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joyfulhopelox · 3 years

Text

"I've never cried over a broken dryer before"-"And you better not start now"

Part 1 Part 2

Pairing: Jungkook x reader (College!AU/ University!AU)

Genre: smut with a saltbae of fluff

Warnings: alcohol use, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, dirty talk, swearing, bit of dom! JK, biting

Summary: Upon entering the club you come across a familiar face. Turns out your laundry adventures were not over. Who knew that clean laundry could lead to dirty talk?

Word count: 6.5k

rating : 18+

A/N: Massive thank you to @bangtanhome for not only being my beta but also my support and making this whole thing a polished princess. Thank you Moon so much for taking the time to edit and thank you for listening to me whilst I complained about this. And most importantly massive thank you for giving me pointers. This is my first piece of nsfw writing and I was extremely unsure about putting it out there but you’ve literally been an angel and were patient with my unsure self whilst also making sure you made this readable <3 -I also would like to thank my soulmate and best friend for putting up with me and dying in the process of reading a fic about her bias. I will warn that i massively sleep deprived at this point but i wanted to get this out with the occasion of the Muster 2021 so here she is!

Copyrights @joyfulhopelox for both the work and the banner

As always please leave feedback and/or talk to me as i love to hear from you! Enjoy <3

Fuck. You’d overslept. You weren’t panicking because you were going to be late; you were normally late anyway. But as soon as your eyes opened, you felt the grogginess that comes with sleeping a bit too much. Your body felt sluggish, joints throbbing and your mouth feeling like you've stuffed cotton balls in it. Feeling like you've been through a survival show, you know it'll take at least an hour for your body to wake up properly. However, you didn’t have time to let yourself slowly come to. You were already late. Any later than this and you may just as well stay home for the night- and go back to sleep. You reveled in the thought for a second, but no. Your friends were impatiently waiting for you to go out clubbing with them. And most importantly to lend them your car. You knew that only because they have called and messaged you incessantly for the past hour reminding you of it. You were thankful at least that you were not the designated driver for the night. Normally you’d draw straws and this time you had got lucky, you could drink as much as you wanted.

‘Good lord Y/N get your ass out of bed,’ you hyped yourself up and just like a bandaid, you ripped yourself from your covers and rolled out of bed. Landing with a thud you groaned upon impact. That was going to leave a bruise.

After a quick shower to get the cobwebs cleared off your mind, you put on a dress. You didn’t wear dresses normally, your wardrobe consisted mostly of pants and various tops. To be tightly encased in a dress that was a bit too short for comfort made you feel uncomfortable, but you knew that as soon as you had some alcohol into you, things would change. A loud knock at your door told you that your friends had finally arrived so you hurriedly grabbed your purse and keys and were out the door. You hesitated for a moment, the feeling of having forgotten something weighing on your mind. When you couldn’t figure out what it was, you decided that it must not be important. Plus, your friends were waiting; time to get the show on the road.

As soon as you entered the club, the heavy smell of smoke, sweat and alcohol hit your sensitive nose. The atmosphere was too loud and obnoxious for your sober brain. To remedy that, your friends decided to stop by the bar first and buy a round of shots to get the night started. With the burn of the alcohol running down your throat, your confidence levels increased. The dress didn’t make you feel uncomfortable anymore, instead you prowled around, your hips moving to the beat. You were aware of the lustful stares that you were receiving and you thrived off of it. Tonight you were on the hunt, ready to let loose after the stressful week full of exams.

“Hey, Y/N. Muscle at 12 o’clock has been giving you the look more than a couple of times,” your friend leaned in to make themselves heard over the loud music. “Try not to be obvious, but I'd say he’s a 10.” You nodded in acknowledgment running a finger over the rim of your glass.

“He’s looking away now, look look,” they nudged you, forcing you to turn around. In all honesty, you weren’t interested in going home with anyone. You were simply enjoying the admirative stares and the smouldering gazes that were thrown your way, but you had no intention to take any of them home with you. However, when you turned around, you were faced with the impossible task of reconsidering. The back of the man your friends' pointed out was indeed muscular, broad and strong, you could see the muscles popping underneath the black shirt he wore. The sleeves of the shirt were pushed up to his elbows, allowing a full display of tattoos on his right arm.

Normally you would have second thoughts about a person like that, but there was something about his demeanour that drew you in even without seeing his face.

The handsome man motioned to one of his friends and his whole body shook with laughter. Observing the way the shirt strained against his muscles you licked your lips involuntarily. For a second you thought he looked strangely familiar, and before you could convince yourself you were being paranoid, he turned his head to the side to entertain the person to his right.

The messy mop of hair, defined jawline and that bridge of the nose they all belonged to the laundry boy - Jungkook. You smirked, “I’d give it a 15 actually”. As soon as you said that, he threw you a glance, his smile wavered as he made eye contact. You felt satisfied at the recognition in his eyes.

You slowly turned back to your friends, certain he would come to you. It took him the entirety of the time you took to finish your drink to make his way towards you.

“Don’t look, he’s coming.”

“Oh, he will be,” you smirked, eyes twinkled with excitement as your friends laughed at your slurring words.

Jungkook had noticed your enticing figure entering the club from the very beginning. It was as if a magnet pulled him towards you. He recognised you as soon as he laid eyes on you. How could he not? The cute girl from the laundry room in the daylight turned into an alluring vixen during nighttime. His eyes were drawn to your hips, the curve of your back and the tempting strip of skin he could spy; they were enticing to him. He tried his best to focus on the way your eyes sparkled in delight when one of your friends would make a joke, but when you ran a finger over the rim of your glass tracing delicate patterns, he felt your siren pull.

You smelt him before you felt him, the subtle vanilla enveloping your senses overpowering the scent of sweat from around you. He stopped right behind you, with one hand on the stool next to you; not completely encasing your form, but close enough that you could see his jawline in your periphery. Leaning in under the guise of ordering a drink from the bartender he pulled the stool and sat down. He didn’t address you at first, patiently waiting for his drink, his long fingers tapping the counter in rhythm with the beat. You tried your hardest not to stare at his hands, the art on them fascinating to you: the doodle style art accentuating his knuckles and the veins running tracing all the way up to where his skin hid beneath his shirt. You tried to keep a poised front, talking to your friends as if he was not there, but you could feel the heat of his stares from time to time, goosebumps forming on your skin.

You knew your friends were getting drunker and drunker as time passed, but you’d underestimated them. Soon enough they each scattered around the surface of the club looking for a dance partner. Your friend left you in charge of the drinks they ordered, winking at you suggestively as they left. That meant you were alone. And judging by the way your skin prickled, Jungkook was still seated next to you.

“A gin and tonic, please,” he ordered another drink. You realised now would be the perfect time to not only talk to him, but also repay him for earlier. As the bartender presented him with the bill you turned around and smoothly presented your card to him. “Make it two on the same tab.” you smirk, winking at Jungkook when your eyes met his.

You heard Jungkook laugh at your brazen attitude and you had to admit to yourself, if not for the alcohol you’d had earlier, you would’ve probably walked away. You made direct eye contact with him and smiled.

“Nice to see you again, laundry boy,” you smirked. Jungkook looked taken aback for a second. The image of you in the laundry room is completely erased. What he saw in front of him now was an alluring woman, sure of herself and what she wanted. And she made it clear that she wanted him. Hiding a smirk behind his hand he leans closer to you, his breath fanning the hair stuck at the nape of your neck.

“It’s Jungkook, not 'laundry boy',” he yells over the music. Your shoulders shake with laughter.

“I know, but it is fun to tease you - Jungkook.” He smiled at you, his eyes crinkling in delight. He's caught onto what you were doing and he was ready for it, two could play at this game.

“What’s your name?” You were half expecting him to pull a bad pick up line, the earlier impression that you had of him still engraved into your mind. When he didn't, you smiled, hiding your satisfaction. Maybe he really was worth a 15 and not a 10.

“What, no ‘I didn’t catch it’? No ‘I bet it hurt’? I’m offended, do I not deserve a bad pick up line?” you grinned at him and he burst out laughing, the sound reverberating through you making a shiver run down your spine.

“You got the drinks, pretty girl, there’s no way I can use a pick up line now,” you started laughing earnestly. He was definitely not what you had expected. The muscly tattooed facade was clearly done just for the purpose of aesthetics, and not because he slotted right in with the rest of the douches.

“Fair play, but I did say I was going to pay you back earlier,” you gesture with your head as if to point out which earlier moment you meant.

“I see. This is how you intended to keep your word then” Jungkook said just as the bartender places the drinks in front of you both handing him something. “But as it happens, I am a step ahead of you” he waved a card in front of you. His satisfied smirk made you pause flustered. Realising he’s already given his card to the bartender earlier you blushed.

“That’s not fair, laundry boy” you pout. “Now I have to find another way to repay you” you fumbled with the card the bartender handed over to you struggling to place it back in your clutch.

“I am sure we can find other ways” you paused looking at him. Under normal circumstances you would have found that to be incredibly off putting, but noticing the way he scrutinised you so intensely, no hidden message behind his smoldering gaze you squeezed your thighs together a wave of heat enveloping you.

You took a sip of your drink to mask the deepening blush and cleared your throat. You knew that if you gave him your name you were in for the ride. “It’s Y/N” you took another sip, savouring the taste of the alcohol.

“What?” Jungkook wasn’t expecting you to hand him your name so freely.

“It’s Y/N” you yelled louder and leaned into him thinking he hadn’t heard you because of the music. The waft of your perfume clouds his senses, the smell of cotton and lilac enveloping him. Needing to be closer to you he chanced it and asked you for a dance.

You finished your drink with a gulp and nodded your head. You grabbed his wrist and started making your way through the mob of people. Jungkook couldn’t help but stare at the way your hips swayed to the beat and when you threw him an alluring look over your shoulder he couldn’t help but be lost. He felt like a puppy following your sultry form through the crowd.

You finally stopped in the middle of the dancefloor, your moves more accentuated following the beat of the music. Jungkook stopped a few inches away from you, unsure whether or not he should place his arms around you yet.

You stepped closer to his body, your movement predatory. “Come on laundry boy, you can do better than that. Think of this as part of the payment” you winked at him. You could see the shift in his eyes, a flash of something heavy across his face, his demeanour changing in an instant from uncertain to commanding in a second. He gripped your waist tightly and pulled you flush against him moving along with the beat.

For a second all you could feel and smell was him. His domineering attitude instantly turned you on with the silent promise behind it. “Oh, this is just the beginning” he moved his hands so that his arms encased your waist intending to savour the feeling of you against him. Fully intending to see where this night ended you hooked your fingers into his belt, your bodies so close together they melded into one.

“Bring it on lover boy.”

The oppressive atmosphere of the club was enough to cloud all your senses. The alcohol running through your veins made you braver than you would have ever been. The smirk Jungkook threw at you was almost tantalising. Inviting you to commit sin. And the thought of tasting his lips and running your hands through his hair whilst his breath fanned over your throat was mouth watering. You’d been skirting around each other for the whole night, laughing, drinking, talking, but most importantly eyeing each other up. The last straw for you was when a rogue drink came flying out of nowhere and drenched the two of you. The liquid mixed with his sweat and snaked its way from his temple down to his jaw. You watched as the drops ran lower and lower as if directing your gaze towards his chest. Swallowing thickly you knew that you were a goner. If he’s ask to fuck you right there on the dance floor, you would surrender instantly.

Smirking at your lust filled expression, Jungkook knew he had you where he wanted. He had been staring at your lips for the whole night, entranced at the way the plumpness was enhanced by the sheen from when you’d run the tip of your tongue over them. He was mesmerised. He could also imagine that tongue running over his- he tried to stop himself there, aware that he’d get hard if he kept going in that direction. He could already feel the strain against his pants.

“Another drink?” he offered, and you shook your head at him. Another drink was definitely not what you wanted. What you wanted was him, to kiss you until your lips were raw and to pound into you senselessly until you could hardly remember your name. Were you drunk enough for this? Probably not, but you did not care for once. You wanted to remember this.

Leaning closer to you with the excuse of the loud music, his breath fanned the nape of your neck and the sensitive shell of your ear, making you shiver. “Then what would you like, love?”

There it was, the thousand dollar question. It was now or never. Taking a deep breath in you looked him straight in the eyes with determination. It made Jungkook shiver. You looked fierce and incredibly alluring. It took all the strength he had in him to not shove you on top of the bar and kiss your brains out. “Tell me?” he coaxed you.

He knew what you wanted. You had been obvious for the whole night. But so had he. Throughout your conversation you were undressing each other with your eyes. You noticed the way he couldn’t keep his eyes away from your ass when you would lean over the bar to ask for one more round of drinks.

Under normal circumstances, that thought would have made you nervous. This time it gave you the courage you needed to let yourself go. To switch from being the player to the one played. And if he was the one doing that, you didn’t mind one bit. “I want you” you bit your lip and looked at him from under your eyelashes. His eyes darkened with lust. Mind clouded with desire, he grabbed your wrist tightly and without a word started making his way through the crowd. The roar of the drunken crowd, the smell of sweat and alcohol, and the feel of sticky bodies bumping into you didn’t matter anymore. All your focus was on the way his back muscles moved with every turn of his body. Suddenly a flash of the same back muscles, naked, moving as he towered over you and thrust his hips into yours made your stomach clench and you could feel your panties getting damp. God you wanted him so badly.

Jungkook could see your wistful lust-filled eyes becoming hazier and he sped up the pace. He finally stopped when he reached an empty corridor near the back exit. He would have liked to have more privacy than that, but something about making you beg for him in a public place made his cock twitch in anticipation. He really needed to get a hold of himself otherwise he’d be done before you’d even started.

He tugged at your wrist and lightly pushed you into the wall, he would have taken things a lot slower but your gaze told him to hurry up and take you then and there. And who was he to deny you?

His eyes raked over your body, and a sigh escaped his lips. “Beautiful”. Even though he craved to taste you, he took a moment to appreciate the way your eyes glistened with passion, your chest heaving along with your breaths and your perfume clouding his senses. He wondered if you tasted as sweet as you smelt.

A fistful of your hair in his hands, he pulled you flush against him, until all you could feel were the hard planes of his chest and his hardened member poking at your abdomen causing you to moan, your panties getting wetter.

You whimpered at the sensation as his fingers gripped the sensitive hairs at the back of your skull, goosebumps forming on your skin in anticipation. Expecting him to attack your mouth with the same hunger that was displayed in his eyes you leaned more into him.

You silently begged him to release the coil that had formed in your stomach but he wanted you to beg. His breath fanned the pieces of hair that fell onto your face. The last rebellious piece of you that refused to fall into his clutches. In a desperate attempt to get him to kiss you, touch you - do something, you grabbed tightly onto his biceps relishing in the feel of the muscle tensing underneath your fingers.

“You’re not playing fair laundry boy,” you huff, feeling frustrated over the lack of contact. His laugh, dark, deep and lascivious sent a shiver down your spine.

“Baby girl, that’s not my name” his free hand clasped onto your waist squeezing hard enough to send a jolt through the pit of your stomach all the way down to your heated core. “Jungkook” you whimper and in a last attempt you hook your leg around his thin waist.

“That’s it baby” he lowered the hand on your waist towards your thigh, his fingers leaving an indentation in the skin. Seizing the opening you started grinding your core onto his thigh trying to relieve the ache. His lips ghost over your neck in a tantalizing way, his tongue sweeping over the nape briefly tasting your saltiness. The sensation of his warm tongue on the exposed area of your neck followed by the coldness from the air makes you moan. You could smell his perfume, combined with the musky scent of his sweat and alcohol made your head swim in delight.

“Jungkook, please” , you exposed your neck to him needing more. Rolling your hips into his thigh you could feel the blood pumping underneath your skin, the pleasure overshadowing any rational thought. The friction between your clit and his pants left you breathless, the coil in your stomach getting tighter and tighter ready to unfurl. All of a sudden Jungkook stepped a few inches away, and you lost contact with his leg. Robbed of your release, you instantly whine.

“Mmmm, I can't have you cum on my leg, as much as I would like to see you ride it out on your own. I need to taste you.” he demanded. The hand still supporting your leg inched closer and closer to your dripping cunt. Slipping a cold hand under the hem of your dress his fingers made contact with your heated core causing you to jerk. You yelped, your hips bucking into his hand. Your hands latched tightly onto his shoulders, your fingers digging into them in an attempt to steady yourself. He cupped you through your panties, the heel of his palm pressing into you. Muffling a moan into his shoulder you begged him to touch you more, but he retracted it away from your tender flesh.

“Nuh-uh not yet.” The hand pinched your thigh and you tried not to cry at the feelings bubbling up inside you. You were frustrated and horny, and his taunts were enough to make you crave for more.

“Laundry boy” you warn, staring him dead in the eye.

“Y/N, what did I say about my name” he pulled at the hair he still gripped tightly in his hand. Cradling you close to him he bucks his knee into your core, this time freely offering the friction that you had been yearning for. You whined, the lewd sound echoing in his ear. Your clit on fire, you pressed yourself more into his knee.

“That’s it, moan for me with those pretty lips” gaining a bit of self control you decided it was time for you to step up your game.

“Do you not want to see what else these pretty lips can do?” you licked your lips, your heart racing. Your hooded eyes suggested more than Jungkook would have expected from you.

“Dirty girl” biting his lip before he crashed them onto yours, the contact making your lips smack and your teeth clash. Neither of you care as your tongues intertwine, carrying the battle that your hips are craving. The friction between you caused your whole body to heat up, your senses heightened. You could feel every bit of him against you. The way one hand gripped your thigh and the other pulled at the sensitive hairs at the nape of your neck, the way his tongue roughly caressed yours. He was intoxicating. In the heat of the moment he roughly pushed you into the wall behind you, the force causing you to moan into his mouth.

Jungkook was at the end of his wits, he had to have you now. He needed to taste you, see you unfurl in front of him as he eats you out. Breaking the kiss, your mouth sore, he observed the way your pants made your chest rise up and down, pushing your breasts into him.

Without a word, he attacked your mouth once again for a brief second before he trailed down your jaw to your neck, nipping the sensitive skin in the process. The hand on your thigh reached once more underneath the hem of your dress, this time making its way fully and cupping your dripping core. At the touch of his hand on your sensitive clit your knees buckled and you let your weight onto him, your forehead dropping onto his shoulder for support. You tried to suppress a moan.

“Let it all out baby” his mouth at the shell of your ear, the tip of his tongue trailing the delicate flesh there. “You’re so wet” he moans, “I can't wait to taste you.” His finger dipped under the band of your panties trailing over your center. “So soft” - he sucked your earlobe into his mouth and gave it a small bite - "so wet for me”

This time you couldn’t hold back your moan. The feel of his finger pressed into your folds, parting them and exposing your clit to his ministrations had you squirming. The tip of his finger started drumming in a rhythmic steady fashion on your engorged button. The feel of his lips caressing the sore earlobe relieving the sting from the bite is too much for you. “Jungkook please, I need..” your moans getting louder and louder as the pad of his finger presses harder in an unrelenting tempo.

The hand holding your neck slowly inched towards the swell of your breasts, picking the flesh there until it turned sore. His fingers still attached to your sensitive bud he suddenly drops on his knees in front of you. With his support now gone you try to grip uselessly at the wall behind you. He slots himself between your legs, forcing them to spread open. As he raised the hem of your dress and pushed your panties to the side you couldn’t help but look down. The sight of him between your legs glancing up at you made your knees buckle. With one hand tracing your folds and the other gripping your hip tightly to hold you in place he gives you an uncertain look. “Is this ok Y/N?” his concern for your approval makes your heart melt, but you were too high strung to think about that. You wanted him, and you wanted him now.

“Please” you moan in approval.

With your approval he dived right in, too hungry for your taste. Parting your folds with his fingers he starts by giving you a tentative lick. Being sensitive from his fingers you writhe, your hands desperately clutching at the wall behind you. Savouring the first taste of you he thrums with his finger at your clit. You arched your back, your hands giving up on trying to hold onto the wall. Instead they found their way into his hair, fingers gripping tightly.

Diving back in Jungkook starts lapping earnestly at your folds, his finger still applying pressure onto your sensitive nub. Bucking into his face you suppress a moan. The sensation of his wet tongue prodding at your entrance is too much to take and your knees buckle. Jungkook sensed the shift in your weight and quickly grabbed a hold of your leg, hoisting it over his shoulder. The hand attached to your clit now tightly gripped your calf. The change in position offered the extra support you needed to not fall over.

With your entrance now completely opened to him his tongue started rapidly tracing your folds, only stopping to suck on your clit.

“Jungkook” the overstimulation from his tongue lapping up your wetness and his teeth nipping at the sensitive cluster of nerves is too much to handle, you can feel yourself take over, and Jungkook is more than happy to let you go at your own pace. Grinding over his face, your hands still gripping at his hair, you ride his tongue at your own pace desperate to reach your climax.

You can feel it, you are so close to release you could almost taste it.

Suddenly he entered a finger, knuckle deep into you pumping in and out quickly. Letting your calf go but making sure he is still supporting your weight with his body he leaves you sensitive nub alone and traces kisses along your inner thigh, up to your navel. The dress now obscuring other parts of you he gets up, his finger still deep in you, drawing pleasurable mewls out of your mouth.

“That’s it baby girl, tell me what you need” he is panting in your ear now. With the taste of you still lingering on his tongue and the sight of you coming undone from his ministrations makes him harder than he’s ever been. He felt uncomfortable under the constraints of his pants, the zip digging painfully.

“I need you to fuck me” you finally moan, your hips grinding against him chasing for that sweet release.

“I need you to come for me first baby, I need to see your pretty face when you cum all over my fingers” swiftly he changes fingers, his thumb now drumming at your sensitive clit. You gasp as a finger teases your entrance for a brief second before it penetrates your pussy.

The loud sounds coming from the club were not enough to drown out the lewd sounds that your wet pussy was making whilst Jungkook’s finger pistoned into you. The shot fire along with the shameless sounds you were making were enough to make the tight coil in your belly unfurl. With a deep loud moan you bit Jungkook’s shoulder in an attempt to muffle the yell that was threatening to spill out of your lips. Your muscles clenching in tandem with your core. Jungkook felt your cunt clamping his fingers tightly and a low grunt escaped past his lips. He could almost imagine how wet and tight you would be around him.

“That’s it beautiful, let go”

Your hips carried on buckling, chasing the high and wishing it would not stop. Jungkook took his time observing how your head fell down and your mouth opened slightly in a silent satisfied scream, how your eyes scrunched up as if you were trying to cut off all your senses apart from the feeling of his fingers in you. You were beautiful. When at last your muscles relaxed and your high subsided a low sigh fell out of your lips. It has been a long time since someone has made you cum like that with just their fingers. Jungkook’s finger still lazily traced your clit, the overstimulation too much for you to handle.

“Jungkook '' you whined trying to back away from him but the tight grip on your waist wasn’t allowing you to move more than a few inches away. Without a word Jungkook pulled his hand out of your panties and let go of you. Your knees still weak from your climax you struggle to stand up right and you end up having to lean into him slightly for support. The sight of him licking his fingers coated in your juices sets you on fire once more.

“You’re beautiful when you cum Y/N.” Somehow, his words made you blush. The lewd act that you both partook in had failed to make you blush, instead what made you self conscious was the way he gazed at you. It was softer and more intense and it made your stomach clench once more. If not for the obscene act in the deserted corridor of a club, you might’ve actually entertained the idea that he cared.

You smiled shyly at him and in that moment he was swept away by the warmth expanding from his chest. You were indeed beautiful. And witty, and smart, and you liked to do your laundry. What more could he want? Cupping your face, he kissed you once more, slowly and with purpose. You gasped, you were not used to this gentle Jungkook. Taking the opportunity to pull you closer once more, his tongue mapped every inch of your mouth.

“Fuck me now please” you whisper against his lips. Your hand on his belt moved slowly over the bulge in his pants. He bucked into your touch at the feel of your fingers wrapping around him as much as you could with his pants still on.

“Y/N” he warns. If you carried on that way he would definitely come in his pants. Rubbing him slowly, you could feel his member harden even more under your touch.

“Is it uncomfortable babe?” you whisper in his ear. “How about I return the favour?” you unzip his pants prepared to lower yourself to the floor but he grabs your shoulders keeping you in place.

As much as he would have liked to feel those soft lips around him, he knew that if anyone were to bump into you two, it would not be good. The club was full of students going to the same university as you. If they were to find you on your knees blowing him it would instantly kill your reputation. He did not want that to happen.

“Not here” he zips his pants back up and grabs your hand gently. After all that had transpired between you this soft almost domestic treatment is not what you were expecting. Once again the warm feeling in your heart returned, and this time you were a bit more sober. He was cute, and somehow you found his duality endearing. He returned to being laundry boy Jungkook instead of the dominant Jungkook you’ve just witnessed.

You walked through the club, his hand still gripping you tightly as if he was afraid he’ll lose you in the crowd. Once you reached the outside you took a deep breath in relishing in the way the fresh air soothed your heated skin. Glancing up at Jungkook you noticed he was on his phone texting someone.

“I am texting my friends to let them know I have left,” he explained, putting his phone back in his pocket, smiling at you. The contrast of his lust-filled gaze from before and his gleeful smile almost gave you a whiplash. He was such a contradiction that you couldn’t help but be intrigued by him.

“And I ordered an Uber” as soon as he’d said that a car pulled over right in front of you. The ride back to the campus was a quiet one. It wasn’t an uncomfortable quietness though, having chatted about anything and everything in the club you were content to just put your thoughts in order. You noticed that he had not let go of your hand once during that time but with his gaze out the window, his face thoughtful you could not bear to say anything. Plus, you were enjoying the feel of his smooth hands holding yours.

As the car pulled up in front of the dorm you both shared a glance, an understanding passing in between the two of you.

Once inside the fire inside you sparked up again. Grabbing at each other, your mouths hungrily clashing, you stumbled all the way to the elevator. It was late enough that no one would see you two messily making your way to your room. As soon as you entered the lift and separated to press the correct button you finally remembered what you’d forgotten. If you were a bit more sober you would have laughed at the hilarity of the situation.

Your face fell. “The laundry” you whined in distress. Jungkook’s mouth fell. He threw you a panicked look thinking that you’d changed your mind. One glance at you was enough to tell him that you were panicking in earnest.

“What happened to the laundry?” his hand hovering over the lift buttons unsure of what to do.

“I forgot to put the laundry in the dryer!” you looked at him with such drunken despair he had to hold his laughter in. He did not want to offend you by laughing in your face. You were sober enough to not slur your words, but clearly not sober enough to process your own feelings.

