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tangledstarlight · 3 years

Text

i’ll say it with petals (you’ll ink it in my skin)

julie works at her families flower shop and luke works in the tattoo parlour next door. one time he plays his music a little too loud, one time julie decides to have a word.

it just a lil flower shop / tattoo artist au

i honestly had so much fun writing this one and it really truly did get away from me. i didn’t mean for it to be 11k words long, my bad. it also lowkey covers the ‘how do you passive aggressively say fuck you in flowers’ prompt, so the flower meanings are at the end.

but anyway please enjoy!!!

also on ao3 (in source!)

trigger warnings! death mentions (julies mom), mild swearing, underage drinking (literally a single beer) needles.

When she was little Julie remembers always being excited to get to go to work with her mom at the flower shop. Because she liked to spend time with her mom, but also because Julie really loved all the flowers.

Walking into the shop when she was little always felt a little like walking into a magical world. Somewhere full of bright colours and loud scents and soft instrumental music always playing in the background. It felt a lot like home too.

With her mom singing and her tia laughing and Julie trying to join in with both. She remembers, when she was little, always pulling one of the tall chairs up to the counter, greeting customers with a gap toothed smile and asking in her best voice ‘what can I help you with today?’ but she’d a little bit of a lisp and the chair would wobble and the customer would smile politely but ring the bell for her mom or tia to come bustling out.

Walking into the shop still feels a little bit magical even now she’s nineteen and no longer full of childhood wonder, but it’s also tinged with a melancholy feeling that has her sitting at the front counter on one of the tall chairs and humming quietly to herself.

When Julie thinks back on her childhood now, it’s full of music and laughter and flowers. When she closes her eyes, when the shop is quiet and she’s alone in the backroom, she can almost hear her mom singing about flower names to her and hear tia talking away to a customer and her dad dropping by to kiss her hair and leave lunch. It used to hurt, and sometimes it still does, but mostly it just makes her smile.

Until the sound of heavy drums and a loud guitar breaks her peaceful afternoon.

Julie accidentally snaps the stem of the lily in her hand as she glares at the wall that connects their shop to the tattoo parlour next door. For the last two weekends this has been happening on and off. The music would start blaring at random points in the day and abruptly stop. Only to start again a little later on.

Now see, despite what people at her school might have said in senior year, Julie still loved music. She liked to play it just as loud as the next person, and she didn’t even mind whatever band it was that was playing. They had some very catchy riffs and melodies, from what she could hear.

But when your music echoed through the walls so loud that someone next door could hear the words, your music was too loud.

Putting the snapped lily down, Julie wipes her hands on her apron and glares a little more at the wall, like the person on the other side would be able to see her, when there’s no change she glances at the clock. Twelve o’clock. So much for having a quiet lunch break and watching an episode of Schitt’s Creek. The only silver lining was that the music didn’t normally last for long. Twenty minutes at most.

By one o’clock, when the music is still blasting and she’s starting to gain a headache and she’s started looking up obscure flowers that could mean ‘shut up’, Julie decides she needs to do something.

The tattoo parlour has been in business next door to Petal Pushers for the last six years and as far as Julie knows there’s never been any issues between them. (In fact, Julie knows that her mom had gotten her last tattoo there and that her tia often gave them leftover arrangements for their front window and four years ago, when the flower shop had undergone a rebrand, one of their artists had designed their logo.)

All she had to do was go next door and ask whoever it was to turn the volume down. Easy.

She finds herself waiting another half an hour, just in case, but she can still hear the crashing of drums and the pulsing bass.

So she slips her phone into her back pocket and picks up her keys, turns the sign on the door to ‘back in ten minutes!’ and walks the eight steps to the right, pushes open the door to Etched in Ink and is immediately attacked by music. There’s a more authentic feeling to it now she’s in the shop, something alive about it, but it might just be the volume and how she can see the bowl of lollies on the front desk actually vibrating.

“Hello?” Her voice gets lost in someone singing about time moving slowly as she steps further into the shop, eyes glancing around. She’s been in before –– she came when her mom got her tattoo and she’s dropped off flowers on occasion –– but it’s been a while. There’s some new art work on the walls she thinks, and band posters. Fingers tapping on the desk she shouts a hello again but isn’t surprised when it’s once again swallowed by the music

Rolling her eyes Julie steps around the desk and through to the main area of the shop where the music is impossibly louder, but there’s still no one around. Honestly, it would be so easy for someone to walk in and rob the place.

Her fingers walk along the arm arm of a chair as she walks through the space and towards a slightly ajar staff door at the back. Julie knocks, to be polite, but huffs out a breath when there’s still no response. Honestly, she can barely hear herself think in this place, let alone hear someone at the door.

Pushing it open, her mouth opens to reprimand whoever is inside but instead she’s left standing both thoughtless and speechless at the guy bouncing around the room.

He’s wearing black jeans and an orange beanie that contradict with the sleeveless band shirt covering his torso. Because that’s all it’s covering, and doing a poor job at that. Julie watches, a little transfixed, as his biceps flex, sleeve of tattoos dancing with the movement as he plays along with the guitar riff of the song on the electric in his hands.

Idly, in the back of her mind, she finally understands why the music had felt different when she stepped into the shop.

He nods his head in time with the music and the crashing of a cymbal, eyes shut tight and biting his bottom lip in concentration.

And okay, Julie knows she came over to yell at the asshole playing his music too loud and is now just gawking at him. But in her defence, she didn’t know he was going to be so hot.

Julie’s still standing in the doorway staring at him, her mind trying desperately to regain control, when he opens his eyes and looks right at her. His eyes widen a fraction in surprise, and she notices his fingers slip, just a little on the frets, before a smirk curls at the edges of his lips.

In mild horror and joy, Julie watches as he takes a step closer to her, fingers moving across the strings as he follows along with the song and stares right at her.

Swallowing, and trying to ignore how warm her cheeks suddenly feel, Julie crosses her arms over her chest and raises an eyebrow at him as the song finally seems to come to an end.

“I knocked!” She blurts out the second he hits pause on the cd player in the corner of the room and she resists the urge to move hair in front of her face when he looks at her with a single raised brow. “But it’s no surprise you couldn’t hear me over this racket,” she waves vauley to his guitar, careful to avoid eye contact with his arms.

“You work next door, right?” He asks, sitting on top of the table in the middle of the room, his feet resting on the chair while he rests his guitar on his lap, folding his arms on top, muscles flexing and oh god. She really needs to stop staring at his arms.

“Mhm,” she manages to get out along with a nod of her head, eyes darting up to his face. But from the look in his eyes Julie’s pretty sure she’s been caught staring.

“I’ve seen you around,” he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and he smiles and Julie thinks that might be worse to look at then his arms. Fucking hell, “I’m uh Luke, by the way. Started here a few months ago.”

“Right,” this conversation was not going the way she anticipated. Pushing aside his employment history and his name –– though she is grateful to have it –– Julie clears her throat and pulls herself up a little straighter. “That’s great. I came to ask you to turn the music down. I can barely think next door.”

“You don’t like the songs?” There’s a slight pout on his lips that almost distracts her and has her saying she does like the songs.

Instead she shakes her head, “It’s not exactly the soundtrack I want when making a funeral arrangement.”

Honestly, she had been expecting him to nod in understanding, apologise for the loudness and promise to keep it down. She didn’t expect him to let out a laugh –– which was bright and clear and made his eyes crinkle in such a cute way that it totally distracted her from his biceps –– or lean towards her with a grin.

“Are you kidding!? A song about how life is short and you’ve got to live it like it’s now or never––” he sings the line and suddenly Julie is hit with the knowledge that the music she’s been hearing over the last few weeks is apparently his, ”Is the perfect soundtrack for a funeral arrangement. Also possibly christenings. But I don’t know if flowers are a thing for those.”

