying to trap you in their noxious grasp and consume you until there was nothing left but raw fear, terror. You bat away another clawing branch, awkwardly leaping over a fallen tree. You slipped in the mud as you landed, almost falling. Clawing your way back to your feet, you lurched forward once again.

As your muddied body darted and twisted between crooked trees, you desperately wished that your dream man would return. Comfort you, make you feel not so alone in this scary place, the scary world. The ground beneath your feet disappeared and you began free falling through open air. Screaming as weightlessness ripped through your body, you waited for an impact that never came…

The Dreaming was a reflection of its lord, king, and creator… so it was only fair to assume that when the idyllic weather turned sour and darkened clouds filled with thunder and clout bloomed in the skies, that Lord Dream was in a terrible mood. He was. Like a flick of a switch, he had gone from enjoying watching you peacefully and happily wandering around your dreamscape with a conjured dream form of him, to you stating that you never wanted to leave that dream!

You wanted the dream of him, not Dream himself!

The dream lord was angrily sitting upon his throne, his eyes black in anger, and his teeth bared in territoriality. He’d been brooding since he had escaped his cage and brought you with him to the Dreaming. Regretfully, he hadn’t been able to control himself. When you struggled against the human Steven, the wound on your palm had broken open and your precious and tantalizing blood had been splattering everywhere. He hadn’t been able to control himself, not after spending weeks wondering what you tasted like, wanting to bury his face in your neck and breathe in your ambrosial scent.

So after he had tasted the blood oozing from your palm and dripping down your wrist, he had lost all control over his hunger. He had bitten you without asking for consent and proceeded to take far too much blood from your body. So Morpheus had spent the last three weeks drowning himself in self loathing and ire, hating his being with all he had and only taking relief in knowing that you were safe within his newly constructed palace, dreaming of paradise.

It was a dichotomous situation for Morpheus. Seeing you so happy with the dream rendition of himself. Smiling at him. Clinging to his hand. Touching him. Caressing him. He was obsessed with the way you looked at him, smiled at him, touched him… and yet, envy and jealousy were rearing their ugly heads because it wasn’t Morpheus whom you were smiling at, touching. It was the dream of him. Thus the reason for his foul and despondent mood.

Outside the throne room, the thunderous downpour intensified as Morpheus glowered and moped. Surely you were going to wake up from your slumber soon enough…

You woke up screaming and feeling as if you were still free falling. Arms flailing, you thrashed in place and clawed at the blanket covering you. When you finally felt free and not trapped in place, you heaved for air with your limbs spread out, and stared at the ceiling. Where the hell were you because no place in Fawny Rig was this bright. Wait. Little flickers of memory started passing through your mind, clawing at Steven, burying the letter opener into the glass cage, your blood everywhere. You gasped and immediately brought your injured hand up to inspect it.

Not even a mark or scratch.

Then you distinctly remembered teeth sinking into your neck. Slapping a hand against the place on your neck, your fingers searched for puncture wounds, but failed to find any.

“What the fuck, what the fuck,” You whispered to yourself, taking in your surroundings. You were most definitely not in Fawny Rig anymore. The room was too big, the furniture too different, and the architecture too wrong. It was beautiful, light, and open. Not closed off, heavy, and dismal. To your left were several windows and a balcony, and beyond a stormy day. Blankets of rain falling in waves. You couldn’t see anything beyond, the sky was so dark and stormy.

Hands scratching at the sheets beneath your body, you scrambled from the bed and got to your feet, your head rapidly swiveling around. Your feet carried you across the grandiose room to one of the large windows and you peered out, hoping that you would be able to see more than just rain with a closer view. Faintly, you could see lavish grounds, water, a town in the far distance. None of it was familiar. You placed a hand on the window and rested your forehead on the glass.

“What is going on?” You murmured to yourself, your eyes slowly drifting down. Your stiff and well starched guards uniform was gone, replaced with a delicate white gown that rested on your skin like satin. You’d never owned anything like it, or worn a fabric as soft and light. Never mind you had no idea how you even got into it in the first place… You were not going to wait around for someone to come tell you what was going on. So you turned away from the window and searched for the door of the room. You found two grand carved doors and moved towards them.

White fabric swirled around your legs as you hurried forwards, and as you dragged one of the elaborate doors open, you poked your head out. It was just as lavish in the hall as it was in the bedroom. So you slipped into the hallway and looked down both ways. You already knew that you were high up, you could tell just from looking out the window… so you planned on going down. Deciding to go left, you padded your way down the hall, your bare feet happy to find that the white marble underfoot warm. Odd, but you weren’t going to complain about that.

So you wandered hallway to hallway, alone and listening to the raging storm outside. Whatever this place was, it was very pretty, almost otherworldly even. Your eyes went everywhere, falling in love with the mysterious place all too easily. Wandering hall to hall, you eventually began passing people, strange people. They didn’t look human, and didn’t talk to you, but every person you passed bowed to you. Why were they letting you just wander around? Why did no one talk to you? By the time you were pretty sure that you were on the ground floor, you were half convinced that you had been drugged and you were simply hallucinating.

A very nice hallucination. Much preferred to your real life.

You had been probably wandering around for at least fifteen minutes, not knowing what to do, when you came across an exit. Water was already soaking the marble floor from the torrential rain pounding the palace, and you could feel the chill of it nipping at your feet. It was a startling change from the warm atmosphere of the halls you had been previously walking. Lifting your foot from the cold soaking warm stone, you wrinkled your nose and took several steps backward.

“Yeah, I am not going out into that mess,” You mumbled to yourself wrapping your arms around your bare arms.

“Tell me about it, it’s been like that for three weeks straight,” A voice spoke from behind you. Turning your head, you looked around to see who had spoke, but only saw an empty hallway, and a large black bird perched on a nearby bench armrest. It wasn’t the bird that had spoken… was it? Well you were hallucinating so it probably had been the bird.

“It’s been like this for three weeks?” You asked, tilting your head to the side. “That’s… quite dreadful I think. I don’t think that much water could be too good for the plants.”

“Yeah, the big boss is kinda in a mood,” The bird said, his beak moving. You blinked at him and shrugged, your guess had been correct. But apparently the ‘big boss’ was causing this torrential rain? Peculiar.

“Oh, why are they upset? I’d have thought that three weeks would be long enough to get over whatever upset your boss.” You questioned, frowning slightly at the idea of someone being so upset that they caused it to rain and storm for three weeks. Certainly this aggressively.

“Um, well, I don’t think the boss would like me telling on him,” The bird replied to you, shuffling his wings on his back. “He’s already upset enough.”

“Oh, I see,” You looked down at your body and shifted your weight from one foot to the other. “You wouldn’t happen to know where we are… do you? I woke up here but I don’t know how I got here.” You explained to the talking bird.

“You’re in the Dreaming, so welcome! I’m Matthew and I’m a raven of Lord Dream.” Matthew said, puffing his chest out.

“It’s nice to meet you, Matthew,” You replied back. “Who is Lord Dream?”

“He’s the big boss, the mighty lord and king of the dreaming!” Matthew said. “I’m his raven, granted I’ve only been on the job for like, a few weeks… but I’m his right hand man! Aside to Lucienne that is… anyways. He’s Dream of the Endless, but most people here call him Lord Morpheus.”

“So he’s the one in charge,” You surmised. Matthew bobbed his head.

“Oh yeah, he controls everything, including the weather…” You almost didn’t catch Matthew’s last grumble but it sounded like he had said that this Lord Dream could control the weather. But if he could control the weather, why was the weather so terrible?

“Matthew?” You probed, your fingers digging into the soft fabric of your white nightgown. “Could you bring me to Lord Dream?” You asked, vaguely remembering your struggle with Steven. Things grew cloudy after that, but you remembered the your mystery man had broken free. Your hand rose to your neck once more, once again searching for evidence of what happened. Had you imagined the entire thing? “I want to ask him if he can return me to my own world?”

“You want to leave!?” Matthew hopped in place, his feathers ruffled at the idea that you wanted to go back to the Waking. Morpheus was not going to like that! You saw that the raven looked uncomfortable and went to explain.

“I need to look for someone,” You explained to him. “I want to make sure they’re alright.”

“I can bring you to him, but I don’t know if he’ll want to let you leave… his mood’s been kind of fragile, ya know. Lot’s of brooding and moping. I think he even said he was despondent… which seems kind of exaggerated but…”

“What on earth could have him despondent?” You questioned as Matthew fluttered into the air and began flying down the hall. You followed.

“Uh,” Matthew sounded, not really knowing how to explain the fact that Morpheus was despondent over you, because he had accidentally hurt you and was now in a self-loathing pity party in which the Endless was disparaging himself to no end. “You know what? I don’t even know myself. Anyways, while you walk I’ll tell you about everyone in the Dreaming. So first there’s Lucienne, the real person in charge… just don’t tell Lord Dream that, she’s the head librarian…”

Matthew told you about everyone he could think of off the top of his head, and you rather liked the sound of the people. It was quite an adventurous dream/hallucination, and you were enjoying every moment of it… ignoring the horrendous weather outside the palace.

“…so this is the throne room, it’s really cool as these awesome moving stain glass windows you should totally check out.” Matthew spoke, fluttering to the marble floor a few paces away from you. Your eyes were glued to the ceiling, watching as beautiful colors shifted and moved, slowly revealing scene after scene. Walking forwards, you marveled at the images, wondering how they could move with such fluidity. Did it matter in the end? No, not to you.

“Uh, ma’am, you might wanna…” Matthew trailed off, not knowing what to say when he spotted Morpheus sitting on his throne in one of his moods again. Darkness and clout surrounded him, churning in clouds of energy that warded off any advances. Wow, this was an all time low for his boss.

“What were you saying Matthew?” The moment your voice echoed in a gentle cadence throughout the empty room, Morpheus’s attention was drawn from his inner glower. His gaze immediately found you. You were like a beacon of light within eternal darkness. The dream lord was instantly rising from his throne and striding down the winding steps. You yourself had caught sight of him, your mystery man, and you couldn’t help but walk swiftly for him, hope blooming in your chest.

“Oh my goodness,” You breathed out, nearly rushing up to him and automatically raising your hands to take his face in had. Your eyes immediately looked for signs of abuse and malnourishment, because you knew that he hadn’t been treated kindly, or treated at all. He didn’t look emaciated or injured, but not all injuries could be visible. “Please tell me you are okay?” You breathed out, your true worry and fears plastered on your face.

Morpheus couldn’t stop the silver glow within his eyes from you being so close again, standing in front of him, unharmed and well. He had feared that he had irreparably scared you off when his hunger won out. But no, you were in front of him and unafraid, asking if he was okay… the Endless only fell more in love with you.

“Please say something,” You whispered to him,  fearing that he would only remain stoic and silent. Maybe he was truly angry at humans, at you. You were wrong, oh so wrong. Morpheus wasn’t replying to you because he was entirely taken with your beauty, taken with the fact that despite his momentary loss of control, you were here, in front of him. He hadn’t scared you off. “Plea—”

“I am fine,” Morpheus smoothly spoke, gently placing his larger hand over yours. You shuddered in place from the complete and utter beauty of his voice alone. How could one being be this beautifully sculpted, and have a voice that was just as gorgeous?

“You— you’re not lying to me are you?” Your voice was small, echoing your inner fear. Morpheus wrapped his fingers around yours and firmly held your hand.

“I would not lie to you,” He gently reassured you, then his eyes went to your neck. The precious place where his teeth had broken through your flesh and he had greedily taken your blood without permission. His other hand reached up and brushed your healed skin while his self loathing returned. “Please forgive me, for I have wronged you.”

You blinked in confusion, not understanding why he was apologizing. Was it not humans who had trapped him for over a century.

“What are you apologizing for? I’m not the one who spent a century trapped in a glass ball.” You countered, your eyes pinching together once more. “I’m— I’m so sorry you had to go through that and I’m sorry I couldn’t get you out sooner.”

The scent of your anxiety was tainting the lush and desirous scent of your blood, and Morpheus found that he loathed it. Loathed the way you worried, loathed the way you feared. He didn’t want anything but a smile on your face.

“I am apologizing, because I took without asking for permission,” He told you, his fingers trickling along your neck and feeling the way your blood pulsed beneath your flesh. “And I was unable to control myself afterwards, taking far too much from you and causing you to faint.” Your eyelashes fluttered and you nearly swooned from the way his fingers fluttered along your neck, so carefully, and so gently. Breathing heavily, you focused your eyes on his once more. You could have sworn that you saw stars there.

“You were trapped for over a century,” You whispered, unable to stop the trembles in your body. “I am sure you were thirsty.”

“It was not mine to take, certainly not when I was not given permission.” Morpheus pressed, his fingers stroking the underside of your jaw. His incisors were threatening to descend once more. Oh how just the scent of you made his endless control evaporate. It was like he was a newborn babe with uncontrolled thirst. Surely had better control over himself, he had been living for thousands of eons. You pursed your lips, and Morpheus stared at them, wishing he could kiss you, feel how soft your lips were… indulge all that he had been dreaming of while glass had separated you.

“My body will always make more,” You pointed out. “And given what we did to you I think it’s only fair.” Morpheus’s eye twitched and his gaze intensified, blue turned entirely silver.

“There is no we, in this situation.” Morpheus corrected you, pulling on your hand out to show your palm. Your healed palm. “You were hurt too, Y/N.” Your eyes flickered to where you once had a wound. His tongue traced the blood trails leading down your wrist, savoring the sweet taste of your nectar and indulging on what he had thirsted for since you had arrived. No entity had tasted as delicious and divine as you had. That’s what had pushed his hunger and desire over the edge. While you and Morpheus were staring each other down, Matthew fluttered over.

“So… you know Lord Morpheus?” Matthew asked you, entirely confused on the situation.

Morpheus was constantly lurking the background, watching you. Watching you interact with the citizens and subjects of the Dreaming. Watching how well you integrated into his home. It was like you had entirely forgotten about the Waking World. He found satisfaction in that because he never wanted you to leave. But at the same time, you were there, taunting him with your haunting scent. Teasing him with your bewitching beauty. Morpheus was starving himself, all of his usual sources of drink no longer appetizing to him. There were a great many beauties within his realm, many in other realms too, Morpheus had nearly an unlimited source of beings willing and waiting to provide him with sustenance, with their blood… but only yours was appetizing to the Endless. It was agony to have you so close, to have you so near. But he didn’t want to risk hurting you again so he allowed himself to starve, to suffer.

On this outing, you were wandering through town, talking with the people, laughing. Your smile was so bright and all who were blessed to see it, felt the happiness you exuded. You bought several different kinds of fruits you were interested in trying and placed them in the basket you were carrying before venturing over to a flower vender. You didn’t recognize any of the flowers on sale, but found all of them truly beautiful. Your eyes caught sight of a batch of flowers that were tucked away in the corner of the venders area.

They were dark, almost a midnight black, but your eyes could pick up on the shimmers glimmering within the petals, making the flowers have a sheen of nightly elegance. Reaching out, you brushed your fingers along one of the velvety petals, surprised when the illuminous dust transferred from the flower to your fingers. For a few moments, you were reminded of the incredible eyes of Morpheus, of how his eyes seemed to capture the limitless eternal beauty of the universe

“You like them?” The nightmare that ran the flower shop, asked, looking at you with a warm smile. You softly chuckled and brushed your fingers over and dark flowers once more.

“I think I do, but I wonder why they are tucked away on a corner, they’re so beautiful.” You answered, looking at the nightmare. “I’ve noticed that all the flowers are really popular, except for these. Why is that?”

“The Midnight Sorrel is a flower with a tragic story of two stars who fell in love. Only one fell from the sky, separating them forever. The fallen star, overcome with sorrow, transformed itself into a flower. Darkened blooms filled with agony and emotional pain. Its lover, still high in the cosmos, wept tears of stardust which dusted the newly formed flowers until they shone brightly once more.”

“And yet people still avoid them?” You asked, picking up one of the flowers and smelling it. It even smelled nice.

“The people in our realm are superstitious.” The nightmare said simply. “And they avoid the flowers so they don’t ruin their own relationships… of course there are a few people who disregard such superstitions, but it is rare.”

“That’s a pity,” You softly murmured. “They are quite beautiful… how much are they?” You ended up buying out the entire stock of Midnight Sorrel, and happily made your way back to the palace.

“It feels intrusive,” You spoke as you handled the book of dreams of your favorite author.Lucienne, who was standing beside you, raised an eyebrow.

“Perhaps to you, my lady,” Lucienne spoke, her hands clasped neatly behind her back. “But it is entirely natural within the Dreaming.” You ran your fingers over the burgundy leather entombing the pages.

“So… I’ve got a book somewhere in here?” The librarian bowed her head.

“Indeed you do.” You shuddered at the thought.

“Please tell me no one has looked in it.” You whispered in horror. Lucienne decided to spare you the knowledge that Morpheus read the book nearly every night, memorizing your dreams, learning all there was to know about you. Her lord was truly obsessed with you and it was getting quite pitiful. Certainly when he was starving himself because he no longer had an appetite for his usual blood sources. Morpheus was even refusing the advances of his favorites.

“I cannot say I pulled the book for anyone as of late, but I cannot speak for those who actively go seeking their own books.” Lucienne replied to you, giving you a roundabout answer that would prevent her from blatantly giving her lord away to his obsession. “

“Lucienne,” You broached, rotating the book in your hands. The librarian hummed in response, waiting for your question. “Does… does Morpheus not like me?”

“My dear, whatever gave you that inclination?” Luceinne questioned, fully surprised that you thought the being entirely smitten with you, didn’t like you. You shifted in place nervously.

“Well, he’s… avoiding me.” You struggled to explain how you were feeling. Yes, he had welcomed you to this strange realm, had given you lavish clothing and a lavish room. Handmaidens to help you. You could have sworn that there had been something between him and you, but perhaps you had been truly mistaken. A disheartening thought because you were captivated by him and wanted to get to know him, learn more about him. “So I think he doesn’t like me, I mean, I was a guard who’s job was to make sure he didn’t get out.”

“It is my understanding that you are the very reason he has his freedom,” Lucienne reminded you, mentally scolding her lord for making you think such a thing. “As for Lord Morpheus’s lack of… attendance? I am sure you are not the cause of it.” Well you were, but not for the reasons you were agonizing over. The look on your face made it very clear that you weren’t convinced, so Lucienne took matter’s into her own hands. “How about this, there are some limited edition books I’ve been meaning to catalogue, would you do the honors for me? I am sure that you will enjoy them.”

You nodded eagerly, wanting something to take your mind off the fact that you felt like what you felt for Morpheus was just a silly little crush that would go nowhere. So while Lucienne set you on said books, she walked over to the bookshelf where Matthew was stealthily perched on.

“Matthew?” She asked, adjusting her spectacles. The raven cleared his throat, having heard everything.

“Yes ma’am?”

“Please return to Lord Morpheus and tell him to fix this, or I shall tell her everything.” Matthew hopped in place. Oh boy was the librarian angry!

“Oh yeah, I’ll go tell him,” Matthew agreed with a bob of his head. “But how exactly should he make it up to her? I mean he’s literally spent weeks avoiding her while obsessively watching her from the shadows where she can’t see him…”

“Given the fact that he has spied on her for this long, I am sure that Lord Morpheus will know something to sooth her agitated heart.”

That night, you morosely walked back to your room, well, rooms. You still hadn’t seen hide or hair of Morpheus, and not even the limited edition books had raised your spirits. Sighing to yourself, you twisted your hands together and stared out a nearby window. The Dreaming was cloaked in night, signaling the end of the day. While one half of the residents are preparing to sleep, the other were only just waking up. Your attention was drawn away from the window when you heard the excited voices of your handmaidens float down the hall from your sitting room.

Frowning and wondering what was going on, you strode for the sitting room. You were not even halfway there when your handmaids, a set of dream sisters, appeared with excitement within their eyes. When they saw you, they converged on you with excited chitters, you couldn’t make out any of their words.

“What is going on?” You asked, looking between the sisters.

“Oh my lady,” Verity gushed, her eyes sparkling. “It is simply wonderful!”

“What is?”

“You have received a gift, my lady,” Venia spoke up, always the calmer of the pair. “Tis in your sitting room.” Blinking in confusion, for who would give you a gift, you strode forwards and entered your sitting room. You stopped short and the breath caught in your chest. Almost every surface of your sitting room was covered with vases of Midnight Sorrel blooms, their darkened petals glowing in the low light.

“Oh,” You breathed out, you hands clutched against your chest. “Who…?”

Venia offered you a card that was the same color as the blooms, trimmed in silver. You took it and turned it over. In beautiful scrawling scripture, was a message asking for forgiveness from Morpheus, for he had been caught up in personal business upon is return to the Dreaming. He hadn’t meant to give you an inclination that he didn’t like you and hoped that you liked the flowers. While Verity and Venia further gushed over the uncommon flowers, you pressed the card against your lips. You’d never received a gift like this in your entire life, and it made you very happy.