“Let's get that done then.” He decided that as much as he liked your witty self, as well as you in the throes of passion, he adored this side of you too; your guard down, emotions on display. It made his heart swell thinking that you were entrusting him with your vulnerabilities.

You rushed ahead of him entering the laundry room, not paying attention to anything but the lone machine still loaded with your clothes. You quickly opened it, the smell of clean cotton wafting around you.

“Let me help.” Jungkook grabbed the pile of clothes you were holding and moved them into the dryer next to him. As soon as everything was loaded in you turned to smile at him. The panic in your eyes now replaced by the same hunger that governed your mind earlier, you grab him forcefully, clashing your mouth against his. Your hips slammed together in an attempt to ride the pleasure from before. Jungkook, not having expected you to be so forceful, moaned into your mouth and instantly hardened against your hip bone. The quiet of the laundry room was filled with the sounds of your pants as you continued to kiss. In the heat of the moment, Jungkook places his hands on your ass, hoisting you up on the laundry machine behind you. The position allowed your hips to align perfectly, the pressure of his dick now directly onto your clit. Before you could go further Jungkook stopped and looked at you.

“You need to start the dryer,” with the last of his restraints he motioned to the still machine. You glare at him, this being the second time he cockblocks you and himself. But his gaze was unwavering. You sighed and leaned away from him, reaching for the top of the dryer as well as you could still atop of the laundry machine. “Whatever you say laundry boy.”

After pressing down on the start button, you’re quick to return to kissing him. But the quietness of the room seemed odd to you. The dryer had not started. Confused, you look at it again, certain that you pressed the right button. Pressing it once more you wait this time. The dryer stayed still.

The chaotic emotions from before enveloped you again and this time you could feel tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “Y/N, what’s wrong?” Jungkook is throwing you a worried look, not having expected the sight of your tears.

“It’s not started! It’s broken!” you exclaim tears pooling barely hanging onto your bottom lashes. You pushed him gently aside and hopped off the laundry machine. “Why has it not started?”

The desperate look you gave him paired with the knowledge that the machine was not doing what you wanted because you had not paid makes him crack and start laughing. You gape at his bunny smile and crinkly eyes offended until the silliness of the situation catches up to you and you can’t help but join.

“I have never cried over a broken dryer before. Or been cockblocked by one” you glance at him, mirth in both your eyes.

“And you better not start now” he warns you jokingly. You stare at each other for a second before you burst out laughing again.

He can’t help but be enamoured by you and your silliness. Even though the night had not gone as you’d both planned. You both crying in laughter over a dryer makes him think that maybe there was something more there than a one night stand. And he was more than ready to give it a try.

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star-spangledstud · 3 years

Text

MIND GAMES - TWO

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Steve suggests dinner with the team. You find out you hate lying.

Warnings: angst, mentions of violence, anxiety

Note: Wanna be tagged in future chapters? Shoot me a message :)

SERIES MASTERLIST.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER.

A hail of half-empty wine glasses, trail mix and playing cards fly around the room when the coffee table they were stood on is flipped upside down. Your back hits the carpet with a dull thud, followed soon after by the back of your head. You wince loudly, hand reaching immediately for the base of your skull to relieve the throbbing pain that will no doubt leave you with a menacing headache for days to come.

The men in black, whose faces are nothing but a swirl of flesh tones in your peripheral, grab you by each ankle while you try to recover from your fall. They shout in a foreign language as glass shatters somewhere in one of the other rooms. Then, the sound of open gunfire and the scent of smoke and gunpowder pervade the air. You’re screaming, kicking your feet and flailing your arms wildly while they drag you along the floor, but the sound of your voice is drowned out by the shouting and the guns.

Glass and trailmix accumulate in your hair when they drag you across the room, and small pieces cut the back of your arms and legs. You’re crying, you can tell because your cheeks are warm and wet, and the tears flowing from your eyes mix with the blood of your dead family as they run down the length of your face.

The good thing is you know you’re having a bad dream, but the problem is that you’ve seen this scene unfold so many times that you’re not sure whether the memory of what happened is real or not.

You’ve seen the scene play out well over one hundred times in your sleep. Red liquid flies through the air in slow motion, your assailants shove their weapons in your face, you try to run away but feel nailed to the ground. You’ve experienced it so many times, and have attempted to change what happens in so many instances. Still, whatever you do, the ending is always the same.

The faces of the men responsible for the murder of your family are blurry, not because you hit your head so hard you can’t see straight, but because you don’t remember what they look like. Their features are warped beyond recognition, and no matter how hard you try to focus on the words spilling from their mouths, you can’t identify any of what they’re saying. It almost sounds like you’re underwater.

In the dream, you try to remember where you are, but your immediate surroundings change every time. Sometimes the coffee table is glass, sometimes it’s wood. The wallpaper shows a different pattern each time you look at it, and the dead bodies scattered all around the room have the same undefined features as your assailants. The only thing that remains the same is the feeling of absolute hopelessness and terror as they drag you away to an unmarked aeroplane that takes you somewhere in Eastern Europe.

Poland, maybe. You can’t remember, even though you came to spend the next seven years of your life there.

Nearly every one of these dreams is the same. It’s just you, watching scenes of your life unfold through a thick curtain of smoke that hides the most distinct, essential details. A large, gaping black hole has been punched through the part of your brain responsible for the production of memories. No matter how hard you try to fill in the blank spaces, it proves to be absolutely impossible.

Whatever HYDRA did to erase your memories, it worked.

It’s hard to think straight when you wake up in the middle of the night, images of the dream you just had still playing before your eyes. You hoped that getting further away from the people that created those dreadful memories would allow the pictures to go away. Yet, as you sit up straight in bed, chest heaving up and down in rapid motions, you know they followed you even here, like a thundercloud continuously looming over you.

As your first week in the compound comes to a close, you find yourself slowly getting settled into your new home. With Steve practically following you around every chance he gets, the two of you take the time exploring the entire building from top to bottom. He shows you the library, the garage, the gym and the lab, and promises to take you to the theatre the next time the team hosts a movie night.

You don’t tell him you haven’t seen a single movie in years, but the words are on the tip of your tongue while he rattles on about 21st century flicks he was forced to watch and ended up really loving.

When the two of you walk along the corridors of the compound, it’s mostly him who talks while you do the listening. You don’t mind it. It gives you time to think. While he speaks, you find yourself trying to dissect the inside of his mind. Still, no matter how hard you listen, all that comes up is silence. It’s odd not to be distracted by a second voice in your head. You’re not used to the simplicity of not having to focus on what’s coming from the other person’s mouth instead of what’s coming from their thoughts.

Each day that passes, Steve introduces you to a new member of the team. The first person you come across is Sam Wilson, who you find running on the treadmill two days after your arrival. He immediately takes a liking to you, and you end up chatting for nearly an hour straight. His thoughts are almost deafening, but his sense of humour makes up for his internal volume.

By the time Saturday rolls around, you find yourself able to chat comfortably with everyone you’ve met so far. Even Tony Stark, who appears at first to be quite wary of your presence despite giving you a place to stay, engages in conversation with you over a cup of black coffee. It’s relatively easy to befriend people when you can see straight through them, especially when they aren’t aware of your abilities.

Still, it’s odd how easily all of them have accepted you into their little bubble.

“Are you okay?”

Unease blooms in the pit of your stomach when you realize you’ve been quiet for nearly fifteen minutes, and your palms instantly begin to sweat.

“Yeah,” you quickly conjure up a smile, “just thinking.”

“About what? If you don’t mind me asking,” Steve asks softly.

“I don’t know,” you tell him truthfully, “I feel like this is all very weird.”

Sam raises a brow, “What do you mean?”

“You guys don’t even really know me,” you remind him, “and you’re giving me shelter. I’m just having trouble wrapping my head around all of this.”

“We’ve read your file,” Steve bites his lower lip, “letting you in was a collective decision, made by all of us.”

Sam nods in agreement, arms crossed tight over his chest.

Wondering what exactly is written in this so-called file, you chuckle dryly, “no offence guys, but I think that file might be missing a few important details.”

Steve blushes, “a lot of it was blacked out. Look, maybe we should all come together tonight, have dinner or something. You can tell us more about yourself if you want.”

“Yeah,” Sam exclaims, “good idea, cap.”

Your heart picks up, pushing your pulse while you slowly nod your head, “sure.”

“Great,” Steve steps towards his own room and places his palm on the fingerprint scanner, “we’ll let everybody know.”

Sam turns around and heads for his own room. You quickly disappear into the safety of your bedroom and slam the door shut a little too hard in the process.

“Crap,” you mutter to yourself, “fuck!”

You are not looking forward to this.

“What do you mean, you’ve never heard of Asgard?!”

Thor’s voice booms over the sound of clinking cutlery and laughter. You slowly lift your shoulders before taking a large sip of water, allowing the cold beverage to relieve the tension in the back of your throat.

It’s hard to keep all the buzzing internal monologues in the back of your mind, and it takes a moment for you to center yourself before you can answer Thor’s burning question.

“I’m sorry,” you say quickly, “I just never had a chance to read up on Norse mythology. Please forgive me. I’m sure it’s a beautiful place.”

It is beautiful, Thor pouts, I miss it.

“I’m sure you miss it very much,” you add quickly, to which he smiles sadly.

“Don’t listen to him,” Tony smirks, “he has a big ego and a tiny brain.”

You nearly choke on your water when he winks in your direction. You roll your shoulders to rid yourself of the tension building in your muscles and prepare yourself for the direction the conversation is headed next.

“So, Y/N,” Tony continues, “how do you know Fury?”

Of course you knew he was going to ask this. He’s been thinking about it for the last fifteen minutes. Still, heat rises to your cheeks when you place your glass down, and you push a few stray strands of hair from your face and tuck them behind your ear. Your heart is pounding now, but in a room full of enhanced people, including some of the world’s best spies, you know better than to allow yourself to freak out.

Steve, who’s seated right next to you, shifts in his seat. The action, albeit hardly noticeable, startles you anyway, and your eyes fly in his direction out of reflex. You think he looks nice, dressed in a cream colored sweater with his hair swooped to one side, and in a fit of insanity, you’re tempted to compliment him and ignore Tony all together.

“I don’t actually,” you say slowly, “My mom did, before she passed away. They knew each other before SHIELD was even a thing, when they were still young.”

“So how’d you get his number?” Clint questions.

“My mom gave it to me be before she died, told me to call it if I ever needed help.”

“What’d you need help for?” he continues.

“Clint, that’s enough-” Steve says before you can answer.

“No, it’s okay,” you gently touch his arm, “my family got caught up with the wrong people a long time ago. Since the death of my mother tensions have only gotten worse. Fury offered me a place to stay while I wait for things to settle down.”

“What kind of people?” Natasha asks while she lays her fork down.

“I think Fury can tell you more about that than I can,” you take a bite of your potatoes, “my mom did her best to shelter me.”

Your gaze flies back and forth between Natasha and Steve, and you begin to pray that she out of everyone at this table believes your story. You’re hyper aware of every move you make, and the tension in the air is almost too much for you to bear.

The crease between Steve’s brows and his hunched shoulders make you more uncomfortable. You read the room to make sure they believe you, before picking up your glass and taking another sip of water. Slowly, the conversation dies down, and you’re left with shallow breathing and red cheeks by the time Tony and Sam begin a discussion about a video game they were playing last night.

“Are you okay?”

Steve’s voice is soft in your ear. The unmistakable hint of concern is evident in its tone when it breaks through your thoughts, and you quickly nod as to not alarm him any further.

When you walk back to your room later that evening, you can’t ignore the painful twist in your stomach. Your hands are tightened into fists by the time you enter your dorm, and the need to swallow away the lump in your throat is nearly overbearing. You could never tell them you used to work for HYDRA, not in a million years. They would cast you out immediately, send your ass to the curb or lock you away in a federal prison for the rest of your life before they’d let you get away with it.

You didn’t think lying to people you hardly know could hurt this much.

NEXT CHAPTER.

Taglist:

@foxyjwls007 @littlegasps @hurricane-abigail @idk123906

#Steve Rogers #marvel masterlist #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x oc #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #captain america #captain america fic #captain america imagine #captain america imagines #cap #Marvel writing #marvel fic #marvel #chris evans imagine #chris evans x reader #chris evans #jammywrites

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luxekook · 4 years

Text

THE SEVEN || prologue

⇥ pairing: ot7 x reader

⇥ genre: supernatural au with action, angst, smut, and (trace amounts of) fluff

⇥ summary: a series in which the reader fights to survive, attracts a powerful group of demons, and causes general mayhem in a post-apocalyptic new world

⇥ word count: 1.5k

⇥ warnings: nc17, *this fic has scenes of graphic violence*, demons, bloodshed, anarchy, general apocalyptic things, cursing, eventual poly relationship, a made-up language, hints of desire to own, brief mention of abuse, an attempt at world-building

⇥ beta reader: heathy @shadowsremedy - thank u so much!!! i was holding off on beginning this fic for so long, and you really helped me move forward! uwu<3

Prologue

The world has completely gone to shit, I think to myself as my blade slices right through my opponent’s eye. The responding roar of the crowd reinforces that thought as the lifeless body slumps to the ground.

Removing my bloodied knife from the man at my feet, I stand, exhaustion kicking in after yet another adrenaline-fueled fight. Gazing out at the surrounding crowd of humans and demons, I narrow my sights on tonight’s guests of honor – the seven demons who would decide if my performance was deemed worthy enough of payment.

Raising my chin in defiance, my eyes meet those of the pompous greed demon of the Ahgase Seven. Lim Jaebeom lounges on a provisional throne flanked by his six brothers. Their combined beauty is ethereal but leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

How is it that creatures so prone to evil can be so lovely to look at?

After glancing briefly at each brother, I finally make eye contact with Jackson Wang, the Ahgase’s pride demon. He inclines his head with a satisfied smirk, simultaneously permitting my payment and ordering my swift dismissal.

The callous disregard of my efforts never fails to ignite a familiar burn of fury within me. I fight to the death to earn a week’s worth of food and shelter, and all I get is a fucking nod in response? Complete and utter bullshit if you ask me.

My teeth grind together as I give the slightest and stiffest bow possible in the Ahgase Seven’s general vicinity and stalk out of the Pit. Reminding myself that I actively choose this fate never really helps, given that the alternatives are equally as shit – if not more-so.

Basically, since the planet lost three-fourths of its population in the Reaping, the old capitalistic way of the world is no longer. Now, the main ways to survive deal with what you have to offer as a resource – your body, your skill, your labor, your loyalty. I choose to fight because, for me, it’s the soundest option.

My prior life had been sketchy at best. I had taught Krav Maga, a form of aggressive self-defense and reflexive fighting, to teens and young adults. I also had used Krav Maga (and other more nefarious methods) on abusive parents or guardians, bullies, or romantic partners - the very reasons my students came to my classes.

My resulting ambiguously gray background probably had influenced heaven and hell’s decisions to leave me behind. Still, killing hadn’t come easy for me in the beginning, but now it seems like second nature. In this new era, there are no rules, no moral codes, no winners, no losers. There are only survivors.

And I’ll be damned if I am not one of them.

Last year, the Reaping left us all in chaos and confusion. The supernatural had become natural. Heaven took those deemed worthy and let Hell deal with the rest. But, as it turns out, Hell was just as picky.

For a few days, demons ruthlessly reaped millions of humans and dragged them below the earth. And then the reaping stopped. The humans that remained were left with burned cities, abandoned homes and a complete absence of law. They were a ruthless bunch with questionable backgrounds and ambiguous morals. It honestly made sense that they were left behind – myself included.

The short period after the Reaping brought with it a general mayhem which resulted in looting, fires, and general destruction. The remainder of society was bare-boned, with only the richest areas having luxuries like running water and electricity. I referred to this time period – the lull before the demon Sevens took over – as the pseudo-Hunger Games. I legit had to pull a full Katniss Everdeen in order to stay alive during those two weeks.

Then, finally, the demons rose again.

The demons that rose were power-hungry and desperate to prove themselves worthy to rule over the New Earth. They looked human until you got too close and felt the negative energy that emanated from them. It's almost a built-in warning for those lower on the metaphorical food-chain not to get close to a source of potential harm.

By possessing a demon of each sin category, Sevens were able to bond together and max out their powers. Often, Sevens took on courts and consorts to siphon additional power, but my intel on demons was mostly built on speculation and rumors. The general consensus seemed to be that humans joined demon factions because of the promise of protection, food, and other resources. However, no one usually survived leaving a faction led by a Seven once they had declared fealty.

I vowed to never willingly enter into a Seven’s territory. My freedom and independence were the only things I had left to hold onto. And that was how I ended up in my current situation as a fighter in the Pit, the rough, man-made arena where fighters battle to the death for winnings while the audience bets furiously on their selected victor. No one had bet on me at first, but they learned quickly.

The Pit’s existence sprung out of desperation for distraction. Humans and demons alike needed some form of entertainment away from the monotony and death embedded within everyday life. Located within the Neutral Zone, the Pit provided humans the ability to earn a living and to make a name for themselves. Those that fought in the Pit were only lower on the human totem pole to the Pit Master and to the merchants in the Neutral Zone. Below the fighters were the scavengers, the workers, the peasants, and the lost.

Marching towards the exit gate, I nod to the next competitor to enter the arena – it might be the last I’d see of them. Pit Master Agra greets me as I step through the gate’s threshold and finally out of the public eye.

“Good work,” she forces a smile that only looks like she’s in pain, “But, next time make sure there’s more blood.”

I say nothing.

Agra takes my silence as acceptance and jerks her head at the empty hallway, indicating my second dismissal of the day. “You have one week until your next fight,” she predictably calls as I make my way down the tunnel towards my makeshift room located in the fighters’ dorms.

I wave a hand carelessly behind me in a sign of recognition. Damn, what I wouldn’t give to challenge her in the Pit.

Pausing outside my room, I struggle to unhook my necklace that held my key. The blood on my fingers still has not fully dried, and I grow increasingly frustrated. I just want to bathe, goddamnit.

“Allow me,” a deep voice purrs from behind me. I shudder as two hands suddenly brush my own away from their hold on the necklace. Warm fingers brush the nape of my neck as the sound of a slight inhale meets my ears.

Fuck, I hope this person isn’t smelling me because I am almost certain the combination of sweat and dried blood is extremely unpleasant.

“There,” the voice rasps, “All done.”

My necklace is gone from my neck, and I turn to retrieve it from whoever just assisted me.

“Oh, fuck,” I hiss, taking in the demon before me. His teal hair is wild and reminiscent of a blue flame. His black eyes are large and slanted, fixed on me with a peculiar expression I just cannot place. His clothes are expensive. I peer closer, inspecting the intricate details on his patterned top. Was that Versace?

In this economy?

His arm extends to mine. My necklace dangles from one finger carelessly. “Here, mì shaìà (my pet).”

“My name is (y/n),” I grab the necklace and shudder when our fingers brush for a split second, “Not Mishaeya.”

The demon smiles. It’s large and boxy and completely predatory. “(Y/n). Mì shaìà. It doesn’t make a difference.”

Am I missing something?

“Listen, demon-dude, I just killed someone like five minutes ago. Can you stop being cryptic and just tell me why you’re lurking outside my room?”

“Ah, yes,” he stalks closer to me. My back hits the door to my room. He licks his lips, “I was watching you. You are quite the fighter, little one.”

“Little?” I glance down at my thick and well-muscled self, “Mhm, okay.”

“Are you not scared of me, mì shaìà?” His hand cups my chin, thumb darting out to wipe some blood from the shallow cut across my cheek.

“Should I be?” I front like my heart isn’t beating out of my chest.

“Yes,” he smiles before sucking the droplets of my blood from his thumb. “Surely someone as exquisite as you should need protecting. I’m surprised no one owns you yet, (y/n).”

My back straightens, “No one owns me. No one ever will.”

The demon’s head tilts as he silently studies me for a few moments. He looks like he almost wants to say something before he steps back and bows. “Sleep well, mì shaìà. I will be seeing you again.”

I gape as he walks away from me. A thought strikes me. “Hey!” I call after him, “What’s your name?”

He answers without looking back or breaking his stride, “V.”

a/n: i made up Deìthi, the language that the demons use in this story. i will keep a running list of translations at the bottom of each chapter as well as putting initial translations in parentheses following the first usage of the word.

Deìthi (The Language of Demons) Translation List:

Mì shaìà - My pet

#bangtanhq #btswriterscollective #kwritersworldnet #bangtanarmynet #btswritingcafe #btsbookclub #180knet #hyunglinenetwork #bts #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts x reader #ot7 x reader #bts au

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radishaur · 4 years

Note

If the zuko requests are still open, may I request hcs or a short story (whatever you prefer) of zuko x artist reader where he first joins the gang and the reader wants to show support to him but they’re way too shy and awkward so they just secretly give him drawings to cheer him up or offer advice?? Maybe he has a crush on them but thinks they too don’t trust him yet? I just had this general idea. You could totally change stuff up if you’d like :)

“Sorry! I was the person who just asked the artist reader! I didn’t put a gender but maybe female? The reader could be a nonbender if that’s fine? Sorry about that :)”

Absolutely! I love the artist trope so much. Some of my favorite Zuko fics have had the reader as an artist. I hope I meet your expectations! I may have gotten carried away but oops. I just love this trope.

- Zoe

•••

Drawings (Zuko x Reader)

Warnings: None

Genre: Fluff

Part: 1/1

Summary: See Request

•••

“Hello, Zuko here.”

As soon as we heard his voice, everybody sprung into action. Well, everybody except me. Toph, Katara, and Aang got into bending positions and Sokka prepared to throw his boomerang. I stood slightly off to the side in shock.

He looked different than the last time I had seen him. It seemed to be a pattern. Each time I saw him after a while, he always had a new hairstyle and seemed more....himself. He seemed like a completely different person than the angry ponytail adorning teenager that had invaded the Northern Water Tribe.

That was the first time I had seen him. I unknowingly helped him by saving him from drowning. I had pulled him out from under the ice in a drain pipe on the day of the siege. He wasn’t wearing Fire Nation clothing then, so I didn’t know better until I saw him fighting Katara and capturing Aang. I felt so bad about almost dooming the world to eternal hell that I left the tribe to join them on their adventures.

The next time I saw him was when his Uncle was hit and then later in Ba Sing Se. I was shocked to see him serving tea in the lower ring of an Earth Kingdom town, but I didn’t rat him out. Instead, I took to sketching him. I would sit outside the shop and look in through the windows. His hair was longer now and I couldn’t deny how handsome he was. Without the ponytail I had a hard time denying it.

And now, as he stood here in the temple, I saw the next version of him. The Zuko with longer hair and a deeply rooted regret. He was shy and awkward, much like he had been in Ba Sing Se, but this time he wasn’t confused. He didn’t look like he was fighting any inner battles anymore. He just looked hopeful. Hopeful that he could change the path he chose for himself.

It wasn’t until I heard him say my name that I realized I hadn’t been listening.

“You saved my life in the Northern Water Tribe. And you didn’t rat me out in Ba Sing Se when you found out I was there. You had to have seen something good in me,” he pleaded.

“You knew he was there?! And you didn’t say anything?!” Katara yelled angrily, sending a glare in my direction.

I hung my head in guilt before looking back up at Zuko. My heart ached seeing the expression he wore, but I knew I was already in hot water.

“I’m sorry Zuko. If they don’t trust you then neither do I,” I said before turning and walking away.

I didn’t want to stay. I knew exactly what would happen if I did. I wouldn’t be able to watch him walk away without insisting they were wrong about him. My mother used to say my unwavering trust in people was both a blessing and a curse. I see now that she was right.

Katara stayed angry at me for the rest of the day. I didn’t blame her. Even I still felt guilty that I had kept it a secret after he betrayed us. Although I guess you can’t really betray a side you were never on. Nevertheless it still stung.

Just as I had come to terms with the fact that Zuko would never be a part of the team, he managed to save us from Combustion Man. Aang agreed to have Zuko as his teacher after the group agreed he could stay. Secretly, I was glad they had changed their minds. I knew that it would take a long time for them to get used to him being around though, so I decided to try and do something small to make him feel less alone.

After everybody went to sleep, I decided to draw him a picture of his Uncle. I had seen him frequently when I was outside the tea shop. My memory was a little bit rough on the details but I hoped that he would look similar enough. I ripped the paper out of my sketchbook and slipped it under his door.

The next morning, he seemed to be a little bit brighter which made me smile. After that it ended up becoming routine. Everybody would go to sleep and I would slip him another drawing. Sometimes I would shove them under his door, sometimes I would stuff it into his bag of stuff, and sometimes I would leave it somewhere I knew he would find it. Each time, he would always look a little happier afterwards.

It wasn’t until we were on Ember Island that my little secret became not so secret.

I had never told any of the gang that I could draw. I mean it seemed like such a useless talent compared to their bending. Even Sokka knew how to fight with a sword. When it came to fighting I was a complete waste. I couldn’t bend and I had never learned how to defend myself. The Northern Water Tribe had a strict rule about women learning how to fight: they didn’t.

It wasn’t until we were sitting out around a campfire that the fact I could draw was even discussed. Everybody had been going around the circle and sharing a secret. When it got to me, I shrugged it off.

“I don’t really have any secrets. I’m pretty boring,” I said.

“That’s such a lie! I know you have at least one secret,” Sokka said, a cheeky grin on his face.

“W-What?” I asked, my heart racing slightly.

“I’ve seen your sketchbook. You’re an amazing artist,” he continued, acting all casual.

“Sokka!” I exclaimed, a blush now breaking out across my face.

“You can draw?” Zuko asked in shock.

He seemed to be connecting the dots in his head and I wanted nothing more than to dig myself into the ground and disappear. I just hoped they didn’t-

“I wanna see it!” Aang said gleefully.

I just hoped they didn’t ask to see it.

“I really don’t want to-“ I began to reply before Katara cut me off.

“I bet it’s in her stuff!” she called out before shooting up and going to grab my stuff off of Appa.

I felt my heart drop into my stomach.

“No!” I yelled out, running after her.

If they looked at it I would die on the spot. Not only would Zuko realize that I was the one giving him drawings, but they would all see the million sketches I had of him as well. Oh boy, there were a lot. Technically I had sketched all of them, but Zuko took up about half the sketchbook. It would be mortifying for them to figure out I had a massive crush on him.

“I found it!” Katara said as she held the sketchbook in her hands.

“Give me that,” I said, snatching the book out of her hands before holding it tightly to my chest.

“Oh, come onnnnn,” Sokka begged, coming closer to try and grab it from me.

I hastily avoided him and continued clutching the sketchbook for dear life.

“Guys, maybe we should leave it,” Zuko said, clearly not wanting to escalate the situation.