“Of course there’s –– No, no stop,” she closes her eyes, throwing her hands up before she really loses track of the conversation, “I’m not here to talk about flower arrangements. I just came to ask for you to please turn the music down,” she pauses, eyes darting to his arms and the guitar they’re resting on before pointing at the amp its plugging into, “And if you’re going to play, to do it at a 1, not a 10.”

“Even if I play something arrangement appropriate like You Raise Me Up?” Luke leans a little more forward, pushing himself to the edge of the table until his guitar is almost touching the back of the chair.

“Even if you played Danny Boy,” Julie doesn’t know when she’d copied him, tilting forward at the waist so they were almost eye level, but when she notices she can make out the details of the book inked into his skin she realises they’ve drifted closer. Cheeks warming, she stands up straighter and brushes her hands down her apron.

“Just–– keep it down. Please,” she turns to walk out the door but hesitates, turning to look at him over her shoulder, eyes firmly on his face, “If not for my sake then for your own. Anyone could walk in here and rob you, and you wouldn't hear a thing.”

“Hey wait! You didn’t tell me your name! Can’t spend the whole conversation staring at my arms and not give me something.”

Julie pauses, lets her eyes wander from his fingers resting on the neck of his guitar, up his inked forearms and biceps before landing on his face, quirking her lips a little, “Think of it as payment for disrupting my lunch.”

She’s halfway through the main room when she hears him stuttering out a laugh and calling after her again, and it takes all her willpower not to turn around.

Unfortunately that means she’s a blushing mess by the time she makes it back into her shop, shaking her head as she tries to stop smiling.

After their first encounter Luke doesn’t play his music too loud anymore, but Julie suddenly starts seeing him all the time anyway.

A Tuesday morning when she’s opening up, blinking back a yawn and fumbling with her keys and he’s wandering up with a wide grin and too chirpy hello. She’s fairly certain she grumbles something about daylight and needing coffee before dealing with him and an amused smile on his lips. (The next Tuesday when he’d strolled up he’d had a carrier with two take out cups and handed one to her without a word. Julie had stood stunned for a few seconds before her brain kicked in and she’d opened the door with a muttered thanks.)

A Thursday evening when she’s lugging a bag of garbage out to the bins at the back of the shop and Luke’s sitting on the old deck chair in his shop's yard, notebook open on his lap and pen tapping on his knee. He’d gotten up, pen tucked behind his ear and book stuffed in his back pocket, and come over to help her. After she’d said thank you they’d hesitated in each other's space and shared a smile before going their separate ways. (Later, Juile wrinkles her nose when she realises it’s the first time they’ve both smiled at each other and it had been next to the god damn bins.)

A Friday at lunch time when she’s bringing out a tray of flowers to give to the hearse driver parked on the street and Luke walks past humming the tune to Danny Boy under his breath, making her burst into a fit of giggles that makes him grin and the driver frown and her blush. (She sees him walking past again half an hour later and waits until she’s sure he’s inside before hitting play on their sound system, You Raise Me Up starts blasting through the shop and she grins to herself when she hears something hit their connecting wall.)

A Sunday afternoon when she’s collecting all the leftover bouquets from out front of the shop and Luke walks past her, hands in his pockets and guariar case slung over one shoulder. He pauses as she straightens up with a collection of rose bouquets in her arms, she raises an eyebrow at him and Juile could swear he blushes, but it’s probably a trick of the dying light. He’d given her a two finger salute, muttered something about having a good afternoon and then hurried away. (Julie had spent the last hour of her shift before closing thinking about the way the denim jacket he had been wearing did very little to hide the definition of his arms.)

So Julie’s used to seeing him around now.

To their little quips and shared coffees on Tuesday mornings and the way the ghost tattoo at the bottom of his bicep seems to dance whenever he shoots her a wave.

But she’s used to seeing him outside.

Never inside Petal Pushers surrounded by flowers or tilting his head as he listens to the softly playing music.

But on a Wednesday afternoon as she comes out of the back room when someone rings the bell on the counter she’s greeted by Luke doing just that. He’s got one hand pushed into the front pocket of her jeans while his other is idly tracing a pattern on the counter top, it’s only when she gets a little closer that she realises he’s tracing music notes.

“Hi, welcome to Petal Pushers. I’m Julie, how can I help you today?” The words leave her mouth before she can stop them, mind working on autopilot at the sight of a customer.

A slow smile spreads across Luke’s face as he looks down at her, his fingers stilling on the counter, “So you’re name’s Julie,” he says and Julie doesn’t think she’s ever heard anyone say her name like him. Like it’s the lyric to a song they’ve been trying to finish or a missing puzzle piece.

Letting out a sigh she gives him a nod, chewing on her bottom lip as she really looks at him. Over the last few weeks Julie has learned that he doesn’t work Wednesdays, that he has a real aversion to sleeves and when he knows no one is booked in for an appointment he uses the time to practice for his band. She’s also learnt that he bites his lip way too much for her health, has a tattoo on his ribs that she’s dying to fully see and that he rubs the back of his neck when he’s nervous.

Like he’s doing right now.

“It is. Did you just come in to finally find out or did you need some flowers?” She tilts head at him and smiles.

“I uh––” his hand is still rubbing at his neck and Julie watches his tongue run over his lips and she has to blink quickly to refocus her eyes when he starts talking, “I heard that flowers have different meanings, right?”

“Uh yeah,” she nods, still blinking, but more in confusion now. This isn’t quite what she thought the conversation was going to be.

“Okay cool. So um, how would you say fuck you in flowers?”

Julie blinks, opens her mouth to say something only to close it again. Huh. Really wasn’t what she expected him to ask.

“Well, do you want to say it subtly? Passive aggressive? Just a straight up fuck you?” Her mind is already thinking about possibilities and what they have in stock.

“Straight up fuck you,” he nods once before muttering, more to himself then her, “I don’t think Bobby would even understand subtly.”

Squinting for a moment, Julie knocks her knuckles on the counter top once before pushing away from it and starting to move around the shop. She picks out a few pink peonies and pale pink geraniums, she looks at the different carnations they have out, pursing her lips in thought.

“What exactly has this Bobby done? Dumped you for someone with better biceps?” She teases, glancing at him over her shoulder as she deliberates between the yellow and purple.

“I wish. That would have been better,” he sighs and Julie frowns at him, brows drawing together as she watches him tap on the counter. “He uh he used to be in my band? But he left because of ‘creative differences’, which was basically because he wanted us to sell out to the first big name label.”

He looks up at her, eyes wide and disgusted at the mere thought of it. And well, she understands that. From the little she’s heard of their band through the walls Julie’s fairly certain they don’t need to sell out to make it big. So she nods at him, tilting her head and hoping he gets that she understands.

“So he left and that was–– it was shit really because we’d all been friends for years. Me and the boys, we tried to keep in touch with him because he left the band but we didn’t think it meant we’d stop being friends, y’know?” Luke moves away from the counter now, wanders over to her and fingers the brushing gently over the petals of a rose as he frowns, “But he cut us off. Found out why yesterday.”

He pauses, fingers still moving over the rose and Julie takes the opportunity to pick out a few of the orange carnations, mentally deciding to fetch two sprigs of meadowsweet from the back when Luke starts talking again.

“He signed with some big shot label and has an album coming out in November. Seven out of the ten songs on it are mine,” as he says it he pulls a little to hard on the petal, tearing it in half, “Fuck, sorry.”

Julie waves away his apology, picking the damaged rose out and adding it to her arms. There’s a dull sort of roaring in her ears as she walks back to the counter, still trying to wrap her head around his story.

His friend had stolen his songs. Had stolen his songs and sold out.