Date Published: 5/20/23

Last Edit: 5/20/23

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#morpheus x reader #morpheus #lord morpheus #the sandman netflix #dream the endless x reader #dream of the endless #dream of the endless x reader #dream x reader #dream the endless #the sandman x reader #the sandman #sandman x reader

[slytherinsomniari]

A Seated Surprise| Ominis x F! Reader

Pairing: Ominis x F! Shy! Slytherin reader

Summary: Your surprise confession to Ominis in the Undercroft turns to an interesting encounter on a chair. 

Word count: 2034

Themes: Some smut but it’s pretty short.

(For the sake of this, I am going to pretend that corsets weren’t worn so it will make it a bit easier on me) 

A/N: This is my first official fanfic so I am sorry if it is not that great. It is also my first smut too. I tried my best but even I know it’s short compared to others.

As a shy Slytherin, it was a bit difficult to make friends at Hogwarts. Some people still thought that all Slytherins cared about was blood status while others thought they were too ambitious, or they just plainly cared more about their house and the students in it to try to make friends with you. In reality, it was likely because you were socially anxious and reserved, tending to spend your time alone studying or reading. It would have stayed like that had Ominis and Sebastian not approached you and brought you into their circle. Although you found Sebastian charming and friendly, you found yourself becoming more and more friends with Ominis as the two of you disliked pureblood fanatics and the negative side of Slytherin that people tended to bring out. It also helped that he was more reserved than Sebastian was and you found comfort in finding a kindred spirit. The two of you could sit in silence and be in peace, not needing to speak or hear each other's voices all the time to enjoy your time together. 

Your friendship made you happy but your platonic thoughts of Ominis turned to, well, non-platonic thoughts of him. Thoughts of being excited to see him in potions turned to nerves that made you a blushing mess that you hoped you were just able to cover. You figured Sebastian would have been able to tell that you had a crush on Ominis but you hoped that the man himself did not know. So far Sebastian hadn’t said anything to you or even remotely hinted at the fact that he knew, so if he did know, you were sure that he certainly did not tell Ominis. However, you knew you couldn’t keep quiet forever and would leap at the chance of the possibility of forming a relationship with Ominis. So, mustering up your courage, you sent him a note in braille asking him to meet you in the Undercroft that night. 

Heading towards the meeting place in the Undercroft, you entered and immediately checked your appearance. You had decided to go for a grey skirt that ended just below the knees–just barely appropriate considering most girls wore skirts that ended at the ankles. As for the rest, you wore a white button up shirt with a Slytherin tie. You wanted to look good but didn’t want to dress up in case it did not go the way you wanted so you opted for a more casual student look. Even though he couldn’t see it, you had hoped he’d be able to tell how much effort and courage it took you to approach him like this. 

Deciding that you couldn’t keep still, you started slowly pacing back and forth and waited for Ominis to arrive. You are startled when you hear the door to the Undercroft open and see Ominis walk in. 

“(Y/N)? Why did you want to meet me at night? Is something wrong?” Concern flashes on his face. While his concern normally touched you, tonight it made you even more nervous. 

“No Ominis, everything is fine. I-I was hoping to speak with you–alone”.

Ominis turned his questioning gaze to you, but you clenched your hands and continued, “You see Ominis, I am afraid that if I don’t get this out I won’t be able to live with myself. I am very grateful that you extended your friendship to me when I was all alone. You and Sebastian have truly saved me. I would have been alone for the rest of my life if it wasn’t for you. But…I don’t think that is enough for me anymore. Every waking moment I think of you and only you. I want to learn more about your interests and hobbies and what you think about when you aren’t dealing with Sebastian and his antics. What do you want to do once we leave Hogwarts? Will you look back fondly on your school years or will you have moved onto something better? You paint my life so full of color and I cannot bear to think of facing the rest of my life without you by my side. I love you…” You trail off weakly.

Ominis looked taken aback and was silent for a moment, but that moment felt like an eternity to you. He walks up to you and cups your face gently, 

“Are you certain? Do you really love me and not Sebastian?” 

“I do like him but not like that. I love you Ominis. It has always been you”

“I always thought that you had fallen for him. You always laughed so much when he was near; your golden laughter rang out around him, I couldn’t help but feel that you belonged with him more than me.”

Your eyes widened in shock. You had loved him for a while but you never even thought that he would feel the same way about you. But it saddened you to hear that he felt that you deserved someone else.

“Ominis…” You place your hand on the back of his neck and give him a slow, passionate kiss. Your lips move alone at first but Ominis follows your lead and soon the two of you are moving together. His lips are soft and feel like heaven against yours. 

You tenderly part from him and smile shyly, “I hope that erases every doubt in your mind. You are the only one for me.”

His hand leaves your face and his face forms an expression that appears to be a mix of determination and something you can’t quite put your finger on. You feel his hand go to your arm as he grabs it.

Walking quickly, Ominis drags you with him, pulling your arm as he seats himself on a chair. You are pulled on top of him, causing you to straddle him. Your thighs perfectly encircle him, trapping him in place. It wouldn’t be until a few moments later when you realized that you were trapped there as well. Shaking in both nervousness and desire, you lean on his right shoulder. Your body throbbed with anticipation, making you crave his touch all the more. 

Through all of the desire you come to your senses for a moment. “Ominis, please. If you don’t want to do this we don’t have to. We can stop and forget everything and remain friends. Just...tell me now.”

He cups your face more firmly than before but still softly and says, “Y/N, I trust you. Just as you said I am the one for you, you are the only one for me. Besides, it’s too late for the both of us”

Not understanding what he means, you look at him quizzically and then you realize. He hardens and as you feel it underneath you, your eyes roll back and you can’t help but let out a moan. In reaction to this, Ominis reddens and you both realize there is no turning back from your feelings now. 

“My dear, I don’t think I can take it any longer. Please, let me have you”

Those words sent sparks all throughout your body. You didn’t like the thought of getting off of him just yet, but you knew you had to if you wanted this–and you did. You stood up and started to prepare yourself for what is to come. Keeping your skirt on, you bring your fingers to your underwear and let them fall to the ground. You take your socks off, leaving your legs bare and ready to cling onto him. As you were doing this, Ominis was undoing his trousers and took them off with his underwear, setting them to the side. He got back on the chair, nervous but just as excited as you are that the moment the two of you dreamed of is finally happening. 

You walk over to him and he locks his hands on your waist, keeping you in place as you lower yourself onto him. Every part of you has become so sensitive that just the slightest movement will cause you to go into near hysterics. The feeling you get once you settle onto him is magnificent. Ominis feels it as well as he lets out a small gasp. He fits perfectly in you and is just the right size for your liking, allowing your walls to cling to his member. You start off slow at first, making sure that it doesn’t hurt and then slowly pick up the speed. Although you are in charge of the pace, Ominis doesn’t just sit there and let you do all the work. With his hands placed on your waist, he runs them up and down your back and kisses you in a passion that burns bright but is gentle like a caress. 

With a thrust, you hear him moan as he makes his way to your shirt and loosens the tie, getting rid of it completely and then turns his attention to the shirt. He unbuttons it and his hands roam your body while you run your fingers through his hair. Your moans mix together with each thrust and yours escalate when he moves his mouth to your neck, leaving love bites all over. Your neck is sensitive, causing your breath to hitch with each mark he makes as he leaves his mark on you.

His hands grab your breasts and knead them, enjoying the feeling of them in his palms. You feel yourself becoming wetter and wetter and feeling his mouth on your nipple, you whimper. He teases you a bit, running his tongue leisurely along it, wanting to hear your moans. You rock into him faster and faster as he drives your senses mad.

You could feel the moment coming and he could as well. 

“Oh god Ominis, I’m about to…” You groan out, your body nearly there. 

Grabbing your ass and grinding himself to your tempo, he grunted, “Darling..cum for me”

When the heat reached its peak, you arched your back and came after one final moan and right after so did he. You could feel him filling you with his warmth but you didn’t care. Your release stained him too, leaving the two of you in a heated, sticky mess. You lean on him, breathless and satisfied, your breath hitting his shoulder. 

As the two of you sit there panting, one on top of the other with disheveled clothing, it dawns on you that you will never be able to go back to how it used to be with Ominis. Now, you love him far too much and after all of that, your relationship will definitely change. 

Standing up, you start to fix yourself and make yourself look decent as if nothing had happened, though something definitely did. You use scourgify to clean up the remnants of what happened, with Ominis following suit. Ominis pulls on his trousers and surprisingly makes himself look just as he usually does pretty quickly. 

“Can’t wait to wipe the smirk off of Sallow’s face when he learns that I got a girlfriend before him. He always thought that he’d be the first of us to have one” He grins.

Smiling, you reply, “I’m sure he did. But despite being such a charmer, he’s never snagged one. Makes you wonder if anyone’s confessed to him yet. Now, why don’t we tell him our news?”

Chuckling, Ominis says, “I’d rather like to do that tomorrow. For now, let us go back to our dorms for the night and rest while we still have the chance”. 

“Sounds good to me”

The two of you walk out of the Undercroft and to the common room, hand in hand. Just as you are about to enter the common room, he pulls you to him for a quick kiss before pulling away. You giggle and bat his arm. 

You look at him slowly and fondly, murmuring, “I love you Ominis”

“I love you too (Y/N)”

And with that, you headed inside the common room and into your dormitory while Ominis went to his, the two of you keeping each other in their thoughts as you got into bed and fell into a blissful slumber.

#ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt fanfic #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfic #ominis gaunt x you #hogwarts legacy x reader #ominis gaunt x female reader #ominis gaunt smut

[bangtanflirt]

Not Like Other Girls (BONUS)

mainly fluff, with some angst and smut sprinkled in

Hoseok x Fem Reader, Mentions of Ex-Best friend Jungkook

NSFW. 18+

Premise: This is a bonus part about Hobi and Reader’s relationship that wasn’t really shown because of the time skip in the main series.

You can read the main story here:  Part 1 > Part 2 (FINAL)

Warnings: smut, implied loss of virginity, backshots lmao, internalized misogyny (but she’s unlearning it), references to Jungkook and some other idols being misogynistic assholes in this (all a work of fiction obviously, no way meant to represent these idols’ real life personalities)

____

1 month into officially dating Hoseok

You walk out with an unsure look on your face, wearing a tight black crop top with a white faux leather skirt—both impulse buys to celebrate acing your midterm last week. Your boyfriend lounges on your bed, whistling when he sees you come out.

“I think I should go change.” You say nervously, examining the outfit in the mirror.

“You don’t like it?”

“I like it a lot, but it feels too revealing.”

“You’ve worn clothes like that before, though?”

“Yeah but…that was before we were official…are you sure you’re okay with me going out in this?”

Hoseok’s bright features contort into a more serious look, “You do this a lot, you know.”

“Do what?”

“You’ve been different since we started dating—asking me for permission about things you don’t need to ask about. I haven’t said anything because I get this is your first relationship and you don’t have any experience, but it’s not supposed to be like this y/n.”

Tears start to pool around your eyes, which has Hoseok springing to his feet and cupping your face in an instant, frantically apologizing.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to be mean. Please don’t cry.”

“It’s not you. I’m just frustrated with myself. I try so hard to unlearn the mindset I grew up with, but I end up doing things like this without even realizing.”

“Hey, it’s okay. Take some deep breaths for me, you’re fine.”

Only after you calm down a bit do you talk again,

“I think what happened with Jungkook is still traumatizing me. It feels like I can’t get close to any guy without fearing what he’ll think of me if I wear a certain outfit.”

“I’m not him, y/n. It’s completely understandable that you’re still dealing with what that asshole did, but you can’t let it keep you scared forever. All I want is for you to do what makes you happy without feeling like you need to prove something, okay?”

You nod, nuzzling your head into his neck for comfort.

“Now let’s wipe these tears away so you can do your makeup and we can go have a good time, deal?”

___

3 months into dating Hoseok

“Nope. No. Absolutely not.” Hoseok scowls when you open the door to let him in for movie night.

You look down confused, not thinking anything of your T-shirt and sweatpants until he elaborates.

“Why would you ever buy a shirt with that hideous thing on it?”

You can’t help chuckle when you realize it’s the clown on your top that’s offending him. Namjoon had mentioned your boyfriend’s hatred of clowns once in passing, but you completely forgot about it until now.

You can’t help but want to tease him a bit more, “I thought you said I should wear whatever makes me happy?”

“Well I was wrong. You can wear whatever you want except that. Please take it off, I can’t look at it for a second longer!”

You burst into laughter at his dramatic face of disgust.

What you do next surprises both of you, as you proceed to take the t-shirt off right in front of him—forgetting you don’t have a bra on and leaving you standing with your chest fully exposed.

“Holy fuck.” Hoseok gulps.

Holy fuck is right. You can’t believe you just did that. In the three months you’ve been together, you hadn’t made any move to sleep with him yet. You know he wouldn’t do anything unless you initiated it first, as you’ve made it very clear you want to lose your virginity at your own pace. In all honesty, you’re scared of how sex might change things. Memories are imprinted on your mind of how Eunwoo would slut-shame the girls he’d hook up with, and how Yugyeom and Jungkook would only encourage him. Not to mention the degrading way Jungkook looked at Nayeon after they did it, like she was some cheap whore because she spread her legs for him. Hell, Yugyeom was in a relationship and he still shamed his girlfriend for letting him do certain things to her in bed—things he would simultaneously brag about to the rest of you. A nagging voice often tells you that Hoseok’s just like them: that he’ll leave after using you, and then think less of you for agreeing in the first place.

But the other voice in your head disagrees, reminding you of when you two were just friends—and the way he’d talk about the women he’d hook up with:

She was perfect but she thought I was joking when I asked her to suffocate me with her thighs. I’m so sad.

I think that girl actually sucked the soul out of my body, oh my god.

Okay I have a new fetish and I’m not going to tell any of you what it is, but just know that Geum Hee from the music department is into some very hot things that I am now also into.

If you think back on it, his words have never been shaming or degrading, nor has he been mean to any of them after. Which is why you feel like this might be fine, that you’re ready to be intimate in that way.

“Am I reading the signs correctly, this means ‘let’s fuck’ right?”

You can’t help but giggle at the blunt question.

Fuck it, you think, can’t live in fear forever.

“I’m down if you are.”

___

1 year of dating Hoseok

Sounds of skin slapping fill the air as he thrusts into you from behind. You grip the bathroom counter for stability, but it doesn’t help much considering how hard he’s going. Your body is shaking with each snap of his hips, feeling your g-spot get proper love from his cock.

“Look in the mirror” he commands, voice low and feral. You make eye contact with him in the mirror before looking down at the way his hips are moving.

“Look at yourself, baby. You look so perfect on my cock like this. God, I love you so much.”

It’s not long before you’re chanting his name like a mantra while letting your orgasm wash over you.

He takes himself out when he’s close, taking the condom off to cover your back with his white hot cum.

“I think I’m the luckiest guy in the world,” he comments before carrying you into the shower for round two.

___

2 years of dating Hoseok

“How are you so good at this? It’s not fair!” Hoseok whines in frustration, not wanting to believe he’s lost four rounds of air hockey to you.

“Babe, I’m not even that good. You’re just really bad.” You fake an empathetic look before pushing the puck into his goal another time, marking the end of the fifth round you’ve just won.

Ara and Namjoon cheer at your remark, egging you on to trash-talk your opponent, but Hoseok puts his foot down.

“Watch it babe, too much trash-talk and I’ll stop stocking up on those blueberry muffins you love.”

“You’re playing dirty!”

“Too bad!”

The bickering is switched once Ara and Namjoon start playing, now leaving you and your boyfriend to stir the pot between them.

You can’t help but smile at the way they passionately yell about game points, “They look so in love even when they’re arguing like that.”

Hoseok takes your hand into his, “I think we look like that too.”

___

3 years of dating Hoseok

The graduation ceremony ended earlier that night, and now you’re laying your head in Hoseok’s lap, watching a makeup tutorial on your phone as he plays with your hair.

“Are you okay?” You pause the video at his question, “You handled the situation amazingly, but it couldn’t have been easy seeing him again.”

“Honestly, I thought it would affect me a lot more than it did. He’s just a random guy now, no sense in wasting energy thinking about it.”

“Just when I thought you couldn’t get any more badass.”

You roll your eyes playfully, “You say that about everything I do.”

“Because it applies to everything you do.”

“I think you’re just madly in love with me.”

“I think you’re absolutely right.”

____

A/N: Let me know if you liked this! Hope you all have a wonderful day.

Tag list: @namjooncrabs​​ @starbtslove​​ @gaby-93​​ @laurynne5​

#hoseok x reader #bts fluff #bts smut #bts angst #bts x reader #hobi #nlog update #nlog drabble

[impala-dreamer]

Tourniquet - Chapter Six

A Supernatural Dean x Reader Series Told Backwards

~Y/N has been by Dean’s side through his worst days, always there if he needs her, forever just a call away. Love is impossible to fight and more impossible to live with. Just a side character in his epic life, Y/N would give anything just to give Dean a moment’s peace.~

Please see MASTERLIST for full info/warnings/chapter links.

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works ~ Get A Custom Story

The Man Who Lost Too Much

Life moved quickly in the background. Sometimes it was hard to remember the day or the month. Time was counted in miles and blood. Age was measured in how many bodies you laid in the dirt. 

It wasn’t without good times, though. 

Y/N hadn’t spoken to her father in a while, but she wasn’t always alone. She would run with other hunters when they crossed paths, hook up with a stranger or two when she was in the mood. Hell, a few times she’d run into the elder Winchester himself and spent a quick weekend getting lost in the sheets. 

There was nowhere she couldn’t go, nothing really she couldn’t do. She was a feather on the wind, tetherless and free. 

But late at night, her thoughts would drift to him. The Boy with the Green Eyes who could always make her feel better, make her feel like she mattered. No matter how many lives she saved, how many thank yous and hugs from survivors, she never quite thought she was helping. Her efforts in doing good always seemed so small next to what Dean was up to. 

Sure, his heroics always came with a price, but Y/N longed to be closer to him, to be a part of the action. She wanted to see it up close, to live in the spotlight, if not right behind it. Skirting the edges of the light and holding him up- that’s what she really wanted. 

Rumors of the Winchesters were never lacking and never dull. 

Wherever she went, she’d hear stories, often exaggerated, about their adventures. Most were ridiculous. 

‘Dean Winchester fought forty-seven vamps all by himself and came out without a scratch!’

‘Sam was born with horns and John had to get a witch doctor to remove them… he was still cursed, though. Poor kid.’

‘Those Winchesters are friends with the King of Hell and have traveled back in time twenty-six times.’

‘That car is haunted. I’ve seen it drive itself.’

‘Dragons. They fought dragons.’

‘Dean Winchester slept with my daughter and three of her friends. And I’m pretty sure, my wife.’

Sadly, that last one she believed. Usually, it didn’t bother her to hear about his sexual exploits, but when the moon was full and the wind was warm, she remembered nights in the tall grass behind the junkyard and his arms so gentle around her body. 

She was working when he called; laptop burning on her lap as she scrolled through bits of scanned articles and photographs from decades ago. The phone buzzed on her nightstand and she peeked at the caller i.d. An old picture of Dean leaning on the Impala lit up her screen. She couldn’t remember when the photo was taken, but it always made her smile. His hair was short and spiked, his necklace fought with the buttons of his green henley, his leather jacket more than a whole size too big. 

Y/N smiled and dragged her fingers across her own necklace, that worn hexagon that she clung to when overwhelmed, sucked on when thinking. A little bit of Dean always with her.

“Yo, Winchester. Been a while.” 

Instead of a hello, Dean replied with a heavy exhale that instantly dropped her mood and upped her anxiety. 

“Hey, Y/N/N…” 

She closed her eyes, clutched the phone tight. “Where are you? Are you OK?”

His swallow was thick; he’d been crying, she could tell. 

“Yeah. I’m- I’m OK. I… I don’t even know where I am. We pulled over for the night and I just-”

Y/N held her breath for a split second and then fell into crisis mode. 

“It’s OK, Dean. I’m here. Just tell me what’s going on.”

There was a rustle of fabric, a sharp inhale; the scratch of nails down an early beard. 

“Y/N/N… I fucked up. I- this is the worst thing I’ve ever done.” 

“Dean, not for nothing, but you’re gonna have to narrow it down a bit, babe.” 

He laughed softly and the tightness in her chest eased. He would be OK.

“Talk to me. I’m right here.” 

Dean sniffed back a tear. She could almost see him there, eyes leaking freely, bottom lip trembling. 

When he started to explain, the words shot out in a ramble that would have made little sense to anyone else. Y/N knew how to decipher his language, knew what each pause meant, why this word was harsh and that one softer. She knew. 

He spoke of the last two years. He talked about losing Sam and then finding him again- without a soul. He explained about his deal with Death and the wall that was put up in Sam’s head so his soul wouldn’t shatter and kill him. About Castiel and Crowley, about deaths and near-misses, about everything.

Finally, Dean told her cautiously about moving in with Lisa and feeling like a father to her son Ben. He rambled on about civilian life and how much he loved doing stupid simple things like mowing the lawn or fixing stuck drawers. How he thought he’d finally gotten his due, that maybe, while it wasn’t perfect, Lisa could have been his salvation after a lifetime of pain. He cried again while recounting the ways he’d hurt them, scared them, gotten them kidnapped or worse. 