Little did he know why I was actually protecting this sketchbook so heavily. He probably thought it was just because I didn’t want them to see my art. Which, technically I didn’t, but not because I thought it was bad. I gulped as Sokka began cornering me.

“Y/N please,” Aang pleaded, standing next to Sokka, “We promise not to judge! We just wanna see!”

“I really don’t think that’s such a good idea,” I responded, shifting the book behind me.

I gasped when I felt the book get ripped from my grasp. I turned around to see Katara, smiling victoriously as she brought the book out by the campfire. Sokka and Aang ran over to her.

I dragged my hands down my face. I’m sure it was about as red as a tomato at this point. Is this what it felt like to die? I watched them from my position a few feet away, too scared to move.

“Hey, these are amazing!” Aang said.

I couldn’t help but catch Zuko’s gaze. The recognition in his eyes made it clear he knew I was the one slipping him drawings. I felt my face burn in embarrassment. And this wasn’t even the worst part.

I stayed rooted to the ground as the gang flipped through the pages. The beginning of the sketchbook was just drawings of the Northern Water Tribe. Then, it morphed into drawings of all of the gang minus Toph. Not that she could even see. She was still sitting on the log bench, not invested in the situation at all.

The next pages had some sketches of Zuko with his ponytail, mixed with some sketches of the oasis. They were still just complimenting the drawings, oblivious to the horror the next few pages would cause me. Eventually, it moved into drawings of our travels across the Earth Kingdom and Toph began to appear.

After that was the pages I was dreading. The first few drawings were of Ba Sing Se. Innocent drawings of beautiful buildings and random citizens. But then it turned into Zuko. Pages upon pages of Zuko and his Uncle in the tea shop. They all got quiet as they continued flipping. Mixed in with Zuko and his Uncle were some few other sketches, but it was clear that Zuko had become the focus of the sketches.

I couldn’t bear to look at them. I could only imagine their expressions. If they hadn’t figured out by now why Zuko was the center of my drawings, they would as they kept going.

The next sketches were of some of the Fire Nation villages we had stayed in. But after that, there Zuko was again. And this time they would definitely know. Some of my sketches were accompanied by scrawled notes on the side. A random look how cute he is or he looked so hot training with Aang today scribbled next to the sketches. The silence was so thick it could be cut with a knife.

“Y/N, I-“ Sokka started, clearly feeling guilty for bringing up my secret talent now.

“Don’t” I hissed, finally sending a glare his way.

I hadn’t even realized I was crying until I felt the taste of salt brush my lips. I wiped my tears angrily as they all sat there silently.

“Y/N-“ he tried again.

“I said don’t!” I screamed before storming off to my room.

I slammed the door behind me and made sure to lock it before I slide to the floor. I held a hand to my mouth to muffle the sobs that were now escaping me. This was my worst nightmare. How had everything gone to shit so fast.

•••

Y/N had run off and I was stuck to my seat. I couldn’t stop looking at her sketches. They way she drew me felt like I was looking in the mirror. It was like watching my transformation as a person with my own two eyes.

“Guys, we really messed up,” Sokka said, still feeling guilty for instigating the situation.

“I had no idea....I just thought she was self conscious of her talent,” Katara said quietly.

“What do we do?” Aang asked.

“You’re the Avatar! You’re supposed to know how to solve this,” Sokka exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air.

I wasn’t listening. I wasn’t even sure I could hear them. I flipped the next few pages and my thoughts were confirmed when I saw that there were a few pages ripped out of the back. I pulled one of her drawings out of my pocket and unfolded it, placed the ripped edge into the book. It was a perfect match.

“Zuko, what are you doing? You shouldn’t rip pages out of her book,” Katara scolded, reaching down to snatch the book away from me.

“I didn’t. She’s been giving me drawings. Look,” I explained, pulling out another of her drawings from my pocket, “Ever since I joined you guys at the temple I’ve been getting drawings. I didn’t know who it was, but....”

I handed the drawings over to them. One of them was of my Uncle. Another one was of my duel swords. Another of a tiny dragon. They ranged from simple tiny sketches to full blown detailed drawings.

As they looked them over, I couldn’t help but let my fingers trace a drawing of me in her book. I was smiling and looking off into the distance at something. Under it, in her neat scribbled handwriting was written: the first time he’s smiled :).

“I can’t believe she likes me,” I whispered.

I didn’t expect them to hear me, but they all stopped. I blushed slightly when I noticed them all looking at me. Katara looked furious.

“Listen here. You don’t have to like her back, but don’t you dare say anything to her that will break her heart,” she threatened, her eyes glaring into me.

“N-No! I......like her back.....actually,” I admitted, looking back at the sketches in her book.

I saw the three of them look at Toph, who had been sitting silently on the log the entire time.

“He’s not lying,” she said.

It was after a few moments of silence that I finally spoke again.

“I think I should go talk to her,” I suggested, standing up with her sketchbook in hand.

“Good luck,” Aang said, giving me an assuring smile as I walked inside.

I didn’t know what I was going to say. I didn’t know where to even start. There were a millions things I could say to her and none of them would be good enough. Instead, I found myself standing outside of her door in silence.

I took a deep breath and knocked. I could hear shuffling inside the room. I got no response.

“Y/N it’s me. Please let me in,” I begged, placing my palm against the door.

I was about to turn and walk away when I finally heard footsteps inside. I let my hand fall back down to my side as the door creaked open. Y/N stood to the side of the door without looking at me and motioned for me to come in. I did and she closed the door behind me.

“I’m sorry.” “Thank you.”

“Oh, ummmm. You first,” she mumbled.

“I wanted to say thank you. For the drawings. They made my day every time I got one,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck as I blushed.

“O-Oh. Uh....yea. You just looked so....sad, I guess. I thought maybe it would make you feel more comfortable around us,” she mumbled, still refusing to look at me.

I chuckled slightly and crossed my arms, looking down at my feet.

“Well it worked,” I said, smiling at the floor.

She shuffled across from me. I forced myself to look up at her and caught her gaze. She had tears brimming over her eyes and her face was red from embarrassment.

“I’m so sorry. I know I probably seem like a total creep right now. I know this can never happen. I just.....I don’t know. I tried so hard not to like you but I -“ she started rambling and I couldn’t stop myself anymore.

I pulled her face up to look at me and smashed my lips onto hers. It took her a moment of shock to register what was happening, but as soon as she did she was kissing me back immediately. I finally pulled apart and wrapped my arms around her in a hug.

“You’re amazing. You’re so special and so talented and too good for me. But I like you too. I like you so so much. I never said anything because I thought you hated me,” I admitted, laughing through the tears that started falling down my face.

“You thought I hated you? How could I ever hate you?” she asked, stepping back to look at me.

“Because I went home with Azula and I tried capturing the Avatar for months and I chased you across the world and I’ve made your lives miserable for so long,” I exclaimed, still in disbelief that she actually liked me back.

“Well, I don’t hate you. At all. You’ve proven that you’ve changed and that’s all that matters to me. Besides, you never actually physically hurt any of us, unlike Azula,” she joked, laughing slightly.

I pulled her into a hug once more and buried my head into her neck. I had never been happier than right now in this moment. I promised myself at that very moment that I would do everything I could to become the man she saw me as. To become the man she deserved.

To be the man in her drawings.

#zuko imagine #zuko x reader #zuko #prince zuko fanfic #prince zuko fanfiction #prince zuko fic #prince zuko

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starlocked01 · 4 years

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I Know the Stars Will Start to Fade

AO3 @tsshipmonth2020

Masterpost- Previous- Next

Summary- Roman was born with three soul marks but now has only one. He doesn't want to ruin his last great chance for happiness but finds his final soulmate, Logan, isn't what he expected. And neither is he what he expected of himself.

Day 10 LAMP (Platonic Logince focused, Romantic Moxiety)- Soulmates are born with matching soul marks

Roman was starting to feel desperate. He had been born with three different soul marks but now was left with one. He really couldn't blame Patton or Virgil for getting upset with him. Somehow this was his fault.

The soul marks had been beautiful. Three shields with different intricate patterns inside. One had a castle overshadowed by a storm cloud. That one had matched Virgil’s. One had a heart floating in a broiling sea. That one had matched with Patton's. The last showed a brain at the foot of the mountains with a field of stars above. He hoped whoever this brain matched to would be the one who lasted and stuck around.

He'd met Virgil on an online forum for people with multiple soul marks. They hadn't talked much but Virgil went by st0rmcl0ud online and had described a soul mark that sounded remarkably similar to Roman’s. So he reached out in DMs and they swapped photos of their marks and then phone numbers and at Roman's insistence planned to meet up. He was already head over heels for his soulmate and giddy with excitement to meet Virgil in real life. Virgil and Patton had found each other through a dating app. Virgil recognized the heart shield as matching one of Patton's marks and had introduced the two of them as well.

For the first month, it was wonderful. Roman had never been so enamored, so certain of a future together with these two. It felt wonderful and nerve-wracking and exciting and passionate and everything the fairy tales had promised love would be.

They went on dates and got to know each other better. Roman went from infatuated to admiring his soulmates. He still put forth the full effort to love them but his heart wasn't behind it the way it should have been.

The stormy castle started to fade. He loved- no- cared for his two soulmates deeply. But the mark started to fade. Roman’s grand romantic vision of the future started to settle into something more friendly and domestic. He hid his soul marks, not wanting to upset either of them.

The stormy castle faded completely and the heart in the ocean was beginning to dull in color as well. Roman loved going on dates because it made his friends happy, but he felt no happier than if they had a quiet movie night at home together or spent the night video calling each other.

Roman had been frustrated, because Virgil and Patton were still head over heels for each other, in their own ways of course. Why didn't he feel that romantic spark that had pulled them all together?

One day, the heart in the ocean faded completely. Roman was terrified to tell his soulmates that the marks were gone. He was even more frightened by the realization that he didn't really love them the way they loved him and each other. He absolutely cared for Patton and Virgil with his whole heart, but the romantic vision was gone. He wanted them in his life but the idea of dating twisted his gut in the most unpleasant way.

Virgil noticed first. Roman didn't think it was possible to see the man any paler than his normal complexion.

"You lied to us…"

"No, they disappeared. They were there. They were real!"

"How do you expect me to believe that, Roman," Virgil's eyes were clouded with fear and pain. Roman couldn’t meet his gaze any longer and looked away.

"Why would you-"

"I don't know! I- you're my soulmate, Virgil… I don't know why our mark disappeared."

Virgil shook his head and pulled out his phone, dialing from memory.

If Virgil's anger had been difficult, Patton's disappointment was worse. His sad eyes bore into Roman’s soul and he couldn't even soften the blow by blaming Roman.

"Roman, do you not want us?" Roman's heart crumbled at the question.

"Patton, of course, I-"

"He was never our soulmate, Pat! I don't know how but he lied to us," Virgil hissed, pulling Patton back away from Roman.

"Guys, please listen to me," Roman was on the verge of tears.

"Yeah, Virge. I'm sure there's an explanation here that we aren't seeing. Roman, you still love us, right?"

Roman couldn’t help it. He balked and that sealed his fate. The moment Patton's heart broke was embedded in his memory, unlike the disappearing soul marks.

That was a week ago. And here he was, riding the bus to rehearsal as though his emotions weren't in shambles, one chance left to find happiness.

"Excuse me, sir? May I see your soul mark?" Roman turned to the unfamiliar voice and saw the hottest man he'd ever met giving him a difficult to decipher look.

Roman already had names picked out for the dogs they would adopt together.

"Ah, sure," Roman held out his arm and the stranger leaned down to inspect it. After a moment he pulled the sleeve of his jacket up and held up an arm with three familiar marks up to Roman's, "it's you! The brain…"

The stranger cleared his throat and pushed his sleeve back down, "yes. It appears we are soulmates. My name is Logan Crawford. What is yours?"

"Roman Prince," Roman replied breathlessly. He felt like he was on cloud nine and had his final chance.

"Well, Roman, I suppose you'll want to be in contact. Although, I must warn you that I am a disappointing soulmate and refuse date," Logan had pulled out his phone and was handing it to Roman.

"What do you mean 'disappointing'?" Roman frowned more in confusion than any negative feeling for Logan.

"I suppose you'll find out anyway. I am romance-repulsed. Even as one of my soulmates I won't date you or the others. Most everyone tells me that I will be a disappointment for you three but frankly, I know my boundaries and refuse to change them."

Roman stared at his final soulmate. He hadn't expected this. He took the offered phone and plugged in his number, taking a quick selfie for the contact photo.

"Well then, Logan, let's agree to just talk. Have you met Patton or Virgil?" Roman was met with an indifferent look that lacked any recognition.

"No, I have not. Have you?"

"Yes and I don't think you'd like them…" Roman said bitterly.

"Do you think I dislike you, Roman?" Logan said with the most emotion Roman had heard from him yet.

"No, I didn't mean that," Roman stammered, "I- I just meant that they're… very romantic. And I thought I had 'hopeless romantic' cornered!" Roman laughed to hide his discomfort.

"Wait, but you only had one soul mark. How did you meet them?" Logan asked with curiosity.

"My stop is coming up, perhaps we save the tragic backstory for another time?" Roman grinned as the bus rolled to a stop a block from the theater, "call me!" He rushed off the bus before Logan could respond, bewildered by the chance meeting with the handsome stranger.

Over the next few weeks, Roman and Logan texted and met up for coffee a few times. Roman was terrified of pushing things too fast and watched the soul mark on his arm constantly for any sign that it was fading. Logan never asked about the other two soulmates so Roman decided to not talk about them. He was still hurt but they had to be happier without him.

"So, Roman, you never told me the tragic story of how you met Patton and Virgil," Roman nearly spit out his tea.

"Do you really want to know, dear?" Logan bristled at the nickname but nodded.

"Well," Roman recounted the events of how they met and started seeing each other almost casually. He slowed down as he got to the part where the soul marks started fading. Logan encouraged him to continue but he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

"Roman, did they hurt you?"

Roman shook his head no, not meeting Logan’s eyes.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Logan asked gently, resting his hand on Roman’s across the cafe table. Roman felt a metaphorical shock at the physical contact. He wanted a romantic connection with Logan so badly sometimes that the other’s staunch refusal to date felt like an arrow to the heart.

"My soul marks disappeared," Roman whispered, "and I couldn't promise them I was still in love, so they left."

"Disappeared? How unusual. Did they match before disappearing?" Roman looked up, surprised by the reaction. Logan just opened a new tab on his laptop and started searching a few keywords, "what? You know I don't care for sentiment. But soul marks that aren't permanent is a fascinating concept. And you say you fell out of love when the marks disappeared? Was it sudden overnight?"

"N-no… actually the marks- and the feelings- faded over time. About a week, really," Roman sighed, "actually, Logan I need to confess-" Roman pulled up the sleeve of his jacket to reveal his last soul mark, "-yours started fading a few days ago. The colors aren't as saturated as before."

Logan looked down at the mark, "and how do you feel about me? Regardless of my stance on the matter."

Roman sucked in a long breath, "I…. Honestly, I've been in love with you from that day on the bus. But I respect your boundaries and I wasn’t going to push it and as we have been talking and getting to know each other, I really value you as a friend as well. I'm still a little hopelessly over the moon about you but it's not like when we first met."

"Fascinating, it seems the intensity of your soul mark is directly proportionate to your capacity for romantic attraction. One moment," Logan turned back to the laptop and after a moment turned the screen to face Roman, "does this sound like you?"

The word and definition almost popped off the screen at Roman. Frayromantic - an aromantic spectrum identity where one feels an intense romantic attraction to strangers that fades as they get to know the person

"Yes…" Roman took a sip of tea to try and calm his swirling thoughts.

Logan turned the laptop back around and did another search. He read for a moment before reading aloud from the screen, "other frayromantics have experienced fading soul marks. Some say that the marks came back after they realized and recognized their identity or came to terms with their soulmate about it. Others never had the marks come back naturally but rather decided to get them recreated. Or they decided they didn't want the marks and carried on markless, with or without their soulmate."

"So I'm not broken, it's happened before? The marks could come back? It's not wrong to not love my soulmates romantically?" The questions spilled from Roman’s mouth before he could stop them.

"I'd actually prefer if you would hurry up and get over your crush on me, thanks," Logan said with a smirk.

Roman held back a snort of laughter. He was feeling immeasurably better.

Roman was glad he had kept Patton's phone number. After discussing it with Logan, he decided to reach back out, hoping Patton would be understanding and could encourage Virgil to be as well.

The phone rang and rang. Roman started to sweat. Logan was preoccupied with personal research but he offered a comforting hand on Roman’s shoulder. Roman was glad for his friend's support, the soul mark a faint but distinct outline anymore. It had never fully disappeared even as Roman’s crush had evaporated.

Roman was ready to give up when the line connected, "Roman?"

"Patton! Oh, thank the stars you picked up. Do you have time to talk? If not now, maybe we can meet up?" Roman grinned happily.

"Why? I thought we weren't… " Patton trailed off.

"Pat, two things. One, I figured out why the soul marks faded. Two, I found Logan. We can all know each other and work things out because despite what Virgil said, we are soulmates," Roman waited with bated breath for the response.

"Hold on a second- Virgil!" Patton pulled the phone away from his mouth as he called out. Logan squeezed Roman’s shoulder to comfort him.

"Yeah, Pops? What's up?" From what Roman could hear it sounded like Virgil had just woken up, at 3 in the afternoon. What followed was a muffled conversation from which Roman could only pick out a few words.

"Okay, Roman. Can you and Logan meet us for dinner tonight?" Patton asked brightly.

"Logan, how does dinner tonight sound?" Roman grinned as Logan nodded, "sounds great, Pat. Where do you want to meet?"

"You two should come on over here about 7, alright? Awesome, see you soon!" Patton ended the call, mind already bustling with plans to get ready for dinner.

"Roman, please don't try to speak for me tonight," Logan smiled nervously as Roman parked the car.

"Of course not. I know you can handle yourself," Roman replied.

"Yes, I just worry that you're going to try too hard to be what Patton and Virgil want, not who you are. I like you and respect you for who you are and they will too if they're smart. But in the all too likely case that you can't help trying to be a people pleaser, at least let me establish my own boundaries."

Roman gasped, "do you have so little faith in me?"

"Yes," Logan grinned and stepped out of the car. Roman started chuckling and both were smiling as the front door of the apartment duplex opened.

"Roman. And I guess that makes you Logan. Come on in, I guess," Virgil was as dour as ever as he showed them to the living room, "Patton says dinner should be ready in a few minutes so make yourselves at home."

"Virgil, it's so good to see you! I've missed your pale, crabby face," Roman grinned although Virgil did not seem amused.

Logan held out his hand, "it's nice to meet you, Virgil."

Virgil stared at the offered hand and poked it with his finger, "Nice to meet you too, Logan."

"Are they here? V, why didn't you tell me?" Patton came bustling from the kitchen and immediately wrapped Roman in a tight hug, "oh it's been too long! How ya doing, Prince?"

Roman grinned and hugged Patton back, "better now, that's for sure."

"Ah, and you must be Logan, come on in buddy!" Patton turned to offer Logan a hug.

"No, thank you. I'd rather not," Logan tried to wave Patton off.

"You sure?" Logan nodded, "Okay, dinner is almost done and we've got so much to talk about!"

Roman helped Virgil set the table while Logan followed Patton into the kitchen to help with the final preparations.

The conversation was light as they ate until Virgil asked the question no one else was bringing up.

"So Princey, why did the soul marks disappear?"

Roman took a deep breath. He could feel Logan’s hand on his knee under the table and was grateful for his soulmate’s support once again. "Virgil, Patton, I have discovered that I am frayromantic. I know that word doesn't make sense, but hear me out," he proceeded to explain, talking about how he had truly loved them when they met, and still wanted to care about them now. He even showed them the faded soul mark that matched Logan’s, explaining that it never faded completely because they had come to an understanding with each other about their relationship. He didn't bring up that the soul marks could come back, not wanting to give them undue hope or misguided ideas about his emotions. By the time he was done explaining, Patton was smiling with tears in his eyes and Virgil was nodding.

"Mark or not, I still want you in my life," Patton sniffed and reached across the table to take Roman’s hand, "we can work out the particulars later."

"Ah, Roman, I'm sorry. I was wrong to accuse you and I can't imagine how much that must have hurt you," Virgil spoke just above a whisper.

Roman nodded, "thank you, Virgil. I'll consider forgiving you."

"That's fair-"

"Consider it done!"

"Oh- kay thank you," Virgil chuckled.

"So Logan, why is tonight the first time we're meeting you?" Patton smiled at the stoic man.

"Simply put, I wasn’t seeking out my soulmates. I happened upon Roman by chance. I want to make it clear that I am not interested in dating any of you," Logan spoke with confidence. Roman was proud of him, returning the comforting hand on his knee gesture.

"Wait you two aren't dating?" Patton asked, confused.

"No. We are not dating. I am aromantic and romance-repulsed. I want nothing to do with mushy, complicated romantic emotions. However, and I hope Roman doesn't mind me saying this, I do consider him my best friend," Logan coughed, "and I actually wanted to talk with you later about a platonic partnership," Roman was surprised to hear this but more surprised by the blush on Logan's cheeks.

"Yeah, we can talk about that later, Lo. I definitely think you're my best friend as well."

"Wow, so… being soulmates isn't going to be easy for any of us," Virgil murmured.

"But we'll all work it out together!" Patton finished the sentiment, clasping his boyfriend's hand in his and smiling at the two soulmates across the table.

The soul marks that had faded completely never came back on their own. After a few years together, Roman decided to get them tattooed back on, asking the artist to match the intensity to Logan’s mark. The three faint marks helped reassure Roman that he was who he was and that he didn't need to change that to love his soulmates just as much as he could.

#Soulmate September 2020 #tsshipmonth2020 #arospec roman #aromantic logan #fray!roman #frayromantic character #platonic logince #moxiety #logince #lamp/calm #soulmate au #this was incredibly self-indulgent

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stupidsexyfandom · 4 years

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In the Study

@helsa-summer-event

Rated T // Drama

Before her coronation gala, Elsa retires to her study, where she receives an unexpected visitor. (Unexpected for her, that is. I’m sure you all know who it’s going to be.)

Written for Prompt #1 of Helsa Summer: “Don’t you dare!”

The coronation ceremony was over. The diplomats had been presented at court and shuffled off to their rooms to dress for the evening’s ball. The townspeople had dispersed back to their shops and other duties. Queen Elsa finally had a few moments to herself.

To be more accurate, this hour was devoted to the beginnings of her queenly duties. Elsa knew that a monarch’s work never truly stopped, and already her advisors had presented her with several documents that needed signing. Still, she was grateful for the brief respite from the crowds and noise and the feeling of countless eyes on her. Her already-tenuous control had been stretched nearly to the breaking point. This was an opportunity to recuperate and muster strength for the next stage of the festivities.

She sat at the large oak desk that had once been her father’s, perusing the first document that needed her attention. Satisfied with its contents, she removed her gloves and prepared her pen and ink. For the next quarter hour, she was fully engrossed in reading and signing documents. Her concentration was only interrupted when she thought she saw a flicker of movement in the top of her vision.

Looking up, she was surprised to see one of the visiting diplomats silhouetted against the large window across the room. His back was to her as he examined the woodwork, and all she could make out was the sun burnishing the copper tips of his hair. He moves like a fox, too, she thought. She had not heard him come in.

He turned almost instantaneously, and Elsa quickly tightened her slack jaw into a more regal expression. Recognition dawned on her. The Southern Isles. Population: 180,000. Chief exports: oxen and grain. Army adequate. Navy formidable. Prince… Hans, maybe? Number thirteen?

Prince Hans (or whoever he was) crossed the room. Elsa looked up at him, careful to give the impression that she was unbothered by his appearance. He stood over her like cliffs above the sea. It made her uneasy, but she could not bend. Conceal, don’t feel. After so many years, concealing her emotions felt almost like second nature. Unfortunately, not feeling was where the real trouble lay.

“May I help you?” she said, keeping her face impassive. Prince Hans sprung into action, like an automaton whose key had been released. His face lit up and he bowed with a flourish.

“Your Majesty, may I say what an honor it is to meet you at last. I am Prince Hans of the Southern Isles. My father, the king, sends his felicitations.” Elsa blinked a few times. She wanted to ask how he got in there or say that this was highly irregular, but she could not find the words. It would not have mattered if she had, for Prince Hans continued with the force of an avalanche.

“I have a petition to place before you, and I hope that you will give it due consideration. The historic bond between our two nations runs deep, and my father has every hope of its continuance through a new generation.”

Elsa found her voice and said, “If this is a diplomatic matter, please speak to my steward. He will let you know when the crown has decided to receive public petitions.” She inched her hand along the desktop toward her gloves, hoping to slip them on surreptitiously. Her discomfort had caused the temperature to drop slightly, but no snow was falling, for which she was endlessly grateful.

“If this were a diplomatic matter, I would do so. But this request is of a more personal nature.” Oh, such impudence! Prince Hans delicately perched himself on the edge of the desk, leaning slightly towards her. Elsa fought the simultaneous urges to push him back with an icy wind and to crawl under the desk.

Cursed, as always, by a tendency to inaction, Elsa merely said, “What personal matter could we possibly have?” Her voice did not shake, a small victory, and she was nearly able to reach her gloves. A few more seconds and any crisis might be averted. But she was not prepared for what the prince had to say.

“It’s simple, really. I would like to ask you to marry me.”

Elsa did not want to believe what she had just heard. She dropped her pen as a layer of frost radiated out from her hands, coating her gloves and half the papers on the desk. She immediately put her hands in her lap, but it was too late. The foreign prince had seen all. Her anxiety reached a fever pitch, but Prince Hans was unperturbed. He reached out and plucked a rigid envelope from its icy bed, turning it over to examine the patterns of hoarfrost.

“Ah, so you are not a secret invalid after all. I had wondered. Well, this makes things both easier and more pleasant for me. What say you?” The prince’s tone remained affable, but there was a hard edge in his green eyes that Elsa did not like.

“I have no intention of entertaining marriage proposals at this time. And anyway, I hardly know you,” spluttered Elsa, still reeling.

“What a shame. But that needn’t stand in our way. Plenty of royals marry without ever meeting each other. Is your refusal because of me, personally? It is said that I’m quite handsome, and my kingdom has great wealth. Many diplomatic ties. A strong military, too. We could be quite the powerful allies to an inexperienced queen.” Or powerful enemies. Elsa could feel her magic crackling at the unspoken threat. She gripped the edge of the desk until her knuckles turned white.

Sensing her discomfort, the prince continued, “Arendelle looks to be a fine land. Its fields are rich, and its people are gentle. It seems so peaceful.” It would be a shame if that peace were broken.