She looks down at the flowers on the counter, stupidity and disappointment and uselessness and anger. Glancing up at Luke, who’s wandered back to the counter, hands pushing into his pockets and looking a little lost.

“He really stole your songs?” She asks gently. It’s been a long time since Julie played her own music, even longer since she wrote a full song, but she knows how much it would hurt her if someone ever stole them from her. Especially if that person had been her friend.

“Yeah,” Luke breaths, resting against the counter and shrugging at her.

“Okay then.”

Holding up one finger she hurries into the back room, picks up a roll of cellophane and the worst ribbons they have, two sprigs of meadowsweet and plucks a single orange lily from the bucket against the wall. Luke’s still leaning against the counter where she left him, staring at the collection of photos on the wall behind it. Most are just photos of their most popular bouquets but mixed between them are photos of her and her mom and her brother and her tia and her dad.

“Your aunt owns this place, right?” He asks casually. Too casually. Like he already knows the answer. Glancing up at him she hums, waiting to see where he’s going with it. “That’s cool. She brings us flowers for the front sometimes. Willie did your logo design, I think.”

Julie smiles at the mention of Willie, he’s a year older then her and had been working at Etched in Ink for the last four years, her mom had picked his design out she remembers. The rough sketched dahlia with music notes hidden in its petals and a rose in the centre. A combination of her moms and her tia’s favourite flowers and music that had always brought their family together.

“My mom said he really managed to capture our family business in it,” she chuckles, moving a carnation and adding one of the meadowood springs. Which might have been true, but Julie also knows they’d picked it because her mom only had a few months left and her tia wanted their new logo to still have something of her in it.

“He’s pretty good at doing that,” Luke agrees and the way he smiles at her lets Julie know that he knows about her mom. And she’s glad he doesn’t mention it, doesn’t try to offer any condolences. “He’s helping Reg re-do our bands logo.”

“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow though her eyes are still on the flowers. In go the peonies and geraniums, colours clashing.

“Sunset Curve. You should uh––” he hesitates for long enough that Julie looks up at him, at the faint blush on his cheeks and one hand at the back of his neck. “You should check us out. We’ve got a few videos on youtube. Or I could uh I could get you a copy of our demo.”

She looks at him for a heartbeat, at his pink cheeks and the way he’s biting his lip despite smiling and the blank space of skin on the underside of his arm. Julie gives him a half smile, eyebrows flicking up as she teases, “Okay, Sunset Swerve, right?”

“I’ll go back to playing our demo super loudly,” he tries to glare at her, but it's ruined by the way his lips stick out in a pout and the lock of hair falling across his forehead.

“Mhm, and I’ll just call the police with a noise complaint,” she grins at him.

“If you were gonna do that you’d have done it already,” he points out and yeah. He has a point there.

“Maybe,” she concedes looking back at the flowers and sticking the lily straight in the middle. No better way to say fuck you then with an orange lily. Without measuring she cuts off a length of the bright lime green ribbon and lays a section of cellophane on the counter top.

“That’s a terrible colour,” Luke points out mildly and when Julie flicks her eyes up she sees him grinning. She wraps two elastic bands around the flower stems and cuts them all down to the same size before laying them on the plastic wrap and rolling them together.

“Can you––” she gestures with her finger for Luke to hold the ribbon and cellophane in place while she ducks down to find a packet of flower food to attach. She might not like who the flowers are going to but that doesn’t mean the flowers should suffer the price. Tying the ribbon into a bow over Luke’s finger, she taps him lightly with her pinky to move it before pulling the loops tight.

“Do you want a card?” She asks, wondering which of their options would suit this type of bouquet best. Maybe just one of the plain yellow ones.

“Oh yeah. Can it say ‘Hey Bobby, fuck you’.”

Julie pauses with her pen hovering over the card, waiting to see if he’s going to add anything else.

“Just–– just that? Nothing more?” she looks up at him but Luke just shakes his head, nodding down to the card for her to finish. Shrugging she does, using her best cursive so he knows the sentiment is meant. She holds it up for Luke to inspect and when he grins she slots it into the flowers, stepping back a little to admire her creation.

It’s absolutely horrendous. It’s perfect.

“This is great,” Luke grins as his eyes roam across the flowers and Julie’s pretty sure he has no idea what any of them mean. But he’s definitely picked up on how awful it looks which seems to be good enough for him. “How much do I owe you?”

“Do you want them delivered?”

“Yeah that would be good,” he pulls his wallet out and Julie has to bite hard at her bottom lip to stop from laughing as she notices the chain attached to his belt.

“That’ll be $15,” she presses a few buttons on the cash machines screen, the card reader lighting up as she waits to see how he’ll be paying but Luke’s just frowning at her.

“That can’t be right. It says the orange and purples ones alone are like ten dollars.”

“Mhm, I’m only charging you for delivery,” she can tell he’s about to argue so she’s quick to speak, “As someone who once thought of herself as a musician, anyone who steals songs deserves worse than an ugly bouquet of flowers. Fifteen dollars Luke.”

There’s a different look in his eyes as he taps his card on the reader, something assessing. Like she’s just handed him another piece of a puzzle when he thought he’d completed it. Julie looks down at the card reader, ready to tear off his receipt so she doesn’t have to wonder what he’s seeing when he looks at her.

“They’ll go out this afternoon, be with Bobby by seven pm at the latest,” she says, pushing the post-it note with the address firmly onto the cellophane and gives Luke a smile.

“Thanks,” the smile he gives her in return is a lot softer than she’s used to from him. But she likes it. “I’ll uh, see you tomorrow?”

It’s a question, hesitant and careful. Almost like he’s worried she won't want to see him tomorrow. Which is silly. Seeing Luke, even briefly in passing, has quickly become her favourite part of the day. Not that she has any intention of letting him know that. That would be embarrassing.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Luke.”

“Bye. Julie,” and there’s her name again coming from his mouth that’s curving up into a smile. All she can do is wave awkwardly as he leaves.

A gasp of air leaves her lips as the door shuts behind him and she slumps forwards on the counter, nudging the flowers with her elbow, “Oh fuck.”

The saturday after the fuck you flowers Julie is handed an envelope by Victoria when she walks in for her shift at twelve o’clock. Julie gives her credit, she doesn’t start asking questions about ‘the puppy eyed boy’ until after she’s at least put her bag down.

“He all but pouted when I said you weren’t in yet, mija,” from the way Victoria wags her eyebrows Julie gets the feeling she might have ‘accidentally’ let slip when she was due in.

“I think that’s just his face tia. He made the same one when I said pizza was overrated.” Which was the wrong thing to say as Victoria’s eyes light up.

“And why were you talking about pizza?” She leans on the counter, handbag slipping down her shoulder at the movement.

“Because he mentioned he was getting pizza with his friends, that’s all. Nothing is going on between us, we’re just friends,” Julie tries to put as much stress on the word friends as she can. But Victoria just lets out a small hum, a knowing smile on her lips that Julie doesn’t want to acknowledge.

“If you say so Julie. Right, I’m off. See you for dinner tomorrow?” She pushes herself off from the counter, pushing up her bag and pointing one manicured hand at Julie.

“Papi’s making enchiladas, so there’s no need to bring anything.”

“Of course,” but they both know she’ll still bring something, perhaps a salad. Perhaps a whole meal. Victoria blows her a kiss and then turns in a flurry of skirts out of the door, leaving Julie shaking her head after her, a smile on her lips.

As soon as she’s sure that Victoria isn’t going to come bustling back in having forgotten something Julie unseals the envelope and pulls out a cd case with a post-it note stuck to the front. It takes her a while to work out what it says, but it’s easy enough to see the number scrawled at the bottom in a different handwriting.