When he was ready, Dean explained about the hospital and how he’d asked Castiel to erase him from their memories. How he’d sacrificed something he loved yet again for the good of someone else. They’d never remember him, never know who rearranged the tools in the shed, who bought all the cheap whiskey in the cabinet.

“It’s the worst thing I’ve ever fucking done,” he said, rounding out his confession as it had begun. 

Y/N rubbed her hand down her cheeks, pushing the tears deeper into her skin. Her stomach ached in that horrible way it did when Dean hurt her, but she knew it wasn’t his fault. He needed to tell her and she needed to hear it. 

She sighed. 

“Yeah, it’s- it’s not great, Dean. It’s really fucking horrible, actually. You can’t just- take someone’s memories like that.” 

“I know.” 

“What if someone did that to you? What if I came along with my own buddy angel and had them erase your dad? Or Sam? Or… or me? You can’t play with people’s heads, Dean.” 

“I know!” 

She didn’t even flinch, she was too heated to be startled. “What were you thinking?” 

Dean ground his teeth hard, growled through the clench. “I was trying to keep them safe!”

Y/N fought back. “From what?” 

“From me!” 

The friends fell silent for too long. Dean’s words hung in the space between them, electrifying the air and stabbing through their veins. 

“Dean, I-” She couldn’t stand it. She needed to see him. “Fuck it. Turn your camera on.” 

“No, Y/N/N, I can’t-” 

“Just fucking do it, please.” 

And there he was. Green eyes wet, freckled cheeks gaunt and hugged by the shadows. He wiped at his face and smiled, but couldn’t look at the camera. He couldn’t look at himself, couldn’t face her. 

“Dean…” 

He closed his eyes and refused to speak, so she did. 

“What you did was fucked up, I can’t let you think otherwise, but Dean… you are… the most selfless, caring… brave man I’ve ever known, and I… I can’t imagine what you’re feeling right now, but I know you. And I know that you are going to be OK. You’re gonna get through this and, well, maybe you’ll never be over her, but…” 

The spike in her gut twisted enough to make her pause and he opened his eyes, found hers on the screen. 

“It’ll be OK,” she said softly. “I promise.” 

He took a breath and let it out, and with it, a million pounds fell off his back. His shoulders fell, his jaw unclenched, the tightness in his face eased. 

“I don’t fucking deserve you,” he whispered, staring so hard at the phone she was sure he’d break right through. 

Y/N shook her head and smiled that secret smile that was only his. 

“Shut up, Dean.”

Tourniquet Tags:

@prettyinplaid94 @winharry @muhahaha303  @cookiechipdough @ladysparkles78

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67@k-slla @leigh70 @lyarr24 @nancymcl @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @sexyvixen7 @the-wounded-healer05 

#spn fanfic #dean winchester fanfic #dean x reader #angst #tourniquet

[ren-jay]

Shhh

pairing: renjun x female reader

genre: smut

word count: 760

warnings: boyfriend!renjun, roommate!hyuck, strip teasing, dry humping, fingering, dirty talk, mild exhibitionism

Earlier this evening when you told your roommate that your boyfriend was going to stay the night, he had given you one request: “Please just… don’t fuck him,” Donghyuck sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please. The walls are thin. I’m a light sleeper. I have an exam for my 9am tomorrow…”

Unfortunately for Hyuck, Renjun arrived at your apartment wearing a new pair of black jeans, ripped up the thighs and so tight both his ass and his bulge were on full display, making your head spin.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he asked in an exaggeratedly concerned voice when he caught you staring. “Did I forget to zip up my fly?” He examined his crotch, smirking, his fingers tracing the outline of his cock teasingly. Your mouth went dry. Fuck, he was too good at this.

Without warning you pulled him into your room, flinging him down on your bed and shutting the door.

Unfortunately for Hyuck, you weren’t afraid to be naughty.

You pressed your index finger to your lips, then slowly moved your hands down to your blouse to unbutton yourself, never taking your eyes off Renjun. You watched his eyes follow your hands and his jaw go slack when you revealed a lacy bra underneath the fabric.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” you echoed in a whisper, squeezing your breasts together. He gripped the sheets. You slid your hand down to the hem of your skirt, lifting it up, teasing a brush against your matching lace underwear. His hips twitched. You drew a finger across the gusset, your breath hitching when you reached your clit. Renjun let out a groan.

“Shhh, baby,” you whispered. “I need you need to be quiet for me.”

He nodded, looking slightly overwhelmed.

By the time you crawled towards him on the bed, he was breathing heavy, biting his lip to keep from whining. You kissed him and it was hot and wet and feverish. His tongue sent electricity down your spine. The feel of his body against yours was like a drug to you, the way you saw stars when you ground your hips against his. You wanted him forever, he felt so good, so right, so—

“I kind of wish I hadn’t worn these jeans tonight,” he breathed with a grimace.

You looked down. His erection was straining painfully against the denim, his thighs writhing underneath you in a vain effort to relieve some of the pressure.

“You look unbelievably sexy in them though.”

“That’s why I wore them.”

“They made me wet the instant you walked in.”

“Noted,” he whimpered.

You unzipped him and pushed down his underwear, letting his cock spring free.

How could it be that you’d seen him like this so many times before and yet each time, his size made you feel lightheaded?

“Fuck, you’re so big,” you whined, and palmed greedily at his cock.

“So hard,” he corrected. “You make me so–”

He broke off in a moan as your thumb rubbed over his tip.

“What did I say about being quiet, hmm?” you scolded playfully, kissing away his grunts as you stroked him faster.

“Sorry. I can’t help myself,” he panted against your lips. “I want you too badly.”

“How badly?”

He answered by gripping your waist and rolling you over, pinning you beneath him, and tracing his fingers over your panties before pulling them aside and thrusting a finger inside you. Sensation shot through your whole body, and you wished you could scream with pleasure.

“Renjun, wait–” you begged.

He inserted another finger, curling them around your g-spot as he pumped. You felt yourself lose control in waves of heat and shivers. All that mattered now was Renjun, his body throbbing as he leaned on you, his fingers carrying you closer and closer to ecstasy.

“Oh God,” you whined. “Right there, just like that.”

Renjun had shifted down on his elbows, so horny himself that he was grinding his cock against your leg. He looked flushed and breathless, intoxicated by the feeling of your walls around him, by the way your back was arched and the way your eyes grew dark and hazy.

You were so lost in the head rush of his touch that you barely realized your yelp when he pressed his other thumb against your clit.

A series of thumps against the wall snapped you back down to Earth.

“What. The. Actual. FUCK,” yelled an exasperated Donghyuck from the other room.

“Woops,” said Renjun. He met your eyes with a wink, then proceeded to fuck you even harder than before.

#renjun smut #renjun imagines #renjun drabbles #renjun scenarios #renjun x reader #nct smut #nct imagines #nct drabbles #nct scenarios #nct x reader

[randomprose]

shoko comes through and opens her eyes to the light afternoon sun. she looks down and sees she is in her high school uniform.

where am i?

taking stock of her surroundings she she sees that she’s in an airport. she’s in the departures area judging by the flight information display system hanging overhead. it seems she’s the only one around. there is no one else around the waiting lounge. she’s sitting on one of the metal benches and she can’t help but notice that she doesn’t feel its hardness or the coldness of the steel. in fact, she doesn’t feel anything.

where was i before this?

shoko tries to remember. she starts small and easy. 

it’s been years since the war, give or take nearing a decade, and she was at the school. there were no bodies at the morgue, rare as they come now that the jujutsu world is in peacetime. rebuilding efforts were still underway, the memory and lessons of the war still fresh, and there hadn’t been that many high-level curses so she was sure she wasn't doing any autopsy before this. the clinic has been relatively slow and it was her day off as she recalls, besides. she had called utahime the night before. shoko couldn't remember what it was they were talking about only that her long-time friend had sounded somber over the phone. she has long given up on persuading shoko in the face of her steadfast stubbornness and has since approached the matter with a resigned kind of understanding. a reminder alarm on her phone went off and she passed by her medicine cabinet but didn't bother opening it. then she went to bed. and now here she is.

shoko looks up at the flight information board. there is only one flight destination on the display system. 

okinawa. outbound.

okinawa, huh? i’ve always wanted to go since—

“fucking finally!" a voice exclaims and shoko looks in the direction it came from and sees satoru. "we thought you'd never come! we've been waiting forever!"

"quit being dramatic, satoru. it hasn't been that long." that was suguru. shoko would know that steady timbre of voice anywhere even decades later. "you sure took your time, huh? that's good. it's good you didn't come so soon after this idiot."

shoko blinks at the image of her former classmates also in their high school uniforms and looking for all intents and purposes like their high school selves. suguru in his baggy pants and his hair in a bun with his side bangs on the right side of his face. satoru with his old circular designer shades and his hair down, not yet styled with the undercut he sported as an adult.

she catches her reflection in one of the airport’s shiny steel pillars and shoko finally sees herself. 

she’s in her skirt and standard school-issued stocking. her hair is in a bob she hasn’t worn it since she was in high school, its short ends tickling the sides of her cheek, and the deep bags bruising under her eyes that appeared on her face towards the end of their third year are non-existent.

shoko turns her head to the left and is met with the broad expanse of a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the hangar and runway. there are clouds overhead slowly passing by and the sky is blue. infinitely blue.

‘ah, i see’, shoko thinks as it finally sinks in. she’s dead.

"don't pretend like you weren't bored and getting impatient, suguru,” satoru scoffs as he rolls his eyes. “you were here longer after all."

"eh,” suguru easily shrugs, all too used to his friend’s penchant to complain about anything. “it wasn't so bad once you got here."

"suguru!"

he lets out an airy laugh when satoru glomps—there is no other way to describe it, shoko thinks—him in a hug.

of course, even in the afterlife, she's still dealing with these clowns. figures.

"you guys waited for me?" shoko asks and marvels at how her voice carries over to where they stand by a door leading to what she could only assume is the departure gate.  and if she couldn’t help the mild disbelief coloring her voice, well. these are, after all, the two most impatient men she knows.

suguru and satoru stop their bickering (flirting?) long enough to turn to her with identical looks of bemusement and incredulity.

"uh, duh?” satoru makes a face like it’s obvious. brat. “of course?"

"you didn't think we'd just go on and let you pass alone, did you?"

good question. to be honest, shoko had always thought she’d be alone. yaga, after all, had drilled into them that death is a solo affair. and she has never imagined the afterlife to be an airport, of all things, but she supposes it makes sense in its own way.

"well? come on, dummy! we're gonna miss our flight!" satoru stomps his foot and gestures at the departure gate looking like he’s a second away from a tantrum. truly such a brat. "you've always wanted to see okinawa, right? after i told you about that summer before everything went to shit?"

"whenever you're ready, shoko," suguru, always so gentle and sweet.

"no! screw that! the time is now!" satoru drawls on the last word because he’s always been dramatic like that. “come on already! everyone's waiting!"

"everyone?" she asks and once again can’t help the tinge of excitement in her voice. does he mean…?

"yes, everyone! they all went ahead but we stayed just for you. aren't we sweet? so come on! chop, chop! quit dilly-dallying!"

slowly, shoko stands up from her seat. she starts with shaky legs, unsure of how to move but clear in the direction she wants to go. her first steps are wobbly, like her body is reminding itself how to walk again, but then satoru groans (always in a hurry even at a place where time does not exist. loser) and pulls suguru to meet her in the middle. 

and suddenly, shoko breaks out into a run.

her mind is still catching up with her body (wait, is this still her body? does she still have a body? here?) and the fact that she, the last of her tokyo peers and the last one standing, is finally dead. finally. everything is finally over, and her boys—her boys!—are here and they're together and she’s here and they’re finally complete, and she—

shoko leaps with her arms wide open and lets out an honest-to-good laugh as suguru and satoru readily catch her.

"i missed you guys," shoko breathes out in a wet sob as she winds her arms around them both pulling them against her tight. "i missed you guys so much. why did you idiots have to go so early? i was so lonely." words she never allowed herself to say to them when they were alive and thought would never have the chance to are spilling out and she doesn’t care. it all seems so silly now how she used to keep and guard her words so jealously and she's so happy she got to say it anyway. here, now, in this place where she's free to be honest and say everything she never could say to them. "it was so boring without you morons and i was so lonely."

"sorry, shoko,” suguru whispers his apology softly against her ear earning him a sob and another when he holds her close and plants a gentle kiss to the side of her head. “we didn't mean to. you know how it was."

"well, i didn't mean to,” satoru, never one for tender moments because he’s an awkward loser, but he hugs the both of them close to him and the way he buries his face in the crook of shoko’s neck gives him away. “we all know suguru was being a major butt and got what he deserved."

"hah? what was that? weren't you the one who said he was gonna win and then got his ass handed by the king of curses? sliced half like a piece of ham! hah!"

"look who's talking! your whole left side was practically blown off!"

"and who's fault was that? ah, satoru. you really do have a thing for carving people, huh? man, what the hell is wrong with you? why are you always off base? is that like an aesthetic choice? what's your logic for that?"

"shut up! it’s not my fault a moving target is—"

shoko laughs, loud and gleeful and genuine, because things haven't changed, not really, and they, her boys, are still so silly and stupid and she missed them so much. and now they're here and she's here. a little late to the party, but here. shoko laughs and it gets them laughing too. she lets them whisk her away to the departure gate, talking over each other to tell her about everything and anything. catching her up on the shenanigans they've been up to while waiting for her which she is all too eager to know about. shoko soaks it all in, happy to once again bask in her boys' warmth.

shoko dies and finally, all is well.

#jjk #sashisu #i love them so much your honor #they deserve to be together #they come in 3s pls do not separate #gojo satoru #ieiri shoko #geto suguru #jjk fanfic #writing

[clarepreed]

First Date

Story Content and Summary - 5,563 words. After recovering from the events in Stressed to Death, Ginnie and Holly are on their first official date. Despite their obvious chemistry, a freak accident threatens to tear them apart forever. Commotio cordis, on-site resuscitation.🏳️‍🌈

--

Ginnie waited on a bench outside the restaurant, repeatedly wiping her damp hands on her sundress. She wasn’t sure she’d worn the right thing; she liked this dress, and she thought she looked pretty in it, but now she was worried she was too dressed up. Or not dressed up enough. Ginnie tapped her fingers on her thighs, rocking slightly on the bench.

I’m too early. I’m just going to sit here and nervously sweat, she thought. Holly will worry if I seem nervous.

Then: When do I NOT seem nervous?! 

Ginnie huffed at herself and stood, automatically smoothing her dress down in the back and patting the skirt to make sure she hadn’t dropped her wallet or her phone.

“Hey, Ginnie! Are you okay? Am I late?” Holly’s husky voice interrupted Ginnie’s spiraling train of thought.

Ginnie whirled around, her face blushing hot. Holly stopped a few steps away on the sidewalk, looking cute in slim fit brown pants and a boat necked shirt. Ginnie squeaked out: “Hi! No, you’re early! Um… I’m just nervous.”

Before Holly could reply, Ginnie blurted: “Just a normal amount of nervous. Not ‘die on the sidewalk’ nervous.”

Ginnie was looking at Holly’s nose, but she still took in the strange expression that passed over the other woman’s face.

I’m making her uncomfortable.

Ginnie opened her mouth to apologize, but Holly interrupted her, her mouth breaking into a wide smile. “I want to laugh, but I don’t know if I should.”

“Oh, please do,” Gennie said, her hands twisting in her skirt. “That’s why I said it. I joke a lot when I’m nervous.”

Holly took a step closer, her hands plunging into her pockets and then pulling them straight back out. Her eyes skimmed over Ginnie, setting off a warm tingly feeling in Ginnie’s belly. “Hey, um, you look really pretty. That’s a nice dress.”

“It has pockets!” Ginnie exclaimed, demonstrating by slipping her hand in one.

“That’s great. Uh… may I give you a hug?”

Instead of responding verbally, Ginnie lurched forward and threaded her arms around Holly’s ribs. She squeezed the taller woman tight.

“Yes,” she murmured, her lips brushing Holly’s collarbone. Holly’s arms folded around her and they stood for several seconds in silence. Finally, Ginnie said: “You smell good. Spicy?”

“You smell sweet. Like candy.”

“That’s because I ate a bunch of Jolly Ranchers on the bus.”

Holly chuckled. They were embracing for much longer than normal, or so Ginnie assumed. Not that she minded. She could hear Holly’s heart beating fast and strong beneath her ear. The other woman’s embrace was warm and firm. Tears suddenly pricked Ginnie’s eyes, and she murmured: “Thank you.”

Holly leaned back, though she didn’t release her grip on Ginnie. “Are you okay? What are you thanking me for?”

“It��s just that we haven’t seen each other since I got out of the hospital. Texting isn’t the same. Thank you for saving my life. I hope I’m not making you uncomfortable.”

“Not at all, Ginnie. I’m really glad you’re back in the city.” Holly laughed. “I was afraid you’d decide to stay with your parents. I mean, if you did, I was going to ask you out anyway. But it’s nice to have you here.”

“I’ve never dated a woman who hasn’t had at least one super long-distance relationship.”

“God, that’s so true.” Holly squeezed her and then released the hug. “Ready to eat?”

“Yes! This is my favorite restaurant!” Ginnie gushed, gesturing for Holly to follow her. “The owners are from Seoul and Atlanta. The menu is small but really varied and even my parents were happy with the food! They have the best starters… The acoustics are good inside, too. It’s never too loud. This place is my comfort restaurant. I hope you like it!”

Holly stepped up to the door and pulled it open. “After you. I looked up the menu when you suggested this place and it sounds great. Of course… I just really like food.”

There was a small line at the host stand, so they joined at the end. Ginnie pointed up at the vaulted ceiling. “They have art up there! Little sculptures of birds.”

Holly stepped close and looked up. Ginnie felt something at her side and glanced down, spotting Holly’s hand held out to her, palm up. She reached down and took it, a blush running up her chest to her face. Holly bumped her arm against Ginnie’s. “Was that smooth?”

Ginnie snorted and clapped her free hand over her mouth. 

“I made you snort,” Holly said, looking over at Ginnie. Holly pulled her pretty lips into yet another big smile. “And blush.”

Dropping her hand down to fidget with her skirt, Ginnie said: “I like you.”

Holly squeezed her hand. “I like you, too.”

“I don’t feel as shy as I thought I would,” Ginnie murmured. They were getting close to the host stand now. 

“Good. Only good vibes tonight.”

“How many?” the host asked. “Two?”

“Yes,” Ginnie and Holly spoke simultaneously.

“As soon as Tom gets over… Here he is. Enjoy your meal, ladies.”

They followed the server, walking through the dining room, still holding hands. Ginnie registered small sounds; the clink of silverware on plates, the murmur of voices, soft instrumental music. A snapping sound, followed by a sharp zzzzzzzzzt!

Something small and dark flew at them, too fast to avoid, and she heard a soft thump followed by a short huff of air from Holly. 

Holly dropped like a stone, so suddenly that Ginnie had little time to do more than clench the abruptly limp hand in her own. The weight on her arm jerked her down to one knee. Holly sprawled face down on the floor, making no effort to break her own fall.

“What the fuck was that?” she heard someone say, their voice loud in the quiet room.

“Holly?” Ginnie heard her own voice, high-pitched and wobbling with surprise and worry. She released Holly’s hand and turned to put both of her knees on the floor, her hands resting on Holly’s back. Her date lay still and silent, unresponsive to her touch or her voice. “Holly! What happened?”

Ginnie shook her, then looked up. The room fell silent; a few seconds later she heard someone tentatively call out: “Hey, is she okay?”

Crawling around to Holly’s other side, Ginnie leaned close to her face. To her shock, Holly’s big warm eyes were open, staring, seeming to look through her. Her lips were slack, a glistening line of drool stretching from the corner of her mouth down to the floor. 

“HOLLY! HOLLY!” Shouting in her panic, Ginnie dimly registered that she was kneeling on some kind of cord or rope, and she reached down to touch it. “What…”

“Is she breathing?” Tom the server asked.

Ginnie closed her eyes so she could concentrate and leaned closer, lifting the back of her hand next to Holly’s lips. She waited, her other hand coming up to stop her ear, using the closest one to listen to any sounds that might come from Holly. Eventually, however, she opened her eyes and stared up at the red-faced server. “N-no…”

“I’ll… I’ll get the manager,” Tom said, staring at them for several more seconds before scurrying away.

“Fuck the manager!” someone said. “Call 9-1-1!”

Ginnie rocked back and forth for a few seconds before she shook her head violently and reached for Holly. 

I need to put on her back, right? Ginnie pushed on Holly’s shoulder and hip, rolling her clumsily onto her side and then tipping her onto her back. Holly flopped as though her bones had dissolved. Ginnie gasped, spotting a dark stain soaking into her pants. She peed herself? That can’t be good.

“That!” a woman’s voice. The dining room was growing loud now, as people shouted and pushed back their chairs. “That thing on the floor! That’s what hit her!”

It should be me, Ginnie thought wildly, desperately trying to filter out the sounds in the room. Holly’s the one who knows what to do!

“Someone call 9-1-1, dammit!” a man shouted. A glass smashed to the floor and someone ran by in clicky-clacky high heels.