“Yes, I could see myself growing quite fond of it. And of you, for that matter,” said Prince Hans, staring down at her. Elsa hated feeling so small and weak. Was not a queen’s duty to be strong for her people? The thought spurred her to action.

“I’ve heard enough,” she said, and stood to call the guards. But Prince Hans was too fast. He was on his feet in an instant and held her arm in an iron grip. He leaned across the desk and pulled her towards him, so their faces were only inches apart. Snow floated in the air around them. Elsa could let this go no further.

“I could skewer you,” she hissed, “I could run you through with ice before you even knew it was happening.” She brought her right hand up to rest upon his chest. Prince Hans only laughed.

“Hardly. How would you explain my body? A corpse full of icicles in a snow drift inside your study? In June? Unless you want your secret to be known…” But he loosened his hold, and Elsa pulled away.

“Anyway,” said the prince, straightening his jacket and adjusting his glove, “physical violence is much more my brothers’ style.”

The snow had slowed to a gentle flurry. Elsa considered her options. He was right that she could not simply alert the guards. Her guardsmen were trusted to the highest degree, but the visitors for the coronation introduced too many unknown variables. Too many opportunities for information to spread through benign gossip. And that was without considering what malice the prince might introduce.

Elsa said, “Even if I were amenable to marrying you, the council would never allow it. They want to see me get my footing as queen in my own right before I marry. How can I convince my people to trust a stranger as king when they do not yet know me as queen?” That was a blatant lie. The council had specifically briefed Elsa on all the eligible bachelors attending the coronation, including Prince Hans. But Elsa had been lying since she was eight years old, and she had honed her art like fired steel.

“I’m a patient man, your Majesty. I don’t mind the wait. I have waited many years for your coronation, why should I be troubled by a few more?”

“Even when the council deems it prudent for me to marry, I highly doubt they will consider your suit.” Another lie, but this one seemed to get Prince Hans’ attention. Elsa continued, “Arendelle is indeed a fine kingdom, and it deserves a fine king. One who embodies power, wealth, and status. Not a king thirteenth in line in his own court. A king who is strong in his right, not a mere leftover.” For a fraction of a second, Elsa thought the Prince Hans looked genuinely hurt. But the next moment he had returned to his faux affable manner.

“Oh, Queen Elsa, you wound me. So, your answer remains no?”

“You know that it does.” Prince Hans turned toward the door.

“Alas, you would have made a lovely bride. But no matter! There are other routes to Arendelle’s throne.” He placed a hand on the doorknob, turning his head back toward Elsa. “There are two heirs, are there not?” The temperature dropped sharply, and the snow fell fast and thick.

“You wouldn’t dare!” said Elsa, voice barely above a horrified whisper.

“Wouldn’t I? Princess Anna is so very pretty. Nearly as pretty as you. And I imagine she would be a much more willing companion.”

“Keep away from my sister!” Elsa spat amid a howling wind, “She’ll never marry you! I’ll make sure of it!”

“Not even if she thinks it’s true love? You know, I ran into her at the docks earlier. Such a sweet girl. So naïve, so trusting. A girl with so much love to give, and nobody around to receive it. It’s a pity.”

“You don’t know the first thing about either of us!” But Elsa knew that the gale she had created testified otherwise.

“I know that I could make her love me like that,” he snapped his gloved fingers, “because she is so eager to be loved. Desperate, even. I doubt that you could convince her otherwise. You, the ice queen of a sister she barely knows.”

“If she will not listen to me as her sister, she will respect me as her monarch! You forget, Prince Hans, that while Anna is next in line for the throne, I am still sitting on it.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t dare,” Prince Hans chuckled, “not when I hold your secret in the palm of my hand. Do you think your people will trust you as queen when they learn of your unholy power? You know, it is not so many years ago that there were witch hunts in this county. No, I think you will look favorably upon a match between me and your sister.”

“I will not!”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice in the matter. Unless, of course, you consent to marry me yourself. I’m sure the council would accept a little prodding from their sovereign ruler on the matter.”

“Never! I would die first!”

“Ah well. Suit yourself.” And with a devilish grin, he was gone.

Elsa sat down at the desk and slumped over her arms. It took her several minutes to realize that her teardrops were frozen to her face. Poor Anna. Elsa did not know how to protect her from this. Either she would fall prey to the devious prince, or she would learn the truth about what happened all those years ago. Either might break her completely.

Daring. That was the heart of it. She stood at a crossroads, paralyzed by fear, unable to take any action. Once again, she could do nothing to save her sister. She would hurt Anna again because Elsa was a coward and Prince Hans was not.

***

Author’s Note: I’ve never personally subscribed to the idea that Hans is a sociopath, but it’s a fun sandbox to play in. There’s something so juicy about writing a shameless schemer of a villain. Thanks to everyone who made it this far, and I hope you’ve enjoyed my fic. Be on the lookout for more Helsa Summer fics, provided I can keep my act together that long. :)

#helsa #helsasummerevent #helsasummerevent2020 #frozen #hans #elsa #fanfic

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moccahobi · 4 years

Text

Safety [Namjoon x Reader]

Warnings: Drinking, Angst, Mild cussing

Summery: You can’t lie to your soulmate. It was a fact that many people knew, including you. You just didn’t expect to find your soulmate during your night shift at the MSN book store you work at. You also didn’t expect them to be the Kim Namjoon, an up-and-coming star.

Word count: 6.8k words

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Soulmate AU!

The smell of books filled your nose when you clocked into your second job. It immediately helped you relax after your stressful shift at MSN. You had been tasked with following some up and coming actor around for their workday and they were a complete asshole when you weren’t recording. No one at MSN took your bachelor's degree in literature and psychology seriously. No one took you seriously there but you kept going back time and time again, hoping they would eventually take you seriously. That didn’t make your workday easy and now you had to write an article about them while tending to the bookstore. It wouldn’t be the most fun but you were mostly working the front desk this evening shift and so you would survive. Plus no one ever came after seven so you’d have the whole store to yourself and could easily finish it before your midnight deadline. You loved the bookstore, too. Not only was the job extremely relaxed, and your boss let you do almost anything but you also loved the atmosphere. You would often be in the bookstore on a day off just to relax and read more. Of course, the number of days you had free now was next to none with your three jobs. Soon enough, you settled into the black swivel chair behind the front desk and fell into the flow of writing your article. You barely even noticed someone coming into the store about halfway through your shift but you did notice because that was your job. “Hello! How are you today?” You asked from the front desk. You didn’t lift your head yet as you were getting to a stopping point so you could engage with the person if they wanted but you saw them stop and turn to face you from your peripheral. “I… I am not doing the best. I am very tired. My bandmates and I just moved into our new apartment and I am just feeling very overwhelmed.” The man said with a sigh and as he spoke you felt a sense of recognition deep in your gut that you felt every time you listened to his music. It pulled you in and kept you going on hard days. You looked up with wide eyes and sure enough, it was Kim Namjoon, a rising idol. Your reaction must have startled the man because his eyes widened as well and he quickly spoke again, “Omo! I shouldn’t have told you that! You’re a fan, aren’t you? Is there anything I can give to keep your silence? Please don’t talk about me being here. I…” “It’s ok, Namjoon-sshi. I won’t tell anyone. That’d be rude of me to do.” You didn’t know why you addressed him by his first name but you knew that you wouldn’t be telling anyone. You tried to police your face and smiled at him, “Is there anything I can help you with today?” Namjoon looked more relaxed now and then he spoke again, “Not really, I am mostly browsing.” You hummed and nodded before looking back at your computer and trying to get back into the flow of writing. He seemed to feel conflicted in moving and soon enough he spoke again. “How was your day?” It surprised you but you simply looked up again and opened your mouth, ready to say it was a great day, “My name is Y/n by the way and my day wasn’t a good day but I am here now so I can take a break.” Namjoon laughed lightly, “Yeah? I take it you find this place comforting?” Why were you saying so much? Why was this conversation continuing if he wasn’t here to talk? “I… Yeah. The smell of books is very relaxing for me and also you’re one of the first few customers I have seen this late in the bookstore. I barely have to deal with people. It’s a nice job. I love books. Ideally, I would become an author but my mom says that it doesn’t pay well and she’s right so I am trying to go into reporting but it’s hard to get a good, respectable job doing that so I am stuck with stupid gossip right now. It’s not fu-- why am I telling you all this?” You sighed, “I guess I was more stressed than I originally thought I was. It’s been a long day for me. I am glad to end it here.” Namjoon smiled and you blushed (how could you not? A really really attractive man just smiled at you), “Yeah? It seems like it. Is there anything that could make today better for you?” When you looked into his eyes, you thought you saw a spark of something you couldn’t quite understand but you shook it off and spoke again, “Oh… probably coffee. I am only partway through my shift so it’ll be a long night.” You laughed awkwardly, “But don’t worry about me. If you need anything, feel free to come to me and ask, Namjoon-sshi. Have a great night here. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you visited.” You looked down and just missed the look of disappointment that flashed across Namjoon’s face as he looked at you before he too turned around and walked off. Five minutes later, you barely registered Namjoon leaving, having most likely decided that there was nothing good for him in the bookstore tonight. That or you were crazy and he didn’t want to be around you. Absentmindedly, you looked around the store after Namjoon left, more so searching for the right word to put in the article than looking at anything in particular. There were maybe only a thousand words left to write and you were on a roll. The sooner you finished this article (if one could call a written interview an article), you could find a new book and settle in for the rest of your shift. It was as you were staring into space for the third time in five minutes that the door opened again and in came Namjoon, this time with two coffee cups in hand. It was a shock but you quickly looked back down at your laptop, determined to not seem like a total creep in front of an idol. What was even more of a shock to you was when Namjoon came back up to the front desk and set one of the coffees on it. You looked up with raised eyebrows at him. “I… uhh… You said you wanted coffee so I got you a latte… I didn’t know what type of coffee you’d want.” Namjoon blushed and you smiled at him before taking a sip with a smile. “Thank you, Namjoon-sshi. Any coffee is good coffee.” You laughed, “But real talk, I am lactose intolerant.” “Wha- Why are you drinking the coffee then?” Namjoon’s eyes widened and he grabbed to take the coffee away. In response, you leaned back and took a large sip, “I love dairy.” You said with a sigh, “And coffee. Now I got to ask, why’d you decide to get me coffee, Namjoon-sshi?” “Oh… uhhh… I… I think… we… we might be soulmates?”

“What?” You asked, slowly setting the coffee down onto the counter. "I… I think we're soulmates." "Why?" It almost felt like you weren't processing what Namjoon had said but you knew you understood what he was trying to say. "I normally never answer the question of how am I honestly. It makes no sense for me too. Especially with someone who recognized me before I even spoke and I imagine you don't normally talk about your work stress, do you?" "I mean no, I normally don't talk about myself... especially not while at work." You said, your brows furrowed, "But that doesn't mean we're soulmates. It's not like I don't sometimes talk about my feelings." "Yeah? Do you tell customers here how you're feeling?" Namjoon asked as one of his eyebrows rose in question. "No." You said it so quickly that it almost shocked you. Almost. For at this point you were more than keen to believe that Namjoon was right about you two being soulmates. "So I am right." "But that doesn't necessarily mean we're soulmates." "Ask me anything, Y/n-sshi. Anything." Namjoon said, leaning against the counter with confidence. You froze. What could you ask a man like Namjoon? He was so open about so much that it almost seemed impossible for him to have something that he wouldn’t be willing to share. "Come on, Y/n-sshi. What are you thinking?" "When was the last time you took a shit?" You blurted out and immediately turned red, "That's not what I wanted to ask. I am so sorry. Gosh. Please disregard what I just said. I didn't mean to ask that. You just spoke and I-- I couldn't not answer."

"Oh my god. We're soulmates." You said, finally coming to a realization. "Yes. We are soulmates." Namjoon laughed, "As your soulmate, I want to know when you get off of work tonight so we can go on our first date." "I get off in three hours." You said, face red while he nodded. Namjoon was thinking but he didn't stick around long enough to tell you what your first date would be. So it turned out, three hours later, Namjoon showed up with a large basket and waited for you to close the store. In the end, the two of you walked over to the closest park (which was a concrete park and not a natural park) and sat down to eat the picnic he had packed. It wasn't the best food per se, but you two ended up talking until the sun started rising and Namjoon had to leave to go to practice. Throughout the day, the two of you texted to no end (even when you were at your reporting job and were supposed to be editing someone's article) before eventually meeting up after both of you finished work. That time the two of you simply walked to your apartment to watch a documentary about early philosophers. Although neither of you stayed up until the end. You woke up to Namjoon shaking you awake at the crack of dawn with the offer of coffee and donuts he went out and got. Soon enough, you two fell into a pattern of meeting up after his work ended and spending the night together. Be it at the bookstore or the convenience store you also worked at or your apartment, the two of you were together almost every night and you loved every minute of it. You heard story after story about how soulmates could completely change your world for the better, but getting to spend every night with Namjoon proved to you just how amazing it was. It was all going good until Namjoon went away touring. The whole month leading up to touring he grew progressively silent, barely texting you during the day and only spending one or two nights a week with you, but when he went on tour it got even worse. At first you tried to message him every day to at least encourage him to keep working but eventually, his lack of response made you stop. It wasn't until the fifth week that he was away on tour when you tried to message him again that you got an utterly disturbing message. "I am sorry but the person you are trying to reach has blocked you." You stared at it for five whole minutes as tears slowly ran down your face simply trying to comprehend what had happened. Namjoon blocked you. Your soulmate blocked you. The love of your life had just blocked you. You slowly set your phone down and stumbled towards your couch, your eyes burning with tears. You couldn't sit down on the couch though because the moment you looked at it through your tear clouded eyes, you were filled with those nights where you and Namjoon sat on it and talked and laughed for hours on end. Your heart ached even more and now tears were streaming down your face, a sole hiccup making its way out of your mouth before you walked away from it slowly. Where could you go to cry if everything in your apartment reminded you of him? In the end, you curled onto the floor of your bathroom and broke down crying, your heart shattering more and more as each second passed. He blocked you. Namjoon blocked you. You drifted off, you cried yourself to sleep, only realizing when you woke up feeling like utter crap. Drool had crusted onto your cheek, your eyes were almost glued shut from tears, your face had gross indents from where it was pressed against the bathroom tiles, but what was worse than all that was the way your head and heart ached. Both were pulsating in pain and it didn't help that from where you were, you could hear a loud ringing sound from your living room. Belatedly, you realized that it was your phone and hope sprung in your chest at the thought of Namjoon calling you to tell you that he accidentally blocked you. You raced over to your phone and felt your heart sink when you saw your boss's name showing up instead of Namjoon's. You also happened to have slept through three hours of your shift. And you were fired due to "budget cuts". Which was just great. A sob escaped you but you didn't let any more tears fall. Now was not the time to cry. You needed to start searching for a new job. You couldn't just meander. Namjoon could wait.

Who were you kidding? Namjoon couldn't wait. You picked up your phone and logged onto twitter before searching up BTS' twitter. The latest post was a photo of Namjoon at an art exhibit. He never got to take you to one. You wiped a runaway tear from your cheek before clicking dm. "Why'd you block me, Namjoon-ah?" You stared at your phone for a whole ten minutes before Twitter took you to a new screen: "This user has blocked you."

Your heart shattered even more. He read your message and then blocked you? Namjoon really meant to block you. He really, really, blocked you. Another sob escaped you and this time you stumbled to your bedroom to cry. You couldn't handle the fact that he had blocked you. He didn't even break up with you in person. He just blocked you. What had you done wrong? There must have been something you did wrong. Were you not enough? What could you have done differently? Was there something you could have done differently? You cried for the whole day, only stopping to call into the convenience store to say you were sick and couldn't make it for your shift. The man who owned the store cussed you out but you knew he wouldn't fire you. He rarely fired anyone. You went on like this for three more days, barely stopping your moping session to drink water. It wasn't until the fourth day that you got up at three am and saw yourself in the reflection of your mirror that you finally stopped your moping and took a shower. You turned the water onto the hottest setting you could take and stood under the shower until it got too cold for you to stay in. You didn’t have the energy to use any products but at least you were cleaner than before. Somehow you managed to brush your teeth too and eventually you found yourself laying in bed, cleaner than you had been in a while and staring at BTS’ twitter. He had blocked you. Why? What changed? You slowly opened your message app and looked at the last thing Namjoon had said to you: We just landed safely. Thinking of you. XOXO What went through his head when he blocked you? After almost an hour of staring at your phone, you sighed and got up again. You needed to start applying for new jobs. Your life couldn’t end just because he was no longer in it. He wasn’t even in it for long. You could live. This was only a small bit of your life. Better things were yet to come. That’s what you kept telling yourself as the days slowly passed. Clearly, Namjoon didn’t need you as you needed him. As the days turned into weeks, you still couldn’t bear to look at photos or videos of Namjoon but you kept moving forward. By the time you had marked a month after the breakup, you had finally got a new job at a small startup journalism company. The pay was exponentially better than your last day job and soon enough you were able to quit your job at the bookstore (which was a relief because you had a hard time working there when everything reminded you of Namjoon), The months turned into a whole year before you realize it and the journalism company you worked at finally merged with an even larger entertainment company. You were no longer working two jobs. Instead, you were going out and interviewing people and reporting on important things just as you wanted. Soon enough, one of the scouts tried to recruit you for modeling, which leads you to host Sunday morning shows where you went into depth on a piece of news… and then also modeling on the side… and then you got a Friday evening show with idols where you talked about life and real-world skills. In three years, you had reached a point in your life that you never expected to get to and yet here you were: having paid off your college loans and moving to a better apartment and getting your parents' retirement fund more money. So much was falling into place and you loved it. And yet… you lived your life in fear. Time and time again, you refused to have BTS on your show, refused to talk about them when idols came on and talked about their idols, refused to watch anything they did. Everyone in the company knew something was up but no one knew what. That’s why when Chae came over to your cubicle for the umpteenth time since she started working in the same office as you, you rolled your eyes. She was a die-hard BTS stan and wanted to do anything to get the all elusive group to just be in the same company as her. BTS had long since stopped doing many shows outside of their own after being bullied so many times and she thought that your show would be different. “Unnie.” Chae cooed, sliding an iced americano across the desk to you, “How are you doing?” “I am tired, Chae-sshi. I just got back from Hong Kong and have to finish this piece. What do you want?” You asked, taking a large sip of the americano as you waited for her to go on her usual spiel about BTS. “Wha! Our Unnie is so amazing! Was it scary?” “Yes. Get on with what you wanted to talk about, please.” “Well… BTS just came back from the tour and announced that they are promoting again… I just. We should reach out to Big Hit don’t you think?” “No.” “Hear me out, Unnie. They are now working with UNICEF. They talk about abuse and all that. Your Friday show specifically talks about life and life skills. I feel like having a group of people who have made it clear where they stand morally and have done a lot with it could be extremely good press for Big Hit and our company.” Chae said slowly, and for once you had the sense that she knew more than she was letting on. She was smart. You knew that the second she had been hired to manage the rating of the many primetime shows. “Really? Wow.” You said flatly. You heard from your coworkers that BTS had done that but you didn’t care. “Yeah! It’s awesome and they would be a perfect fit for your Friday evening show. The viewers think so and the shareholders want it too.” There was the catch. The shareholders wanted it too. “Do I have a say in this, Chae-sshi?” You asked, raising an eyebrow as Chae shrugged. “I am trying to make it so that you do have a say but at this point the shareholders really, really want it. I don’t know if you will end up having a say. I would suggest you start planning for the show as soon as you can, though. From what I have heard, the shareholders have gotten in contact with BTS as well.” Chae said before turning around to go back to her desk, “Enjoy your americano, Unnie.” You didn’t. Instead, you stayed up all night working on your Hong Kong piece while also stressing over how you were possibly going to interview Namjoon. You were doomed. No one spared you a second glance, not even the workers who came in to clean when the building was supposed to be closed. You often worked well past closing hours on your pieces. You had three other people backing your work for the Sunday morning pieces but you always tried to work on the initial script yourself. They could fact check and edit your script, but this was your story and you had a lot to say. “Daebak! Unnie! You came in early today? I didn’t think you would have because…” Chae stopped talking when she finally reached you, “You’ve been here all night haven’t you?” “Yeah. Before you clock in, do you think you could get me another americano? I am going to need more to continue through today’s shift.” You sighed, running your hand through your hair (you have no memory of when your updo came undone but now it was). “N-no. You should clock out and go home! You can take a day off.” “I’ll just clock out and get it myself then. Thank you for caring for me though.” You said, already getting up and leaving Chae behind as she tried to convince you to stay so she could take care of you. In the end, you found yourself stumbling back into your apartment and making your own coffee. You didn’t go to sleep though. While the coffee was brewing you showered and changed into different clothes and simply opened up Google. You needed to research BTS. You did. You just didn’t know how you could. You forced yourself to move on and get over all that you were feeling for Namjoon and now… now you had to force yourself to watch your soulmate… the one you were supposed to be with forever and had cut you off rudely. How were you supposed to put yourself through that torture? Apparently, the answer came in the form of a bottle of merlot and fan-made videos of how amazing BTS was. Not that it helped you with anything. Now you were drunk and sad and still had no idea what you would possibly talk about during the interview. It wasn’t until noon that you finally found something that could be helpful for you and your interview: Namjoon’s UNICEF speech… Which was as hot as hell.

And now you were even sadder. Nonetheless, you had managed to take some sort of notes before eventually finding yourself on BTS’ twitter page… Or so it would have been if you weren’t still blocked by them. You sighed and logged out just to see what they were up to. Which made you even sadder because you saw photos of Namjoon spending time in museums and once again you were bawling your eyes out. At some point that night, you created a fake account and commented hearts on every one of Namjoon’s photos. By the time your alarm was telling you to wake up the next morning, your head was hurting badly. You knew you overdid it with the merlot yesterday but you really didn’t care at this point. Having to learn about BTS opened up a can of worms that you were not ready for, that you never thought you would be ready for. Somehow you managed to get ready and go to work. It was a boring day full of meeting after meeting after meeting but you were very glad that it was just that. Before you knew it, your workday was over and Chae was dragging you to her apartment to binge-watch all of the BTS run episodes she could get you to watch… which was extremely uncomfortable because, at one point, you saw a Namjoon from when you knew him. From when he was yours for a short time. From when you were happiest. Then you saw a Namjoon that you didn’t know. One that was a sex symbol. One that felt foreign to you. One that abandoned you. You found it hard to not cry as you watched this new Namjoon. It was impossible for you not to, in fact.