It makes her smile, thinking about Luke writing the note and then asking one of his friends to write his number, like he wanted to make sure she could clearly read it. It almost makes her think he really wants to know her thoughts.

Making sure no one's about to come into the shop Julie slips into the back room and over to their sound system, taking out the cd of classical music and replacing it with the Sunset Curve demo. It doesn’t take her long to recognise the opening guitar riffs as the song that Luke had been playing along too when they’d first met, laughing a little to herself, she goes back to the front. Pulling one of the chairs over, she sits down and flips through the little leaflet that the cd came with.

Three faces looking out at her and one scribbled over in black sharpie. She’s going to hazard a guess that that’s Bobby. There’s writing underneath the photo and peering at it closer Julie sees that someone's someones written their names. Alex, Luke and Reggie. She shakes her head at the way he’s added his own name for her, just in case.

“Idiot,” she mutters fondly.

Luke doesn’t come back in, which is probably for the best because Julie keeps his demo playing for the rest of the day.

By the third play through she’s started to memorise the lyrics and by the fifth she’s adding in imaginary keys to parts of the songs and by the sixth she can harmonise along with them.

Around four, when she’s waving goodbye to a customer who came in asking for something blue she decides to take a break, turning the sign on the door as she presses Flynn’s name in her phone. She’s just turning the volume down on the sound system when her best friend answers.

“Okay, what’s the latest with Mr Arms?”

“He left me his demo and number, Flynn,” she whines, flopping down on the lumpy sofa, head hitting the wall softly.

“Is it bad?” Flynn asks and she can practically hear the frown in her voice. After the flower incident Julie had driven to Flynn’s dorm room and told her everything, and then they’d spent two hours looking through youtube for their videos. And they were good. Really good.

“No. It’s great. Amazing. Listen,” Julie pulls her phone away from her ear and hits the speaker button as the chorus of Late Last Night starts and she quietly sings along with Luke’s voice.

“Oh this is catchy,” she mutters, voice echoing through the room and Julie nods before remembering this is a phone call and her friend can’t see her.

“I know,” she groans, “Flynn. He’s hot, he plays guitar like a rockstar, he’s funny and helps me take out the garbage and his arms, Flynn. His arms!”

“I know babe. He’s got the arms of a greek god. You’ve told me,” there’s a teasing note in Flynn’s voice that just makes Julie groan again, slipping further down the sofa.

“What am I going to do?”

“Well, now hear me out, you could just text him. And ask him out.”

When she says it like that it sounds so simple. Julie frowns a little, absentmindedly nodding her head along with the outro to the song as she thinks about it. Texting him. Asking him out. Because what if he doesn’t like her like that? Sure they’ve been sort of flirting for a few weeks but he probably does that with everyone. With his face and personality, not to mention the whole band thing, he could get anyone he wanted, so why would he go for her?

“Okay Jules stop, I can practically hear you spiralling through the phone.”

“He might not even like me like that. He probably just wanted an opinion on his music,” she tries but it sounds weak even to her.

“Right, first of all you are hot. And anyone would be lucky to go out with you, more than lucky, they should be honoured that you’re even considering going out with them,” Julie laughs a little, but there’s no stopping Flynn when she’s on a roll, “Second the boy has taste if he’s asking for your opinion on his music because you have amazing taste. And third, they’re playing a show tonight at the Grange so meet me at mine at eight so I can judge your outfit.”

It takes Julie a moment to register what she’s said and then she’s blinking, pushing herself up on the sofa until she’s sitting up straight, “What? How do you know that?”

“They’re on twitter. And they really need some help on that front because there are so many typos,” Flynn trails off for a moment before her voice is back, “If it works out between you and Mr Arms I might consider offering them my services.”

“Isn’t the Grange a 21+ club?” She asks as her last argument but she already knows what Flynn is going to say. The fake ID in her purse is practically laughing at her.

“Fakes baby. Eight o’clock. Bring some of your dad's brownies.”

Julie doesn’t have a chance to think of any reasons why she can’t go before Flynn is saying “Love you bye!” and hanging up. She makes sure to carefully put the cd back in its case and slip it in her bag before locking up for the night, if they’re going to see them play Flynn should get to hear the whole demo.

The club is already busy when they show their ID’s to bouncers and wander in. Bodies press into each other on the dance floor in front of the stage, moving along to whatever the dj is playing so loudly it just sounds like bass to her. Flynn wraps a hand around her wrist and tugs her over to the bar, pushing through a group of boys around their age until they’re leaning on the counter.

“This place is smaller than I expected,” Julie shouts, shooting the bartender a smile as he puts down two beers in front of them and takes Flynn’s money.

“I guess unsigned bands can’t be picky,” Flynn grins at her as she picks up her drink and the two of them weave back through the crowd to one of the tables off to the side of the dance floor. There’s no chairs, but they don’t mind standing, “I wonder what time they’re on,” she taps the screen of her phone to check the time and Julie peers over as 9:32 flashes up.

Julie looks around, idly taking a swig of her drink as she watches a group of girls dance, laughing and giddy. The one downside to opting to take a year off before college is that she’s missing out on all this every week.

The sneaking into clubs and drunken dancing and shitty beer and new friends. Flynn always invites her when she goes out and she’s gone a few times, but it’s not the same. And anyway she’s meant to be using this year to decide what she wants to do. Who she wants to be. She’s pretty sure she’s not going to find it at the bottom of a bottle or on a sticky floor.

She pulls at the hemline of her black high waisted shorts, wiggling her hips a little as she tries to pull them down while trying to keep her lilac off shoulder crop top from riding up. It’s a delicate balance and she’s feeling suddenly self-conscious.

“Hey,” Flynn’s hand appears in her line of sight and Julie follows it up to her face where she’s peering at her through gold shimmering eyes, “You look amazing. Stop fussing.”

Julie blows out a breath, dropping her hands from her shorts and lifting her drink to her lips and drinking. Flynn’s growing smile is enough for Julie to try and relax. And then the DJ is pausing the music and announcing the last band of the night, there’s a loud cheer from the gathered crowd as the three members of Sunset Curve stroll onto the stage.

The dark haired bassist, Reggie, waves at the crowd as he checks his bass is plugged in, throwing a wink at someone in the front row with a grin. Alex seems to be looking for something in the crowd and finds it if the wide smile on his face is anything to go by. But Julie doesn’t really spare them much more than a sweeping glance as her eyes land on Luke.

Apparently the lack of sleeves extends to the stage, as does the beanie –– which makes zero sense and she will be teasing him about it if she doesn’t melt into a puddle of goo by the end of the night –– , but there’s an ease to the way he walks up to his mic, guitar strap across his body and plucking a pick out of his mouth. He grins at something Reggie says that none of them can hear, and his face lights up and Julie knows that whatever they’re about to see is going to be incredible.

“Hey, thanks for coming out tonight. We’re gonna kick this off with something from our upcoming EP. This is Now or Never.”

Luke nods at Reggie and Reggie nods at him and then they’re playing. She’d thought their demo was good, had thought their badly recorded covers on youtube were good, had even liked the little she’d heard through the walls three weeks ago, but hearing them live is another feeling altogether.

They’re better than good and amazing doesn’t feel strong enough. Their whole performance is high energy and makes you want to get up, to dance, to sing along. So they do.

Julie downs the rest of her drink and then clutches Flynn’s hand as she pulls them through the crowd until they’re in the middle of the floor. Bodies pushing in around them, all jumping and swaying and some even singing along when they know the words. She lets herself get lost in the music, in the feeling of the drums through the floor and how the bass line reverberates through her.

It’s when they start In Your Starlight that Luke’s eyes find her in the crowd.