“I did! I did, I’m on the phone—”

“Miss!” A woman’s voice cut through the din. “I’m Melissa, the manager. What happened?”

Melissa crouched at Holly’s other side, then reached out to tip her head back, opening up the line of her neck. She leaned close, her ear by the unconscious woman’s slack mouth. Holly’s tan skin was growing ashen by the second, and Ginnie realized with a sick feeling that her lips were turning blue. “She’s not breathing!” the manager snapped, and then she leaned over Holly, her fingers moving along the lifeless woman’s ribcage.

Ginnie watched as the manager pressed the heels of her hands between Holly’s breasts and then pushed down hard. Holly let out another huff of air, and Melissa called out: “One!”

Numb with shock, Ginnie stared as the woman’s clasped hands pumped Holly’s chest, making her stomach pop up against the waistband of her pants. She could see the shadow of her ribcage bobbing up and down in time with the shrug of her shoulders. 

“…six, seven, eight, nine, ten—Miss? Are you comfortable giving her breaths?”

A few seconds passed, and Ginnie stammered: “Wh-what? Breaths? Yes, I…”

“Tip her head back to keep her airway open! Twenty-three, twenty-four…”

Ginnie’s hands shook as she rested one hand on Holly’s forehead, then the other on her chin. She vaguely remembered doing this years ago in her college health class. Of course, that had been a mannequin. Not happy, sexy, kind Holly.

Help her, help her, help her…

“…twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty! Pinch her nose, NOW!”

Ginnie pinched Holly’s nose and then bent over her, hesitating only a second before drawing a deep breath and sealing her mouth over Holly’s. She heard a rush of air between them as she exhaled forcefully. 

“Faster!” the manager ordered, and Ginnie gave Holly a second quick breath. Holly’s mouth was soft and damp, her skin still warm with the life that had flowed through her moments before.

Then the manager continued chest compressions. Ginnie remained hunched over Holly, her fingers pinching her nose and her other hand on Holly’s chin. She could feel her head wobbling from side to side as Melissa worked on her. Her gaze fell unbidden on Holly’s dark eyes, staring up at the ceiling. 

“Holly, Holly, Holly, Holly…” she muttered under her breath. Her own heart pounded a panicked rhythm. 

“…ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen…”

“There’s an ambulance on the way,” a man said from somewhere above her. “But my friend went looking across the road for an AED!”

“…twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!”

Ginnie was faster this time, her mouth closing over Holly’s and delivering an efficient breath that made her date’s chest rise before she broke the seal. It rose again quickly with the second breath. Holly’s forced exhale blew into Ginnie’s face as the manager resumed chest compressions.

“One, two, three, four, five, six…”

She felt herself rocking over Holly’s motionless form and made herself stop, swallowing hard. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, though Ginnie couldn’t identify what she was feeling other than panic.

“—flagged one down at the intersection! They’re coming!”

“…eighteen, nineteen, twenty…”

“An ambulance?”

“Are we in danger from the other—”

“—cops coming, too? ‘Cause—”

“Twenty-eight,” Ginnie muttered in time with the manager before dragging in a breath for Holly. She covered her lips, hoping they weren’t cooling off, that she was just imagining things. Two breaths, two lifesaving kisses.

I wanted to kiss her for real, she thought, and then blurted out: “Is she dead?”

No one answered her.

“…nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen…”

Ginnie released Holly’s nose and patted her cheek. Her voice came out quiet and broken. “Holly, Holly, Holly… No…”

“…nineteen, twenty, twenty-one…” Chest compressions looked painful, though Ginnie knew Holly couldn’t feel them now. She thought she could hear the occasional crackle when the manager’s hands forced Holly’s chest down to beat her heart.

They hurt later. They hurt a lot later. They’ll hurt her later if she—

“…thirty!”

Ginnie pinched Holly’s nose and pushed two breaths into her lungs. A tear rolled down her cheek and dripped onto Holly’s chalky face. Ginnie wiped it off with the back of her hand.

“Everyone out of the way, let the medics in!” boomed the same man looming above her.

Everything seemed to speed up. Two people in dark blue uniforms pushed through the crowd, wheeling a gurney as they hurried across the room. Someone put a hand on her shoulder and said something she didn’t understand, though when they grasped her elbow she got the idea. She found herself sitting in a chair close by as the medics relieved the manager and one of them pressed gloved fingers into Holly’s neck.

“I’m going to close service,” she heard the manager say. “Quickly. No bills, no to-go boxes. Just politely get everyone out of here. I have to call Gray and tell him…”

“What happened?” the other medic asked, though Ginnie wasn’t sure who he was talking to. He’d opened a duffel beside him and was holding a plastic piece next to Holly’s face.

“Something hit her in the chest,” Ginnie said. Her voice came out too quiet, and she cleared her throat as he slipped the plastic piece between Holly’s teeth and turned it. “Something hit her in the chest and she just… fell…”

The first medic had already started chest compressions, and his hands looked huge against Holly’s chest. She could see Holly’s chest sink and her stomach bulge up each time he rolled his shoulders down.

“That’s it!” the man with the loud voice said. A man with a bald head and broad shoulders leaned into Ginnie’s line of sight and pointed at a silver-colored hunk of metal laying on the floor. An eyelet protruded from the top with a piece of frayed rope threaded through it. Several feet away were the scattered remains of a sculpted bird. “Those fucking birds, man…”

“Strike to the chest,” the second paramedic said. He finished assembling some kind of mask with a large bulb on one end and a line of tubing that lead to what Ginnie recognized was an oxygen canister. As the first medic paused compressions, the second pressed the mask to Holly’s face, lapping his fingers over her chin. His other hand squeezed the bulb twice.

“Get her on the monitor,” the first paramedic said. “One, two, three, four, five…”

“Cops are here,” the loud man said. “Uh, wife wants me to get out of your hair; I see her waving from the door.”

“Thank you, sir,” the second medic said. He’d pulled what looked like a duffel with an old school computer monitor in the front close to Holly and then drew a pair of shears out from another bag. He snipped the neckline of Holly’s shirt without preamble, then quickly cut through to the bottom when his colleague lifted his hands. He snipped Holly’s lightweight bra down the middle and across the straps, and then compressions resumed.

Ginnie blushed as Holly’s chest and stomach came into view. The other medic cut off the rest of Holly’s shirt while the first thrust his hands rhythmically into her sternum. Holly had moderately-sized, round breasts with large aureola, which wobbled in time with each chest compression. 

“Miss?”

Ginnie blinked and looked away from Holly, toward the source of the voice.

Tom, the server, stood next to her, trying not to look at Holly. His face was pale aside from two ruddy spots on his cheeks. “Um, we are closed. I am sorry, but we need you to leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere!” Ginnie gasped, incredulous. Anger made her face go hot and a few more tears squeeze out of her eyes. “That’s my… that’s my… that’s Holly, and—”

“Not her, Tom! Jesus, go back to the front.” Melissa, the manager, stepped between Tom and Ginnie. “That’s her girlfriend!”

Ginnie looked back at Holly. The man with the mask was giving her breaths, and as soon as he laid the mask down, he reached for a large packet. He cut the top open with the shears and dumped out a set of what Ginnie recognized as defibrillator pads and leads. As the first medic continued rocking his weight into Holly’s sternum, the second tore the backing off the first pad and smoothed it onto the skin above Holly’s right breast.

Holly’s head tipped to the side. Her eyes were still open, wide and startled-looking. Her chin nodded with each compression. 

“Miss? Miss?” A hand gripped Ginnie’s shoulder, and she flinched, pulling herself out of the manager’s grip. “I’m sorry, jeez, I… What’s your name?”

The second pad went on Holly’s side, below her left breast. Shortly after, an angry-sounding alarm filled the air 

“What?” Ginnie asked. The compressions looked scarier now that Holly was half-naked. She had an athletic body, but Ginnie thought her collarbones and fingers looked delicate, and the extended line of her neck appeared fragile as the medic turned her face back upright, pressing the mask over her nose and mouth. Ginnie gripped the seat of her chair, swaying side to side.

“Your name, sweetie.”

“Ginnie.”

“Pause for analysis,” one man said.

“There’s our backup,” the second said. Two more paramedics walked quickly through the restaurant, carrying their own set of bags.

“V-fib. Charging to three-sixty.” 

Ginnie’s eyes darted from the newcomers to Holly, sprawled on her back with a medic pushing hard and fast on her chest. The medic suddenly raised his hands, and the other said: “All clear. Administering shock.”

“Ginnie, how—”

Holly’s torso jerked, and her limbs flinched. The second her body stilled, the original pair of medics switched places. Another pair of gloved hands found Holly’s chest and started forcing her sternum down toward the young woman’s heart. Steady beeping sounds emitted from the cardiac monitor.

“What have we got?” one of the new paramedics said. “I’m James, this is Sandra.”

“Chris and Scott. Witnesses say our patient, Holly, was struck in the chest by that counterweight. She was in ventricular fibrillation when we analyzed and I’ve given her one shock. James and Sandra, I need her intubated and her blood pressure.” Chris handed over Holly’s mask. “I’m going to prep a push dose of epi.”

“What?” Ginnie remembered that the manager was trying to talk to her. “What was that? I’m sorry…”

“Don’t apologize, sweetie. Do you have a ride to the hospital when it’s time?”

“A ride?” Ginnie briefly squeezed her eyes closed. “A ride to the hospital?”

“I can take you. If you came here in an Uber or something… let me drive you.”

“I rode the bus…” Ginnie pressed both of her hands to her face. She could hear one of the medics quietly counting out chest compressions.

“Okay,” Melissa said. “Why don’t you let me drive you? I’ll pull my car up behind the ambulance and we can follow them.”

“Okay,” Ginnie said. “That’s fine. That’s fine. That’s… fine.”

“Do you know how to get hold of her family?” Melissa asked. 

Ginnie dropped her hands into her lap and opened her eyes.

The view was even more frightening now. Four paramedics working on Holly. One of them injected something into Holly’s outstretched arm. Another continued to perform deep and rapid chest compressions, making Holly’s body rock and her stomach pop. A third pumped up a blood pressure cuff. The fourth, a woman, had Holly’s mouth open and a metal device wedged between her teeth. The woman held a tube in her other hand.

“Pause compressions,” she said. She was lying on her stomach, her face close to Holly’s.

Her name is Sandra.

The medic pumping Holly’s chest stopped. She saw Chris pluck a stethoscope from around his neck and plug the earpieces into his ears. Sandra quickly but carefully fed the tube down the metal device and into Holly’s throat.

Holly’s family.

“I have her mom’s number,” Ginnie said, her hands slowly reaching for her dress pocket. Chris had the bell of the stethoscope to Holly’s chest. “I… I can text her.”

“You’re in,” Chris said. “Continue chest compressions!”

Sandra unhooked the bag and used white tape to secure the tube in place, taping one end to Holly’s cheek, winding the tape around the tube and then tearing it off and pressing the end on Holly’s other cheek. She did this with a second piece of tape and then reconnected the bag. Ginnie watched her squeeze the bag between every ten or so compressions. 

Ginnie slipped her phone from her pocket, unlocking the screen automatically.

“Will you be taking her to South or Harper?” she heard the manager ask.

“Harper,” Chris said. “Pause to analyze in five, four, three, two, one… Come on, now… Still in v-fib. Charging to three-sixty.”

“While you’re texting her mother, Ginnie…” the manager paused until Ginnie looked over at her. “While you’re texting her mother, I’m going to move my car, okay?”

“Oh… k-kay.” Tears ran down her cheeks again, this time at the thought of telling Holly’s mom what had happened.

“Everyone off? Clear…. Administering shock.”

Holly bowed up and relaxed. James slid in and took over chest compressions. Ginnie noticed he had black gloves instead of blue like everyone else.

Holly’s face was more visible now that she’d been intubated. Staring eyes. Full lips parted around the tube protruding between her teeth. There was a quiet whooshing sound every time Sandra squeezed the bag. Scott leaned in with the shears and cut from the waistband of Holly’s pants down to her knee. Then he pressed his fingers into her thigh crease.

Ginnie cradled her phone in her hands, opening the messaging app. She didn’t want to contact Holly’s mom. Not while they were resuscitating her. Not while a stranger shoved his hands between her breasts. Not while a tube ran down her throat. Not while a man connected her to an IV bag. Not while her pulse points were exposed and pressed.

Not with her ashen skin and bruised chest, her staring eyes.

What the fuck do I say? ‘Hello, Mrs. Diaz Aguilar. It’s Ginnie. We spoke that one time. Um, I have bad news. There was an accident with a bird in the restaurant. I don’t know what happened, but something hit Holly in the chest and now she’s dead.’

Ginnie swayed side to side, trying not to break out into sobs as she typed out: This is Ginnie Courier. Holly had an accident. They are going to take her to Harper General.

“Administering amio,” she heard Chris say.

The paramedic’s hands on Holly’s chest made noises with each chest compression. His gloves squeaked against each other and her soft-looking skin. His weight thumped into her unresponsive body. Ginnie wondered if she would still hear puffs of air escaping her if she were closer.

Her mind trailed back to her own time in the hospital, before her parents had made it up to see her. She’d wake up and Holly was always there, holding her hand. Dozing sometimes, but waking up as soon as she stirred. She was tender, even though they were essentially strangers to each other. Strangers with crushes and a strong, if newly formed, connection. Even in her hospital bed, her chest burning with pain, Ginnie felt her body respond to Holly’s touch. Holly’s smile. Holly’s voice.

I should have tried to kiss her then, she thought. But I was afraid it was too soon.

“Analysis in thirty seconds,” Chris said. He finished cutting off Holly’s pants, leaving her in a simple pair of hip-hugging underwear. Ginnie watched him run his hands and eyes over her legs; she assumed he was looking for injuries. As soon as he released them, Holly’s legs rocked in time with the relentless thrusts to her chest. He hadn’t removed her shoes, and Ginnie realized with a pang that they were both wearing a pair of high top Converse shoes, just in different colors.

“Pause compressions for analysis…” Chris had his fingers to the crease of Holly’s thigh again, and his eyes were on the monitor. “Still in v-fib. Resume compressions while I charge to three-sixty, then I want Sandra to sub in on the next round.”

Ginnie’s thumb hovered indecisively over the “send” symbol, the digital paper airplane that would send Holly’s mother down a spiral of anguish. Her own parents hadn’t learned of what happened to her until she was already stable. It had to hit differently. Even so, her parents had been acting strange ever since. Mom was over-solicitous. Dad kept giving her money.

Holly’s body rocked under another ten chest compressions and then the paramedics all leaned back, raising their hands.

“Everyone clear? Administering shock now.”

Holly flinched, her back coming up slightly off the floor, her breasts shaking, limbs jerking. She’d barely stilled, alarms screaming, before Sandra slid into place, her hands slotting between Holly’s breasts. The cycle of compressions and breaths continued. 

Ginnie sent the text, shaking with sadness and trepidation.

“One, two, three, four…” 

Holly remained limp. Scott squeezed the bag, sending oxygen into the tube running down Holly’s throat. Chris gave her another injection. Sandra rolled her shoulders over her hands, palms pumping Holly’s sternum. Holly’s stomach bulged, and her legs rocked.

Ginnie’s phone vibrated in her hand. She looked down and saw that Holly’s mother was calling her. Instantly, she felt as though her throat had closed up.

I can’t…

“…nine, ten! One, two, three…”

“Hold compressions! Rhythm and pulse check!”

The medics pressed their fingers to Holly’s neck, wrist, and groin. That’s when Ginnie noticed her eyes were closed.

“Holly?” she whispered.

“Sinus rhythm!” Chris said, sounding excited under his professional facade. “Pulse confirmed. We’ve got her!”

What’s wrong?!!!!! Holly’s mother texted. What happened?

Holly is aliv, Ginnie texted back, her fingers clumsy. call n a minute

Then she clutched her phone to her chest, rocking as she broke down into sobs.

Days later

Ginnie paced back and forth across the waiting room, her hands busy with a plastic tangle fidget. She had the vague feeling she was bothering people, but she felt like she had to keep moving or she might explode. She kept her path as far away from other people as she could. She had a single earbud in, her favorite playlist cranked a little too loud for hearing safety. She was trying to drown out her own thoughts, though she didn’t want to put in both earbuds and miss someone calling for her.

Ginnie’s mind kept filling with terrible images: Holly staring up at her with dead eyes, Holly intubated, Holly’s bruised body sprawled out under a paramedic’s thrusting hands.

Holly is okay. Her mom said she’d let me know if anything changes. I’m going to see her in just a bit and she will be okay.

“Okay, okay, okay…” she muttered, her voice muffled underneath her mask.

“Ginnie?” A familiar woman’s voice interrupted her anxious train of thought. Ginnie looked up and spotted Holly’s mother, Gena. The older woman looked tired but happy, her gray-streaked hair pulled into a messy bun on top of her head and her generous lips drawn into a big, encouraging smile. A surgical mask dangled from her left ear. “Hey. Are you ready to come see our Holly?”

“Yes!” Ginnie blurted, quickly putting her earbud back in its case and dropping it into her bag. After a moment’s hesitation, she dropped the tangle inside as well. “Is she okay? Is she awake?”

“Yes, she’s awake. And she is doing much better.” Gena held her arms out to Ginnie. “May I have a hug?”

Ginnie nodded, her voice disappearing somewhere deep inside of her. She let Gena embrace her, her own arms sliding around the other woman’s back. Gena squeezed her tight.

“I know you said you didn’t do much, but my understanding is that when EMS arrived, you and the restaurant manager were p-performing…” There was a long pause, and when Gena continued, her voice was husky. “You were helping her. Every second was important. Thank you, Ginnie.”

Ginnie felt her face burn hot as she squeezed the other woman back. After a moment, Gena released her and leaned back to look her in the face.

“I’m not stressing you out too much, am I? Holly, bless her, was worried about stressing you out. I suppose I don’t blame her after what happened to both of you.” Gena pulled her mask back over her nose and mouth and gestured at Ginnie, apparently not noticing that Ginnie was looking everywhere but Gena’s eyes. “Come on, Holly will wonder what I’ve done with you.”

Ginnie followed Holly’s mother down the hall, her fingers worrying the strap of her crossbody bag. Eventually, they arrived at a room with Holly’s name written on the marker board next to her door.

“I’m going to go get some coffee,” Gena said. “Holly doesn’t have a roommate as of this morning, so the two of you will have a little privacy. Can I get you anything from the cafeteria?”

“No, but thank you,” Ginnie said, though her attention was already pulling her into Holly’s room. She didn’t hear Gena’s reply.

When she stepped inside, she spotted Holly instantly. Looking smaller than her true height, leaning back against pillows with her hair tied back. Her eyes were closed, full lips slightly parted. Ginnie hurried to the foot of Holly’s bed and then froze, her fingers tapping against the thumb of each hand. Holly opened her eyes and yawned.

“I’m sorry,” Ginnie blurted.

“What for?” Holly asked, yawning again.

“You’re tired. And they wouldn’t let anyone but your mom come see you in the ICU…” Ginnie felt her throat grow tight and her eyes water. “But I am really happy to see you, Holly.”

“You can take your mask off in here, Ginnie.” Holly rubbed her eyes and pushed herself up higher on the pillows, wincing. “If you want to.”

“Oh! Can I help you with something?” Ginnie asked, hurrying to Holly’s side. Then she snatched the mask off her face and crammed it in her bag. 

“No, I’m okay. But thank you for asking.” Holly reached out for Ginnie’s hand, tugging her closer. “You look pretty. But tired.”

“I’m fine.” Ginnie wrapped both of her hands around Holly’s. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore and tired,” Holly said. “But otherwise I’m really good. I have one more test and then I get out of here. It’s looking like I’m going to be fine. I guess sometimes people have to have an implanted defibrillator after something like this, but my heart is okay.”

She tipped her head at the monitor at her bedside, then gestured at the leads snaking their way out of her hospital gown. “All this stuff tickles.”

“I’m really glad you’re okay,” Ginnie whispered. A tear trailed down her cheek. “I thought you were going to die.”

“Oh, hun, please don’t cry.” Holly squeezed her hand. “I’m okay. Thank you for helping me.”

“I didn’t know what to do! If the manager hadn’t stepped in… Holly?”

“Yeah?”

“When you feel better, will you teach me what to do? I took CPR in college but I didn’t really remember…”

Holly fell silent and her cheeks flushed pink. She reached up with her free hand and tried to ruffle her hair, only to remember that it was still tied back.

“Oh, I shouldn’t have asked!” Ginnie blurted. “I wasn’t thinking…”

“No!” Holly protested, letting out a nervous laugh. “I want to teach you. When I’m not so sore, and I’m out of here. We can… practice.”

“Thank you.” Ginnie sighed. “I don’t want to feel helpless like that again.”

“Hey,” Holly said. Her face was still pink, and she gave Ginnie a sly look. “I can think of something else we can do while I’m in here.”

“Yeah?” Ginnie asked.

“Kiss me,” Holly said, her voice husky and deep. “Please?”

“Before one of us dies?” Ginnie asked. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she felt the tiniest bit lightheaded.

“Sure,” Holly said, chuckling. “Whatever, I just want to kiss you. Please.”