And that was how Chae, your closest work friend, found out about you being Namjoon’s soulmate. After that, Chae fought hard to try and make sure BTS didn’t go on your show but in the end, she failed. You felt your heart drop when you read the email from the shareholders. BTS would be on your show next Friday evening, you felt like your doom was set and when Chae came to your cubicle after work to comfort you, you let her drive you back to your apartment without a fight, holding back your tears until you were in the privacy of your home. It hurt so much to have a date for when you would meet Namjoon again. You thought you were fine with never seeing him again. You thought that you could live without him like he decided he could. You thought wrong. You thought wrong. “Unnie. Please take a deep breath in for me. You need to relax.” Chae said, her voice cutting through the loud screaming of your mind. She wiped away your tears as you took a shaky breath in, “I know that this is scary for you but you got this, really. He’s a dumbass for leaving you but you’ve shown just how strong you are every day that I’ve known you.” “Yeah? Then why,” You hiccupped, “Why do I feel like I am shattering into a million pieces.” You cried, pulling Chae into a big hug as you continued to sob into her shoulder. “I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I can--” “Y/n Unnie! Get yourself together! You literally just came back from Hong Kong where active fights and protests where happening left and right and you’re scared of a man? You got this! You’re so strong that I am constantly in awe of what you can do! Don’t let Namjoon have that control of you.” She sighed and got up, “My go-to nail salon is still open, Unnie. Let’s go there and get some mani-pedis, ok? Relax a little.” You nodded, feeling like a complete and utter mess. You sat next to Chae in silence as she made a quick appointment and it wasn’t until you got into the car and Chae started driving to the salon that she spoke again. “If you’re really that scared of seeing Namjoon again, why don’t you show him what he’s missing during the interview?” That idea stuck with you long after Chae went home that night. It stuck with you longer than you would have wanted to admit. It was why that Saturday, you ended up booking a full day spa treatment and why later that week you got a new gel mani-pedi done, and got waxed, and limited your caloric intake to only one thousand calories a day. As a star, you already took a lot of care of your personal image but this was the first time in a long time you took so much care of yourself. Namjoon told you long ago that he didn’t need you and now you wanted to tell him that you didn’t need him. Except you did need him at one point and now you didn’t know if you could face him. Sadly, coming to this revelation ten minutes before you were set to start the live showing of your interview with him and the rest of BTS was not a good time. Nor was the fact that you were starting to hyperventilate as your hairstylist was finishing your updo. “Chae-sshi! Where are you?” You shouted into your room, squeezing your eyes shut in hope that that would help ease your worry. It didn’t. A hand touched your shoulder as Chae spoke, “I am right here, Unnie. Take a deep breath for me. You got this.” “Do I though? What if he asks the wrong question and I spill something that I shouldn’t have? What if-” “Did I stutter, Unnie? You got this. I have never been so sure of anything in my life and yet I know that you got this. There is nothing that you need to worry about. I promise.” You nodded quickly and let Chae usher you out to left stage, already seeing a glimpse of BTS on right side as they prepared themselves for when you introduced them. “We’re on in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1! Action!” You heard the director call out before you heard the intro blair through the studio and started walking to your seat with a large smile. The stage looked like a simple living room and you were extremely glad for once that you always took the most comfortable chair that could easily hide stage right from you. “Hello! Welcome to Idol Talks! With me, Y/n, as your host!” You said, a smile on your face as you crossed your legs and looked at the camera. You weren’t an actress but you hoped that those at home would be fooled into thinking that you were as calm and collected as you normally were during these shows. “Today I will be joined by a rowdy bunch of people who’ve taken the world by storm! And not just in the music industry. These boys have a campaign with UNICEF and conquering the acting world with their many appearances in a variety of shows, namely Hwarang! Please welcome BTS!” You smiled and clapped as all seven walked onto the stage and sat in some of the various chairs that were available. You refused to look at Namjoon as you spoke again, “It is nice to finally meet you all! This episode has been in the works for a while and I am glad that our schedules finally matched up!” You laughed and smiled at Jin, who nodded in return. “So I’ve heard, Y/n-sshi, and I got to say that I am very excited to be on the show with you! I have been a dedicated watcher for a while now.” Jin laughed and winked at you and you tried to laugh in return, all the while feeling eyes stuck on you. “Now, I know that you all need no introduction, but for the sake of habit, would you all be willing to introduce yourselves?” You asked and sure enough, everyone went down and introduced themselves… with Namjoon going last. This time, you couldn’t help but stare at him as he simply said his name. He looked older and thinner and leaner and if Chae wasn’t supporting you from behind the scenes, you wouldn’t have had the guts to continue with the interview. “How are you all today?” “So much better now that I am here,” Namjoon said immediately after you asked and you stiffened. He blocked you. “Ah. Looks as if our Hyung is a little tongue-tied today,” Jimin laughed and you followed his hand as it gently patted Namjoon’s thigh, “What he means to say is that we’ve all been very excited to be on this show and as soon as we found out there was a set date planned, we couldn’t wait.” You laughed awkwardly, “I totally understand. I was so… emotional when I found out that we were going to be filming this. You have no idea.” “Really? Wha! That’s such an honor! I feel like I have been watching what you have been up to ever since you started doing modeling as well. What made you get into modeling?” Hoseok said, a large smile on his face and you felt relieved that you got to look away from Namjoon’s general area. “Well, I… I’ll be honest, I started because I made a deal with my company. I got my Sunday morning show because I compromised and was willing to do modeling as well. I have never been so glad about doing something in my life.” You said, feeling yourself settle somewhat uncomfortably into the flow of the show. You were thankful that for the most part, Namjoon didn’t speak at all. He mostly stared at you. That was until about five minutes before the show was set to end when you asked, “What has been the hardest thing you have had to deal with as of late?” It was a fan asked question and just as before, Namjoon sprung to answer it before anyone else even had time to think. “Leaving you. I regret it so much. So so so much.” Namjoon said and when you looked in his eyes for the first time this entire show you saw just how pained they looked, “Don’t you miss us, Y/n-ah?” You heard your producers start panicking and were slightly aware of the rest of BTS looking shocked to all hell, but you didn’t care. You sighed and shook your head, you wanted to say that you had never met him before today, to see him suffer but instead you said, “What could I miss? You ghosted me, I moved on, and now you have no right to call me Y/n-ah. Please call me Y/n-sshi, just like the rest of your bandmates.” Namjoon stared at you in shock at your answer, and before he could answer, you carried on, “My question to you is why did you block me? Why in the hell did you decide while you were away that you wanted to cut me out of your life?” Tears were pooling in Namjoon’s eyes and you saw him open his mouth as if he wanted to speak but you kept going, “Do you have any idea how I felt when I realized you blocked me? I felt horrible. There’s a reason why it’s taken so long to get you and your bandmates on the show and it wasn’t actually because I have been busy; it’s because I can’t look at you without remembering how you left me. How you abandoned me.” You felt a tear roll down your cheek and you stopped talking, looking anywhere other than at Namjoon. Everyone was staring at you with a shocked look and you couldn’t blame them. You had just burst emotionally and no doubt barely anyone knew what was going on. You only told Chae that he was your soulmate and as you looked at the rest of BTS you quickly realized that she probably was the only one who knew other than Namjoon and you. The rest of BTS was looking at you with wide eyes and shock. Namjoon hadn’t told anyone. You gasped at this realization, “Kim Namjoon. I feel like meeting you again today has shown me just how much you cared about meeting your soulmate.” At that moment it felt as if all hell broke loose as Namjoon’s bandmates got up in shock and the producers quickly worked to end the episode, already seeing just how much the show has gone awry at this point. All you could look at though was Namjoon, who was now furiously opening and closing his mouth as if he was trying to formulate something to say. “Namjoon-ah! You met your soulmate and didn’t tell us!” Seokjin was shouting as soon as the producers ended the show and you jolted in shock while looking at the shouting man. At this point, Chae was by your side as the Seokjin kept yelling and yelling at Namjoon. “We met three years ago and were only together for a little while before he left me.” You said, your voice barely a whisper. Somehow it was loud enough that everyone on the set heard, and everyone on set quickly became quiet. “Y/n-a… Y/n-sshi, I am sorry I… Our music video blew up so much more than I had expected… I rode that wave of… Then we went on tour and I… you wouldn’t have stayed with me… my life was too hectic… I… I--” “You decided for me. Without consulting me. You left me, Namjoon-sshi. You left me.” You were speaking quietly, suddenly very aware of everyone else watching Namjoon’s and your fight. “I missed you so much. Every day without you was like torture.” He got up and started walking towards you and you started to feel trapped in the chair you were sitting in. This was your space. You were supposed to feel safe while in your studio and yet here you were, feeling trapped and ready to run. “Don’t come near me.” You quickly said, needing to keep Namjoon at bay. The closer he got to you, the more you felt like you were going to break down soon. You couldn’t break down soon. You just couldn’t. “Is there any way you could possibly forgive me?” Namjoon asked, his eyes pleading with you. “I… I don’t know. You literally left me behind. You never told anyone about us. I… did you even l… did you even love me as I loved you?” You asked, now curing into yourself on the chair. “Yes. Of course, I did, ba-Y/n-sshi. I loved you so much. That’s why I had to leave you. I--” “If you all really want to talk about this, we should go to the break room. This is way too public of a place.” Chae interrupted and you felt relief flow over you as she did. You nodded quickly after, standing up shakily and holding onto Chae’s arm for support. Soon enough, Chae was leading the way to the closest break room, Namjoon, his bandmates, and you all following closely behind. Every step towards the break room felt as if your fate was being sealed. You were going to cry. You were going to break down. You were doomed. Chae got you and Namjoon in the room before quickly leaving with the rest of BTS following behind and once again, you felt alone. Too alone. You quickly moved as far away from Namjoon as you possibly could once the door was closed. “Why did you run from us, Namjoon-sshi?” You whispered into the silence that surrounded you two. “Because I love you.” He said quietly, his own voice cracking as he spoke. He sounded as if he was closer to you than he actually was but it didn’t matter because, at that moment, you broke down. You couldn’t think. All that you could do was cry and hyperventilate. It hurt so much to hear Namjoon say that. You thought that you had finished most of the grieving process, yet here you were: bawling your eyes out and feeling like your heart was shattering all over again. Namjoon cooed and came closer, “It’s ok, Y/n-sshi. It’s ok.” You heard him. You felt the warmth from his hands stutter from touching you. You didn’t feel any physical contact and that made you break more. You started crying even harder, looking up, and quickly pulling Namjoon into a hug as well. It felt nice to be in his arms again. Being held in Namjoon’s arms felt nice and the longer you were in it, the more you felt like you were healing. It wasn’t until you had finally stopped crying that you said, “I hate that we’re soulmates.” “Why?” Namjoon asked, his whole demeanor stiffening as he looked down at you cautiously. “Because even after all the shit you put me through, I still want to be with you.” You said, looking up at Namjoon whose eyes widened and a deep blush settled on his cheeks. “I hate that you said that because it makes it harder for me not to kiss you,” Namjoon whispered, his eyes glued to your lips. You simply smiled and leaned up to kiss Namjoon yourself. He quickly started to kiss you back and for once in a long time, you felt like the world was right again.

#magicshopnet #btsboulangerie #btsguild #bts namjoon oneshot #bts soulmate au #bts namjoon x reader #bts x reader #namjoon soulmate au #bts rm #bts rm oneshot #bts rm x reader #bts oneshot #bts angst #bts fluff #namjoon fluff #namjoon angst #rm fluff #rm angst #lillia flurr

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crackedoutgiraffe · 4 years

Text

To the Moon and Back

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17

A/N: Chapter 18

You and Reid had been together for 10 months. It was everything you’d wanted in a relationship. You knew he was having terrible headaches and was having trouble sleeping. He told you he was talking to a doctor about it.

One morning after he had fallen asleep on the couch, he rushed out of the apartment. He didn’t tell you where he was going. You went into work like normal only to find everyone gathered around Spencer in the bullpen. You took a seat and waited for someone to start talking. Reid looked horrible, he was disheveled and his hair was a mess.

“He thinks he'll get away with this, and he might,” Reid started, his voice was breaking as he spoke. “I have a wealth of knowledge I should be applying to this case. Behavioral patterns of violent stalkers. Tactical recovery strategies. Victim survival odds. But right now I can't focus on anything more than 4 seconds at a time. Which makes me the dumbest person in the room. So... Please help me. Help me find her.”

“We don't know if we have a case. So we'll be working on personal time. Does anybody want to leave?” Hotch looked around for signs of disagreement. “Good. Let's get to work.” Everyone filed away from the desks. You left the bullpen and head for the bathrooms.

Reid could probably see the betrayal on your face. He followed you out of the bullpen. When he caught up with you, he grabbed your arm and pulled you into a hug, “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I should have told you earlier,” he let you go.

“Is there anything else I should know?” you asked with a straight face.

“She told me she loved me,” you scoffed. “But I need you to know that I love you,” He pulled you into another hug. “I love you, not her.”

“I love you too,” you wrapped your arms around him. “Let’s catch this guy.”

The two of you walked into the conference room to everyone around the table looking at the letters Reid provided.

“Based on Maeve's description of the unsub in her letters, he seems like a classically possessive stalker,” Morgan examined one of the letters.

“One who craves validation and recognition. ‘What won't you see me?’ ‘Do you think you're better than me?’ This comes up again and again,” JJ flipped through a few of them.

“So does his suicidal ideation. ‘When I find you, I'm going to kill you, then myself.’” Blake read.

“Murder-suicide is the ultimate ‘I love you’ to these guys,” Rossi scoffed.

“When did the unsub start targeting Maeve?” Hotch asked.

“Maeve said it started out of the blue. My guess is it was some sort of incidental interaction, something she probably wasn't even aware of,” Reid explained.

“That's gonna make the unsub hard to find,” you picked up a letter from the table.

“And Maeve, too, until we know more about her,” Rossi added.

“I found her,” Garcia exclaimed. “There are not many geneticists with that name, but... Dr. Maeve Donovan took a sabbatical from Mendel University 10 months ago.”

“That fits the timeline,” Blake sighed.

“Oh, she's a smart cookie,” Garcia typed on her laptop. “She burned her credit history, but her parents rented a loft in the warehouse district 5 days ago.”

“Did the parents sell their house recently?” Rossi asked.

Garcia dug deeper into their records,“No.”

“They might be helping her hide,” Hotch noted. “Morgan, you and JJ go to the loft. Blake and Dave, go to the lab. Y/N, stay here and help Garcia. How clear is your head?”

“Not very clear,” Reid rubbed his temple.

“I want to talk to her parents, but I want you to observe the interview,” Hotch grabbed a few things from the table.

“Reid. I have a picture of her. Do you want to see what she looks like?” Garcia whispered.

“No,” he stood up and followed Hotch out. Everyone else got up to leave.

“Alright, Garcia let’s do this,” You pulled out a chair and sat down. “This phrase is interesting, ‘You think you’re better than me?’ who says that.”

“Maybe it's a colleague who’s idea she disproved,” Garcia shrugged.

“Look at lab assistants and anyone pursuing a doctorate in genetics from Mendel University,” you shuffled through the letters while Garcia typed on her computer. Rossi brought you photos to scan through an hour later. You and Garcia walked to her office and started to scan the pictures.

“Ok, I'm sharing something I haven't told anyone. Every time we have a stalking case, I think Rosanna Arquette,” Garcia blurted.

“The whole Arquette family to choose from and you go with Rosanna,” you giggled.

“Of course I go with Rosanna, because Rosanna Arquette was the inspiration for two seminal songs of my childhood. "Rosanna, " by Toto... Obviously. And "In Your Eyes" by Peter Gabriel. Which gives one pause to think of the myriad of ways a man can be obsessed by a woman, and what is she doing in bed to inspire that kind of obsession, and can she teach us? Because I want to know.”

“Whoa,” you were staring at a picture with Maeve’s face scribbled out.

“He went to town on that one. JJ, is that…” Garcia pointed at the black smudge. You quickly got out of your chair and went to find Spence. You handed him the picture.

“I don't get it. I mean, I see the message, ‘I'm obliterating you,’ but we already knew that,” he held the picture up and examined it.

“No, see, it's not about the message. It's about the medium, what he used to draw on her face. Spence... It's black eyeliner. The stalker's a woman. That's why she masked her voice on the phone. That's why Maeve let her into her loft. She thought what we thought, that her stalker was a man,” he grabbed the photo and rushed to Hotch’s office. You walked back to Garcia’s office. “Did you find anything with the lab assistants and doctorate students?” you asked Garcia as you entered.

“Yeah, I have the list of them pulled up,” she switched to another tab on her computer.

“We can look through it once they give us more information,” you sat down next to her and put on a glove to start going through pictures again. Twenty minutes later, Hotch called and asked you to look into the girlfriend they’d met earlier. Garcia couldn’t find her anywhere. You were looking for Diane Huntington. “Garcia, cross check the name Diane with the research assistants list,” you said, flipping through the photos.

“There are none,” Garcia turned to you.

“How far back did you go?” you returned her gaze.

“Only the current ones.”

“Go back 5 years,” you stood up and went to stand next to her.

Garcia searched through the assistants for five minutes before finally finding her, “Diane Turner.”

You and Garcia quickly went to the conference room to present your findings. Hotch sent Rossi, Reid, and JJ to inspect her apartment. Morgan and Blake went to her office. When Reid came back he came back more distraught and was muttering something about needing a map of DC. He put the map onto the board, “This is Diane Turner's apartment. This is the nearest cell tower her phone call to me pinged off of, which means this is the circle that Maeve was telling me about.”

“What circle?” Hotch asked.

“It was a clue in Diane's message. Finding her would be as easy as pie. Only she wasn't referring to the food, she was referring to…” Reid wrote out the first 5 digits of pi.

“Pi,” Garcia breathed out.

“Why would Diane give you a clue?” Hotch was still confused.

“Maeve made a similar pun once,” Reid sighed. “Now Diane wants me to see her the same way, but brilliant, the smartest girl in the room.”

“All right, assuming that Diane has a secondary location, where in the circle would she hold Maeve?” Hotch asked.

“She'd need a building that would allow for privacy and control, a closed garage for prisoner transfer…” Reid explained.

“If she's copying Maeve's life, it might be someplace close to Maeve's apartment,” Hotch guessed.

“There's nothing in Diane's name,” Garcia sighed.

“Well, what about Maeve's name, or even Bobby's, maybe she forged his signature?” You added.

Garcia typed on her computer,“Nope”

“What about Diane's parents?” Reid was getting angrier and angrier.

“Yes. Yes. Diane rented a loft right next to Maeve's in her parents' name,” Reid grabbed his coat at Garcia’s name.

“Reid. I can't let you be a part of this takedown,” Hotch stopped him.

We don't have a choice. If I don't go in there, Maeve is dead,” Reid pleaded.

“And if you do, you're dead,” Hotch explained.

“Hotch, we've known from the beginning she's on a murder-suicide mission, but we never stopped to ask why she's on that mission. We know now that it's because she wants recognition, the type of recognition she thinks Maeve gets, and I can give her that.”

“How?” Hotch sighed

“I'm gonna tell her that I love her,” Reid and Hotch walked away after that.

That was your breaking point. Reid told you that he didn’t love Maeve, but now it seems like he does. You stormed up the stairs and into Rossi’s office. You laid on the couch and started to cry. He was hurting you and he didn’t even know it. Within minutes Rossi walked in and shut the door, “Shouldn’t you be with the team?” you wiped tears from your face and sat up.

“They have a whole SWAT team, they don’t need me,” He came and sat next to you. “What’s wrong.”

“The night JJ got married,” you said through sobs, “He told me he loved me. Every day after that, he told me he loved me.”

“He still does love you,” He let you put your head on his shoulder. “Do you know what transference is?”

“When someone is being helped, sometimes they fall in love with their rescuer,” you said as your tears ran dry.

“She helped him with his headaches, so he may have felt compelled to love her,” He explained.

“Do you have your com with you?” you asked.

“I do,” He pulled a walkie talkie out of his pocket and took the ear piece out so you both could listen.

You couldn’t hear much of anything, until there was a gunshot, “Let’s go,” Hotch shouted.

“Stay back! Stay back! Stay back! Stay back, stay back!” Reid shouted. “Diane, Diane, there's still a way out of this.”

“You never wanted me. Never! You lied!” Diane shrieked

“I didn't. Diane, I offered you a deal and you can still take it. Me for her. Let me take her place,” Reid pleaded.

“You would do that?” Diane asked through tears.

“Yes,” Reid said calmly.

“You would kill yourself for her?”

“Yes,” Reid repeated.

“Thomas Merton,” Maeve said calmly.

“Who's Thomas Merton?” Diane cried.

“He knows. He knows.” the woman said more desperately this time.

“Who's Thomas Merton? Who is he?” Diane cried.

“He's the one thing you can never take from us,” Maeve said confidently.

“No,” Diane was calm this time, too calm. There was another gunshot.

“Wait!” Reid screamed.

You got up as quickly as possible, “We have to get over there Rossi,” you screamed as you ran out of the room. Rossi wasn’t far behind you. He drove the two of you to the loft Garcia and discovered. When you rushed in, everyone was staring at the two women in a pool of blood. Reid was crying on the ground. You ran over to him and hugged him. He needed you more than ever at this point. “Spence,” you whispered.

“I’m so sorry,” he sobbed into your shoulder.

“Don’t apologize.”

You two sat there for a while. Eventually, Hotch said that you two needed to leave so you helped Reid stand up and leave the building. You drove him home and helped him get into bed. Rossi called you and asked how he was. You had to tell him that he hadn’t talked for 12 hours. Later that day, Morgan called you. “Hey,” you whispered as you answered the phone.

“He still loves you,” Morgan assured you.

“Did you talk to Rossi?” you scoffed.

You heard him chuckle, “I did. As Reid’s best friend and confidant, I am sure enough to tell you that he still loves you.”

“Thank you,” you hung up. You looked at the shell of a man lying in your boyfriend’s bed. You sighed and went to lay with him.

#zugzwang #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fic

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sd1970x · 4 years

Text

Marinette, work in progress - Ch2

Read also on AO3: here

first chapter | previous chapter | next chapter

The sound of bird chirping accompanied the rain waning down.

“Petrichor,” Marin quipped as he took in a deep breath of that musky smell, and sat down at one of the park benches to contemplate his first day at school.

So… Chloe is with me in class, that is a major disappointment. But Adrien… that’s something I did not expect, at all.

A homeless person lay next to Marin. He considered how the rain must have not been kind to them, yet they still looked cheerful enough.

The woman rose up and looked at him with mild curiosity, then suddenly a smile of recognition came about her.

“Hey… I know you, you’re the Dupain-Cheng kid, aren’t you? I used to order bread from your bakery.” The woman said.

“Oh?”

Marin tried his best to jog his memory, but to no avail.

“Fanny. Fanny de Travers.”

Oh!

He had vague memories of her as a polite lady, but not much more.

“I used to work as a freelance tailor, until I became too sick to practice the trade.”

That jogged his memory a bit. He now remembered she used to show his mom some embroidery occasionally. In fact, it may have been one of the few things that kindled his interest in fashion.

“You know what, Fanny? Wait right here, I’ll be back in a moment!”

Like any self-respecting bakery, the Dupain-Cheng boulangerie had a bag for unsold goods that were destined for charity. Marin quickly picked some of the best he could find from it, wrapping it up and hurrying back to the park.

Much to his surprise, when he came back, Fanny was already chatting freely with one of his classmates.

“Mylene?”

“Oh, Hi there Marin!” She said, as both her and Fanny looked at his wrapped bread. “I didn’t know your bakery was part of the anti food waste program!”

Fanny couldn’t have been happier at the sight, followed by the smell and the taste.

“That tastes real good, reminds me of the times I could actually afford it.”

She took one good crunchy bite, then sighed, pocketing the rest in her jacket.

“Do you two know each other?” Marin asked, mildly surprised at the unexpected encounter.

“Mylene is an activist, I’ve seen her once or twice in demonstrations.”

Mylene nodded in approval. “Just doing my small share at making sure Paris is a better city for everyone.”

Marin wasn’t sure if he ever excelled at reading people’s sincerity, but something about Mylene’s enthusiasm seemed highly convincing.

It’s quite nice to have someone like her in class.

“Now, I’m really sorry to bid you farewell; there’s a demonstration I’m going to.”

“Oh!” both Fanny and Marin exclaimed. “What’s it about?”

“I don’t actually know yet,” she admitted sheepishly. “We’ll get all the details soon.”

Just as she made that statement, several city construction workers started spreading around the park, taking measurements and making chalk marks.

“Hrm? Is something going on?”

“We’d have to ask you to leave soon. We’re about to install new benches in the park.”

“New benches, that’s really nice!” Fanny looked at the construction workers, hopeful.

“Ha. Wait until you see them,” one of them responded, a mysterious smile to him and a certain gleam in his eye. Something about Fanny seemed to deflate at that moment as her movements slowed down and her senses seemed to sharpen. It was that moment when another of the construction workers gave her a friendly pat to the back and said “I’m terribly sorry.”

“What would you be sorry about?” she asked, almost instinctively, even though her expression gave in that she was starting to realize it. In a few moments, they all saw the crane hauling over the new bench.

Marin had never slept in the street, but it was obvious to him there was no way anyone could ever sleep on that angled stone slab, much less with the bars attached at strategic locations and the shallow, but disruptive, segmentation.

“No, please…” Fanny begged, to no avail, as Marin’s heart sank at the cruelty.

Who’s to hear her cry, a plight to be allowed some dignity in her sleep?

And even if the construction workers were to listen and open their hearts to her plea, was there anything they could do about it?

Marin watched Fanny’s head droop as she slowly walked away from them.

“Try the other way,” the friendly construction worker called to her. “It will be a longer while before installation plans reach that part of the city.”

“I… I guess that’s what today’s protest is about.” Mylene sighed deeply. “I better hurry.”

“Can I… can I come with you?” he asked, and Mylene nodded.

---

A whirr of a motor disrupted the silence as rays of light disrupted the darkness as well, opening just a bit of Hawk Moth’s lair to the world.

“Yes. Just the feelings I need. Despair against a merciless municipality. Rage against civil servants with a heart of stone. Fly away, my precious akuma, and evilize her!”

Fanny walked aimlessly, trying to get as far as she could from that park. Eventually, she succumbed to the thoughts of futility and leaned her back at one of the trees on the boulevard, sobbing. Another pedestrian casually bumped into her, not even bothering to utter an apology.

She looked about, paying no special attention to the odd butterfly that approached her, as it landed on the piece of bread sticking out of her jacket’s pocket.

It was then when she felt some kind of mental link being formed and silvery eyes prying into her soul.

“ Stoneheart. I am Hawk Moth. Wouldn’t you like to repay those who failed to listen to your pleas, those with a true heart of stone?”

“With pleasure, Hawk Moth”.

The purple-black mist enveloped her, as she morphed into Stoneheart, a giant made of pure stone.

---

Marin and Mylene were walking at that very same boulevard, as a deafening sound and a shake of the earth rattled them to their core.

They both looked at Stoneheart with great fear, their minds doing their best to comprehend its existence, with little success.

“What… What is that thing?” Mylene cried. Marin was swift to pull her from its way as its foot crashed into the ground, seemingly ignoring them both, much to their relief.

“I don’t know, but we had better run away!” Marin answered as both nodded and fled the boulevard.

Marin ran off as quickly as he could, his feet carrying him away towards the safety of his home. He tried his best to forget about the scene he just witnessed, to no avail. It’s not like he was empowered to do anything about it anyway, now was he?

Well, at least Alya would be very interested, I bet she’d love to chase and photograph the thing.

Just as he was about to fetch his phone from the school bag and call her, something dropped out of it, an object he did not recognize. He picked it up and examined it thoroughly.

The thing looked like a highly ornate tiny box made of lacquered black wood with strange engravings.

“Huh? What’s that doing here?”

He cautiously opened the box, curious as to the pair of earrings found inside, as a tiny red creature with a black dot on their forehead emerged.

“First a monster and now I’m imagining things,” he quipped.

“Huh? Well, imagine this!” The creature flew and forcefully smacked right into his right side.

“Ouch, what did you do that for?”

Wait a minute...

“You’re real!”

“Yes! My name is Tikki and I’m a Kwami.”

“My dad must be pranking me.”

Marin waved his hand as if trying to find the strings that supposedly make Tikki move.

“We don’t have time for this, you have to listen. We have to beat Stoneheart.”

Marin looked at her with intent from several directions, going ‘hmm’ as he did.

“You’re a bit too small for that.”

“Don’t be silly. There’s something super inside you waiting to be unleashed.”

“The only thing I’m super at is being the school’s super laughing stock!”

Tikki seemed to ignore his statement.

“Just memorize the important parts. The invocation of your special power is by saying ‘lucky charm,’ but you will detransform after five earring beeps, so wait for the right moment to use it.”

Marin looked at her, still thoroughly unconvinced, though he did place the earrings over his ears as Tikki expected him to.

“Okay… I’ll try to remember all of that,” he said.

“And after that, you need to find the akumatized item, break it, then capture the butterfly using your yo-yo.”

Marin nodded.

“I still think this is all some kind of a prank.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind saying ‘spots on’, would you?” Tikki seemed to taunt him.

“Spots… on?”

---

Marin got a glimpse of Tikki’s form getting sucked into his earrings. By then, he was no longer able to suggest it was a prank. His body seemed to gain a life of his own, his hands motioning over his eyes, a red mask forming over them. The transformation then proceeded towards the rest of his body, covering it with a red-and-black hexagon patterned suit and the yo-yo Tikki promised formed near his hip.

“Well, that’s a surprise,” he said, as he looked at himself in the mirror and he realized it was far more surprising that he had initially imagined.

“I’m… a girl now?”

Something about those words felt right. Too right. Almost temptingly right.

Too tempting… and not true.

I may have a girl alter ego, (s)he thought, but that doesn’t mean I am a girl, now does it?

(S)he wasn’t too surprised that the feeling still lingered on, despite her supposedly-rational thought about it. The image in the mirror was too hard to fight off.

(S)he casually waved her hand and was still surprised that the image in the mirror did the exact same.

“Well then… it’s time to save the world, isn’t it, Tikki?”

There was no response.

“Oh my, guess she’s part of my suit. Perhaps that’s why I have a feminine form!”

That revelation made her feel joy at figuring it out and the same time cast some unexplained sadness upon her.

As if (s)he wanted to have a genuinely feminine part to have brought about that form. But alas, (s)he was a boy. A not-so-happy fate, as far as (s)he had considered, but a fate nonetheless.

“So. Ladybug.” she whispered.

My girl persona.

I have a girl persona.

I’m free to act like a girl when I’m wearing this suit.

----

Marin left her room to her porch as she considered her options. She pulled out the yo-yo and an idea came to mind, about using it as a means of transport.

It’s a bit crazy but worth a try, I guess?