She knows the moment he does because his eyes widen a little and his fingers slip, playing the wrong note as he stumbles a half step backwards. And then he’s smiling, eyes crinkling at the corners as he nods at her, tongue sticking out slightly between his teeth before he starts to sing. While looking directly at her.

Maybe it’s the alcohol in her system or Flynn’s pep talks have finally clicked in her head, but she doesn’t look away, she sings his song back to him. She liked to think the slight tinge of pink on his cheeks by the end of the song is because of that.

They close with a cover of Everybody Talks and when Luke raises an eyebrow at her and nods to the side of the floor where the booths are she doesn’t hesitate to nod with a grin.

“Thank you! We’re Sunset Curve!” Luke shouts into his mic, wiping sweat off his face as he grins out the crowd.

“Tell your friends!” Reggie chimes in, winking at someone and then they’re walking off the stage and Julie is pulling Flynn over to the booths. For a moment, she hesitates as she looks at them, not sure where to go because they’re all occupied. And then a familiar face is waving them over and Julie breaths out a sigh and a smile at the sight of Willie.

“Molina! I didn’t know you were coming!” He grins as Flynn slips into the booth first and Julie slides in after her.

“Sort of a last minute thing,” she laughs nervously, because now that she’s here and knows they’re about to come out she’s suddenly second guessing everything. “This is my best friend Flynn. Flynn, Willie, he works at Etched in Ink too.”

“Oh! You did the logo right?” Flynn asks and then they’re talking about designs and colours and how sometimes a simple line drawing is better. Julie’s half listening, trying to feign interest but her eyes keep going to the side door that she knows leads to backstage, waiting for it to open.

Somehow, despite constantly looking, she still misses them coming out because suddenly a pair of arms are around Willie’s neck and a blonde head is pressing a kiss into his cheek. Julie looks up to find Luke already grinning at her, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Hey,” she thinks he’d have probably whispered it if they weren’t in a crowded club that’s started blaring music again.

“Hi,” and she waves.

God, why did she just wave at him? Before she can do something else embarrassing, like hiding her face in her hands, an arm appears around Luke’s neck and Reggie’s face is next to his grinning from ear to ear.

“You must be Julie.” Something about the way he says her names makes her want to run, like she’s walked into a trap without realising it. Instead she nods hesitantly.

“That’s me. You must be Reggie,” she tries to imitate the way he said her name but she’s not sure it works, but Luke elbows his friend in the side and then he’s sliding into the empty space next to her.

“I’m Alex. Ignore Reg. What he meant to say was we’ve heard a lot about you,” Alex smiles at her and there’s a teasing sort of tone in his words that makes her think she’s missing out on a joke. But she focuses on the other bit of information and turns to look at Luke.

“Aw, you’ve been talking about me?” She nudges his knee with her own, only realising just how close they’re sitting after the fact.

Luke shrugs at her, but he’s smiling and there’s a flush to his face that could be left over from their performance but she doesn’t think so, “Course I have.”

The simple way he says it, accompanied by the unbroken eye contact is enough to make her blush.

“I’m Flynn by the way. Julie’s best friend,” Flynn cuts through, leaning on the table to look directly at Luke who finally looks away from her and there’s definitely a flush on his cheeks.

“Did you uh, like the show?” He asks, and it’s to the table, but he glances at her.

“You guys were awesome, as always,” Willie says, lifting his hands that have been linked with Alex’s since the three boys sat down and presses a kiss to the back of it.

“You were better than I expected you to be,” Flynn shrugs and Alex lets out a disgruntled sound as he looks at her which starts a debate on what she thought they were going to be like. But Julie isn’t paying much attention and neither is Luke, because he’s looking at her expectantly for her answer.

She considers for a moment, tilting her head as she looks up at him, “You were–– you were amazing up there. More than amazing but I don’t know the word to describe it. All of you, but–– I liked watching you the most. You’re–– spectacular.”

“Really?” His eyes are searching her face, as if he can tell just by looking at her if she’s lying, but she just nods her head at him and smiles, he nods his head a little, biting his lip as he smiles too.

“Though I do have question why the fuck you’re wearing a beanie.”

“I told you it was stupid!” Reggie shouts and his hand is reaching across the table to hover in front of Julie’s face, waiting for a high five. Luke shakes his head at her, but she grins and claps her hand to the bassists.

“I thought we were friends,” Luke whines, a hand over his heart as he pouts at her.

“The beanie is so stupid,” is all she says, giggling as he pouts more and pulls the hat off his head, hair sweaty and a mess and she tries really hard not to look at his arms as he runs his fingers through the brown locks. Biting her lip again as she looks away, her eyes catch Alex’s who shoots her a knowing grin and she’s suddenly very grateful for the low lighting as she blushes.

“You really liked the show, though?” Reggie asks, bringing them back to the original question.

“You guys were great,” she smiles at him and Alex, “I especially like the drum solo in Lakeside Reflection? And oh my god the way you go back and forth in the bridge for Late Last Night, is amazing. Have you ever thought about mixing up the order you come in on it?”

She glances over at Luke as she says it, and there’s a moment, where their eyes meet when he’s got this soft sort of look on his face, like she’s once again handed him another puzzle piece and then she blinks and it’s gone and he launches into talking about their songs.

Later, after Flynn has unlocked her dorm room and the two of them have collapsed on her bed giggling and exhausted, Julie pulls her phone out of her bag and finally texts the number she saved hours ago back in the shop.

Luke replies within seconds and Julie clutches her phone to her chest with a giddy smile as Flynn teases her for being in love. She doesn’t even know what to say to deny it.

They start texting a lot after that. Silly memes they see and questions about if modern rock is better than classic and do different coloured roses mean different things.

It feels –– and Julie hasn’t said it out loud but she thinks it an awful lot –– like they’ve become real friends. Which makes it so much more awkward as her stupid crush on him grows. Because now he’s more than just the hot guitarist next door that she occasionally talks to. Now he’s Luke, the hot guitarist from next door who she talks to every day and is her friend.

Flynn just laughs at her, insisting there’s really no issue here and that she should just ask him out already so that she can sort out their social media situation without seeming pushy. Julie pointed out she could just offer but Flynn has said that would be weird.

And okay so, logically, Julie knows that he probably does like her. They’d spent the whole night after his show pressed together in that booth, knees touching and talking about whatever came to mind and she’d finally gotten a chance to look at the tattoo on his side.

(The detailed heart and a gramophone horn and the music notes that she’d hummed out loud. She could swear his eyes dipped to her lips as she did so and Julie had almost reached out to trace the lines inked into his skin. Instead she’d looked at his arm, at the tattoos littering his skin and listened as he explained some of them to her. The story of his life, really. She’d started tracing the outline of the guitar on his forearm, the year when he’d first met Alex and Reggie inked at the base, when she’d started talking.

“My mom had tattoos. We were supposed to go and get one together when I turned eighteen,” she’d trailed her finger tips up the neck and over the scrap of cloth attached to it, vaguely noting the way he seemed to shiver, “We had the designs all picked out and I promised her I’d still get mine. But… I’ve been putting it off,” she’d smiled ruefully up at him then, nose wrinkling.

Luke had put his hand over hers on his arm, thumb gently running over the back of her hand as he’d said, “When you’re ready to do it, book it for a Saturday.”)

And he’d started lingering on Tuesdays when he passed her her coffee, to talk about their weekends and if they had busy days and if she wanted to come watch them rehearse on Wednesday and how Bobby had apparently tried to reach out after the flowers. None of them had responded because now the ball was in their court and when they got to initiate the cutting off it was better.

And if she looks at it all. The little moments and touches and smiles and lingering looks, Julie logically knows that he likes her. But there’s still a chance, small as it might be, that he doesn’t.

And it terrifies her.