Ginne released Holly’s hand and stepped closer to the bed. She knew her fingers were cold, but she touched Holly anyway, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, then tracing her jaw with her fingertips. Leaning in, she pressed her lips to Holly’s.

Holly’s lips were soft and warm, and Ginnie felt her hands come up, cupping the back of Ginnie’s neck, threading lightly through her loose hair. 

Instantly, Ginnie wanted nothing more than to climb into Holly’s hospital bed and stretch out alongside her. Their lips parted simultaneously, and the kiss deepened, tongues plunging and hands clutching. Holly took an audible breath through her nose, her chest heaving.

Ginnie broke the kiss, worried by the panting sounds coming from Holly.. She kissed around her soft mouth and murmured: “I’m sorry, I’m smothering you.”

“I’m okay!” Holly protested breathlessly. “I’m not dying, that was just really good! I think we’re on to something!”

“I promise we’ll do that again when you’re out of the hospital!” Ginnie kissed the tip of Holly’s nose.

“Can we do it again now?”

-- Ginnie and Holly return in Practice.

#resus writing #cpr resus #female resus #wlw love

[sideshowkaz]

Hart shaped things.

I have this odd mild loathing of heart shaped things. It’s the twee side of it and how cute they can be. That single heart shaped pretty necklace thats supposed to signal love to everyone around feels like there’s horrible under tones to me.

I got to see little girls like me wear those lovely little pendants as the only decoration they were allowed because too much was too much and the church didn’t like over doing it. Little girls with their hearts overflowing with innocent love.

Children at eight years old being made to make a covenant when they still hadn’t grown out of that cute stage. Boys and girls both not knowing what they got into.

They grew to twelve years old and boys got the kind of power in the church where they had more power in their little finger than their grandmothers will ever have or have had.

Lessons with undertones of punishment though teens that men are men and women are women. Each needing to act accordingly and dress accordingly. Those heart shaped pendants for the ones that noticed became like weights around our necks dragging us down. We had to appear feminine enough and cute and unthreatening enough. God didn’t want women acting like men. I didn’t want ether. Into my teen years I was being told I had to wear makeup and stylish clothing. Women needed to look just nice enough to be interesting to men but not to interesting. You have to be feminine enough to attract a good man but also men are the huge monsters in ally ways and car parks. Men were the enemy you had to let into your life and run it because god said so. It wasn’t who I was. Hearts began to signify that forever innocence women were supposed to have. They were worn like shields against gods wrath just in case a woman were to show a bit of strength or stand up for themselves. But they were never worn much only just enough. Women had to be modest and cover enough of themselves that their bodies felt foreign to them and didn’t belong to them but show enough to show they were still ladies.

And then I got to see adult women after years of having men run their lives tired and sick. All being told they aren’t bringing enough children into the world wile they had so many they didn’t keep track of the ones they had. They worried they couldn’t do enough with ‘populating the earth’ which terrified me. All that modesty enforced with garments so now the church dictates and mandates under clothes.

Then much older women beaten down and unable to fight back every time a man spoke or communicate what they want because men run things to them. Some were obviously abused and some were willing submissive.

But wile all this was going on I was told I was a special spirit and I’d never find a man anyway unless he was the bottom of the pile. The meat market of young single adults never interested me. I wasn’t the best looking, I was disabled to the point I couldn’t just try to be better and somehow look normal to the right guy. Men and women were forced into roles that made them interchangeable in so many ways. Faith in god was supposedly all you needed for a good marriage. What was left as far as characteristics went for anyone to pick what they wanted from? Appearance. Ugly girls got treated with pity. Ugly girls like me. I was told I could fix it if I basically wasn’t me.

It all started with a heart symbol that even people out of the church wear but to me I can’t separate it off from outdated hairstyles, being made to keep my ‘natural’ hair colour, no other subjects being ok but bitching about the unfaithful, skirts you can’t run in but you have to wear them anyway, not being allowed to wear certain colours because they are too bright or give the wrong message, white T-shirts under anything that showed of shoulders or collarbones, lace up to the neck to the point of being choking, not being able to stand up for myself when I need to, being told I couldn’t stand out in any way in my own community but to outsiders I had to look a certain type of strange, being told I had to keep pure but if a priesthood holder said something I better listen even if it wasn’t a good idea, not being allowed to be me but having to be some image of a woman that everyone else wanted me to be, seeing men as both saviours i needed to get into heaven and the demons we were meant to fear and if we showed off our knees men would go from one straight to the other.

The overly cuteness of the little heart symbol jewellery was a part of femininity I never resonated with and for a long time because of that I felt like I was nothing. Now I know there’s just nothing for me in a church that only allowed me one way to express myself and kept telling me what myself was when it wasn’t that at all.

#exmo #exmormon

[myloveforhergoeson]

posting another chapter preview bc i feel bad about not posting for a month and a half lol. everyone promise you'll act surprised when the chapter actually gets posted, okay? please enjoy :) <3

tw: mentions of underage drinking

Finding something to wear to a show was always a struggle for Roxy. Back in Brand New Day, an old band t-shirt or flannel, some skinny jeans, and black boots were practically a uniform worn at every single gig. While on the Big Time Rush tour, her options were equally as simple - Something cute, matching whatever colors the boys were wearing that night, that didn’t make her stand out in the slightest. But to a basement show in her hometown? Nothing in her closet seemed like the right way to go.

She hadn’t even been planning on going to one over the holiday break, but she had run into her old lab partner, Catherine Endicott while at the grocery store earlier, and she wasn’t ever one to pass up an invitation to enjoy the local music scene. So many incredible bands and musicians had come out of Minnesota; It would be a shame to miss out on potentially seeing the next big thing right as they got their start. 

“Bob Dylan, The Replacements, Hüsker Dü, Big Time Rush… Minnesota is crawling with musical talent,” She rambled, twisting her hair up into a large claw clip and letting the ends stick up, framing the top of her head like a spiky crown, while speaking to a spaced-out James. “Now we get to see Cait’s band, Under the Bleachers!”

It sounded like he was humming along to the OneRepublic song on the radio station he’d picked, sitting on top of her messily made bed while she dug through her closet to try and find something she’d feel comfortable in. 

Fashion was always a mixed bag at underground shows, and that had never really bothered her before, but she’d found she favored more colorful and trendy outfits than the experimental and quirky style she often saw at house gigs. Typically, she’d just wear whatever and bolster the strange looks because she’d be with her dad - in his own grunge style - and he’d ward off any unwanted glances or sly comments. But going with James, the poster boy for everything mainstream, would not afford her such grace. 

So… Blend in but make it my own… She determined, reaching all the way into the back of her closet for the punkish outfits she used to wear while she was in Brand New Day. It felt like forever ago now, but that had been her style when trying to fit in with Mag and Dani at their shows, but these days, not so much. 

“So we’re going to see a show by a band you’ve never heard of because someone you kind of know invited you?” James asked, clarifying the situation she had hurriedly explained to him on the phone as she’d come home from the store. Of course, he had been more than eager to bike over to her place in his “alternative” outfit - which to him was a pair of nice black jeans, a black v-neck, and a black jacket - but was having some trouble grasping the concept of seeing an artist they didn’t know. 

Even though he couldn’t see her buried in the back of her closet, the girl nodded as she slid hanger after hanger toward her to check out all her options. “Duh. Most of the people at our first show didn’t know who we were either, but they came because of our amazing advertising!”

Oh… Good times, Roxy fondly recalled running around L.A. handing out as many Big Time Rush fliers as she could and inviting anyone to their show that would stop long enough to listen. Brand New Day’s advertising strategy had been similar, but she also had the power of the airwaves to help her out at the Project Pop radio station. 

Taking in her words, James continued humming to the radio, as Roxy’s fingers landed on a long-forgotten t-shirt she had been keeping tucked away for a special occasion. James’ first basement show seemed like as good a time as any, and she managed to pair it with a short, red skirt and a pair of black fishnet tights. 

 As quickly as she had found it, she ran into the bathroom to change, feeling much more like herself than she had figured she would as she admired her picks in the large mirror. Not only was this her first concert with James, but it would also be her first underground show since she left Brand New Day. A part of her was irrationally worried that she’d see Mag and Dani there, but Duluth wasn’t that small a city, and Cait hadn’t mentioned running into them during their brief conversation earlier. 

Then again… They did show up at the Palm Woods…

“When you say ‘we’ are you talking about Big Time Rush or your old band?” She heard James call through the closed door, just as she managed to slip the final component of her outfit on; A gold chain belt cooly rested against her exposed midriff after she’d tied up the shirt, matching the charm necklace hanging around her neck.

Aside from the time Kendall had stolen her journal and passed it off to famous internet blogger Deke, that had been the first time he’d asked her something regarding her musical past. Not that she didn’t mind sharing - with him at least - the question simply caught her off guard. Despite a long-standing friendship, their relationship was still in the beginning stages. Roxy’s heart skipped; It was nice that even after knowing each other quite well, there was still much for them to learn about each other.

Slowly opening the door to the bathroom and making a beeline back to her closet for a pair of black boots, Roxy considered her next words carefully, “Yes to both; But each time we did a significant amount of advertising. Word of mouth does wonders in any town… Ergo, we’re seeing Cait’s band.”

When she finally turned around to find the jewelry box on her dresser, she felt James’ eyes glued to her as she crossed the small room. It made her chest flutter, knowing he couldn’t stop staring at her, and just for fun, she used it to her advantage as she coyly glanced over her shoulder and shot him a wink before picking out a pair of matching earrings. 

“Rox…” He almost whispered, and the springs of her bed groaned as he stood up. In response, he brought a fist to his mouth before clearing his throat and she didn’t miss the unmistakable dusting of pink blushing the top of his ears. “I know you’re going to be freezing but is it bad that I don’t care? I never want you to take that off…”

In the vanity mirror she was using to check her outfit, she noticed he crept closer while he spoke, gaze suspiciously targeting her legs. When he reached out to wrap his arms around her, she playfully evaded his grasp with a nicely timed side-step.

“Oh, my God!” Roxy cried, cutting into his sentence with a few uncontrollable snorts of laughter and an accusatory finger, meeting him in the middle of the room. “You’ve got a thing for fishnets!”

She watched James freeze, glancing up at the ceiling fan lazily rotating around. In response, he let out a few beats of an innocent whistle before rocking back and forth on his heels. “Whaaat! No!”

Acting against his words, his hand reached out to grab hers at the same time his gaze flickered down just long enough to give her another once-over, noticeably lingering on her tights. When the writer opened her mouth again to tease him, he beat her to the punch and changed the subject, pointing to the old black and white band t-shirt she had tied up above her navel. “Who’s Dec and the Desires? Never heard you talk about them before.”

 Another question that made her giddy, and she grinned as she laced her fingers between his and pulled him into the living room toward the front door, making sure to grab a lighter from the kitchen junk drawer on the way out. “An underground punk band I love. They were really big in the late 80’s and early 90’s in Austin, Texas. Though, I figure you can put the rest together yourself, considering you know the lead singer.”

It seemed as though her words confused her boyfriend for a moment, as they stepped out of the Somerset’s one-story and out onto the freezing streets of Minnesota. Of course, James had been right, and Roxy was freezing, but Cait’s house was only a few blocks away. She could brave the cold in the name of fashion. 

Besides, I’ve got my own personal space heater…

“I do?” He asked, eyes darting around the empty driveway before his brows knit in confusion. 

Roxy carefully tugged him toward the mostly snow-cleared sidewalk, silently letting him know they’d be walking to their destination instead of driving; Someone had been caught up at work after taking an impromptu day off on Christmas Eve and kept Dynamo out late. “Yes, baby. Dec… and the Desires?”

James blinked, either still confused or taking in the pet name he wasn’t quite used to as he followed her lead.

Oh my…

“Declan?” She tried again, doing her best to keep from shivering too much as she and James traversed the icy path. “Somerset?”

“Oh! Your dad was in a band like you?” The genuine curiosity in his voice made her melt a smidge and she snugged his arm into her chest as she practically pulled him down the street to Cait’s. “I didn’t know that, Rox! Kendall and I talked his ear off about sports backstage when we could’ve been asking for music advice! He’s way nicer than Gustavo.”

Her heart involuntarily squeezed at the thought of James feeling comfortable going to her father for advice. “Yeah, they were really going places. Headlining local venues, sending for record labels, lining up an independently run U.S. tour, until…” She paused, realizing she’d never spoken with anyone besides her dad and old band about his small stint in the music industry. Until me. “He’ll talk your ear off about the glory days if you’d let him.”

 “It’s neat that the two of you have so much in common… My parents always had to drag me to stuff about Brooke Diamond Cosmetics - Thank God that’s all over,” James nodded, slinging an arm around his girlfriend as they walked. Try as she might to contain her shivers, he could feel the involuntary shakes and goosebumps riddling her arm under his fingertips. “What did I tell you about being cold?!”

Roxy knew he was changing the subject so she wouldn’t ask any follow-up questions about his statement. In all the time they’d known each other, this was the first in which he’d willingly brought up the company his mother ran. Besides, the writer had only made the connection he was the Brooke Diamond’s son during an interview on the band’s summer tour - If James had wanted her to know that sooner, he would’ve told her.

Just as he was interested to learn more about her past, she was curious about his, but decided not to push her luck as they traveled on to Cait’s. James would share when he was ready and that was perfectly fine with Roxy.

~

They hadn’t even been in the crowded, boiling basement for 10 minutes when a guy around James and Roxy’s age, dripping in metal spikes and heavy chains, came up to them, asking the latter if she was ever in a band because she looked “kinda, sorta, super familiar.” The show wasn’t even close to starting yet.

The writer shrugged him off, playing with the rim of the red Solo cup in her hand when she brought up Big Time Rush - knowing full well that wasn’t what he had meant by his question - and introduced him to James who was far more versed in interactions like these. Just as quickly as the guy had come to speak with them, he wrinkled his nose at the thought of meeting a member of a boy band and disappeared into the sea of people around them. 

Five minutes, and Roxy’s nervous downing of her drink later, someone else stopped by the couple and asked her the same question. Though she wanted them to stick around a bit and ask for a few tips on how they got their sharp-edged eyeliner to stand out so nicely against their dark eyeshadow, her response was the same as before, as was the individual’s when she brought up the pop band she wrote and composed for. 

James, bless his heart, looked a bit uncomfortable with the sheer amount of people packed into the small space and stuck close to her side as she navigated them as best she could around the small space. Despite pouring him a cup straight from the ice-bathing keg’s tap in the corner closest to the entrance, he had declined the drink - “Need to bike home, babe,” - and passed it off to the girl in line behind them.

Then, she asked Roxy if she’d been in a band as well.

Just the thought of anyone associating her with Brand New Day made her nauseous, so she used to boy band line again, and the young girl scurried off to her group of friends, shaking her head at them as if they’d all been wondering the same thing. 

Ignoring the slight shake in her fingers as she reached for her boyfriend’s hand, Roxy told herself she brushed off the questions only because Brand New Day were openly establishing themselves as a duo now that they’d moved to Hollywood and signed with Galactic Records. Telling someone she used to play with them might make her look like a liar, or worse, a delusional fan girl. 

Yup, that’s totally worse than being a liar, she decided, squeezing James’ hand for comfort while waving in and out through the mass of individuals to try and get to the center of the room. I never want to be associated with them again.

“We’ll be able to hear best from here!” Roxy assured James as they’d reached the middle of the crowd, having to raise her voice over the noise level, even though she couldn’t see where Cait had set up the instruments over everyone standing in front of her. In her opinion, the only downfall to house shows was the absence of an elevated stage. “Think you’ll be able to see alright?” 

The question was inherently dumb; One look over the cramped space told her he was one of the tallest people there - excluding those who had used an insane amount of hairspray to hold up their hairdos and those in platform shoes. 

Instead of answering her question, James squeezed her hand back before warmly saying, “You’re famous.”

No question mark, no hesitation. Spoken as though it were the truest of facts.

Taking another sip of her drink, Roxy held it on her tongue for a moment, letting the pungent taste linger before swallowing while she considered his words. Then, the sickly feeling from before returned, heartbeat drumming uncomfortably in her chest, and her immediate reaction was to deflect his statement. “You’re the one in a boy band.”

“No one’s asked me if I was in a band tonight.”

“No one here listens to that kind of music.”

When James realized he wasn’t getting anywhere with this conversation, he sighed and shifted his attention forward to the non-existent stage, while his girlfriend realized how combative her words were coming off. Which, unfortunately, they were designed to be. Brand New Day was the last thing she’d wanted to think about at the show tonight, but he wasn’t asking to be a bother. She knew that; But this wasn’t the setting in which she wanted to have that conversation.

It had just been a long time since she’d considered her past in the Duluth music scene. She never handled the unwanted feelings about her old band members and stolen intellectual property well, as evidenced by the slightly mean tone she’d taken with him. 

Though she thought she was over it after she vowed to move on after her last encounter with Mag and Dani at AM LA, actions certainly spoke louder than words. 

 Roxy took another sip of her drink, starting to feel the beginnings of a buzz itch at the back of her brain. Way to go Rox, drive off the one guy you’ve managed to keep around...

Just as she opened her mouth to apologize, she felt James squeeze her hand again. “Did you play a lot of shows in places like this? How could you stand the distinct… skunky and sweaty smell?” 

Saying a silent prayer of thanks he had moved on from the previous line of questioning, Roxy felt her rapid breathing begin to slow.

“More than I could count. Dani’s basement was a bit bigger than this one, though, but most times we’d jump in on someone else’s show if we begged them hard enough,” She shared in earnest, trying to tell herself it wouldn’t be as bad to talk it out with someone she cared about. “Loved every moment of it, too.”

By now, she had finally worked up enough courage to glance up at her boyfriend in the low light, finding him raising an eyebrow at her comment. 

“Even the skunky and sweaty smell! Got used to it after a while… But you,” Roxy reached up and poked at his cheek with a loose giggle, “You’ve been venue spoiled. Free snacks and gifts, clean green rooms, crowds of thousands screaming your name… Lucky, lucky boy.”

“That I am,” James assured her, bending down to press a much-wanted kiss to her cheek to let her know everything was alright. “Sounds like you get free drinks at shows like these though. That’s not a perk of our job quite yet.”

Of course, his timing was perfect to when she went to take a sip of her drink, causing her to nearly spit out what little she had left as she snorted a bit of buzz-induced laughter. “Only if you’re friends with the homeowner or you’re incredibly cute. So both of us are in the clear tonight, superstar, because those jeans you’re wearing make me wanna-”

The distinct ringing of microphone feedback surged through her ears, immediately cutting her off from her train of thought as Under the Bleachers took their places at the front of the room and soon, it was replaced with the deep kick of the drum echoing in her chest, carrying over the second-hand speakers. Wasting no time, the band jumped straight into their first song, leaving her little choice but to pull her boyfriend down for a quick kiss against the beginnings of a guitar melody meant to promise there was much more in store for him later. 

~

Lucky for James, Roxy cashed in on her silent promise about halfway through the set when the ear-splittingly loud music had thoroughly rattled her brain and she had managed to finish off her second cup of beer. The room was warm, sure, but he’d wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her closer a few minutes ago, and the temperature prickling her skin reached inferno-like levels just from his touch. Be it the heightened state she had found herself in, the adrenalin rush of her first show in so long, or the fact Cait’s band wrote excellent make-out music, Roxy had dragged James out of the crowd to the back of the room and spent most of the set’s remaining time pressed up against the basement wall with her lips locked onto his. 

That was, until the most pit opened, of course.

When the show ended, she nearly cried, but allowed James to navigate them up the staircase and out into Cait’s backyard with everyone else, before eventually making it back out to the sidewalk and heading in the direction of her house. 

“Tonight was perfect!” She yelled without regard for the late hour, throwing her head and hands back as the sound echoed off the houses on the road they took. “Can you believe Under the Bleachers are so, so, so good? We should call Gustavo - He needs a girl band and they need a record contract! An album too, lots of albums. So many albums…”

The heat of the basement had almost made them forget the below-freezing temperature outside, but Roxy could hardly feel it as she twirled down the sidewalk, humming what she could remember of the songs they’d played. At some point, her boyfriend had given her his coat, but she didn’t remember when. 

When she almost hit a metal mailbox on the street with her hands, James poorly tried to conceal his smile as he caught her around the wrist and pulled her into his side, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “Careful, crazy girl. I know you punks like to break stuff, but let’s keep the damages to a minimum.”

At his statement, she squeezed her eyes shut and stuck out her tongue, shaking her head at the notion. “Not a punk! Not even close!”

Roxy managed to pop one eye open and glance his way, noting the way his head tilted to the side, bottom lip stuck out. It made her giggle.

“Wanna know a secret?” She said, fully intending to whisper it in his ear, but she was too busy continuing to stare at his mouth to focus on her volume. The pair had split her last cup of lukewarm beer; The relaxation it brought had caused her newfound loose lips. “I just like the music, making me the world's biggest poser! I’m not connected to the culture at all; Not like Dad.”

Hand moving up and down on her arm to spark some heat, the perplexed look on James’ face remained. “You think? From what you said earlier it sounds like the two of you were in pretty similar situations. Playing the shows, writing the music, connecting with others around town… Sounds pretty punk to me.”