A quick toss and it latched perfectly upon a stone gargoyle in a nearby cathedral. She tugged it and found herself thrust forward.

That works!

She quickly landed at the cathedral’s balcony, where another figure stood. One very similar to her, though clad in black. Being the Ladybug-themed superheroine, then he must be-

“Chat Noir, pleased to meet you. You must be the partner my kwami told me about.”

“Well, my kwami failed to mention any partner…” she said, “But two against one sounds better.”

“Uhh… About that, I have some really bad news, partner,” Chat Noir called as he pointed towards the street below them. A group of Stoneheart clones were now thrashing through Paris. In between them, she spotted one wearing a familiar jacket.

Fanny?

The jacket-wearing stoneheart pointed towards a nearby beggar and they instantly turned into yet another clone of theirs, joining their growing army.

“We have to stop them before they get out of control!”

Chat Noir was quick to vault towards the scene and Marin followed, using her yo-yo yet again as means of transport. Chat Noir was careless enough to land smack in the middle of a group of stoneheart clones, while Marin was much more careful in planning her landing.

“Cataclysm!” he called it and touched his hand to the ground, causing a minor chasm to open up and giving him cover to vault away to safety.

“Wow, that was so cool! better have another one ready,” he suggested. “Cataclysm!” He called it again.

Marin stared at Chat Noir who seemed perplexed that his super-power wasn't recharging on its own.

“Looks like your Kwami failed to mention important things too! You only have one shot at it. It’s all up to me now, I guess. LUCKY CHARM!”

Marin cupped her hands to find a firehose dropping into them.

A firehose? That’s almost too easy!

“Cover me, partner!” she said, and Chat Noir was quick to fend off some stoneheart clones with his baton and allow her to reach one of the fire hydrants. As she plugged it, she tried her best to aim at Stoneheart’s pocket, to no avail.

I have to do better than this.

She quickly slid between the legs of some other stoneheart clones, jumping over yet another two and stuffing the hose straight into the pocket in Stoneheart’s jacket.

The torrent of water was quick to dislodge and soak the piece of bread, swiftly breaking it apart. In a moment, all the Stoneheart clones detransformed, leaving behind dazed people, as the akuma butterfly fluttered away.

“You’re done causing trouble, little akuma!” she called as she tossed her yo-yo away, whisking the butterfly into her yo-yo.

“Bye bye, pretty butterfly!” she waved at the now white purified butterfly, then looked at the fireman’s hose she carried.

“Miraculous… Ladybug!” She cried as she tossed the hose sky high and it burst into a shower of ladybugs, going about Paris and correcting whatever damage Stoneheart had caused.

An earring beep reminded her of her time limit.

“Tomorrow at eight, same cathedral. Don’t be late, partner!” She bid him farewell and quickly ran off.

----

Her earrings made their final beep just as she hid herself in the alley and detransformed.

“I was… a superheroine,” she mumbled. “But now I’m a boy again, I’m-”

Something about being Ladybug thrilled her far more than just her superpowers.

Something about the suit seemed to fit in a way that was much more than merely physical.

The thought about being a boy again made her sick to her core and by now she realized very well why.

She’d be forced to forever live out the gap between her feminine alter ego, let loose in superheroine form, and the boy life she has to endure.

The bullying. The harassment. Laughed at for being gay.

If only I could actually be Ladybug. If only I truly had that in me.

As if to reinforce that exact thought, her school bag just slipped away and its contents spread around, reminding her of the very thing she wished to forget. A gentle, manicured hand picked up her history book and her eyes went wide.

The scrawl was gone.

Huh?

As if by themselves, tears of happiness poured out, as her hand gently fluttered over the now-clean history book.

It’s gone! that… that awful thing, no longer here to haunt me. The blatant reminder of my supposed place. How many tears have I shed over this?

In-between her tears, she also noticed something else. Her hand, which was feeling the book, was now different as well.

How could I have missed that?

Gentle. Manicured.

A girl's hand.

Wait.

Hold it right there for a minute.

No… it can’t be… it’s… I…

I didn’t change back.

I DIDN’T CHANGE BACK!

Hands gently trailed her now feminine features, stroking her face which was previously slightly bearded (much to her chagrin), now smooth to the touch. Cupping her breasts, squeezing them just a touch.

They’re… real. It’s all real!

She looked at herself and something just felt feminine, right . (She would only later be able to identify it as body fat distribution changes)

“I…”

She began saying something, then stopped as her own voice startled her. It was now higher-pitched than before. As if she hadn’t gone through this awful puberty.

Feelings of joy, surprise and fear of the unknown overwhelmed her. She collapsed at the nearest bench, crying her heart out.

“Are you okay, girl?”

“I’m… girl… I…”

She called me a girl. I’m a girl now. I’m really a girl now.

“Do you need some help?”

I… but… do I even know the least thing about actually being a girl?

This thought made her dizzy, as another began to chase her.

I’m a girl now. That’s… ten times as hard, isn’t it? Being so…

Tikki… I have to talk with Tikki.

“I’m fine,” she mumbled towards the woman, as she made haste home, ignoring everything and everyone who stood in her way as she barged through the bakery’s door, the bell ringing loudly.

“In a hurry, Marinette?” Her dad called, but it barely registered in her mind. She quickly opened the door to their home and quickly climbed the stairway, opening the door to her room then gaping in awe.

---

“It’s… it’s beautiful!” she squirmed full of excitement. Her room now looked nothing like she had remembered it. Her eyes were first drawn to the pink upholstery, replacing the drab grey memory and evoking glee at the cuteness it radiated. The lounge chaise was a perfect match and she had to restrain her urge to immediately jump and lay over it. Her feet dragged her as if by their own volition to her desk, colorful and inviting, tastefully decorated with various trinkets.

“Awesome!” she almost screamed as she sat on her chair.

“So, I take it you like your new room!” A high pitched sound was heard, as Tikki emerged from her purse.

Wait, I have a purse? And it’s all pretty and pink?

“Well then, Marinette, how do you like your new life?”

Marinette blushed furiously.

“I… it’s… it’s everything I ever wished for, without even knowing it. Even my new name feels… perfect.”

That admission only managed to further her embarrassment at being unable to get a good grip on the situation and she tried her best to look away from Tikki.

“So, I should tell you exactly how it works, then.” Tikki zipped in front of Marinette again, denying her the privilege of looking the other way.

“The Miraculous Cure has rewritten everyone’s knowledge of you and reshaped your life. Should you ever want to reverse it, you will need to call for the Miraculous Cure again with that intent.”

Marinette chuckled.

“I… don’t see that happening anytime soon.”

“As for your own body, this one couldn’t be handled by the Cure as it avoids subjectively fixing you.”

“Oh?”

Well, that does make some sense, I guess?

“So, I am sustaining that magic using a small portion of my power. Should you need your maximum power, you can ask me to drop it temporarily.”

“Well, I don’t see that happening either. Tikki, things are... ”

She paused, trying to contain her excitement.

“Things are the best they have ever been. I am looking forward to school and living my new life.”

Marinette looked at her bed that suddenly looked oh-so-inviting, both on account of how it looked and on account of her being so tired.

“Guess it’s time for me to go to bed… Good night, Tikki!”

“Good night, Marinette.”

Marinette tucked herself into bed, a wide smile to her that refused to fade.

---

Dear Marinette… While I did this much for you, your quest towards accepting who you really are is far from done. The real challenge lies deep within you.

#miraculous #miraculous ladybug #fanfiction #fanfic #ladybug #trans

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lyssala · 5 years

Text

Dance

Pairing: Terra/Aqua, Kingdom Hearts

Rating: K

Setting: Post Kingdom Hearts 3

Notes: Okay so I had the Ed Sheeran song "Perfect" in my head the whole time I wrote this. My brother and sister-in-law danced to that song as their first dance and kay my heart melted SO here's some super sap lmao And I thought of Terra and Aqua the first time I heard it then too so I guess I'm the super sap hahaha

AO3

Destiny Island, Ven loved Destiny Island. The first time he ever stepped foot on the sandy beaches he was ready to toss off his clothes and dive right into the water; which he didn’t because he didn’t bring a swimsuit but he would’ve.

He did the very next time he went back to visit in the least.

It was warm and sunny and it always smelled like fresh fruit and sunshine. He loved the way the sand felt between his toes, how clear the water was that he could see all the fish swimming around, he loved jumping off the old bridges to catch the frisbee Axel intentionally threw too far, Ven loved it all. He’d move here if Terra and Aqua would let him. The lake back home was okay, but it couldn’t hold a candle to the beach.

“It’s a vacation spot,” Aqua would say with that amused look in her eyes as she’d rub some dirt off his cheek. “Even the people who live here don’t live on the island.”

Yeah, well, he’d make a house, like in the trees or something. Whatever, it was nice enough to just visit regardless. The waves tickled his feet as he laid flat on his back, the moon shining high above him, stars reflecting over the dark water. He sort of got dressed before collapsing on the semi wet sand to watch the stars rise, but he didn’t care too much if he got wet, the water was still so warm.

The fire was crackling somewhere behind him, music playing softly over the radio that Kairi brought with her today. He arched his head back to look at who was still around the campfire. It wasn’t too surprising that Axel was passed out off to the side, some jacket tucked under his head; he was probably snoring but the music was playing loud enough that it drowned him out. Roxas was fiddling on his phone with his back leaning up against Axel’s stomach, that would probably be a pillow before too long. Isa was still there too, his eyes watching the fire while he kicked Axel to get him to shut up. Xion was kneeling behind Isa, her mouth moving as she chatted about something, fingers moving in his hair where she was probably braiding it.

Ven had to arch his back into a weird position to see the rest of the fire pit but there was Kairi and Naminé sitting together on a log, exchanging pictures on their phones as well as flipping through her sketchbook. Sora and Riku where nowhere to be found; probably hunting through the caves together considering the only other people where Terra and Aqua, sitting on a shorter log off to the side. He had his legs kicked out closer to the fire and she was curled into facing him, listing attentively to what he was saying. They were close enough that their legs were touching but far enough that nothing else was.

Figures, Ven snorted as he let himself flop back down on the sand. A year. A year went by since that nightmare, and for the most part everyone was well adjusted and happy in their new roles and new lives. Except Ven’s stupid best friends.

Okay, almost a lie. They were well adjusted and happy, just not in the way Ven thought they should be. It was silly really, you love someone you tell them. Done deal. Oh, no, those two did just about everything you could possibly do to imply it but until one of them actually said it Ven was pretty sure they’d never know. Even when Terra literally would carry Aqua to bed when she stayed up late in library and fell asleep. Even when Aqua could predict a shifting mood in Terra so she could be there with a warm hand on his face to remind him he was alive. Even when he intentionally went to bed last every single night so he could shut off the lanterns while Aqua was tucked safe in bed, usually his if you wanted a double whammy. Even when neither of them looked at anyone the way they looked at each other.

Ven didn’t even really knew what it was like to be in love, how it felt, what it entailed and even he knew. Alright, it was a rough time back, hard adjustments even he felt that but things were good now, things were normal. The Land of Departure was going to be a school again, a safe haven for keybearers. Peace was returned, this was the prime time for love and all that crap. Ven couldn’t fathom why they still pretended like everything was the same, why they couldn’t say simple words that expressed how they felt.

In fact the more he thought about it the more frustrated he got. Even laying on the beach with the relaxing waves and soothing breeze he wanted to hit them both upside the head. If anyone in this world deserved to be happy it was them two and for some reason they refused to see that. Well, you know what, maybe Ven would make them see it.

He didn’t even know he had jumped to his feet until he heard Terra call his name.

“Everything alright, kiddo?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ven said, jogging to head back over to the fire. “Saw a jellyfish or something.”

“Its dark out, how did you see a jellyfish,” Roxas asked though judging by how he didn’t look up from his phone it was probably more along the lines of “you absolutely didn’t see a jellyfish”.

“The moonlight,” Ven said, waving his hand generally towards the sky. “Stars, you know. I saw one, okay.”

Xion giggled from her spot behind Isa.

Roxas did look up that time. “Are there even any jellyfish around this island? I’ve never seen one.”

“Don’t antagonize, Roxas,” Isa said but he cracked a small smile when Kairi looked up to mouth “no” while trying not to laugh.

“Okay, okay,” Ven snorted. He should’ve known better they’d call his bluff, they always did. Some friends. He went to go sit by Aqua, trying to form some plan to get them to do something but it turned out he didn’t need to; her feet were tapping in the sand the to the beat of the music, head bobbing absent mindedly.

Oh, oh. Aqua loved music and she loved dancing. Kairi brought along the radio just because she thought it would be nice to have something to sing or dance along to. So far everyone had just listened along but he bet he could get some dancing going which could work out in his favor.

“Hey, Aqua,” he said, holding his hands out to her. “Dance with me.”

“On the beach?” she asked though she was already standing up to meet him. “I’m not sure how well my form will be on uneven ground.”

“Please, you’re good at everything.”

Aqua gave him a swat to his arm but she was already placing one hand on his shoulder and taking Ven’s in her hand. He placed his other on her waist which might’ve been weird because she was like his sister but he did it a million times before. Even when Ven started to move in the first dance steps that came to his memory, which she was right it was hard to keep a pattern when your feet kept slipping in the sand. Aqua looked more shocked than anything.

“What?” he asked. “Surprised I remembered?”

“No.” Her face melted into a smile. “You’ve just gotten so tall. You used to be a lot smaller when we did this.”

He felt his ears get hot at the sudden attention on himself; he knew Aqua was sentimental but that wasn’t quite what Ven was going for tonight. He spun her around pretty sloppily because of the sand but it made her laugh well enough before he pulled her back to him.

Terra was still sitting, watching them with an amused grin.

“Jealous I’m still a better dancer than you?” Ven said, sticking out his tongue as he moved to dance Aqua in a small circle.

“If you call that better dancing you can have it,” Terra snorted. He didn’t seem to mind one bit to not be the one dancing. Granted Ven also knew it’s not like Terra had any reason to be jealous of Ven or anyone here.

“He’s right, VenVen,” Roxas said.

There was a teasing glint in Isa’s eyes that used to be hard to see but he was getting better at it. “You can’t do better, I wouldn’t talk. Unless you’d like to prove me wrong.”

“Nope, I’m good.”

“Don’t talk the talk then,” Xion said, fingers grabbing some more of Isa’s thick hair.

That did give Ven an idea though. Looking over Aqua’s shoulder he managed to catch Naminé’s eyes. She was already watching them as Kairi was looking questionably at her phone; probably trying to figure out where the boys went off to.

Ven gestured his head to Terra, but Naminé only blinked in response. Ven moved Aqua around in a circle again, trying to mouth to Naminé while frantically nodding towards Terra. Her eyes blinked in recognition this time, her mouth forming a little “o”.

At one point she might’ve been too shy but now she easily stood up, walking over to where Terra was still sitting. “Terra?” she asked in that soft voice of hers. “Would you maybe dance with me?”

Ven was already celebrating his victory; like Terra would ever say no to that.

Sure enough he didn’t. He was already pushing himself up to his feet. “Of course, I’d be my pleasure.”

Ven tried to watch them more to make sure he could give Naminé more instructions but Aqua’s face cut back into his view, a grin on her lips as she spun him around this time. She was far better at it than he was, pulling him out and right back in with so much ease even the slippery sand didn’t make him feel like he was going to fall.

Aqua pulled him in closer that time, leaning so her face was near his ear. “What are you up to?”

“Me? Aqua, honestly, how could you ever think that?”

She laughed and it made Ven feel happier even than he was in that moment. He wanted her to always be happy, like this, carefree dancing on the beach in the middle of the night. There was really only one person who could do that for her every day, and it wasn’t himself.

Ven leaned back around when Aqua straightened up some. Naminé looked even smaller when she was standing in front of Terra. He still led her with surprisingly good form even though Terra hated dance class way back when. Naminé was giggling but Ven knew she was watching him out of the corner of her eyes. He couldn’t really tell her what he wanted to do so he had to hope she was intuitive enough to pick up on it; he was almost positive she was, even more so than most.

He mouthed, “now” and hoped she got the message. Ven quickly spun Aqua around but let her go, ducking under her arms to move out of the way. Naminé had done the same to Terra, spinning off to where Ven was standing and leaving Aqua and Terra facing each other, their arms still slightly extended where their partners once where.

“Your turn,” Ven said, Naminé reaching up to cover her laugh behind her hand.

Aqua pursed her lips, her cheeks puffing out slightly from the trick Ven pulled over them.

He shrugged in response. “Sorry, you gotta, thems the rules.”

“What rules?” Roxas snorted.

“The dance rules,” Kairi nodded even though there were absolutely no rules for this.

“Suppose you should get on with it then,” Isa said, and Ven didn’t miss the small wink Isa gave Xion, making her giggle too.

“Okay,” Aqua sighed, though she was grinning she wasn’t upset. “I suppose it’s the rules.”

Terra rolled his eyes, but was already reaching out for Aqua’s waist, taking one of her hands in his. “I don’t remember that rule.”

“You did it anyways,” Ven snickered, moving to sit on the now empty log. Naminé followed taking a seat between him and Kairi.

Terra ignored Ven at that point; in fact he was pretty sure Terra ignored everyone at that point. It didn’t really matter because the sight in front of Ven was exactly what he wanted.

Terra and Aqua fit together much better than Ven did with Aqua. Terra was still taller than her but she was the right height to match his movements easily. She looked like she was trying not to laugh, probably because they were sliding in the sand as they tried to mimic a ballroom dance. He did too, big grin on his lips; one Ven thought at one point he might never see again even after they came back home.

They were dance partners before Ven ever came along, they were partners in pretty much everything before and after Ven. He never took it personally; he knew they shared something different with each other then they shared with him. It just took him a while to understand the different ways you could love someone. It showed the most in situations like these where their partnership and their bond really shined. They were perfectly at ease following the simple steps in each other’s arms. Even when Aqua slide a little too far in the sand, nearly loosing her balance with a laugh Terra grabbed onto her waist holding her back up.

For a moment, Ven was pretty sure they forgot they were on a beach surrounded by their friends.

Aqua reached her arms up around Terra’s neck, the distance between them closing just a little more, their feet reduced more to small steps and sways and less like actual dancing.

Roxas breathed in like he was going to say something but a hand clasped down on his mouth before he could. Axel had his eyes open; maybe he was never really asleep to begin with. Roxas glared over but it was harmless.

Isa brought his finger to his lips. “Let them be.”

Ven would’ve rolled his eyes at the fact everyone knew but clearly the two in question but when he looked back to them, it wasn’t…It wasn’t like that.

Aqua had leaned her head down on Terra’s shoulder, her eyes shut with a sort of easy smile on her face. They had drifted a little bit away from the fire, partly hidden by the shadows from the palm trees nearby. Terra’s hands were pressed to her lower back keeping her close. He had his head tilted towards her as he said something that Ven supposed wasn’t for anyone else’s ears.

They knew. They absolutely knew. They knew how important they were to one another, they knew the comfort, they knew the peace, and they probably knew the love. It was never clearer than in that moment that they were each other’s worlds, all wrapped up in light sweaters from the chill of the beach at night, barefoot in the sand under a bright moon. They may not have done anything about it, that Ven knew of, but it wasn’t that they were oblivious or ignoring it. They embraced it even if they weren’t ready to say it.

Terra leaned her head against hers and her smile got wider, though her eyes never opened. They really were the only people they saw here right now.

Ven felt a soft hand on his shoulder. He looked over to Naminé; she was watching at the sky.

“They’ll be just fine.”

Where once he would’ve question that, because could they take any longer, they had already lost so much time why lose more? This time he felt a little more at peace. He glanced back over to them still dancing slowly together before watching the sparkling stars. The very ones he wished upon so many times both with his friends and alone. It was hard not close his eyes fondly at the memories and at the long life he had in front of him to spend it how he pleased; with the people he loved, his friends and his family.

He blinked his eyes open when he heard footsteps on the sand. Kairi stood up to wave when Riku was in view, Sora sitting up on Riku’s shoulders and waving so frantically it nearly knocked Riku over. Roxas had leaned over to show Axel something on the phone, something they were both snickering over. Xion was holding up some of the braids to Isa to make sure he liked the style she was testing on him; he always liked it. Terra and Aqua were still dancing, feet barely moving in the sand as the water lapped up from the beach.

Ven smiled, a sigh falling from his lips. Yeah, those two, they’d be just fine.

#terraqua #kingdom hearts fanfic #terraqua week #kingdom hearts aqua #kingdom hearts terra #canonversekh #my fics:kh #can you tell I missed writing canon lmao

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hiddlywiddly81 · 6 years

Text

Devoted

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Prompt: Just a really body positive and saucy fic that literally no one asked for. Just felt like writing it.

A/N: I read a piece of @ohhhmyloki ‘s work a while back, and was totally inspired. I liked the little bit of body positivity, and thought we could all use more. Also, I apologize if the POV is confusing. It’s kind of second person omniscient (I know, author speak). I wanted something that still felt personal (second person, then), but allowed you to get in Loki’s head too. This fic is also THE. LONGEST. I’m done blabbering. Enjoy!

Warnings: lots of my lovely almost smut, mention of self harm, and a heck ton of self-doubt and body insecurity

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m going to go hop in the shower,” you said, popping up from your spot on the bed. Loki only looked up from his book to watch you sauntering over to your bathroom door. It took every ounce of self control not to have you right then and there. He adored the way your shorts sat on your thighs, and how he could see your curves though you wore an oversized sweater. Having a nice shower seemed the perfect oppurtunity to get you naked.

He smirked that deliciously devious smirk of his.

“May I join you?”

Your cheeks flushed. Your head spun. This was partially from the hungry look he gave you- the way he watched you like a starved cat watching a sparrow. But it was also from sheer terror. You didn’t want him to see you unclothed.

It seemed trivial on the surface. You two had been naked in each other’s company many times. Except you had the comfort of the lights being off, and occasionally sheets covering you, hiding you from curious eyes. Not to mention there was too much passion to particularly see straight or contemplate anything but the pleasure. The thought of being... exposed in front of him made you nauseous.

“Darling?” You realized you were just staring at him- wide-eyed and open-mouthed. You shook head and swallowed audibly.

“Just relax, sweetheart. I’ll only be a minute.” You prayed your sweet tone and loving smile were enough to keep Loki in his place. Well, it didn’t work.

He stood up and wrapped his arms around your waist. Then he began purposefully nibbling your neck, where he knew it got you going. You held back a small moan and pushed him away before getting too caught up in the moment.

“Loki,” you tried more forcefully, “I don’t want to do this. I can’t.” Despite what many would think about him, he always respected your wishes. You knew he wouldn’t try to do anything you didn’t desire. It was one of the many reasons you loved him so dearly.

He wasn’t hurt. He wasn’t angry. He was concerned. He could tell that there was something more going on than you simply not being in the mood.

“Y/N, are you ok?”

Are you ok? For as long as you remembered, that question made you break into tears. You could be unaffected one moment, and broken down the next. You wanted to be strong for him, but as soon as Loki said those words, you could feel the familiar sting of tears.

“Please, just tell me,” he prompted. Knowing there was no way to get out of this now, you let him lead you back to the bed. You both sat there for a few minutes- you avoiding his eyes, crying a bit more, and he taking your hands in his for comfort. Finally, you drew in a sharp breath. And you told him the truth.

“I don’t want you to see me naked.” As crual as it sounds, Loki fought the urge to laugh.

“My love, I believe we’re way past that.”

“That’s not what I mean.” You struggled to find the right words, and he was patient with you. “Yeah, we’ve slept together. But you haven’t really seen me. I’m...worried you’re not going to want me anymore when you do.”

Loki didn’t respond. The silence made the rush of emotion too intense, and gave you the opportunity to carry on.

“I’m not an Asgardian goddess. I’m not even that fantastic of a Midgardian.” The word tasted funny in your mouth. “Loki, you’re perfect. You’re gorgeous. You’re meant to be with some beautiful, skinny goddess of something or other. Not me. I’m fat, I’m not at all beautiful, I’m just... nothing.” He searched your eyes frantically.

“Are you saying I shouldn’t love you because of how you think you look?” You shrugged. He grabbed your shoulders, making your eyes snap to his. He looked the way he did when he talked about his mother, or how his father wronged him, or how Thanos tortured him. He looked devastated.

“Don’t ever say that again. Ever.” His voice shook slightly, startling you. You’d only known Loki to act in such away when he truly cared about something. In a way it was comforting. In another, it terrified you.

He took your cheeks into his hands and used his thumbs to wipe away your tears. You must have looked like a mess. You knew your makeup was all down your face, and snot was beginning to dribble out of your nose. But Loki looked at with you with such admiration, it made your heart hurt.

“I love you. And that means I love all of you. You said I deserve to be with someone perfect, and I am.”

In one fluid movement, his lips were on yours. Your hands instinctively curled into his onyx locks.

After many delicate, chaste kisses, Loki tested the roiling waters. He slipped his tongue between your lips with surprising deftness. The sensation of him gliding into your open mouth, filling it nicely, caused you to grip his hair with more ferocity. You wanted him, but fear still lurked in the back of your mind.

He took his time. He wanted you to feel his deep affection for you. He worried that if he took things too hastily and passionately as he was usually inclined to, it wouldn’t have the same meaning.

Without breaking contact with you, Loki lowered you down onto the bed. Eventually he straightened and positioned himself in between your shins. His hands glided gently beneath your sweater and he raised his brows, asking for permisson. You didn’t grant it right away. You fought with yourself for several moments. What if he changed his mind about you once you were naked beneath him? Would he regret saying such sweet things to you once he saw you? How could you stand the embarrassment?

“Are you sure?” you whispered.

“Absolutely,” he breathed.

Assisting Loki in shimmying off your sweater and shorts felt like diving from a cliff. And the cold, waiting air felt like the water slamming into you, and you into it. The finality of it felt like drowning.

You watched Loki as he drank in every detail of your flesh. Almost everything was on display for his hungry gaze (you were still in your undergarments). You were unsure what to do. You were a butterfly pinned to the corkboard, or rather, as you figured, an unsightly moth.

Loki, on the other hand, was amazed. And undeniably aroused. He had never seen a creature so beautiful. And it was his duty to worship you- to hopefully make you realize how gorgeous you were.

He started where he was, and nuzzled your smooth legs. You closed your eyes in delight. Perhaps this would be worth it. He slowly worked his way upward, nuzzling and caressing as he did so.

When he arrived at your thighs, almost all restraint was thrown to the wind. The softness of them, the appealing amount of flesh to grip while ravishing you made him salivate. He so desperately wished you could see yourself as he did. Instead he could only settle for demonstrating how utterly infatuated- how utterly devoted- he was to you.