Surprisingly, or really, unsurprisingly, reassurance comes in the form of a drummer and bassist strolling into the shop on Tuesday morning two weeks after she saw them play for the first time. Julie smiles at them, albeit a little awkwardly, closing her pen in her notebook as she takes in the coffee holder in Alex’s hands and the way Reggie looks around the place in wonder.

She hadn’t seen Luke this morning, though he’d sent a text to say he was sick and wouldn't be around, but that doesn’t explain why she has two members of Sunset Curve in her shop.

“Hey guys, you need anything?” she raises an eyebrow at them, folding her hands on top of her notebook.

“Nah, just here to drop this off for Luke,” Alex smiles at her, freeing the coffee cup and putting it down in front of her.

Julie blinks at it, mouth parting slightly before looking back at Alex confused and chokes out, “What?

“He said he brings you coffee on Tuesday mornings and asked us to do it today because he’s being all dramatic in bed over the flu,” he rolls his eyes, but there’s a fond sort of tone in his voice that does little to help her confusion.

“But he–– I don’t…” Julie trails off as she frowns at the coffee. Luke was sick and he was still worrying about her getting her coffee? She feels like the world is spinning on a different axis.

“Can you make me a yellow bouquet for under $20?” Reggie pulls her out of her spiral and she blinks up at the two of them, catching the tail end of the glare Alex shoots at him and the shrug Reggie gives in response. But it pulls her out and she blows out a breath, pushing thoughts of Luke to the side as she nods.

“Any flowers in particular?” She asks.

Half an hour later the boys leave, with Reggie clutching his little posey of various yellow flowers –– that cost over $20 but if she could change Luke only $15 on a $50 bouquet, she could make an exception for the happiest bassist she’d ever met –– and Alex sniffing the twelve roses he’d bought for Willie. But not before they’d both leaned on the counter as she tied a bow around the posey and Alex had stated, “Luke’s pretty dumb sometimes.”

Julie had fumbled the ribbon as she looked at them confused.

“What we mean is,” Reggie cut in “He’s our best friend, and the best song writer we know. But when it comes to his feelings and doing something with them, he’s dumb. And always pretty terrified.”

She’s still thinking about it an hour later as she sweeps up cuts and hums along with the radio. She taps her pen on her notebook as she looks down at the page she had been doodling on, and then throws it down to pick up her phone. It only takes a few minutes of googling for the number she needs and ten minutes later she’s got plans for next Saturday at one thirty.

“Julie,” Victoria’s voice cuts through her thoughts and she turns from where she’d been staring at a bucket of sunflowers to blink at her tia.

“Hm?”

“You’re going to be late mi ciel,” and she nodded to next door, eyebrows raised. Blinking, Julie glances at her phone to check the time and swears.

“Fuck. Right. I’ll um, I’ll come show you when it’s done,” she smiles at her aunt who smiles back, dropping one eye in a wink before she gets out the door.

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll see it tomorrow at dinner,” Victoria blows her kiss before the door shuts and then Julie is on the sidewalk and Etched in Ink is eight steps away. Blowing out a breath she pushes her phone into the back pocket of her dungarees and walks.

When she opens the door there’s music playing faintly in the background and she smiles at how different it is from the last time she was stood here. This time she recognises the Sunset Curve poster on the wall and shakes her head at Luke’s shameless promoting. Like last time there’s no one at the front desk as she walks up to it, leaning her hip on the edge as she tilts her head to try and hear for someone in the back.

“Hello?” she calls and then there’s something crashing to the ground and someone letting out a string of curses before Luke comes stumbling through the archway and up to the desk looking breathless.

“Hey!”

She’s not as taken off guard by the sleeveless shirts and curling hair and teasing smirk as she was last time, but it still takes all her willpower to not just stare at him. Especially as he leans his hands on the desk, muscles and tattoos on display. She’s starting to think he does that on purpose.

“I have an appointment,” she breathes, looking at him and they’re so close she thinks she could count his eyelashes if she had time. God she wanted time to count his eyelashes.

“I know, I saw,” he smiles softly at her as pushes off from the desk and gestures for her to walk into the main room, “I was just getting things set up. Come on.”

Luke guides her with a hand on the small of her back over to the area he’s got set up, wagging his brows a little as she sits down that makes her laugh. Julie looks at the collection of inks and needles and bottles on the little tables next to her chair, chewing on her lip with a growing sense of trepidation.

“So,” Luke plots himself down on the stool, feet on the bar as he spins to face her with a smile, “You got a design for me to follow?”

“Oh! Yeah, right,” she sits up to dig through the front pocket of her dungarees and pull out a sheet of plain paper that’s been folded and refolded too many times to count over the last three years, she hands it to Luke, suddenly nervous about what he’ll think.

Carefully, as if he knows how important it is, he unfolds the sheet of paper and smooths it out on the arm of her chair, biting his lip as he looks it over and quietly, she can hear him humming the notes to himself as he tries to work out what the song is.

“It’s um––” Julie clears her throat as Luke looks up at her, gesturing to the drawing and starts singing faintly, “You are my sunshine.”

Luke looks at her with wide eyes and an expression she can’t quite understand and looks back at the page, quick to fill the silence, “Mom was going to get ‘my only sunshine’ but–– it’s what she used to sing to me when I was little and wouldn’t go to sleep, and it’s the first song I learnt on piano so it’s y’know, sentimental I guess.”

He still hasn’t said anything and Julie’s starting to get worried she’s done something wrong when he blows out a breath and blinks at her, small smile on his lips, “It’s beautiful.”

Then he turns to the table, gathering supplies and pulling on gloves and when he turns back to her he seems to have gotten control over his emotions again and is grinning at her, antiseptic wipe in one hand and numbing gel in the other.

“Are we feeling brave?” He teases and Julie rolls her eyes at him, laying her arm flat on the arm rest, wrist up and flipping him the finger before relaxing them back down.

“Just start stabbing me in the arm with a little needle Patterson.”

“Ooh brave it is huh.”

Gently, he holds her wrist with one hand as he cleans her skin and doesn’t let go when he turns to throw it away and to pick up the tattoo gun. His fingers tap on her palm as he looks at her, raising an eyebrow, “You ready?”

“Yeah,” she blows out a breath and nods at him. But he still hesitates for a heartbeat, searching her eyes before he smiles gently and brings the gun down to her skin.

At the first stab of pain Julie hisses in a breath, fingers of her other hand gripping at the spare armrest and when Luke looks up at her she nods her head with a smile that’s almost a cringe, “I’m okay. Keep going.”

And he does.

After a while it doesn’t hurt quite so much, and she loosens her grip on the arm of the chair. She still hisses in a breath on occasion but it’s bearable, and she can sort of understand why people like getting tattoos. It doesn’t hurt that from this position she has a clear view of his bare arms and can stare at them shamelessly for as long as his head is bent over her wrist.

“Is that––” Julie lets out a laugh, eyes squinting as she tries to peer a little closer as the tattoo above his elbow, “Is that a hotdog?”

“Huh? Oh,” he looks up, blinking at her and then at his arm, joining in with her laugh as he shakes his head. “Yeah. Me and the boy got wicked bad food poisoning from some bad dogs when we were seventeen. Almost died.”

Julie blinks at him and tries really hard to stop her laughter, but it keeps bubbling past her lips, “So you got a tattoo to commemorate the time you nearly died?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs, grinning at her before going back to work.

They make idle chit chat for the rest of her tattoo, talking about music they love and films they want to see and how Willie’s been trying to teach Alex to skateboard for 2 years and can still barely stand on the thing.

“And you’re done,” the buzzing suddenly cuts off and it takes Julie a moment to get used to lack of it, blinking at Luke who’s nodding down at her arm.