“He and his band wrote about real issues,” Roxy blurted out, still failing to find the balance between what she should and shouldn’t say. There had been a reason she’d needed to share her last cup with James - The looseness had traveled to whatever part of her brain filtered her speech. “Racism, religious conservativism, labor rights… Shit was bad and they were able to channel it into a musical act of protest. All I ever managed to write about was stupid, trivial teenage stuff to pair over a punky-sounding guitar riff. I still do that, just.. Poppy now.”

James didn’t say anything for a moment, and when she turned to look at him as they rounded the corner of her street, she swore she could see the gears turning in his head. “It’s all about self-expression, though, right?”

A good point - one she hadn’t been expecting him to make. In fact, that had been something she had neglected to realize all night, despite that being one of the core tenets of the genre. 

“Getting in touch with your emotions, writing them out, being brave enough to share them… That’s hard for a lot of people, Rox.” The hesitation in his voice made her think he was speaking from experience, but she certainly wasn’t in a state to ask him. “Whether or not you think it’s punk is up to you, but I think it’s pretty extraordinary.”

There were only two times in her life Roxy could remember being rendered speechless - The first time her dad played her Definitely Maybe by Oasis and the first time she’d met Dak Zevon - and now, this was a conversation she could file away in that folder as well. He wasn’t known for always saying the right thing at the right time, but she internalized his words, playing them over and over in her mind as they approached her front door. While she did, her heart was pounding to the point of ache, almost as though it were attempting to break free from her chest and make a new home for itself in James’ hands. 

Just as she was figuring out how to respond, he continued with a crack of a smile, “Especially extraordinary when the song you write is about me! Perfect subject matter for my perfect songwriter.”

#thats all she wrote fic #RAHHHHHHHH #everyone is getting their own little scetion which is why its taking me so fucking long lol <3

[roadtogracelandx45]

Oh My, My Love Part 1 of 2| Elvis

masterlist

@thatbanditqueen

word count 1.5k

Oh My,  My Love

Summary: Sylvie realizes that she is in love with Elvis and there is nothing she can do about it. And then after he sees her go off with Jimmy Rogers Snow, he realizes those feelings weren’t just platonic but something so much more. 

Apart of the Burnin’ Love series 

Rated M for adult content 

Set during the time that they were doing the Snow Shows

2 shot. 

Elvis stopped once he got to the door of the small trailer he used to change in for the shows and looked back at Sylvie who was sitting on the raggedy armchair with a worn copy of Gone With the Wind open on her lap. 

“Come on Mama.” He held his hand out to her.

 “El, you know I can’t do big crowds.” She returned looking up from the yellowing pages, her stepfather had tried to grab her the one time that they had to the carnival when they first started doing the shows.  If it hadn’t been for Elvis and his friends she would have been lost forever. And since then she avoided them as much as possible. Always watching his performance from the side with the Colonel never from the crowd like she has in the past.

Elvis just smiled and motioned for her to come again. “Do you really want to be held down with me? When there’s all these other girls around?” “Sylvia.” He wiggled his index finger at her. “That doesn’t work on me.” She returned lifting the book back up, there was a small smirk playing on her lips.

 “Syl.” 

“El, ” 

“Don’t be a brat darlin’.’  

The smirk grew as she stuck her tongue out at him and raised the book back up again. Wearing a smirk of his own, he went over to the chair and picked her up and threw her over his shoulder causing her to squeal and clutch at the back of her skirt so it wouldn’t ride up. 

“Elvis!’  He laughed and used his free hand to swat at her bottom playfully. Unable to help herself she started laughing, she knew that saying no to him and trying to distance herself from him because of lingering feelings that his mother and her grandmother pointed out to her wasn’t going to do any good. When it came to her, the answer no was never good enough. 

He wanted her by his side all the time and had all but stake claim to her and scared off every boy that showed any sort of interest in her. No boy was ever going to be good enough for his Sylvie expect for maybe him.  

“Looky at what Elvis found, boys. It’s a rogue Sylvie.” DJ teased once Elvis came into sight carrying the younger girl over his shoulder.

 “And here we thought she was a made-up story.’ One of the girls that was hanging on Billy’s arm said. Sylvie rolled her eyes, “Trust me, honey, I’m very real.”

 Elvis sat her on her feet but kept his arm around her waist. “From her pretty head to the tiny little toes.”  

“Are you two together?” the girl asked again. “No honey.” Bill started his eyes on Sylvia who had turned her head to listen to what Elvis was saying to her. “She is basically our road Mama. She takes care of us.” 

Roberta, the girl who had proclaimed herself to be Elvis’ that night, looked at Sylvie who didn’t look very well put together. Not like her and her friends who had their hair and make-up done, and wearing nice clothes. The mysterious Sylvie had on a button shirt that looked like it had seen better days and a blue skirt that was wrinkled. Elvis needed someone who took better care of herself and just stepped out looking like Sylvie. 

 “So she is a prostitute?” Elvis pulled his head back quickly and looked at the girl, his dark blue eyes on fire. 

“No.” 

 Sylvie slid her own arm around his waist to hold him to her, he was dangerously close to losing his cool and picking a fight, she was going to do the same thing that she always did. She was going to step in and use her words.  And if she had to, she would use her fists. 

 “I may  not be a lady of the night.” DJ and Scotty both froze, they knew that tone of voice and had been on the receiving end of it after one of the pills they had given her to perk up wore off. 

She had started hitting them both with her book cursing them to high heaven. 

 “But I,” Her dark eyes looked Roberta up and down, cold distaste on her face clear, she was haughty like her mother was before her, she wasn’t the little girl who grew up with Elvis in Mississippi, she was the scared girl who used her Scarlett O’Hara upbringing for evil. 

This was the side of her that drove them all crazy. It wasn’t her. 

“Do know one when I see one.” Her eyes flicked to the golden cross that hung around her neck to the pleated plaid skirt she had on, then she tilted her head to the side, “Let me guess, Daddy makes you go to a private catholic school and thinks listening to rock and roll music is bad.” 

Elvis squeezed her hip, lately he had been away when Slyvie got like this and he kind of missed seeing it, missed seeing the Sylvie that he had fallen for when she first came back into his life. 

 “And you are coming here to break all the rules he set up. What would your poor mother think?” she brought her free hand up and covered her heart, “She will probably die of a broken heart, her precious little girl was out all night with a bunch of hooligans.” 

He squeezed her hip again and pulled her in closer to him.

 “And oh what would the pastor think, a member of his church out all night, trying to ride one of these men like a bronco.’ All the boys turned their heads so they wouldn’t  get caught laughing, “ Let me tell you something, Roberta.’ 

She glanced at Scotty to make sure she had the name right and he nodded. He had a habit of telling her who the girls were so she could make them leave if they were still there in the morning. 

“You can’t handle what they have to offer. Not many girls can”  She pulled herself away from Elvis and started walking towards the line of booths.  He waited for several heartbeats before following her. “I am not.’ Roberta started angrily. “Let it go, sweetheart, there is no way he is going to be with you after you insulted her.” Scotty commented, “Sylvie is always gonna be the one, they just don’t both know it yet.”  

*** 

“You could have stayed,” Sylvie commented once Elvis was next to her, his arm going back around her waist. “Eh.” His return came, “I would rather be with you.” 

“You know it’s not the first time that this has happened. Those words.”  He steered her towards the Ferris Wheel, “are said all the time. Mostly by the boys in the audience.” 

He turned to look at her, anger bubbling up in him again. He wanted to fix anything he could for her. And if he would have known, he would have stepped in sooner. “You don’t need to be worryin’ about me.” 

“I do though.” They had gotten into the cart and he pulled her next to him instead of letting her sit across from him. “You should only have to worry about yourself. The rest of my worries are my job.” Elvis settled his arm over her shoulder as the ride started to move, she shifted closer to him. She was terrified of the Ferris wheel and had been since that one day when her father grabbed her, he had joined her in the chair and proceeded to make it swing dangerously. She screamed and cried begging him to stop. 

But he didn’t. 

It had been Elvis that had saved her, it had been him who offered her comfort and offered her protection. He and along with several of his friends had been waiting at the bottom of the Ferris Wheel and Elvis, with guitar in hand, threatened to kill the man himself. 

He wasn’t going to let her go, not after just getting her back. 

Elvis’s hand covered the one that was resting on her lap, their fingers twining together.  And those butterflies that she had been fighting for days, mostly since she had been picked back up from her grandparent's house in Tupelo came back in with a vengeance and she knew, she knew that her grandmother and Gladys were right. She was in love with Elvis and there was nothing she could do to stop it. 

#ash writes #series: burning love #series: burnin love #series : burnin' love verison 2 #oc sylvie presley #austin bulter! elvis x sylvie #elvis x sylvie #austin butler! elvis presley fan fiction #austin butler! elvis presley imagines #austin butler! elvis presley oc #elvis presley fan fiction #elvis presley imagines

[abovethemists]

26, 27, 28 for the writer asks!

26. Is there a specific scene or scenario you’re looking forward to most? (No, you don’t have to give away spoilers!)

I have two. I'm looking forward to the final scene of Purgatory because I've had it written forever. I just have to write the intervening like 4 chapters to get to it. I'm also looking forward to the big damn blow up in To Have and to Hold because I love writing emotional blow ups.

27. Are there certain types of writing you won’t do? (style, pov, genre, tropes, etc)

I don't think I could ever do a truly darkfic. There's some subject matter I'm just not comfortable with.

28. Share a piece from one of your current WIPs!

Here's a snippet from the beginning of the next chapter of To Have and to Hold. Belle takes Mary Margaret's advice:

Belle looked herself over in the full length mirror on the back of the guest room closet door. The party was due to start in twenty minutes, and she was having definite second thoughts.

It was far too dressy for the occasion. They were hosting a small party in their own home and here she was in a floor length gown. But, if this didn’t get a rise out of her husband, absolutely nothing would.

The dress was pale blue, the same color as her eyes, and the skirt flowed down her body like water, just skimming the curve of her hips. The high slit in the skirt showed a glimpse of leg whenever she moved. The bodice fit like a glove, lifting and separating her breasts and giving her an enviable amount of cleavage. It was, quite frankly, a dress meant for one thing and one thing only: to drive a man absolutely wild.

And it had worked before.

In Belle’s experience, this particular dress provided very easy access for…activities. The wide skirt meant there was no need to take it off before…activities. A fact Alasdair must remember. She’d last worn this dress on their honeymoon, when they danced together in the ballroom of the Magus mansion. Since they had the entire place to themselves, they hadn’t bothered to make it to the bedroom to consummate their new marriage. They hadn’t even bothered disrobing.

She’d had the dress professionally cleaned and since then it had hung in the back of her closet, a nice memory but certainly something she didn’t plan to wear again. Until Mary Margaret had given her an idea that was either very brave or very stupid and quite likely both.

*

Thanks for the ask!

#writer asks #rumbelle fic #fic snippet #emospritelet #raven's fic

[multistoty]

@hellforestrp​

The moon is a loyal companion. It never leaves. It’s always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do. Every day it’s a different version of itself. Sometimes weak and wan, sometimes strong and full of light. The moon understands what it means to be human. Uncertain. Alone. Cratered by imperfections. She imagined loving him would feel like falling in love with darkness, frightening and consuming yet utterly beautiful when the stars came out. Every good story needs a villain. But the best villains are the ones you secretly like. Every good story needs a villain. But the best villains are the ones you secretly like. Gold shimmered no matter what, but few people could make darkness glitter the way he did. Dreams that come true can be beautiful, but they can also turn into nightmares when people won't wake up. Her heart was still a little heavy, but she'd decided carrying it around would only maker her stronger.  He smelled of magic and heartbreak, and something about the combination made her think that despite what he claimed, he wanted to be her hero. Fear was a poison that people mistook as protection. Making choices to stay safe could be just as treacherous. The auburn haired daughter of the earth’s greatest villain used to be scared of it, but now looking at this flirtatious boy thinks love is another type of magic. It makes everything brighter, it makes people who have it stronger, it breaks rules that aren't supposed to exist, it's infinitely valuable. The fear came from the death of her mother who as a queen should have been the same amount of safe as these two flirting immortals.  Hayley, the queen of the new orlean werewolves, disappeared like a broken star, leaving the world untouched in the ashes of her form , save for the bits of missing light that no one would ever see again. She loved the feeling of doing something bold enough to make her future hold its breath. Hope had been the one to make her mother a vampire along with being a werewolf after her birth. Klaus and his heir now the only mixture of creatures. while she closed her eyes and reveled in the sensation that she’d made a choice with the power to alter the course of her life when her position and the legacy of her father put it other wise. She remembered her first impression of him, tall, roughly handsome, and dangerous, like poison dressed up in an attractive bottle. He looked like a freshly woken storm, or a beautiful nightmare come to life so he could personally haunt her. They had been practicing dancing at the moment. Hope wearing one of her more expensive sweaters and plaid skirt in leui of the blue tulle the 21 year old had for the night. It was a wonder her father hadn’t worn his spine as necklace when they were so clearly smitten.  The air was full of salt and secrets. They had spent a long time together and she found herself liking the demon prince’s soul which was a conudrum she had been surprised that she had to say. She wanted to be the friend he fell hopelessly in love with. The one he took into his arms and into his bed and into the private world he kept trapped in his head. She wanted to be that kind of friend. The one who will memorize the things he said as well as the shape of his lips when he says them. He wanted to know every curve, every freckle, every shiver of his body. She wanted to know where to touch him, She wanted to know how to touch him. She wanted to know how to convince him to design a smile just for her.  And they are quotation marks, inverted and upside down, clinging to one another at the end of this life sentence. Trapped by lives they did not choose. “I think this is the first time I have seen you act princely, love. I’m not sure if it makes me want to give you that kiss you asked for or step on your feet which I have grown up absolutely finding such a thing a sin. I had hoped that I would win that bet of ours. I mean you have been comfortable with me doing magic and more. art is my wheelhouse. We will see if you clean up nicely.”

#thought we could make our own sort of au #but she is a tribrid #the daughter of a hybrid and a werewolf alpha #she is a werewolf and witch but upon death becomes immortal can heal and the whole nine yards #this is bad and after a bit #though its 3 am #could be after #didn't know how you felt about preestablished #could be kind of historical #or historical family or like werewolf court #haven't slept really and more #been like no sleep and tried to make it more open or not as long

[tkvkfanfics]

WHISPERING WILLOW

🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ↝ Jungkook's only goal was to get his degree and have feet that weren't covered in bloody blisters. He never anticipated losing his sanity like everyone else from THAT Village did, on his journey towards it. OR Jungkook's head hurts from too much thinking

ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛ Credits ↝Inspired by the request from Estar. Thank you so much for this amazing idea. It was my first time trying a mystery genre. I hope you will enjoy it. Is the ending hopeful enough?

From Original Request:

↝Jungkook arrives in the Village of the Whispering Willow for a summer assignment. Interested in the village's mysterious history. He meets Yoongi who helps him with the Willow's secrets. During his exploration Jungkook stumbles upon Taehyung's open-air studio. It seems that Taehyung's only muse is that willow tree which lures Jungkook in. Jungkook is fascinated by Taehyung's ability to capture the willow's magic on canvas. He wasn't prepared for the secrets Taehyung revealed. Bittersweet, open but hopeful ending: Despite a strong connection, circumstances (Jungkook is from another city and Taehyung can’t see himself leaving the village) force Jungkook and Taehyung to part ways.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢꜱ ⥏ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ↝ taekook, artist⥏ taehyung x university student⥏ jungkook ↝ soulmates taekook (kinda) ↝ time-traveller taehyung ↝ mysterious min yoongi

ʀᴀᴛɪɴɢ ⥏ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ ↝ teen and up ↝ mention of violence ↝ open ending

ᴛᴀɢꜱ ⥏ ɢᴇɴʀᴇ ↝ attempt at humour, mention of past lives, detective vibe jungkook ↝ mystery, adventure, fantasy, reincarnation

🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳

People called the village, resting peacefully among the gentle slopes of the green hills, “Village of the Whispering Willow”, most likely because of the old weeping tree leaning over the lively river where the fishermen were spending most of their vacation days.

Even if you stopped an old lady who looked too old - wearing a scarf around her head and thick woollen skirt with multiple layers falling to her blue swollen ankles - to be born somewhere else, and asked her what was the village’s original, real name, she would hit the, by the time and weather worn-out, pavement with her walking stick and fixed the old shopping net whose shabby loops were barely holding her Sunday purchase behind them, (sliding down off her wrist and stopping the circulation in her fingers), and then, looking you up and down from behind the glass of her thick glasses pressed tightly to the bridge of her nose, she would say, “The real one? My late grand grandfather planted the willow tree by the hill with his brother when he was just a boy. It has been the Village of the Whispering Willow since then. Since forever.”

And those were the first words Jungkook wrote down inside his newly bought notebook, wrapped in the layers of paint carefully applied by an artist to create a solitary willow tree with branches reaching towards the river below.

“Thank you,” he bowed politely, brushing through the letters settled between the lines with his finger and smearing the graphite.

Jeon Jungkook was an ordinary University student, who gladly exchanged the sleek look of a nobleman ironing his snow-white shirt every morning and washing it every second, for the wash-out jeans and a hoodie he hadn’t worn since his rebel times over the jacket of his high school uniform. Packing a box of band-aids and sticking a few on his soft heels that would bleed out his inexperience as soon as he took the first step in his hiking boots, he bought a ticket and with the travelling pillow pressing on his nape and the sides of his neck, he got on the train, determined to submit the assignment paper to his professor at the end of the summer holidays and get the key from the gate with a path leading straight to his diploma and freedom of independent adulthood.

The old lady nodded shortly, hovering her walking stick over the pavement to continue in the routine of her daily life written in her bones.

Jungkook watched her retreating back and her limping step, slowly vanishing in the mist of an early morning, until she didn’t disappear where the first brick of the houses was placed.

As the sun started to set a day, clearing the fog-covered roads, and peeking through the clouds touching the green hills, a tree he had seen countless times but had never stood in the shadow of it, grew up from nothing. Probably took a shape from water circulating in the sky or from the swarm of bloodthirsty mosquitoes.

“A fucker!” cursed Jungkook, spitting a frustration from his tongue, and slammed a palm on his ankle, the only place where his bare skin was catching all the filth the air was full of. The slam resonated through the air, jumping from the cold bricks of church and fence shielding the cemetery from the world of the living, and whirled the air, creating a wave of weak wind around his legs, yet nothing the little thirsty vampires with suckers ending mouths weren’t used to.

Jungkook began to wave his arms around himself as if he wished to take off the ground, spinning on his heels and clapping his hands together every time a daring one laughed too close to his ear. Not paying attention to his step, too engrossed in saving his nails from mindless scratching in the next few hours, he didn’t notice when the solid bumpy asphalt turned into soft ground, boring his heels deep under the sticky muck of dark brown, under soles of his shoes.

“I wouldn’t go that way if you want to get rid of them,” a voice sounded over his head and Jungkook stilled, stopping midair with fingers leaning backwards as far as the muscles of his palm let them, he raised his eyes only to frown when he saw no one, just a mess of wet path hollowed out with mud and green torn leaves.

“Here,” laughed the voice, reaching past the shoulder of Jungkook’s leaning over his knees figure.

There stood a man, no older than a boy, with hands crossed over his chest and legs stretched wide, impatiently tapping the flat rock with the tip of his boots, as if waiting until he saw more than zips of Jungkook’s backpack. With one eyebrow pulled up, his eyes ran over Jungkook’s face, stopping at his big nose and continuing lower, raising up a corner of his mouth in a suppressed laugh when he noticed the state of his shoes, spoiled with wet dirt.

“You are not from here,” that wasn’t a question. “Here,’ the stranger boy repeated, and outstretched his arm, wiggling his fingers a reach from Jungkook’s body, ‘let me help you,” he pointed with his chin towards the moving mud, swallowing up his feet, now grazing his slick teeth up to his ankles.

The boy’s fingers fisted the loose sleeve of Jungkook’s jacket, his big thumb slipped past the loop that should have held the button, but it was missing, and with a huff blowing away the black strands from his eyes, he pulled him up.

“Mother would say the Whispering Willow set up the trap for its invaders,” chuckled the stranger secretly. His words pricked Jungkook’s attention more than the pair of sharp narrow eyes glaring at him from over his button nose.

“The Whispering Willow?’ he breathed out with interest, wiping off his shoes by rubbing them against the dull edge of the rock they both were now sharing, ‘Do you know the legend?” he asked.

The boy with fierce like a cat gaze tapped his chest as if he wanted to say ‘Look at me!’ before another laugh tinted his words, “I learned how to walk here, I learned how to climb these rocks while you were feeding the city pigeons,” he stuck up his chin proudly.

Now, Jungkook enjoyed breaking his slice of bread in two and feeding the crumbs to ducks, but he wasn’t about to push his tongue against his cheek and argue. “Great! What can you tell me about it?” he let the question past his teeth instead, already grazing the pages of his small notebook with his index finger and stopped on the first, almost empty page, watching how his pencil rolled on the white paper.