You shivered as Loki’s cool tongue dipped into and ran the length of one of your stretchmarks. Self-doubt gripped at you once again. You hated that aspect of yourself. Though he seemed to be enjoying himself, you couldn’t help the feeling he may have found them unattractive.

“Loki,” you interrupted. Unable to quite verbalize your internal struggle, you allowed him into your mind. He only responded by shaking his head and continuing his ministrations.

Loki had to have had his tongue in every single one of the marks before going all in. He sunk his teeth into your inner thigh as if sinking his teeth into the flesh of a most succulent peach. He made a small noise of pleasure in the back of his throat. Your back arched, and a hand curled back into his tosseled hair.

He continued savoring your thighs for a long while until he decided to resume his upward journey. He peppered your stomach and sides in identical bites, all the while whispering “My Queen.” You could get used to this.

After what seemed like hours, Loki’s mouth reached yours- all teeth and tongue and aching devotion. You were done for. You wanted his chilly skin against yours. You wanted him in-

Still listening to your thoughts, Loki pulled away, nodded, and tugged his shirt over his head. You reached down and helped him with the button, then the zipper, of his trousers.

•

“How are you not exhausted?” You breathed. Loki had pleasured you to your limit, but he remained unaffected. A thin sheen of sweat covered his whole being. His cheeks had the tiniest tinge of pink. His eyes were still bright and his breathing even. And despite pleasuring you many times over, he still hadn’t met his own end. You were impressed, if not a little worried you weren’t pleasurable enough. You pushed the thought away, and threw and arm over your eyes.

Loki flopped down beside you, and propped himself on an elbow.

“I’m a god, remember?” You hummed in recognition. You chastised yourself for the previous thought, reminding yourself of his inhuman stamina.

Loki traced runic patterns- spells, probably- on your side. Goosebumps covered your flesh as he did so. You were utterly content for the moment. Loki had worshipped every inch of you, and you felt a certain credibility for his devotion.

“You know,” Loki broke into your thoughts, letting his lips brush over your arm as he spoke, “I have my own insecurities about my... appeal.” You chuckled and removed your arm from your face.

“Loki, come on. You could snap your fingers, and a thousand women would be ready to ride you into oblivion.” He didn’t find your comment amusing. Your face fell.

“You’re quite right, my darling. But only in this form.”

“This form?”

He raised his eyebrows.

“You don’t know?”

You turned on your side to meet him face to face.

“Know that you’re a frost giant?”

He shook his head, then shrugged.

“You know my heritage, but you don’t know... This isn’t... this isn’t my natural form. This,” he motioned to his body, “is all an illusion.”

The curiosity was killing you, but you didn’t want to frighten him. You eased into the question, prefacing it with a handful of kisses and nips at his neck. You slid on top of him and took a stab in the dark.

“Would you show me?”

“You’ll think I’m some sort of monster,” he responded. The hurt in his eyes was heart shattering. You tucked his hair behind his ear and smiled.

“Loki, I promise you. I could never think that.” He bit at the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. Nothing terrified him more than this moment. And you wanted nothing but honesty between you.

After taking one deep breath, and fixing his gaze to the ceiling, his skin began to transform into a rather calming ocean blue. It spread slowly, with no deliberate path, like ink dropped into water. His eyes shifted from their usual brilliant blue to a deep red. Portions of his skin raised into simple, sweeping lines. You followed them with a finger, coming to his hands. Another set of raised lines resided on the inside of his wrist- horizontal, different from the rest.

“Oh, Loki,” you sighed. He turned away.

“See? A monster.” You took his face in your hands. Tears reflected in his eyes.

“I love you, ok? Nothing- nothing- could change that.” You leaned down and pressed a lengthy kiss against his freezing lips. He raised a brow and trailed his hands up your thighs. You giggled.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I haven’t got anything left.” In an instant, he was hovering over you, pinning you to the bed.

“We’ll see about that.”

#tom hiddleston #Thomas William Hiddleston #Loki Laufeyson #loki #tom hiddleston fic #tom hiddleston smut #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x you #loki x reader #loki smut #loki fanfic #hiddlesarmy

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deathbyvalentine · 5 years

Text

Trashy LARP and fandom prompts

Vampire Trash Squad Spy AU

“Look, just be cool.” Othello touched a hand to his ear, making it look as he was leaning on his palm. He had to be more careful than usual - he was attracting several glances. Not because he was suspicious. Rather the opposite. He looked good in his tux in a way few other members of the casino did. He wore it casually, as though he did this every day.

Elsie on the hand couldn’t help but look uncomfortable in her dress. It wasn’t that it didn’t suit her - it did. It was that she didn’t quite know how to move in it, so she moved as if it were unravelling silk. “I am being cool.” She tucked a loose curl behind her ear. Lucille couldn’t help her mouth twitching in amusement, feeling rather more comfortable in her own tuxedo. “Tell Adam to be cool. I’m pretty sure he’s actually gambling.

“Adam is scouting in his own way.” Lucille murmured, calmly. “Let him do his job, now you do yours.” “Fine.” Elsie trailed her fingers down the banister, walking confidently, eyes up, head level. She made her way to the blackjack table, leaning close to a tall man with blue eyes and salt-and-pepper hair. He was handsome, in an old money sort of way. The stitching on his suit was impeccable, his shoes were polished to a fine shine. This was the type of tailoring that came from a tailor who was well acquainted with not only you, but your family as well. There were several attractive women and men hanging off his arms. It was very easy for Elsie to join them, slip her hand inside his pocket, and take the keys that sat there. She turned her back to press it into the putty hidden in her handbag, and had them back inside the pocket all within thirty seconds. Othello let out a low whistle over the comms, impressed.

She passed the small tin into Lucille’s pocket when she passed her. Stage one complete. Now it was all about recon. Adam had scoped out the tables, noticing that several of the croupiers had guns hidden inside their smart red jackets. Othello had sighted the way to the room they eventually wanted to end up in, through several curtains, walkways and security guards. He watched their shifts, figuring out that they swapped every forty five minutes, without fail. They had gotten cocky.

When they came back five hours later, it was a different place. With the rosy fingers of dawn touching the horizon and the last of the losing patrons thrown out on their ear, it was more like a mausoleum than a casino. There was no clattering of chips or balls, no whoops of joy or groans of despair. Elsie was infinitely more comfortable now, heels discarded, holster visible. Othello had of course, opted to keep his tuxedo on, much to everyone’s despair.

Adam picked the lock of the front door easily enough. They wouldn’t bother making the front door too complex - it was the safes that would pose a real problem to thieves. Their job had become a hundred times tougher since biometrics had become popularised. Luckily, it wasn’t those safes they were aiming for. Strahd had no interest in money.

There were no lasers or motion detectors inside the main gaming hall, but the quartet stuck to the sides and shadows regardless. There were cameras of course, but these were of little concern either. They had painted their faces, patterns and odd markings that scrambled any facial recognition. They made their way to the sweeping staircase, peering upwards through the wooden slats that made up the walkway around the room. First security guard. Silently, they drew out their hands, and played rock paper scissors. Lucille lost. With a tut, she slipped away and out of sight. A few moments later there was a dull thud, and she reappeared with a security badge, another gun and an eyeball. Elsie wrinkled her nose in distaste, Adam grinned. “Just in case.” Lucille murmured.

They headed up the stairs, Othello keeping an eye on their backs. The security guard had been shoved in a side cupboard fairly unceremoniously. The corridor they were aiming for was tucked away in a corner, drawing no attention to itself. Elsie cocked her head, listening for any footsteps. When none came, she carefully twisted the handle and opened the door, stepping inside.

The corridor was well lit compared to the dim gaming hall. Portraits lined the wall, the same nose and widow’s peak present on every member. A family business, evidently. There were no cameras in this corridor. This made Adam uneasy. Cameras were a two way street - they protected criminals as much as the owners.

It was that exact moment two guards came around the corner. They looked at the gang. The gang looked at them. It was awkward for all involved until Othello blinked first, unloading a bullet into the chest of one of them. Elsie was only a second slower, getting the next one. Othello clicked the safety back on with a smirk. “One-one.” “It’s not a competition.” Except it totally was. Elsie prodded one of the bodies with her foot, making sure she was truly down. “Shouldn’t bother hiding these two. Let’s just get in and out.” Lucille flicked through her smart watch, pulling up a map. She lead them around the next corner, finding a door and holding up the eyeball to the unobtrusive scanner tucked next to the number plaque.

The office they were looking for was one of the richest looking places Elsie had ever been. The desk was rich cherry wood, lined with leather. A shelf held bottles of port and sherry. Othello let out a low whistle, dragging a gloved hand over one of the book cases. Some of those books were surely first editions and worth a bomb in of themselves. Lucille ignored everything and zeroed in on the desk drawers. She rifled through with terrifying efficiency, discarding papers she had no time for. None of them made any effort to hide their movements. Their presence was going to be noticeable. That was half the point.

Lucille finally found a heavy brown file that caught her attention. In it, a bunch of shipping invoices, receipts and timings. Completely innocuous, unless you knew what the shipping was. She unzipped the backpack on Adam’s back, and dropped it in. “Done. Let’s go.”

Elsie held up a hand, tilted her head. “Wait.” After a beat, she ran to the door, switching the biometric lock so it couldn’t be opened from the outside, and shoving the desk against the door. A moment later, shouts of panic came floating from the corridor.

“Better think fast.” Adam said brightly, one foot already on the window sill. He pushed the window up and open and swung out with the ease of a monkey. Othello groaned. “I hate it when he does that. Does he even check there’s stuff to climb?” Elsie shrugged, following her colleague. Once on the ledge, she could see the sturdy drainpipe he had shimmied down, and Adam waving from the ground, already climbing in their unmarked van. Othello almost kicked her in the head in his eagerness to follow, having no desire to stick around to see who was now pounding on the door. Lucille stood in the centre of the room for a moment, glancing around for anything else useful. On a whim, she snatched the usb that sat plugged into the computer. Then she too followed. She had to.

She was the only one that could drive.

Read to Me - Synstrid

Astrid flounced into the room, a flurry of pink hair and glitter. Syn peered up from her book, watching her girlfriend perch on the edge of the sofa and attempt to get her boots off without a huge range of luck. Her fingers fumbled on the laces, the slight shaking making everything much more complex than it needed to be. Syn turned the page and ignored the pathetic whining, trying to stop her mouth from twitching into a smile.

Astrid struggled out of her coat next, tossing it to the side. Then she was in her bodysuit and bare feet, looking quite pleased with herself for earning her freedom. She padded over to the other woman, resting her head on Syn’s shoulder and nuzzling her neck. “Hey baby. Whatcha reading?”

“A book.” “Very clever. What about?” Syn sighed and resigned herself to the interruption. “It’s about a girl who gets some new bionics installed and they start acting up in ways that make her see the universe differently.” “Ooh, it sounds interesting.” “It is.” “Is she pretty?” “Who?” “The girl.” “Not as pretty as you babe.” That drew a huge grin from Astrid who wiggled down so she was lying flat, putting her head in Syn’s lap and peering up at her. They couldn’t have looked more different, Astrid with her pink hair and gold lips, Syn with her black hair and green lips. When they kissed, they’d leave a mark on each other. “Read to me.” “What?” “Read to me.” “Why? You never read.” “I know. But I like the sound of your voice.” Syn sighed dramatically, trying to hide quite how pleased that made her. “Okay. But you owe me.” “Fine.” “ ‘And so she looked out at the undercity...’“

Inquisitor/Cullen - Resting

You had gotten half-way across your study when the door opened, Cullen standing in the frame with a tray in his hands a frown on his face. You pause, trying to think of a way where this could look slightly less incriminating. The silence lays heavy for a moment - he breaks it first.

“I was under the impression you were under orders to rest.” “And there was me thinking very few people could give me orders.”

Cullen set the tray down carefully on the heavy oak desk, shutting the door with a booted heel behind him. You were still getting used to this easy intimacy, the ability to be in front of him in just your bedclothes, the having him in your personal sanctum. Still mapping out the boundaries, still working out how exactly this fragile love between you worked. And as always, trying to figure out how he worked. You weren’t sure you’d ever solve that particular mystery.

He slipped a glove off his hand, and crossed the space between you, before pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. He frowned again, apparently unimpressed at what he felt. “You’ve overwrought yourself. As one of your trusted advisers, may I advise you return to your bed?” With a huff, you nodded and padded back to the pile of blankets and pillows that was in truth more of a nest than a bed. Cullen shrugged off his cloak and hung it against the door, then ridding himself of his gloves and sheath. Then with a delicacy you weren’t aware he had, he retrieved the tray and sat on the end of the bed. On the tray sat a steaming kettle that didn’t smell like tea, a wooden bowl and spoon, and some plain bread. “Cassandra told me you hadn’t eaten today.” “Nothing will stay down.” “Could you try this? I made it myself.” He tilted the kettle, pouring a dark, rich broth into the bowl. Despite your misgivings, it smelt good and your stomach gave an encouraging rumble. You couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow however. “You made it?” “My father taught me how. For when my younger siblings got sick.” His words were mild, but there were years of memories behind them. A little chided, you accepted the bowl, raising the spoon to your lips. It was good. Cautiously at first, but then with more vigour, you soon polished off the entire bowl. Cullen didn’t speak, just letting you sate yourself. When you were done, he removed the bowl. “I can make more later if you like.” He commented as he fussed around your desk. It occurred to you that he was as unsure of the protocol here as you were. “Mm. That would be more than acceptable, as long as you aren’t getting under the cook’s feet too much.” You attempted to stifle a yawn, but his eagle eyes caught the odd motion. “I should leave you to sleep.” He began to bow. “No! I mean. If you are not immediately busy, I’d appreciate your company.” He smiled. “Right you are inquisitor.” He returned to his perch on your bed, but this time closer. As carefully as he had treated the precarious tray, he reached out to brush a few fingers through your hair. You closed your eyes at the contact, realising against all odds you were actually exhausted. You could almost hear the hum of satisfaction from Cullen as you fell asleep to him playing with your hair.

Giftmas with the squad

Barovia never truly got a day off. Festivals and celebrations meant very little to Strahd, except as a backdrop to her machinations. But still, there were some days were every thing was ticking over exactly as planned, and her lieutenants would only be adding more cooks to an already zealous pot. Winter was the time when they were least busy - Winter kept people downtrodden and resigned. Nobody dreamed of revolution in Winter.

The fire was burning in the hearth though of course nothing could warm their frozen skin. Othello was sprawled in front of it, having managed to fend off a invading Adam. Adam was now in a chair licking his wounds, literally. Lucille was giving him no sympathy, only occasionally looking up from her book. Elsie clattered into the room with a flurry of snow and huffing, discarding her robe and immediately moving to sit opposite Othello.

“All quiet?” Lucille murmured, without looking up. “Eerily.” Elsie replied, now fighting to slip off her shoes and place them close to the hearth to dry. “It’s one of their festivals.” “Giftmas, I believe.” They all froze as the voice floated in behind them, the door clicking shut. Strahd entered, breezing over to the piano that waited in the corner. None of her officers moved, but all of them went a little stiffer, a little more alert. Like a deer scenting the wind. She sat, tossing her hair over a shoulder and opening the piano, fingers brushing gently across the ivory. Othello pushed himself up from the floor and moved to sit beside the piano stool, almost purring when Strahd absent-mindedly pushed a hand through his hair as she perused the sheet music in front of her. Even Lucille’s eyes flickered up from her book, analysing the mood of the room.

“Elsie, did you celebrate Giftmas?” Her voice was light, casual. Dangerous. “Once.” Her order, exchanging presents usually whittled or painted or written in quiet moments. Those memories seemed very far away now, as though through frosted glass. “I have decided we should revive the tradition.” Now the room really was alert. Adam sat up, unslinging his legs from the arm of the chair, bite in his arm forgotten. Lucille closed her book with a soft thud. Othello didn’t seem to react, eyes lazily closed, but Elsie noticed the way his fingers twitched.

“I have some gifts for you my darlings.” She reached underneath the piano, retrieving an ornate box that was so far hidden. “To thank you for your work.” She beckoned at Elsie first with elegant fingers. She handed her a shining silver pauldron. Elsie recognised it. It was the one she had died in, polished and repaired to a fine shine. But the sigil was removed. Strahd was watching her face, a smile playing about her fine lips. “Thank you.” Lucille next. A book, heavy and bound in leather, reciting the history of the land. The degeneration, the fall. “Because I know you like history so very much.” Strahd remarked, carelessly. Lucille flicked through the ancient pages, squinting at the names of the long deceased. Somewhere, her name would be in there.

Adam approached like a child, hands tucked behind his back, curls falling into his eyes. He was smiling too, as he so often was. He put his hands out together and had a golden hand mirror deposited into them. A crease appeared between his brows. He could not see himself within it. “And for me?” Othello drawled, tilting his head back and smiling like the cheshire cat. She smiled down at him. “Something special.” It was hard for the others to see what it was at first, dropped directly into his palm. He held it up to catch the light of the fire. It was a gold ring, her mark carved into the signet. To Elsie, it looked like a ring one would make after a vow. “Do take care of it. It was my brother’s. I’d hate for it to be lost again.” Othello kissed her hand as a thank you, and slipped it on to his ring finger. Something inside Elsie’s chest panged.

“And you know what I want from you my darlings?” She smiled wide, her fangs shining. “For us to keep winning this game of ours.”

Finding Calpurnia in Hospital

His heart stopped in his chest, his breath in his throat. The anvil sun beat down on them and for a moment Mattias wondered if it had gotten to him, if he was seeing things. She was sitting there, perfect as ever. A little older, a little thinner, her feathers taller. But it was undoubtedly her - he had memorised her face after all.

There was a slightly alarmed shout from his gaggle of kohan as his tambourine, bag and walking stick went flying to the side. He didn’t care about thieves or how he looked in that moment, all he could consider was wrapping her up in his arms for the first time in many many years. There was a gasp from the urizeni physic behind her as he half-tackled her, burying his face in her neck, remembering a hundred tiny details about her that had started to fade away.

He had made the assumption most people in Empire did when a loved one stopped replying to his letters - that she had died. On some virtue-forsaken front line, away from her friends, her lovers, her family, her spire. Or in her spire, destroyed by whatever barbarian orc hoards had rampaged across the land, destroying homes and lands. He had forced himself not to think about it. To put it out of his head. To pretend she just didn’t care for the contract or indeed him anymore.

That couldn’t be true now, he realised. He could feel her tears on his cheek and himself trembling in her arms. His wife was alive, she was here, and she still felt something for him. Everything else was fixable.

AUs I’m never going to write: Sens8 SSBC/DuD AU, Coffee Shop Regenesis and Stardust DuD AU

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thehauntrpg-blog · 5 years

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Name: Rosaline Delgado-Verville Age Range: 34 Gender: Female Pronouns: She/Her Occupation: Owner of Moonlight Diner Status: TAKEN by chell

Washed up. That’s what they called you. When you rolled back into town, the smell of the rehab facility still mixed in to the fibers of your clothes, when you begged your parents to let you back in again. To offer you warmth, food, and love. You promised you would make everything better for them. Promised that you would turn your life around. They let you in like they always did, and you got to work immediately. Now, almost twenty years later, and you’re the owner of the most popular restaurant in town. Still, you run from your old identity, unsure if you can really leave that part of yourself behind.

Miles: You see yourself in him. Someone lost, and alone. Someone who, despite what they say, needs company, need someone, to look over them. You know you might not be this person for them, but you know you have to try. You’ve never ignored your gut before, and you’re not about to start now. No matter how much they say they don’t want you around.

Indigo: They spend all of their time at the Diner, trying to catch the workings of the ghost in action. But you, better than anyone else, knows that the ghost will never do what you want it to. Still, you take pity of them, and have started offering them free meals out of thanks for the business their podcast brings in, and for the good company on the days they spend in the diner.

faceclaim: Astrid Berges-Frisbey

Sallybrook

Look me in the eye when I’m talking to you.

You see her face.

Did you know what it was you took?

Her eyes half open, sullen red. Her face purple.

Why didn’t you tell us where you were going?!

Again, and again, and again.

You fucked up. You’re sorry. You’ve been condemned for all the mistakes you’ve made, for all the time you should have been happy but was too ungrateful to appreciate it. You’re paying for all your sins. You’re paying.

Don’t worry about me.

You fall backwards. You hit a wall.

Stay.

You feel a pat on your back, and then everything fades

The Happy years

The attic is your own personal trove, and your favourite past time, treasure hunting.

You’ll always remember your favourite discovery — shoved into the corner of the large Victorian wardrobe, wrapped in dull satin, a leather case pristine in condition. Cascading over it is what looks like your mother’s old wedding dress, so you never noticed it before. Carefully, you remove the case from the wardrobe and open it with innocent curiosity. You’re not sure what you expected to see, but it wasn’t this.

What lies in the case lined with soft padding, looks like mom’s cello, except much smaller. Instantly, you know that you want it, so instead of leaving it where you found it, you decide to take it to your room, and, like much of your favourite finds, you store it under your bed. Maybe, being the good girl you are, mom will let you have it (you just assume it’s hers), and maybe, if you ask nicely, she’ll teach you how to make some music with it too.

That night, you hum quietly to yourself, smiling, falling asleep thinking about your favourite melodies of mom’s playing.

When you awake the next morning, you swear you had the strangest dream.

You look under your bed for the little cello. Still there, of course, safely in its case. Silly girl, you’re not sure what you’re thinking, but at some point last night, you swear you can hear it sing.

Mom and dad never liked it when you ask to leave the house, they didn’t like it when you ask why either. These kinds of confrontation always go the same way, no one ever gets mad at you, no one ever raises their voice in this house, because no one ever really talks, ever. And that’s okay, you’re not a child with probing questions anyway, and your parents are willing to give you almost everything you want. You are happy, as far as you are concerned.

You are happy, and you are loved.

After some time, you learn not to ask questions, you learn to take what you have. You learn that your inner world is just as worth exploring as the one outside, and you learn that in this house, love is expressed through accommodating silence, tolerance, through gentle caresses on the cheek, handmade desserts and music, ah yes, the music.

You like it when music replaces the hollow silence.

Your mom is a musician, and she used to perform professionally on stage, around Europe, she tells you.

You wonder how she ended up here, a small New England town frozen in time. She tells you she wonders the same too.

You met your grandma for the first time when you were three, you were told that she could no longer see. You didn’t quite understand what that means.

The rare occasions where you would leave town is usually to visit her in a home. There, you and grandma would talk for hours, stories and conversations filling you to the brim with light-hearted joy. (Sometimes she would call you Ameline, you wonder why’s that.) You often argue with your parents to bring grandma home, our home, where the family belongs. At home, you can play music for grandma every day, you say. She laughs. You love your grandma, you adore her with all your heart. The love you share with her is something tangible, something that sustains you through nights where you feel small and cold and scared.

That kind of love, even a child like you could understand, felt like magic.

“That’s a violin.” After a short pause, mother tells you, she doesn’t look particularly impressed, or happy, for that matter.

She’s sombre. You feel as though you just showed her a picture of a dead relative.

“Maybe if you really want to,” she then says, “I can help you start learning”. Your face lights up with joy, and you nod eagerly. You want to bring more love to this household too, you want to say, you hope to bring a smile to your mother’s face.

You want to do something that will make your family proud.

When word came out of your exceeding talent, you were asked if you would be willing to play your violin for the church.

In a sense, you have groomed yourself for this day. The approval, the recognition of effort, things a shy and sensitive grade schooler like you could never openly seek out. So you begin cultivating your reputation, a girl who is composed and mature for her age, with academic excellence under her belt and the prestige of being a child prodigy. And of course, the townspeople love her, the old and the small. They love the girl with the perfect posture, elegance exuding from every movement of her slender frame. They congratulate you, speak of your endless potential, but outside of church, or after your performances, no one ever spare you a glance.

Maybe you’re not perfect enough.

You think you know why now, why your parents barely took you shopping for new clothes, why they seem so prepared for children-raising, why there were some toys among the treasures you found in the attic.

It should have been obvious.

You planned with your grandma during your visit last month. On what should have been your sister’s eighteenth birthday, you two are going to hold a small concert in her memory. Grandma may not be able to see anymore, but she can still command a piano, she says. On that day, donning a light blue sundress with floral patterns all over —Ameline’s signature outfit — you put on the greatest performance you have given to this day.

Your father would never let anyone see him cry, you know that, and you start playing.

You keep playing while your mother chokes on silent tears.

The Downward Spiral

The only thing cutting deeper than guilt is shame.

“I’ve been told, by quite a few girls, that you cheated on your exam, Miss Verville.”

You nod, tears welling up in your eyes. That is true, you cheated, it doesn’t matter that you weren’t the one who initially wanted to cheat — you participated in the act, you benefitted from it, you are guilty as charged. You are guilty.

Ms. Adams looks at you in disbelief, something that only heightens your self-consciousness. Your hands start trembling, and you’re spending every ounce of your energy trying to stop the torrent of tears trying to wrestle away your dignity. You wish so hard to explain to her, explain that you weren’t the one that came up with the elaborate cheating protocol, but you swear that the moment you open your mouth to say something, you’re going to start bawling and beg for forgiveness because you’ve never known this kind of chastisement. So you keep your mouth shut, you don’t want to contort your image any further. Maybe Ms. Adams will forgive you, just a little bit, because you’ve always been so good. A good girl, top student, child prodigy, St. Peter’s pride, isn’t that what they called you? Have some faith now, you think to yourself, and this time you really mean it, the mercy of God and all.

“Miss Vervil— Rosaline, please, look me in the eye when I’m talking to you.”

You comply.

“I trust that you understand the seriousness of your misconduct, but I’m willing to give you another chance.”

You’re listening.

School was a simple deal for you, at least in the beginning. You were seven when you first stepped into the halls of St. Peters as a sort of celebrity student, but that stardom was never sustained by anyone other than adults who love themselves a prodigy that can get them off the hook from raising ordinary children.

All that time you thought they really loved you because you were an ideal, all that time you thought to yourself that you must live up to your specialness if you wanted to be seen.

So you strive for an image of perfection like you owe it to the world.

A few years in school also fostered your desire for a place to fit in, you didn’t just want people to love you, you wanted each of them to like you personally too. And you found out that the kids, do not, in fact, like the perfect girl all that much.

This is when your first major conflict began. You pitted the desire for your social success against the promises you made to your parents, as if one could not be sustained without sacrificing the other. There was this girl Ada and her rock bands, there was Mike and Vivian and their comic books, this other girl Christie and her legion of gossip girls, this boy Stefan and the contrabands he stole from his brother, and this other group of pious kids whose parents used to make them look up to you like you were one of God’s angel sent from heaven to bless them.