Carefully, slowly, she lifts up her arm to inspect his work. Five lines spanning the width of her wrist with little music notes dotted along it and she hums the tune to herself, blinking back the tears that fill her eyes as she just looks at it.

“It’s perfect,” she whispers, biting her lip as she looks at him. “Thank you.”

Luke shakes his head, pulling the gloves off his hands and balling them up before throwing them into the bin and picks up a roll of plastic wrap, tearing off a length to spread on the arm of the chair, patting it for her to put her arm back down on, “Nah, all I did was basically trace your work.”

“No for––” she gestures with her free hand around them, trying to encompass everything of the last two months. For the coffees and the laughter and the music and the conversation. “So much,” is what she settles on, and just hopes he gets it.

When he’s finished wrapping her wrist he trails his fingers up to her hand, squeezes her fingers once and then stands up, and she hurries to follow, not wanting him to let go of her hand just yet. Julie follows him back to the front of the shop, their fingers still linked and she tries to listen to him talk about aftercare and which creams are best and what to avoid. But all she can really think about is the calluses on his fingers and how she wants to know what they’d feel like brushing across her lips.

So Julie pulls them to a stop before they reach the desk, blowing out a breath as she looks up at him. She’s just gotten her first tattoo and only cried at the end, she’s feeling brave. She can ask the hot guitarist out.

“I was wondering if um you maybe–– if you wanted too––” she stutters, brows furrowing a little as she tries to get the words out and Luke just smiles at her, which isn’t helping. “Stop doing that with your face, I’m trying to ask you something,” she mutters.

It just makes him smile wider, and his fingers are detangling themselves from hers and she honest to god lets out a small whine at the sudden loss of contact. Luke’s smile turns into a smirk as he hears it, tailing his fingers up her arm and over her shoulder and up her neck and suddenly he’s cupping her cheek and Julie thinks she’s forgotten how to breath.

“Jules,” he whispers, leaning towards her and she can feel his breath ghosting across her face as she lets out a noncommittal sound, “Can I kiss you?”

A breath rushes out of her and her hands skim up his biceps and around his neck, “God please do.”

And he does.

It’s soft, just a press of their lips against each other at first and then Luke brushes his thumb across the top of her cheek and she lets out a sigh, pulling him closer as he slips his tongue into her mouth.

There’s teeth nipping at lips and her fingers running through his hair and Luke chuckling at her whine of protest when his lips leave hers to trail across her jaw, down her neck where he sucks and she moans and he has the audacity to laugh again.

So she pokes her fingers into his sides, grinning triumphantly when he tries to wiggle away, scrunching his nose up as he looks down at her.

“That’s rude,” he mutters, but there’s no heat behind it and he presses a kiss into the corner of her mouth.

“Hm, I’m sure I can think of some way to make it up to you,” Julie purses her lips, pretending to be in thought before leaning up on her tiptoes to kiss him, slowly, drawing it out.

When they break apart this time they’re both a little breathless and smiling giddy smiles.

“What were you going to ask me?” he whispers, brushing his nose across hers as he tries to pull her closer and it takes Julie a moment to understand what he’s asking, her mind blank on anything that’s not Luke lips on her skin or his fingers trailering over her neck.

“Oh. Um I was going to ask if you wanted to get dinner. With me. Like a date,” she wrinkles her nose at how awkward the question comes out but Luke leans back a little to grin down at her.

“Julie Molina, are you asking me out?”

“Oh shut up, you kissed me first,” she grumbles, tilting her head forward to hide in his chest and Luke laughs, she can feel it rumble in his chest and it makes her giggle a little too.

“Yeah I did. Best decision I’ve made since playing my demo way too loud,” he sounds proud and he presses a kiss into the top of her head, “I’d love to go get dinner with you.”

“Hm,” Julie agrees, trying to hide her smile in his terribly pointless shirt. Honestly, she’s never been more glad that he played his music too loud, it was totally worth the headache she had for the rest of the afternoon.

“Hey Luke,” she pulls back a little to look up at him, and he raises an eyebrow at her.

“Yeah?”

“Did I ever tell you I have a thing for guitarists with tattoos?” She smiles innocently up at him and is rewarded with the same curling smiling on his lips from the first time they met.

[ flower meanings: - pink peonies: passive aggressive anger - pink geraniums: stupidity - dark purple carnations: disappointment - meadoweed: uselessness - orange lilies: hatred (if i got any of these wrong please let me know i got my information from google fghdj) ]

ao3 link

#julie and the phantoms #jatp #julie molina #luke patterson #julie molina x luke patterson #jatp fic #alex mercer #reggie peters #willie #flynn #*fics #people i had a freaking blast writing this lemme tell ya #bobby is mentioned but im afraid he is a dickhead my bad

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fruityoosung · 3 years

Text

alter ego

pairing : wonwoo x reader

rating : fluff-ish???? lowkey promiscuos

trigger warning : tattoos, substance usage, wonwoo being hot

“choi y/n you’re with jeon wonwoo” the monotonous deliverance from the TA stemmed a sigh that left your lips subconsciously. you turned your head to the right and a steely, dark and unwavering pair of brown eyes met yours. jeon wonwoo, the quiet, dismissive but very intelligent classmate of yours stared into you for a couple seconds before turning back towards his own assignment on his laptop. you merely nod your head to nothing before the TA dismissed the class, causing the flock of students in the history lecture flee from the lecture hall with grace, ready to end their day or attend their next class. some students hung behind to discuss the matters of the assignment with their designated partners and you decided to do the same.

you took your own sweet time packing your laptop into your backpack before a tall, looming figure casts a shadows upon you. you finally had a clear look of him whilst before your eyesight were betraying you. he’s the typical, lowkey stand off, quiet but very attractive young man, a character you often stumble upon at some point of your life. most times, it was more annoying than attractive to you because people like him are very contemptuous and outrageously pompous. you shot up from your seat and stood in front of him, waiting for him to talk to you first since you didn’t want to leave a bad impression towards your project partner.

“we can work on the project at the uni’s library. is tomorrow afternoon okay for you?” he asked, you didn’t realise how deep his voice actually goes. with the thin-rimmed glasses resting upon the bridge of his nose and the cashmere knitted, cream coloured sweater he was wearing, his voice was very uncanny to hear.

“tomorrow afternoon is fine, i’ll e-mail you the materials and we can work from there.” you replied, it was uncomfortable to you while he stood inches away from you and actively studying your face. he nodded and gripped the strap of his backpack before walking away. you did not know how to feel, you cannot deny his attractiveness and the stroke of heat that travels through your body as he stood close towards you.

this should be fun right?

you waited at the table near the windows with your laptop opened in front of you. you’re currently sorting through the materials and crafting a rough draft of your part of the assignment. wonwoo wasn’t late, you were just very early since the professor of your last class couldn’t make it to the lecture. you didn’t realise the time has passed as you typed through your rough draft until the sound of the wooden chair striking against the floor broke you out of your flow of thoughts. you immediately looked up and saw him sitting down directly across from you. being the somewhat inviting person you are, you decided to acknowledge his presence.

“hi, did you have class prior to this?” you asked, fingers resuming to type last few lines of your last rough draft. ever since the TA assigned the project to the both of you, you’ve never spoken to him verbally other than a few

e-mails regarding the materials and the submission of his rough draft for you to proof read and check. you were astounded to receive that e-mail since it was barely a couple hours since the TA had assigned it. of course, being one of the smartest kids in your class, his rough draft was nearly perfect and you only had to tweak a couple words to fit the theme better.