“Haven’t you like,’ the boy was now observing the documents rolled into a tube and covered in see-through foil peeking out of the deep side-pocket of Jungkook’s hoodie, ‘read hundreds of articles your noisy city friends uploaded all over the internet?” he scoffed audibly, his grimace closely resembling the one Jungkook’s sister sported every time she witnessed Jungkook licking the plate clean after he finished his meal. 

“Like a dog,’ she liked to say, lifting her upper lip up and scrunching her nose, ‘only Coco manages to do it with more grace. You, on the other hand, just look like a hungry vacuum cleaner.”

"No, actually,' Jungkook admitted, shaking his head to clear his mind from the memory of his sister's teasing face, 'I wanted..." but he halted, cut himself midspeech, as if suddenly realising something.

When the elderly conductor in his maroon uniform, whose dark hues looked almost festal surrounding the golden buttons and cuffs on his sleeves, opened the sliding door with one touch of his palm two hours later, Jungkook found himself following his steps as if they were leaving vibrant red trail behind their heels. He was the only one who did so, as he discovered when he looked around the small platform that had surely seen the better days, while watching the departing train.

The dense forest seemed to be enclosing the mysteriously creepy quiet village, wrapping it in a thick layer of mist. He wondered if this was the same forest his uncle used to take him to as a child. As he passed by a wayside twisted metal sign with the number one hundred and sixty-eight on it, he couldn't tell if that meant he was one hundred and sixty-eight kilometres from Seoul or one hundred and sixty-eight kilometres from civilization altogether. Nothing and noneness.

The stranger's eyes seemed to follow Jungkook's thoughts effortlessly, even without him pushing them aloud off his tongue. With each breath he took, the boy next to him exhaled in response.

"Well, that's rare," said the boy at least, Jungkook noticed the glimmer of curiosity shaking with his body as if he was standing on the edge of a hill, considering if to jump or run as far from the danger as possible. "Most people come here armed with what they call information, reliable sources even. They think they already know everything there is-"

"But they don't," completed Jungkook, sensing where the boy's sentence was going.

The stranger squinted his already narrow eyes, looking Jungkook up and down again before nodding ever so slowly. "They don't have a foggiest," he nodded with a thick accent, another of his almost disgusted scoffs bubbled saliva around his lips.

The stranger boy stood up on his tiptoes before bending his knees, taking a giant step that reminded Jungkook more of a jump, he bounced from the rock, away from the mud that now drenched through Jungkook's boots staining his socks forever-brown.

"Wait!" Jungkook wanted to yell, desperation at the end of his throat, but he was struggling to maintain his balance on the unstable stone. He could barely recall the expensive surfing lessons he had taken during his first year of university, a mere excuse to spend more time with his crush - the instructor - yet he doubted they would help him with the soft, slippery mixture of water and soil.

"You see, city boy," the stranger let out an audible sigh before extending a hand to help him onto the soft green grass, not appearing too considerate over Jungkook's well-worn-out but still valuable jeans. If anything, he seemed to be more judging Jungkook's choice of clothes than caring if a splash of brow didn't get on his pant leg. "This old willow that you see just as an attraction to spare your bored mind holds ancient secrets that are not for the weak ones."

Following the boy up the hill, blooming with flora life where the mist dispersed into a sunny summer day, with fingers folded over his hip, Jungkook's heart was skipping with excitement. Not only he was lucky enough to come across this boy who had already uncovered all the mysteries hidden within the tree, and he would share them with him, willingly or not, like a children's tale, Jungkook could also hear the willow's long branches, falling like strands of braided hair to the river's surface in whole their enchantment, dancing with the summer breeze.

"The Whispering Willow is not called whispering for nothing,' continued the well-cultured boy, 'It can communicate with those who are willing to listen. But beware,' the boy's voice was now nothing but a hushed breath blending within the wind, as he raised his hand to stop Jungkook in his tracks, 'it can also sense doubt or greed."

They were standing where the dead trail of desire path was meeting damp wooden planks of a bridge supported by sturdy pillars over the quiet river that Jungkook started to slowly realise was a murky, green swamp. What before looked like a moving stream were lily pads floating on the surface of the stagnant water with the occasional bubble rising from the depths. The swamp was alive with the unceasing buzzing of insects - the bloodthirsty mosquitoes followed Jungkook even up there - and the vibrant croaking of frogs.

"Many that came have lost themselves,' the boy, leaning against a pole dug into the mushy soil, cleared his throat unexpectedly and Jungkook all but forgot he was even there, 'Listening to what was not for their ears to hear. Wandering around for days and months, it is said some of them wander till now." His hand, strongly clenching the wood, slipped from the pole and drew a half circle, showing Jungkook tens of fishermen dozing off in their folding chairs, held together by thick fabric of various colours, or casting, jiggling and reeling in their fishing rods.

As they stepped onto the wooden bridge, Jungkook could feel the soft, squishy moss beneath his feet. It was moist and slimy, making each step slippery and dangerous. At one point, Jungkook leaned over the rope railing just in time to spot a toad sticking out its sticky like a glue tongue at a great speed and before his eyes could close and open again in a blink, the toad was chewing its prey with delight. Jungkook stared at the toad in awe, the hours spent watching Animal Planet on his grandfather's vintage TV were coming to life just in front of his eyes.

He noticed the stranger boy grinning at him with an odd, soft glint in his eyes, as if he had seen the scene unfolding not even a step away from him, thousands of times before, and Jungkook once again got that bizarre tingly feeling at the bottom of his spine that he felt upon his arrival, the sense of familiarity. He looked as if words were forming in his mouth because of the way he was chewing on his tongue and inner cheek, but as soon as Jungkook raised an eyebrow, the boy simply shook his head and placed his foot on the field of daisies, killing at least three of them with the sharp spike of his hiking boots, on the other side of the bridge.

Caught in a moment of hesitation, Jungkook wavered, his gaze fixated on the stranger in front of him. There was something in the air, an unspoken connection that was possible only inside this village. It was as if Jungkook could sense the boy's thoughts, it felt like dipping your hand into a pool of warm honey and feeling the slow, sticky pull of something familiar and yet unknown. Without fully realising it, he followed the boy across the bridge, guided, if not lured, by an invisible thread of the Whispering Willow.

🌳🌳🌳 

Jungkook kicked at the fallen branches, gathering them together with the cold, moist but still crusty soil into a pile, where the mix of light green and faded yellow, lengthy leaves were already forming a soft blanket next to the robust, rough and thick as a human leg roots. His boots were covered in mud that had glued to his soles when he had walked down to the shore of the swamp to take a picture of purple irises. He could feel it weighing his ankles down and sticking his feet to the ground.

Jungkook pulled his hoodie over his head, messing up his hair which he guessed was already unruly enough from the windy weather. He threw the fabric over the wooden root, patting it out of habit before he sat down, noting how hard and round it felt under him. He outstretched his legs and crossed his ankles, watching the muck of rotten-brown leaves and little rocks all over his new hiking shoes.

The wind swishing around the branches was producing a whispering sound and Jungkook wondered if this were the whispers the stranger boy was talking about. Could he possibly make up the words from the thin hushing?

From his backpack, he pulled out his new notebook and unfastened the elastic band keeping the pages in place. As it snapped against the paper, a bit of dried colour chipped off and landed on Jungkook's knee.

He looked down at the small speck that stood out against the dark blue fabric of his jeans in its natural hues, fitting perfectly among the browns and greens of the forest around him, yet, when he gazed back at the hand-painted picture of the same tree he was sitting under, it looked as brand, as magical as when he bought it after his arrival.

Jungkook liked the painting because it flawlessly expressed the soul of the ancient willow. In his high school days, he prided himself on being an artist, skilled with his pencils and eager for others to recognize his talent. He signed for every art competition at his school and always gladly offered the lines of his pencil during festive times. However, despite all of his efforts, he never received more than a curt "Thank you" from his class teacher, who sipped on her coffee as if it was her who had just challenged her sleep regime, battling against the exhaustion, all the while crying over the memory of other students climbing up the winner's podium.

Following the precise strokes where each leaf was delicately detailed, and the colours blended seamlessly to create a lifelike representation of the tree's spirit, he thought with his still there, just dormant, old jealously, the artist of the Whispering Willow would surely win everyone's hearts.

Jungkook caressed the tree’s massive trunk on the canvas, leading up to the leaning-over crown. The texture beneath his fingertips seemed to pulse with a subtle vibration, like the heartbeat of the ancient willow itself. The leaves, frozen in their endless dance, carried an unearthly elegance. Jungkook thought he could almost hear their rustling, feel the breeze behind his nails, as if a gentle wind swept in between the branches.

The roots painted with the exhausting amount of details got his eyes’ attention. Their strength and tirelessness beneath the soil, which looked as wet but still crusty as it felt, was palpable.

A thought that sounded too absurd to be true, but too wild to be ignored, crossed his mind. They weren't just strokes of paint; they were conduits of a timeless force that whispered tales of centuries gone by. As he gazed at the picture, the boundaries between reality and art began to blur.

Tracing the lumps of the layered paint with the sensitive heel of his finger, a curiosity sparked within Jungkook as he wondered about the artist whose hand could not only capture the exact play of the beauty he was watching from behind the bridge, but also the old tree's mystical energy. Was it simply a skilled painter who managed to bring life to canvas, or was there something more?

The wind picked up, whooshing the leaves above him, some landed in his hair but he hardly noticed, as his attention was drawn to a strange mark at the bottom right corner of his notebook cover. It appeared to be engraved into the layers of dried paint. A perfect place for signature, Jungkook's heart did an excited twirl. Only, as he brought the notebook under the swipe of daylight fighting its way through the branches' shadows, he noticed the strong elastic, sewn to the last page, snapping and unsnapping under Jungkook's nervous fingers, had destroyed his only lead. He now knew where the tiny speck of colour was coming from.

Frustrated, he couldn't help but blurt out, "Who are you?" just as a new thought popped into his head. He flipped open the notebook to the first page, where only his scribbled words

 'Old lady 70+, gr. grandfather planted the tree - 2023.6.11. 7amish?'

were reminding him of his little progress. Blinking at the words written by his own hand, he didn't think too long before crossing them out.

Jungkook held his pencil steadily, positioning the side of the tip just above the sharp edges of the bottom right corner where the paper had been marked by something sharp but invisible, before he grazed the sandy surface with a light touch, leaving the traces of shiny gray graphite behind.

Where the black and easy-to-smear coat of broken graphite couldn't get past the impression, three letters, initials, stood out in white contrast.

"K-T-H," Jungkook carefully read each of the letters aloud.

🌳🌳🌳 

Jungkook's boots were leaving a stain of light brown mud on the grass as he followed the path of straws lying pressed to the soil as if someone's heavy boots stepped on them not so long ago. His backpack kept sliding off his shoulder, thumping against his side with every step. He clutched his notebook tightly with both hands, the front page brushing against his index finger while he approached a figure lying at the top of the hill.

The stranger boy's eyes were closed as he let the warm rays of sun caress the exposed skin showing under his rolled-up pants and baring his bony ankles. But he still seemed to sense Jungkook's steps, perhaps he could feel the ground vibrating under his soles.

"City boy!" he called, stretching his arms over his head. A mischievous smile spread across his face. "Are you here to soak up some sun? I hope you've got enough sunscreen on those delicate city cheeks." 

When Jungkook's shadows fell over his face, blocking out the warm comfort of summer day together with light, the boy lying in front of him, head tickled by grass straws, lifted one eyebrow and opened an eye. Watching Jungkook's hesitance as he took a moment, he hoisted up on his arms, boring the elbows into the soil.

"Jungkook,' sighed Jungkook after a while, 'I am Jungkook." He bowed his head, placing his hand just under his collarbone.

The longer Jungkook was walking the village's fields, the more leaves from the nearby trees intertwined in his hair strands and the more energy was pulsating under his fingertips, the less connected he felt to the life he left hundreds of kilometres away just a few hours ago. Jungkook was unable to put a sense on it, but he felt as if he had always lived in this village, perhaps even in a past life. Just by the swamp and its purple irises underneath the old tree.

The boy continued to squint at him despite the shadow; the sunshine had probably burnt out his sensitivity to the world behind his eyelids for the next few minutes. He looked to be thinking something over, before he shrugged and nodded curtly. "I know," he said simply without a warm nice to meet you or reaching out his hand and uttering his own name conversationally. "Yet, City boy suits you better." The boy sat up, brushing his fingers through his hair and dusting off the dirt from his elbows.

Jungkook's eyebrows would have been floating above his head, even speeding up higher, in surprise if they weren't growing from his skin so firmly. He raised them quickly and powerfully, his voice stammering, "H-how-how do you know my-my name?" His words tripped over each other, and he could taste the confusion that followed his initial shock. Only, he soon after began to choke on the pungent feeling of fear down his throat, swirling down to his stomach. Jungkook thought his reaction was just on the spot. "I've never-"

"It's on your bag,' explained the boy unbothered, lifting his arm to grasp and pull at the hanging loose band, twirling in circles in the wind, of his backpack shoulder straps, 'You are walking around like a kinder garden kid in the village where everyone knows everything about you just by a mere look or touch." His eyes seemed to glimmer in rays as the sun moved across the sky, shining high above them. They become so light, almost transparent that Jungkook swore he could recognise the red string his mother sewn his name with into the stiff fabric. "You are not like anyone else that came here, Jeon Jungkook. You wish to get to know the secrets but you can hardly protect yours. The Willow was right." 

Jungkook's large bag bumped against his unprepared wrist, knocking off the notebook from his trembling fingers. They both watched as it landed on its thin edge before toppling over, the bar code down, with the heavier wooden backside leading the way and the light pages fluttering after it.

"You want to know who painted this?" The boy's fingers traced the path from the roots pushing on the ground and up the massive trunk to the detailed crown, almost delicately, that Jungkook had explored earlier.

Jungkook's mind was stopping, he couldn't think straight for a moment. 'Who are you?' he wished to ask, but even before the dread had a chance to resonate within his self-preservation, he knew the question was irrelevant. 

The boy let out a soft chuckle, his eyes full of sparkling amusement. He looked over the unspoken question clear in the fear Jungkook's facial muscles twisted in, or maybe as loud and voiced out in his ears as if Jungkook had let the words leave his mouth.

Still caressing the green-yellow leaves on the front page of Jungkook's notebook, Jungkook didn't doubt he could also sense the tree's life from the layered painting under his fingertips, the boy finally spoke, "Taehyung painted this,' his voice carried a weight of importance that made the air feel denser, "Kim Taehyung. He's been painting the whispers of the Willow for as long as I can remember. The Willow seems to favour him, it tells its most intimate secrets only to him."

Jungkook's eyebrows knit together, the name stirring memories of a dream he couldn't quite recall; echoing like a catching melody of the upbeat song his sister liked to dance to from dawn till dusk and yet not the same. He could easily sing along to the track (away from his sister's ears of course), not missing a single word, only, however, he was unfamiliar with its name. When it came to Kim Taehyung, it was like recalling the name of a family friend his mother liked to mention thrice a week, but no one really knew much about him. 

"You might meet him," the boy didn't stop, if anything, he looked determined to let out everything he knew after walking in circles around Jungkook for so long, as if waiting for him to interrupt. "Or perhaps, you've already crossed paths. The Willow has a way of weaving souls together." His eyes met Jungkook's with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. 

Jungkook's gaze drifted back to his fallen notebook, its pages close to rustle in the breeze if it was not the stranger boy's hand holding it down. 

"Be careful, city boy,' the stranger warned, his eyes holding a depth of knowledge, 'The Whispering Willow shares its secrets cautiously. Some truths are best left undiscovered." 

Jungkook quite couldn't shake off the feeling of the warning that was muted right after it was born when he found himself on the empty train platform. Was the Whispering Willow playing with him like a puppet, sensing his greed?

The boy's fingers spread to feel three of four edges of Jungkook's notebook, and picked it up carefully, as if he forgot it survived the fall and couldn't break so easily. 

When he handed it back, their fingers briefly touched, and Jungkook felt a jolt of something indescribable, a flood of memories that weren't his but held onto him until he embraced them as his own after the disorientation, throwing him off his legs and blurring his surroundings for a fleeting moment, didn't fade away.

With nothing but the clear blue sky above, he felt a violent, spiky cold of firm, solid stone under his soles. He had somehow got rid of his hiking boots along with his socks. In this forest, where concrete met nature, Jungkook was surrounded by countless ancient willow trees of all shapes, shades, and captured in different seasons. Jungkook felt lost.

When the sound of wet paintbrush sweeping across the canvas, interrupted only by the occasional scratching, fell on his ears from behind him, he spun around.

A flash of a young handsome man's face with nicely shaped expressive eyes under strong, well-defined eyebrows, overwhelmed him. However, before Jungkook could gaze deeper, searching for secrets that had never been hidden from him, they quickly turned alert, sharp and angry. Where availability should be, defiance was flashing, pushing Jungkook away. 

He wasn't aware he was looking at the world through the stranger boy's eyes, until the voice didn't cut through, "Did you see it?" the boy asked, his fingers wrapped around Jungkook's wrist in a bruising grip. 

As quickly and unexpectedly as the borrowed memories came, they diffused into the field of daisies and swamp under the bridge. Jungkook looked around, confused. "I..."

The corners of the boy's soft smile lifted with sympathy. "Now you know where to go."

🌳🌳🌳 

The building bathing in the sunlight of the day that soon would be considered old and ready to shine the rays of evening, looked as shabby as every house Jungkook rushed past on his way down to the city. Built from the same grey bricks fixed by the time, the very same time that had bitten down on the sand, crushing it into bricks dust lying in dark white piles by Jungkook's feet, cast a shadow over Jungkook's face when he looked up, counting the floors and rows of the old grimy glass panels in their even older wooden frames.

On any normal day, Jungkook would have the number 119 ready on his phone's speed dial, just one tap away with his index finger on the green icon. He would probably start stretching to loosen his stiff joints to deliver the knocking-off kick or punch into the first pervert's face that dared to lay a hand on his shoulder. Or, and most likely, he would have already fled the scene before even noticing the filthy stains on the broken entrance door pushed away from its frame.

Even if Jungkook was weak to shining promises of adrenaline behind every adventure, he didn't necessarily seek danger. He used to have a home where to return to. 

But as his boot landed on the unstable metal surface, and the door remained firmly in place despite its protesting creak of hinges, his heart raced at the thought of this village and all that it represented to him. Why should he worry? He was already home.

The elevator was out of use, as suggested by the dark, deep hollow space where the heavy, thick door should have been. Instead, Jungkook took a step back when his sight fell on a single wooden plank hammered down by four bent and corroded nails, two on each side. Jungkook didn't believe them no matter how sturdy and unbreakable they looked. 

He couldn't tell if his knees were popping or if the stairs under his feet were vibrating with such cracking noise bouncing from the walls surrounding him suffocatingly, as he climbed up the floors, his palm sliding up the railing and collecting all the dirt. Jungkook didn't know where he was going, he didn't know when to stop or turn, he wasn't following a sound or a light, even if the summer rays from the boy's memory were still as vivid as when they first burnt holes into his eyes. The pulsating life of energy under his fingertips, still caressing the painting of the ancient willow, as if he was pressing them on someone's neck or wrist, was his only leading source. 

There was no staircase behind the corner next to the broken elevator on the sixth floor, no corridor opening behind the mirror wall from where Jungkook's own pink, sweaty and tired in its dark circles under eyes and prominent shadows under his cheekbones, face was reflecting back at him. Yet, instead of two doors, each one on the opposite wall, the third one, blue with a lever handle instead of a knob, and a sticker FIRE EXIT tapped down at the very top, caught Jungkook's attention. Without hesitation, he reached for the handle and pushed it open. The door swung inward, revealing a tight space, no bigger than a broom closet, with a shiny black metallic ladder fixed on the wall. Where the ladder's legs were touching the ground, a makeshift mat, adorned with colourful paint splatters, lay beneath. A pair of worn-out sneakers, their heels bent probably from frequent use, were neatly positioned on top of the greasy wool. A strong, thick rope hung down from somewhere above Jungkook's head, disappearing into the hole he could see just as a dot of light. It appeared to be well-used, with frayed strands visible all along its length. He reached out his arm, his fingers grasping the rough material that seemed to burn his skin. As Jungkook tugged, he could hear something far above him, hidden by the concrete roof sliding across the surface. Again, he pulled until his muscles burned and this time an annoyed voice echoed from the walls, "Yoongi hyung, you know you're too heavy for this rope!' a voice yelled from somewhere unseen, 'Just use the ladder!"

Jungkook froze, his hand still gripping the rope tightly as he slowly glanced around, searching for the source of the voice, but there was no one in sight. 

Curiosity got the best of him, he couldn't resist its pull, full of promises. Without a second thought, he let go of the rope and didn't even stop to see it spiralling in ellipses. He stepped onto the woollen mat, quickly bending in his waist to untie his shoelaces. Frustration boiled inside him as he impatiently worked on each boot, finally letting out a sigh of relief when they finally felt loose around his ankles. 