One day, this will all seem nonsensical to you, something you will come to deeply regret. But you did, in fact, decided that the approval of your peers and to be seen as one of them was more important than your curfews and boundaries. You started wearing band t-shirts, drawing comic book characters, hanging out with the girls, partying, and even pretended to hold faith in your heart. You started practicing your music less and less, you started blurring the lines between slightly upsetting your parents with a small mishap and really, deeply hurting them.

Somehow, you’ve convinced yourself that the leap you took from being your old self, a carefully sculpted caricature of an ideal child to your current self really wasn’t that significant. After all, you still got top grades.

There were days when you sneaked out when you were grounded, there were days where you would come home covered in the scent of nicotine, there were days where you didn’t even come home at all, simply forgetting to tell your parents you’re staying over at another kid’s place, that kid was usually Ada.

You have worried your parents to death, you remember coming home one night seeing your father red-faced and on the verge of a breakdown, while your mother sobbed desperately by the telephone. You remember being too stubborn to even apologise, you remember making a scene about themoverreacting. What you didn’t remember, however, was that that was the same night your friend Ada went missing and was never seen again.

But they always forgive you, they always let you back in.

The condition Ms. Adams gave you is that you must maintain excellent school marks until the end of the year, to prove that you did not in fact, cheat your way through all of your exams until now. Christie, the main reason you got into the whole dishonest business to begin with, seems the most eager to find out what you and Ms. Adams discussed in the office, naturally, so you repeat her words verbatim.

When you finished, she almost seemed relieved, but that doesn’t make sense, she wasn’t a good student like you, she wouldn’t have been granted the same mercy as you have—

And then you remember Ms. Adams’ exact words.

I’ve been told,by quite a few girls—

And all this time you thought it was your fault for getting yourself caught.

10.

You are going to get expelled. There will be no mercy this time, no second chances. You’re lucky the police aren’t getting involved.

When you had a nervous breakdown in the hallway the other day, someone had the idea to make the teachers do a forced inspection of all your belongings. You knew what they would find, and you knew that you could either accept all the blame or sell out your last remaining friend that actually wanted to help you. The choice was obvious, you are good girl, a good friend.

But that barely lessens the shame when the door behind you opens and both of your parents step into the headmaster’s office. At least grandma isn’t here.

You tell them you stole the Adderall from Richard Foster (who knows you are lying but you trust that he would stay quiet as he very much like the money he gets to keep) and got everything else from a guy you would meet sometimes in the theatre, and that you don’t know his name.

A perfect girl, a weak girl, a crazy girl. You are a fake girl, who has no place in the school, and she does not deserve friends.

A constellation of misery

11.

Your nose hurts. Your heartbeat screams of defiance. You are sitting in a police station, but you aren’t there. Not quite.

“Ms. Verville, do you know what it was you took?” You don’t. But you know better than to ask what happened.

You smell of vomit.

12.

If sending you to public school was supposed to help you correct your behaviour, then you are sorry to announce that no poorer judgments could have been made. For a vulnerable teen in your mental state, you reason, what you need is a stronger system of support instead of chastisement.

You start finding it more and more difficult to focus on anything, and while you still ached for approval and inclusion, you find yourself increasingly inclined to withdraw from people who would get close to you for no obvious reasons. And despite your better judgment, you never stopped using drugs. You’re careful with it now, you keep telling yourself, you’ve learned your lesson. You are serious, this is not substance abuse, it’s called self-medication, and you are indeed in need of it. You got your stimulants and occasional psychedelic, under your circumstances, separating your mental reality and your physical one is quite often desirable. You slowly start to believe that you are feeling more at ease with yourself, that you are acquiring higher function that is otherwise unattainable. The mistake you are about to make though, is that you are not going to notice how increasingly reckless you are going to become. When the climb up hill is gradual enough, you won’t realise how high you are until you reached a cliff.

You are about to throw yourself off a waterfall.

13.

You just turned sixteen, and this is the first time you’re partying out of town.

You exhale, dumbfounded by the sheer energy and passion for life you can feel reverberating through your entire body. An hour ago, when you got onto your ride, you took a tab of acid, and now this, this is nothing like your little house parties back in Sallybrook, this is the real thing. Everyone, everything looks more alive, sounds more beautiful, your environment breathed to life along the flashing lights and lively music. Passionately compelled, you begin talking to people, dancing, cheering. It’s like your whole programmed script has been flipped upside down, you no longer care of anyone’s approval, you can see yourself now, a tiny glint inside a whole universe, it seemed like nothing should matter, then, but in that moment, you felt profound. These strangers you’re connecting with, you feel for them so instantly, so adoringly, and they too, seem to return the same affection, not caring for one single moment of your shame, of your baggage. You’re all just stories to be told, the madder the wilder the better. Who wants to be good all the time? Boring. You want life to feel this way, you want people to feel this way, you want to feel this way about yourself, forever, you don’t want to stop, and then you hear the sound of a violin, you jolt.

Someone, it seems, brought an electric violin with them. You don’t seem to completely register that, however, and so the tension in your body starts feeding on itself. You begin to see familiar faces everywhere. And oh god, did you just tell your mom about that time you stole some cash from her out of desperation when you miscalculated your drug savings?

This can’t go on, you have to stop going there, get back on track, back to the party. You need more—

Someone patted you on the back, you turn around, your face ripping into a grotesque smile but who cares, no one notices anymore. You hear someone talking to you about how this and this are not the big deal people make it out to be, and you admit you’re not listening, you’re still trying to remember what exactly you told your parents this morning about coming to this party…

You feel someone grabbing onto your hand, and you remember nodding, laughing, hugging, snorting. You remember telling yourself that now is not the time to be thinking about your family, that you need to cure yourself first before you can be good for them, that you must give in completely to whatever emotion you want to feel, and.

You just want to be happy.

14.

You learn that, while you were unconscious, your parents admitted you to rehab and sorted all the police things out for you. In a dazed state you became a scared little girl again and did everything that you were told without saying a word in protest.

You dropped out of your school soon after, and without a proper apology or goodbye, you find yourself on your way to a rehab facility hours away from everything you have ever known. This can’t be that bad, right? Now you’re going to get the real help and support you supposed you were denied. So this can’t be that bad, right?

15.

Introduction day:

Besides you, there’s another new comer named Chloe. You two are only two years apart, with eerily similar stories to tell (though probably like you, she left out quite a lot of details), so naturally, you gravitate towards each other.

The next few weeks you spent together you got to experience some of the most genuine human connection in your entire life. It was Chloe who opened up to you first, and from there, all pretenses and barriers dissolved, you became real, heart to heart, friends. You supported each other, you held her hand through her withdrawal, and you’d even talk about future plans together, though that inevitably made you sad again. But she understands, she always understands.

You like her, you really like her. If your sister hadn’t been taken, and if she wasn’t so much older than you, would your relationship with her be something like this? Or was this bond you shared something more akin to another kind of love. Silly, silly girl you are, you’ve known each other for how long now, there’s no way there could be anything between you, once you finish your program you will be out of here and back to Sallybrook, you are bound to that place, you know that, everyone there knows that, somehow, but why?

One day you find Chloe being friendly with this guy, Dan. You remember him from group therapy— babyface, a snarky grin, and honestly not too bad looking. Dan greets you immediately, his voice warm and charming, and he surprisingly remembered a lot about you. Hesitant at first, you employ the ol’ smile and nod method of ladylike social etiquette, because something about his charm felt standoffish, too manufactured. Chloe seem to like him though, so maybe it’s just you. You were told that you are terrible at accepting kindness.

16.

Nearly two months into your program, you decide to send a letter home.

Some selected excerpts:

[…] A lot has happened since we last spoke, when was the last time we actually spoke, though, can you remember? I know I don’t, the past few years, I haven’t been there, and there are just no excuses for that. I should have lost the privilege to your forgiveness, but please don’t see me as a lost cause, please don’t give up on me. I’ve been working really hard the past few weeks, I am still here, not all that you have known is lost, I promise, and when I’m back, I will show you that I really have changed, if people can change for the better than so can I, I am already feeling it.

I have dreams of home, mama, papa. I miss you both. I miss you both, and grandma, and the music, so much. Do you remember when we used to play the strings together? I tried so hard to look happy back then, to look perfect, I thought that’s all you wanted, now I know that it is not true. I have oceans of regrets concerning choices I’ve made, but there’s nothing I regret more for not trusting you, and your love for me. […]

[…] I think there are good things to be drawn out of this whole ordeal too. I’ve made two friends during my time here, Chloe and Dan. I know what you might think, or maybe not, but kids that find their into a rehab centre probably aren’t the most upright kind by default aren’t they? That’s not down to me to decide, I guess, but I really think you would like these two, in the past weeks we’ve been through a lot together, and we probably know more about each other than we ever bargained for. Dan is really sweet, supportive, and smart. Apparently he is a volunteer now at the centre, once we got to know each other I have really come to see him as a big brother. And Chloe, she has a similar situation to me, but her family is a lot more complicated, and she just recently found out that her dad is really, really sick. So arguably, I think she, as a functioning person, is a lot better than me, ha. I really admire her, actually. Where I lost my self-esteem to shame and decided the best remedy to that is to avoid any kind of introspection, she never once lost faith in herself, or her integrity, no matter how many horrible things she had to go through. I think I’m a little bit in love with her, even, please don’t take that too seriously, I just… kind of feel like confessing it to someone. She’s someone I want to stay friends with though, I think she feels the same. […]

[…] So, I think I am really starting to feel hope again. I am getting better, real better this time, though this statement may be of little consolation to you, I still want you to have this reassurance. I know I have not been the best daughter, honestly that may be an understatement, but even though I don’t think I deserve forgiveness anymore, please, allow me to ask for it. I’m sorry, mother. I’m sorry, father. I never want to hurt you again. I can get things done through my efforts now, and I have at last, plans drawn for the future. It will be hard, I have made it so myself, but I am ready to start the next chapter in my life, and this is probably worth more to you than another apology from me, but yes, I mean it. Soon, I’ll be ready to come home, I’ll be ready to live again.

I hope to see you soon, I think of home.

Please say hi to grandmother for me, tell her I love her, so much.

With all my heart,

Rosaline

17.

You wake up from a nightmare. This haven’t happened in a long time, you note to yourself.

Sweating cold and your heart pounding so hard you can hear it without even trying to, you assessed that you’re probably best off not going back to sleep. You lie down, steadying your breath, but your pulse doesn’t seem to slow down. You close your eyes and wait, and you think that you hear something, something undistinguishable but somehow familiar.

You turn to your side, and heard a crunch near your pillow. The sound of paper.

You shot up, you don’t know why, only that your gut tells you that this is important. You pick up the small, ripped, crumbled piece of note. And on it, in Chloe’s distinct handwriting were the words “Don’t worry about me, stay” The sentence seemed to be cut off.

Instant panic. You try to remember your last conversation, and the last time you saw her, or the last time anything unusual happened that would warrant such a vague and insincere note.

Don’t worry. How the fuck could you not. Stay. How the fuck could you do that when she is gone?

18.

You recalled, the last few times you spoke with Chloe before the nightmare and the note, in addition to any other significant interactions you had with others.

There was Geneviève, your main counsellor. You talked to her about Chloe, but nothing that she wouldn’t be able to observe herself, even that sappy letter you wrote to your parents two weeks ago had more sensitive information in it regarding you and her. So no, she probably wouldn’t know anything then. Speaking of the letter, you haven’t heard from your parents since, and honestly, the more you think about it the more you secretly hope the letter was accidentally lost somewhere and burned.

There was Helen, from the same town as Chloe, this town you’re in. No, not her. Margaret? Sean? Bobby? Dan?

Right, you and Dan did talk a few times, but really not so much lately… Though he did ask you about your relationship with Chloe, and now that you think about it, it didn’t really come out as a question driven by curiosity…

And Chloe herself, right, her father is dying.

19.

You decide to go out and find Chloe. You know that around 5am people would start waking up, so you used morning jogging as an excuse to sneak out of the building, looking for possible clues that Chloe may have escaped. You two have joked about this before, have whipped up tv like stories and even went so far as to actually hypothesise a scenario for yourselves. And then you find it, a hole in the fence.

You sneak out, then begged people on the street for some coins so you can use the payphone. This is a long shot, but you dial Chloe’s cell, no answers. So you went to all the nearby hospitals, since there weren’t that much of them, and asked about Chloe, if someone called Chloe Blaine came to visit. You aren’t thinking clear, what are you doing, you keep saying to yourself. Chloe is fine, she didn’t run away, now get back to the centre quickly before they find out that you actually escaped!

You are torn, but with morning reflection sessions approaching, your fear of getting caught led you to run back to the facility. What you see then, was just about the last scene you wanted to see.

Red and blue lights flashed, glaring at your eyes. From short exchanges you overhear, you gathered that they seem to be asking for the person you know as Dan, but they used a different name, interchanging. You are not trained to go around unnoticed, and quite frankly, that’s not the smartest thing to do here right now. You walk towards the front door, but as the police are about to drive you away, a few staffs notices you and hushes you inside. They are not pleased with you, but there are more pressing concerns at the moment.

You suddenly have a bad feeling in your gut, a very bad feeling, when you hear someone mention Chloe’s name. It suddenly strikes you then, and you break into a frenzy, you started running, ignoring people calling out to you and you just kept running and running towards that largely abandoned bathroom in a half closed down building that you, Chloe and Dan would sometimes sneak to for shameful cigarettes.

You shout her name, you kick down doors.

And then.

20.

You fall backwards.

You hit the wall.

The best of times, the worst of times

21.

Sallybrook looks the same as when you left it four months ago, except maybe even more bleak than it was before, how is that even possible?

Your stay at the facility was extended largely due to your own volition. After Chloe’s death, you felt like so much of your personal progress was undone just like that, with the flip of a switch. Waves of depression and paranoia hit you, as if you were crashing, and nights after nights you relived the same nightmare that you would forget the instant you wake up and come to your senses. You feel lost again, and you’ve never been so lonely.

Finally standing at the doorstep to your home, your determination to hold still your expression wanes by the second. You want to play it cool, you want to keep your composure so, so bad. Since that letter you sent, you only talked to your parents once, and that was two weeks after what happened, when you were capable of holding normal conversations again. Of course, your parents were informed of what happened, the official version anyway, which was also the version you were given. None of it made any sense, none of it made any fucking sense.

The door opens, and you want to be the first to say something. Say something that won’t lead you to break out immediately into tears, but of course that won’t happen. Your dad was the one to open the door, and the moment he did you launched yourself into him. You begged for forgiveness, begged for love, you begged and cried and begged and mumbled, but you still can’t shake the feeling that you don’t deserve to be accepted back into the family, even as your dad folds his arms around you and stood there, with you.

You feel warm. You want grandma.

22.

Grandma’s funeral is arranged privately by the retirement home she stayed in the past few decades. You stayed with her, all day and all night, for a few days before she passed away peacefully in her sleep. Her last words to you, “I know,” accompanied with that loving, knowing smile, not one bit changed in the last two decades of your remembrance.

You delivered the eulogy. But contrary to what you had imagined and feared your whole life, this wasn’t difficult, this wasn’t difficult at all.

Of all the relationship you have on this mortal realm, there was only one that remained untainted, only one where you were able to achieve closure, had nothing to forgive, only one where you got to say goodbye, where you were both, ready to let the other go. Where you both, loved deeply, loved unconditionally, and never let anything get in your way. That kind of love. You’re happy you were ever able to experience it at all.

It felt like magic. And that night, you fell asleep sweet and sound.

23.

Everyone knows it’s hard to establish a career, especially if you’re a high school drop out with a long history of underage substance abuse.

Being at loss is nothing new now, but what’s more frustrating than not having the motivation to do anything is to have the motivation, but nothing to do. Broadly speaking though, you knew that you didn’t want to go back to school, not immediately at least, and if you do you probably would opt for community college instead. So for now, you want to start working, luckily, your dad has a few strings to pull so you were able to gather some experiences bagging groceries and sitting at gas stations before you finally secure a permanent position at the local diner.

You wonder if this is enough to repair the damage you’ve done to your family.

24.

During a casual conversation, you learn for the first time that your dad used to co-own the Moonlight Diner with its current owner. That can explain why he wanted so much to give you the regular well-meaning pep talk and career advice. In particular, he often urged you to follow through with your plan to go to community college, and at the very least acquire a legitimate degree.

“Even if you want to be a waitress forever, it’s still better to be a waitress with a degree.” And he laughs, telling you about all the wonderfully unpractical and amusingly specific studies you can go into. Nothing is stopping you, Rosa, go get that Art History degree if you want. And somehow, that’s the most encouraging thing anyone has ever said to you in years.

“Or music,” he adds, “do you still play the violin?”

25.

It took you nearly five years since getting out of rehab to finally feel rehabilitated. And another two to be able to talk about what happened during those years to another person without omitting the uglier parts that you wish to forget.

You enrolled in community college when you turned twenty years old, and for the first time since your expulsion from St. Peters, you felt like a normal, functioning person of society again. You became that quiet, perfectionist once more, but not with the same spirits you once held. Maybe you have finally grown up, maybe everyone goes through phases like this, but you know and understand now, that all these identities and personas you adopted over the years, the child prodigy, the mindless follower, the uncaring teenager, the decadent junkie, the over-zealous perfectionist, the washed up daughter of a small New England town, they are all an acceptable part of you, a part of you that can be, and deserves to be loved all the same.

It’s when you learned that, that you were able to start keeping friends, start building relationships based on mutual love. And like the classic American cliché, you shuffled through all these revelations in the last few years of your college career, alongside your boyfriend Raphael.

But if you think that you’re going to earn yourself a happy closure here, you couldn’t be more wrong.

The Ghosts back home

26.

Remember what guilt felt like?

“I saw her again, Chloe.”

You are in Raphael’s arms, your conscious fading in and out, you mutter scattered phrases like you’re in a waking dream. You hear his voice telling you that you are fine, and that you will be ok. This is not a relapse, you swear. And sure it wasn’t, you two both know what you are doing, you both agreed that there are times where your mind may need a little push for you to reposition yourself in your trauma. You are about to graduate soon, soon you will be returning to Sallybrook, a town stifled with fractured souls and stolen future, so you decided that before you go back, you want to come clean.

“I don’t think I deserve a college degree,” you drawl, “I don’t think it mean anything.”

Raphael doesn’t reply, “and I think Chloe forgives me.”

You don’t feel like you deserved this either.

27.

You know what Raphael wanted, you have always known.

He cannot move in with you to Sallybrook, you know he won’t want to, and you know you won’t let him either way. Growing up, you thought the haunted nature of your town was just another unfortunate, but normal, condition of this world. Because you knew that bad things happen to everyone, no matter where they come from, and who they are. You knew that everyone has ghosts from their past that haunts them, shame and guilt that would sneak up on them at anytime and curse them with the desire to cause more pain. But Sallybrook is different, Sallybrook, you believed, despite reeking of death, is a living entity, vicious and unrelenting. And if there’s one thing you want to do right by Rapahel, is to not let the ghosts that shackle you, sink their claws into him.

So when your father got diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and your mother disappeared under mysterious circumstances, it was almost a relief in this respect, that you won’t have to shoulder the guilt of choosing to be loyal to one person over the other.

When that conversation came, you’ve long been ready for it.

“If you want to stay here, then we’ll have to end this”

You gave him your answer, so you don’t have to hear his.

Sallybrook

28.

Years went by like falling leaves.

For nearly a decade now, your life has been monotonous and sober. You are by most definitions, well adjusted, and in this town that was such an anomaly that your unaccomplished life could almost disguise itself as a triumphant one.

Here’s a rundown of the events that happened after you graduated college.

Your dad is dead now, he passed away in 2016. And in those last few years you and him exchanged more words than in your entire life time. In the end, due to his greatly reduced brain function, you were able to save him from the horrors and pain that continues to plague our town. He never even knew that your mom was never found. You learned to play the cello, it didn’t take you so long. And through the deep treble tones you were able to connect a weak old man with his lost wife. He passed away believing that both his wife and his daughter were by his side, at peace.

And yes, you mom was never found. But you do have a text message from her telling you that she was contacted by an old friend. She was not the type of person to run away, and she’s most likely long dead by now, you can only hope that she is at peace.

Another death, the Moonlight diner was handed over to you and you became its new owner. You were left with a

You’re a washed-up former drug addict, child prodigy, now running a diner in a secluded, haunted town. You don’t know if you are right now is who you are fine being for the rest of your life, and now that you have very little mortal ties, maybe you could

But as of now, you’re doing fine. Sometimes you would dim the lights of your diner at night so you can see the stars.

You pick up your violin.

#lsrpg #rpg #horror rp #town rp #skeleton rp #rosaline

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minimalist-you · 3 years

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5 essential steps to embrace minimalism

Work and taxes. Growing up, I remember hearing adults say that those were the only two things you couldn’t get out of. And as unpleasant as work and taxes are, in a way the statement gave me the need to find an escape.

Yes, for most of us, work and taxes are inescapable, but the rest? Totally up to me! I get to decide what matters in my life, and it’s going to be awesome. As I grew up and had children of my own, however, that list started to grow exponentially. I'd to work hard, having the feeling that I wasn't making that much!

Being a single father had been hard, limiting, but at the same time, so fulfilling ! I'm grateful to have been able to pass through all the hints and still having the energy to manage my tiny business...and to write this blog :)

Work, household chores, acquiring stuff, social commitments, climbing some invisible ladder of success, and the list went on and on. It was as though all of a sudden my “have to’s” had gotten to be too much for me to bear.

How can one person handle all this?

I was listening to a podcast recently interviewing two working dad's, and I kept hearing that same phrase over and over. I “have to” throw my kids an extravagant birthday party. I “have to” take this important business trip. I “have to” stay at the office late tonight.

It seems as though I’m not alone. Our have's to..are they real or just a remaining of the social pressure that we all inherited?

Why do we constantly add more “have to’s” to our list when they really are optional? Of course there are certain things that are out of our control, but it is much less than we imagine.

We make choices, we decide what our priorities are, and we give up certain things to gain others. Adding more and more to our list of “have to’s” is killing us. Because if everything matters, then nothing matters.

The essentials of becoming minimalist

With that in mind, I want to share a few ways I’ve tried to eliminate many of the “have to’s” in my life.

1. Replace attempts to control with a recognition of agency.

I constantly have to fight against my desire to control. I know that control is an illusion, but that doesn’t make it any easier. Recently I discovered the concept of agency, and I love how it can change our approach to life.

The definition of agency is the capacity to make choices and the power to act on them upon your own persona. Although I can’t control outcomes, I do have agency, so I can accept my fate since I do my choices.

I can think about something I want, and act on that thought to make it a reality. This can apply in the smallest areas and also the largest goals you have in life. You may not be able to control outcomes, but you do have the power to decide and act.

2. Recover your intrinsic value.

You must recover your sense of worth outside of anything you do or achieve. Everything in your schedule doesn’t just happen—it was put there. When we forget our value, we forget what really matters to us. We are valuable and We should be the first ones to acknowledge it.

We let others define our values and priorities. We begin to say yes to everything, and wonder why we are left so exhausted and drained?..well, mainly because we are living our lives at other people's paces!

We don’t value our own time and abilities, and therefore We tend to sell them to the lowest bidder. Knowing your worth is the start of changing this pattern.

3. Visualize how you want things to be. Say it out loud, and write it down.

Had you heard about setting up your vision board?

Steve Harvey has great motivational videos about

I recently cleaned out my bookshelf and found notes from a life coaching course that I took a few years ago. Those were notes of NVC (Non-violent communication) As I thumbed through my notes on how I wanted my life to look in five years, I was awestruck.

Almost everything I had written down had come to pass. I couldn’t believe it, but it was right there in front of me, plain as day. When you have a clear picture of what you want, say it out loud and write it down. There is power in externalizing those thoughts and dreams.

When you have a clear picture of where you want to be, you will be more focused on getting there. The real “have to’s” will become much more clear.

4. Be honest with yourself about your choices.

Choosing one thing is saying no to another. We are finite beings with limited time, energy, and resources. When I was listening to the dad's on the podcast I mentioned earlier, it was obvious that they were feeling the pressure to choose between their startup company or their families, and that pressure is real.

I feel it every day. But the beauty of life lies in its finitude—everything is fleeting, so everything is more precious. Living in light of that reality helps us to choose what matters most in each moment.

For me, one moment that is my family, and the next it is my business. Being honest about my own motivations and clear about what I may be giving up helps me to know that although my choices are never perfect, they reflect what matters to me and the kind of life I want to have.

5. Replace “have to” with “get to”.

“Have to” is more a state of mind than a list of duties. Approaching life with a sense of gratitude can switch so many of the “have to’s” around.

I love this quote from Albert Einstein: “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.”

As silly as this may sound, some of the more mundane responsibilities in our lives have much to teach us if we will slow down long enough to listen. I used to want to use all my power to escape the mundane, and since becoming a father, a single one, I have witnessed some of the most magical moments in our family everyday.

As you begin to eliminate some of the more burdensome “have to’s” from your list, remember that some of them may be there to help build your character in the long term.

Here’s to defining our “have to’s” on our own terms, and keeping a sense of gratitude and wonder along the way.

Since I embraced minimalism and got rid of clutter, I experienced the need to be surrounded by meaningful objects, pottery is the main one.

Handmade pottery dinner sets, earthen cooking vessels, garden decor pottery (only 1 piece for my tiny garden though), the presence of water (one solar water fountain in the patio) and a few handmade pottery clay decor on the wall shelfs.

Feng Shui is a great ancient Japanese approach, putting the nature basic elements at front and to create espace to fluidity to appear. Space is the king, let it be!

In Feng Shui, your entry represents how energy enters your home and your life. We say the front door is the “mouth of qi.” Naturally, the entry is first place to start when you want to create good feng shui in your home.

As less things are on the way, I was experiencing fluidity. A better quality life wasn't made of tones of items, but a few meaningful ones.

Take a good look at your daily path through your home. Yep, we're asking you to literally look at the physical path you walk as you move through your home. From when you wake up and arise from bed, then to the bathroom, and so on as you head out the door. Then from when you get home, make dinner, and end back in bed.

We become desensitized to all the blocks and physical obstacles we have in our daily path. Maybe it’s that light fixture that flickers or the door that always sticks and you have to slam closed. It’s an obstacle when you have to squeeze through a cluttered hallway. When you hopelessly peer into a closet jammed with clothes that don’t fit you anymore—all of this affects you! Over time these obstacles can accumulate and create problems for us.

I'll be extending about Feng Shui at home in my next blog article.

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With love, Bernat

#Art #blog #Clay #Cooking vessel #earthen vessels #Feng Shui #Garden decor #Handmade #Interior design #Livestyle #Living minimalist #Minimalism #Terracotta #well-being

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