The ladder rattled under his bare feet and sweaty palms as he climbed up, his own breath mingled with distant humming coming from above him. The air grew colder, brushing against his skin like ghostly fingertips. Goosebumps raised along his arms, but he pressed on, driven by an unexplainable force that refused to let him turn back.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of grabs and jolts while the ground beneath him grew farther away, Jungkook's head popped out of the circular hole. Darkness gave way to blinding sunlight, flooding his chilled skin with warmth as he entered straight into the stranger boy's memories. Only this time, the cold cement under his palms as he hoisted himself up, swaying his legs like a small child at least twenty meters above the ground, felt solid enough that it could fracture his elbow if his hand slipped. It was a stark reminder of the reality of this situation.

The pulse under Jungkook's fingertips felt erratic, but he wasn't sure if his own heart, wild after a bit of exercise, didn't add to the mixture. He pulled his legs out of the hole, dragging them behind his body as he turned on his hands and knees standing up ever so slowly. 

As Jungkook rose to his feet, he found himself standing on a rooftop unlike any other he had ever seen. The sun, hanging just above the church's crucifix secured at the top of the pointy tower, was casting its golden rays, reflecting on the paint the pictures of the Whispering Willow were made of. Whenever Jungkook turned left or right or spun around completely, canvas on canvas with the same old tree was everything he could see. The village sprawled out in all directions - a sea of buildings and streets, probably as dead as when he rushed through them - behind the cotton fabric stretched over the frames didn't matter.

Jungkook couldn't remember when was the last time he felt so mesmerized by the physical beauty. If the world began to crumble around him, his legs, nailed down to the ground, would not even jerk from the startle of the loud destroying sounds. 

The vibrant colours of the painting seemed to burst with life, melting the dried-up layer of the thick ice frozen over the muddy swamp into the slippery surface, as the sunshine caressed it with care. When he took a step closer, eyes fixated on the pair of ice skates lying unlaced and torn up on the shore, the pain of frostbite shot into his fingertip grazing the rough texture. 

Lost in the way his skin turned bright pink and swelled pale white, Jungkook didn't notice the figure leaning with his back against the concrete half wall until the person spoke, "Beautiful, isn't it?" his voice was soft, despite how low and deep it was coming to the world. Startled, Jungkook spun around, wrapping the fingers of his left hand around his injured digit, his breath caught in his throat as he took in the ethereal, almost otherworldly, appearance of the man.

Tone filled with a hint of melancholy that matched the dying flame in the almond-shaped eyes, Kim Taehyung continued, "So beautiful, and yet so so sad." If Jungkook didn't know better, he would think the man was describing himself. 

Too caught up by the open expressiveness of his dark eyes before, he failed to notice how Kim Taehyung's skin seemed to glow with a mystic light, casting a glowing hue around his lean body. Jungkook didn't know much about auras, but this was exactly how he had always imagined them to be. The glow seemed to shatter the closer it got to his sharp features, dimmed around his long limbs and fully 'turned off' when it touched his torso and hips. It was Kim Taehyung's face that was radiating as if all the illumination gathered there, blinding Jungkook's eyes greatly than this summer's sun. However, when Taehyung's mouth parted, probably to take in the dry air, his lips wobbled with a blend of joy and sorrow; melancholy, before he whispered, "What are you doing here, Jungkookie?"

Perhaps Jungkook expected anything to fall from Kim Taehyung's sigh, codes and equations of poem verses he couldn't understand, but to hear his own name be said the second time this day without him voicing it ever out, simply caught him off guard.

Out of habit, he patted his right side, trying to pull at the long hanging strap of his bag, only to find a missing weight over his back as he moved his shoulders up and down with ease. He must have left it with the stranger boy among the white daisies.

"How do you know my name?" asked Jungkook, feeling the sense of repetition. "Did the stranger boy tell you?"

Kim Taehyung pulled up his perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Stranger boy?" he asked with curiosity.

"He knows you,' stated Jungkook impatiently and waved his hand as if that could answer the puzzlement fresh on Kim Taehyung's face.

"I am sorry but-"

"Pale face, restless judging vibe, eyes this narrow, he always talks as if knows everything but tell nothing at all and... oh, 'Jungkook suddenly brought his hand up his chin, just under his nose, tapping it twice with the side of his fingers and said, 'this short."

"Yoongi hyung,' exclaimed Kim Taehyung, his eyes suddenly distant as he ran them over one of his paintings, 'As you said, hyung never reveals anything."

"Then how..."

"Remarkable,' a laugh full of disbelief was forced out of Kim Taehyung's throat, 'You haven't changed a bit, still so clueless." 

"Excuse me, but do we know ea-" his words died with surprise as all of sudden, there were long fingers wrapped around Jungkook's wrist, tugging at his arm. Jungkook stumbled forward, nearly tripping over his own feet and stepping on his own bare toes as he helplessly followed the tug. 

He looked up at Kim Taehyung with wide eyes that could hardly mask his confusion. "What are you doing?" he questioned, trying to pull his arm free from the man's hold.

But Taehyung's grip only tightened, his fingers feeling like a vice and Jungkook's arm like a fragile wooden stick. He didn't even have much time to wonder where in this lean body such power could be born, when Kim Taehyung spoke again, "You don't understand," he said, his voice filled with urgency. "There's something you need to see. Before..." he stuttered and Jungkook thought he could see a flicker of something shiny under his big eyes. Usually, tears used to sparkle so brightly and even if Jungkook usually didn't possess a habit of wiping the tears of strangers away, the desire to touch Kim Taehyung's face was simply too strong to resist. He needed to get his hands on him to make sense of that intense pulsating. There was only one problem though, there were no longer cheeks he could dry up anymore.

In an attempt to shield himself from the harsh, merciless wind the winter spirits blew their way as every new year, Jungkook pulled his cloak, whipping with a flapping sound behind his back, closer around his body. Leading a string under the loop and tying it twice, he secured it under his chin and in the middle of his chest where his winter tunic was peaking out, causing the cheap cotton to hug his upper torso tightly, restricting his arms movement, but at least it provided him with some warmth against the cold. 

His father had traded their chickens for the leather pouch before winter set in, as they could no longer afford to care for them. It was now wrapped around Jungkook's belt with the same rope that held his cloak together, bouncing against his leg. He could hear the sound of charcoal scratching against the parchment or sliding across his dagger as he trudged through the deep snow. With every raise of his knee, every step that required effort, a sweat glistened on Jungkook's forehead under his hood. 

The young spirits were again playing with the branches of the tree leaning towards the frozen lake. The snow, that had gathered and frozen on the naked twigs in long pointy icicles glimmering in the sunlight as if coated in diamonds, slumped down in a snow shower, raising a pile next to what looked to be a tent made of luxurious fur hanging from four wide wooden sticks bored under the ground. Jungkook had seen such fur only sold by the wealthiest merchants in the city right under the gates, and he couldn't help but wonder who could afford such extravagance out here in the wilderness. If it was him, he would have sold it for food and milky rice wine long ago. 

His boots were leaving deep footprints behind him - the snow walls trembling and crumbling, so if he turned around he would not know where he came from - as he slowly approached the makeshift tent. When his fingers gripped the fur, it was cold and solid like a rock, its dampness seeping even through the fabric of his gloves. It was clear that whoever had made this shelter had been here for a while - perhaps even days. Ever since the Great Full Moon, the snow in Jungkook's village had not stopped falling.

Pushing aside one of the furs that served as a door, he stepped inside. 

As he entered the shelter, the first thing he noticed was how little light made its way through the thick animal coats. His eyes took a while to adjust to the dimness ruling inside. But even if it appeared larger than he had expected, the tips of his boots kept kicking into a pile of another expensive fur, covered with light silk, gathered together to form a provisional bed. The creases of the delicate and costly fabric were visible even in the shadows. They were curling around the dip, noticeable in the middle of the furs, big enough to fit a man. Jungkook's eyebrows furrowed together, he wondered where was this person hiding in extravagance, when suddenly, a figure emerged from the shadows. Armed by darkness and surprise, a weight pinned Jungkook's body down; he could see the grey cloudy sky rising further. His head and shoulders sank through the layer of snow, hitting the hard frozen soil with a thud. A breath was forced out of his lungs when whoever attacked him landed on top of him, and a hand wrapped in jewellery was placed on his chest, either for stability or to hold him down. Jungkook could hear his heart beating in his ears as it pounded the angry blood into his brain. He gasped for air, the man hovering above his stomach and pushing his hand down, was causing a sharp pain in his ribs. 

"Who are you? What do you want?" a deep voice, vibrating from the chest raising unsteadily above him, rumbled, blowing a breath of warm air over Jungkook's face, melting away the coat of freeze that settled over his cheeks. The man leaning towards him like an animal that had just caught its prey, had a face of an angel, contrasting with his murderous intentions, if the teeth clear under his raised up upper lip weren't enough proof. 

"Get off me!" Jungkook demanded, shifting from side to side, painting a picture under his body, the hardest he could, but he struggled to break free, the man was simply too strong. "Didn't you hear me?!" he sounded braver than he felt when the tip, sharp enough to draw blood, of an improvised weapon made of an animal claw attached to what looked to be an old broken comb, was placed under his chin. Jungkook could feel the point boring into the soft skin of his neck, right where his pulse was the strongest. He knew he would bleed to death soon.

"I asked you first," growled the man, voice still rough and strained, as if he didn't talk in days. The man straddling him maintained a fierce gaze, his eyes reflecting a mix of desperation and determination.

"I am just... just a traveller, trying to find a place where to survive the winter,' Jungkook's voice sounded shaky as he carefully shaped it around the words, 'I mean no harm." He would lift his arms along his body, his father always taught him to show his empty palms, but the man's knees were crushing the bones of his forearms. 

The man remained unconvinced, pressing the makeshift weapon a little harder against Jungkook's neck, if Jungkook moved his tongue, he would feel it at the beginning of his throat. "Traveler or not, these are harsh times. People will do anything for survival. What's in your pouch?" the man demanded, his eyes narrowing.

Jungkook, pinned beneath the weight of the man, felt a mixture of fear and helplessness. The cold of snow underneath him, seeping through the layers of his clothes, mirrored the chill that ran down his spine.

"Please, it's just some essentials for survival,' Jungkook pleaded, 'Roots, a bit of rice wine, and some drawings. I'm an artist, not a threat."

The man's gaze darted back and forth between the honesty lowering Jungkook's eyebrows on either side of his face in vulnerability and the leather fastened to his big belt. Yet, he made no effort to remove the weight on Jungkook's chest or the improvised weapon. He was clearly not as gullible as Jungkook had anticipated for someone of his social status to be. With his free hand, he toyed with the rope, studying the tightness of the knots pressing down on the leather, prodding the material that was rising between the tied strings, perhaps trying to make out the objects hiding to prove to Jungkook he was lying. Then he pushed aside his own cloak and reached into the pocket sewed to his trousers' leg. He pulled out a sharp, jagged object. It was another piece of an animal's claw, just like the one he was using to threaten Jungkook. The man held it between his fingers, examining it, maybe trying to find the sharpest edge. In a glint of sunlight, Jungkook saw the sky reflect off the curved surface of the raised nail before a ripping noise filled his ears. Suddenly, the weight on his lower stomach disappeared as the sound of breaking ceramic echoed in the silence. The shards slid down his body with ease, powered by the slippery surface of the fastly drying milky liquid. They both watched them disappear under the snow.

"Traveller and artist,' the man scoffed, 'If you are on your way to the King, you are a bit late," he laughed humorlessly. "They killed us all and if you are here to finish what have they started,' the man's eyes fell on the tip of Jungkook's dagger that had torn through the cloth it was wrapped in, 'this tree won't allow you. It will protect me!"

As the sun began to set, throwing its last reflection of the day off the blade, Jungkook caught a glimpse of a tear running down the dark hollows under the man's eyes.

Jungkook wished to touch him, however as he blinked, the ashen skin that hadn't seen the warmth of the rays of the man's cheeks for a long time, was no more. Only dark behind his eyelids as he choked on his own boiling blood, screaming in pain.

Jungkook jerked his hand away from the canvas as if it had burnt him. He jumped back, elbowing something soft in his hassle and quickly brought his hand under his chin, pressing it down tightly, grasping for life that was slipping hot crimson between his fingers. But he felt no scarred, sliced skin opening into a bleeding wound and the tongues of freezing wind were no longer lapping over his dying body. Trembling, he let go of his neck.

His hand was clean, save for the mud under his fingernails, shining in the sun slightly as the oil he liked to apply all over his body rubbed into it. If the burning red frostbite in the middle of his palm wasn't trying to feed on his skin before it all disappeared into a memory, Jungkook would not believe what had just happened, what he had just seen, was real. He clasped his hands together, rubbing them against each other to help the cold wound heal sooner. 

As he lifted his gaze, Jungkook locked eyes with the man, wearing Kim Taehyung's face, who attempted to take his life not even a minute ago. Taehyung's dark eyes were inspecting him closely and Jungkook wished to possess the stranger boy's abilities to see through them, yet their expressiveness continued to stay only as a dying reminiscence.

"What was that?" he coughed up finally, cautious not to strain his neck muscles too hard, he still feared the echo of his past life would rise to the surface. "How did you do it?"

"I started to paint a very long time ago, but I have never left the village,' admitted Taehyung, his eyes seemed to burn with deep, unspoken pain as he gestured towards the paintings that surrounded them like a circle, 'At first, to be safe, the Willow protects those who trust in it. Not for free of course. It's a secret for secret, pain for pain, it interlocks us all in," he sighed and turned back to face Jungkook, open in his desperation. "Later, I stayed for my own selfish desires. I have met you as many times as you can see paintings. I took your life dozen of those, believing that's why you keep returning, to haunt me. Only, your eyes have never recognised me. I started to think the Willow was wrong. So I tried to keep you, but every time I did, the Willow tore you away from me." Taehyung's words were heavy with longing and regret. His hand reached out towards Jungkook before quickly retracting. 

"But why?" Jungkook’s eyes widened in disbelief as he looked at Taehyung. His mouth hung open, his chin almost touching the floor, as he scanned the paintings hanging on the wall. He desperately tried to recall the feeling of the willow tree blooming in pink, its broken branches bandaged, or the sneakers, he had seen by the ladder's legs leading up here earlier, tied to twigs by their laces exactly as he saw them painted by Taehyung's hand. 

"This place isn't meant for you, Jungkookie. You've never been one to seek safety or fear death. Yet, here you are, constantly returning, just to leave. Is it because of me? Am I the reason for your repeated visits? Perhaps it's because I am trapped in this cycle of misery and pain, the cost I have to pay to stay protected. I never meant to become a part of your life, to force myself into it. Maybe it's because I have lost everyone and you were the first person to find me." Taehyung's eyes got lost in the white and grey of the untouched snow brushing past the frozen falling branches. 

Jungkook reached out and gently took Taehyung's hand, feeling the warmth and the pain in it. Together they traced the faded colours of their shared history. He had never considered the idea that he might be trapped in an endless cycle of reincarnation, reliving his death or life as many times as there were paintings just to remind this man of his agony.

"The stranger boy told me, the Willow has its own ways how to weave souls together. There must be a way how to break this circle, Taehyung-ssi." Call Jungkook naive, the striking opposite of who Kim Taehyung he met in merciless winter for the first time was, but he refused to believe there was no way out of this never-ending loop of art. "Have you ever tried to leave?"

"Leave?"

"Take the train,' suggested Jungkook, 'Come with me." 

Taehyung pulled his hand back gently, shaking his head and laughing in response. The glimmer of hope that had briefly illuminated Jungkook's eyes disappeared even before his mouth opened, "I can't Jungkookie. The Willow... it binds me here. Every attempt to leave feels like fighting against a chain. If one link is broken..." Taehyung let his words fade into silence, his voice heavy with resignation.

What a terrible irony, to be trapped within the very branches that were growing to protect him. Jungkook could feel the frown crumbling on his face. The man had known him, had killed him, and had tried to save him ever since. Yet... "Have I ever, have I ever done to you what you did to me?" Jungkook ran his fingers through his hair as if trying to comb back the unsettling realisation.

Perhaps it was because he had experienced countless deaths and rebirths that he could no longer fear the end. After hearing Taehyung's words, Jungkook thought he had never felt death chasing him so closely its tips were stepping on his heels. He died and came back, only to be killed again; potentially with his own dagger being thrust into his heart. Jungkook wondered if his past self knew what was waiting under the willow's shadow. He had always considered himself a coward but the truth was that had never quite stopped him. 

"You know the answer don't you?" Jungkook whispered softly as if he was scared to say the words aloud and looked back at Taehyung only to hear him sigh. It must have been the truth behind the question that poisoned the air, turning it into a suffocating fog. Taehyung's gaze met his own, weary and scared.

"It's easier when you don't see it coming or don't remember ever dying,' Jungkook admitted, nodding, 'I remember only one life but you have a memory of thousands of mine. Isn't that enough evidence that you will have another chance, sometime later?"

"I will take the train alone today, Taehyung-ssi," Jungkook broke the silence between them again. He reached for his notebook, flipping through the pages filled with pre-printed lines but no scribbled notes or sketches. "And most likely submit an empty page because no one, not even my craziest professor would believe this shit that I had witnessed today." He placed a comforting hand on Taehyung's shoulder. "But maybe I will see you around. It's up to you if in this or next life." 

🌳🌳🌳 

Jungkook loved Seoul. He loved the city's countless opportunities, from cycleways and yellow painted lines on the roads, contrasting with those white for traffic, boosting up his cardiovascular system, to Friday nights wasted over empty glasses, that once used to be full and the colour of his drink made sense, in bars and pubs. Seoul was the only city Jungkook had ever known and been to, although, sometimes, he had those quite wild dreams about sticky mud glueing onto the soles of his hiking boots and sunrays burning his delicate urban cheeks red. But he had never remembered spending his money on the shoes full of blister promises.

Jungkook threw his backpack on the empty chair pushed back until its legs weren't lining up with the desk edge and sank onto the other one next to it. A year had passed and he was no closer to earning the independence of the dreamt adulthood than his sister luring an innocent man to a marriage. 

He shook his head, trying, but failing, not to think about his friend signing a contract for his new apartment and letting the beep, as the doorcode he put in turned green, play through the phonecall until Jungkook hung up, annoyed. Meanwhile, he was stuck taping the posters of his favourite football players back onto the walls of his old bedroom. His mother refused to speak to him for weeks after finding out that he had spent the last summer doing nothing. 

Jungkook led the zipper of his backpack down, revealing a fat book wrapped in newspaper between its blue not sharp teeth. 

He could hear a breath of the librarian, studying something behind her glasses, to hitch as it slipped from his fingers and lifted the dust that had settled down over the desk when it fell.

Written in his own hand, the title on the stained paper read 'The Lost Melody of Okinawa.' When he first stumbled upon the book on the library's website, it seemed intriguing. However, it was before he learned there were five hundred pages of pure text, without a single image to break up the monotony.

He grabbed onto the orange sticky note he had to tape down to stay there, and opened the book with exhaustion behind his aversion. He couldn't recall if it was his own hand or someone before him breaking the library's policy by marking certain lines with a pink highlighter. Jungkook wasn't stupid, he learned during his high school times that bold text usually held the most important information. He could only thank whoever recognised it in the letters of the same width and decided to help their lazy colleagues. 

As he fished out his phone from his pocket and waited for his camera to load, a voice laughed close to him, "Got yourself a thrilling read?"

Jungkook's head snapped up, almost knocking a fellow student, leaning across the desk, under his chin with the top of his head. 

From the tone of the boy's voice, Jungkook could judge he was teasing him, yet, as his nicely shaped, almond eyes fixated on the paragraphs, bending his neck into an uncomfortable stretch to help him read, there was definitely an interest.

"Can I help you?" asked Jungkook, trying not to sound rude or impatient. The last thing he needed was someone else snatching his last chance to graduate, no matter how boring it was, away. 

"Oh,' the boy's hand shot to the back of his neck, scratching at the embarrassment flushing red above the collar of his nice snowy-white shirt, 'I am sorry, I just couldn't help but notice the obvious disgust on your face," the boy said, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. "I couldn't resist peering over to see what had you so... grossed out."

Jungkook couldn't hold back his laughter; he had to cover his mouth with his hand to muffle the noise. But perhaps he should have thought about biting his lip before it was too late and the librarian shot him a disapproving look for disrupting the silence.

He grabbed at the shoulder strap of his backpack and let it touch the ground, motioning for the boy to sit. "It's just this book." He turned to the very first page and pulled the hard board out of the newspaper-folded cover.

"The Lost Melody of Okinawa,' the boy read aloud before taking the offered seat, 'An interesting choice. Mind if I join you? Two heads are better than one, right?"

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, looking the stranger up and down. "I should have known you are into mysteries if you didn't find the amount of black on the single page off-putting."

The boy chuckled. "Let's just say I have a knack for uncovering hidden stories. I am Taehyung, by the way."

Jungkook nodded, a smile stretching on his lips. "I'm Jungkook. Please help me graduate."

ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅ

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#taekook au #taekook fanfic #vkook fanfiction #taekook fluff #taekook angst #taekook vkook #taekook #vkook #kpop idol

[caramelodeverano]

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#send me a 🐄 for a random picture! #thanks for the ask! #asks #me #I hadn’t worn a skirt in forever