“i had a business management class.” he replied, his fingers began rapidly typing on the keyboard and it grew silent from there. it was almost distracting.

what’s more distracting is his goddamn features. you discreetly studies him as you finish typing the draft. the way the blue light from the screen reflected onto the lenses of his glasses made his eyes appear glittering almost had your heart lurching. the way he chews on his lips and furrowed his eyebrows as he reread the paragraph he wrote made you notice the warmth spreading on your face.

what the fuck? you swore. you’ll never have a chance with him, for all you know he probably hates your ass.

you shook off your thoughts and opened the google docs app and began typing the actual essay for the assignment. the lines above yours kept increasing and you tried your best to keep up.

what you didn’t notice was the sly smirk and the dark pair of brown eyes travelling towards your face, revelling at the sight in front of him.

he can get use to this

you were deep in your work before his alarm rang. thankfully, no one else was in the library since it was growing late into the evening. you looked up and meet his eyes again. wow, does he have really nice eyes.

“i need to go. i’ll make sure to send in the docs to you latest by tomorrow” he said before frantically packing up. you were dumbfounded. he’s probably late for something but you didn’t bother to ask since it is none of your business.

“it’s alright, this project isn’t due for another three days. you can take your time.” you replied softly, not wanting to stress him out.

“thank you y/n. i’ll see you soon.” he said in his deep tone that made your stomach do a flip. for some reason, you think your name sounds perfect coming from his lips.

since it is getting dark, you probably should leave the building before it gets too late.

you were in a state of boredom. your part of the project has already been done hours after you reached your apartment. to your surprise, the apartment was empty. maybe your roommate decide to stay the night at their boyfriend’s apartment. soon, the boredom slowly became unbearable so you decided to hit up the club for any sort of civilisation.

a seductive, red lip gloss dressed your lips as your fix the earrings dangling from your ears. the all black ensemble you were wearing definitely gave you a sense of high charisma and made you ooze confidence, perfect for a night out and warding off weird men. the heels you were wearing added an extra two inch to your strut. even though it’s probably going to be hell for you to walk in, you sure do look really good.

you took a cab to your favourite underground club, ready to take on the night.

the flashing led lights grabbed your attention as soon as you stepped into the dark nightclub. the atmosphere of drunk people in their early or mid 20’s dancing and having fun is never foreign to you. the bass boosted underground rap song pierce through your eardrums and made you heart thump along with every bass kick. you felt a surge of energy flowing through your veins so you wastes no time and walked towards the bar, before ordering your drink of choice for the night, completely ready to get wasted.

you are now on your fourth shot of vodka and dancing your way in the middle of the club. you’re a pretty sensible person off alcohol but when a substance is coursing through your blood, you tend to get a little too wild. the light changed and another song arrived through the speakers. you decided to leave the dance floor and return back to the bar to get another shot of whatever the hell you wishes

now i’m on my way to whatever’s waitin'

뭐가됐든 go straight (go straight)

fuck what they’d be talkin' 'bout

(fuck they talkin' 'bout)

their opinion doesn’t count like ooh

a loud scream can be heard on the dance floor, everyone began to vibe to the new heavy hitting bass playing through the very big speaker. a younger looking boy with bleached blonde hair appear with three other men on the stage

로또 터뜨린지도 어느덧

두달이 됐지 (yup)

나름 높아져, 벌농 인지도

man, 그 누가 알았겠니 (you get me?)

불가능해 보이던 모든건

수영이나 갔다오라해

wait, enough with vernon

원우형 here’s the torch

이제 가서 소각해요 man

even in your drunk state you couldn’t miss the rhythm of his name on stage since you have been thinking about him ever since the project was assigned. the craved, intricately carved, glass of bourbon wrapped safely around your fingers before you began sipping on it slowly. the sight you see next was nothing that you could’ve ever expected.

the red spotlight shined through the familiar figure, though he’s dressed so differently from when you saw him last.

uh 주위에선 그래 가능성 로또래

내가 노력만 한다면

대박 쯤은 그냥 터트릴거래

별의 별 놈들은 나에게 한마디씩 던지지

내가 볼 땐 넌 백날 해도 안돼

난 답하지 난 아직 어린이

발전 가능성이 높은 나에 비해 전혀 없어 넌

옛말에 똥은 더러워 피해

째려도 전혀 안 무서워

비교하면 난 박잘타는 흥부 너도 따라해도

넌 박치에 가깝지 내가 볼땐 니행동을보면 전혀 노력 금물 uh

너는 옥타곤 지옥에서 기어

난 바쁘니까 엄마가 보면 놀래 가사노동

할땐 주부들만치니까

나도 놀랬지 가끔 너 보면 빡치니까

넌 을이 없게도 그리해놓고 어디서 여기서 갑질이야

the familiar deep and heart rumbling tone of his voice pierced through the speakers and into your auditory senses. you focused your eyes towards the stage and there you see him, the man of the hour, hyping the crowd up like it’s nobody’s business but his. what surprises you his outlook, he appears more confident, more fierce, more arrogant and a bad news to literally anyone regardless of gender and preferences. he ditched the usually

thin-rimmed glasses and left the piercing cold and sharp eyes out on display. a black tight fitting tank top fit snug against his broad shoulder and chest. the purple, satin outerwear that’s slowly falling of his shoulders reveal biceps that could be envied by a lot of people and the huge written tattoos splayed on his neck and collarbones are the most unexpected part of him.

the smart and witty lyrics flows out of his lips perfectly against the rhythm of the overdriven instrumental. his motions in sync with the beat of the music made it seems like he has been doing this since forever, he wasn’t foreign to anything. that is not the jeon wonwoo you knew. the jeon wonwoo you knew was a quiet, smart and dismissive, not the one that oozes confidence and charisma like it is a switch to be turned on and off. you could not believe your sight. your heart thumped loudly against your chest with the music. the drink in your hand is slowly disappearing from the cup and into your mouth. you turned towards the bartender and asked for a refill, the torch has been passed from wonwoo to another member of his underground rap team and all you want to do is accept this as a dream and resume your night.

the song finally ended and the crowd went batshit crazy. you were still leaning against the bar looking at the stage still reeling in at the fact that the person with the rap team is your fucking history project partner.

wonwoo shared handshakes with his member before making his way towards the bar, ready to end the night with some good ol’ alcohol before another day began tomorrow. to his surprise. he saw a familiar figure leaning against the bar, drink in hand and cheeks flushed red. oops, his cheeky little secret have been exposed by none other than the person he has taken admiration to. the surge of confidence he got really made him a completely different person.

you mentally prepare yourself as you saw him walking straight towards you. you fixed your posture to appear taller and more confident even though you’re still inches shorter than his six foot height. you almost curse at the sight of him with that smirk playing on his lips. he walked past you and motioned for the bartender.

“i’ll have what she’s having.” he pointed at you, eyes lingered towards your figure for a couple seconds which made you almost cower at the sheer intenseness of the stare.

“so what brings you here. i didn’t realise this is your type of gig.” the question hung from his lips

once his drink is safe in his grip, you muster up the courage to finally speak to the new personality you just discovered.

“i think that question is way more suited towards you no?” you replied, a hint of mischievousness apparent in your tone.

the bronze liquid flowed from the cup and down his throat.

“oh darling, you may find me full of surprises.”

a/n : the edit was made by v follow her @/lovetagon

#svtxreader #seventeensmut #seventeenxreader #wonwooxreader #seventeen #svt #17 #wonwoo #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo smut

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lavandula-dreamscape · 3 years

Text

2p Germany

Name: Lutz C. Krause Nation: Germany Pronouns: He/Him Gender: Cis-Male Orientation: Pansexual

Human Age: 23 Birthday: June 18th Height: 192cm Build: Buff

General Information:

Lutz is a multi-faced German man who doesn’t seem very complicated at first glance. First meeting him he's an energetic, suave romantic who seems to spend more time in his head than anywhere else. However he does have some odd habits and more unhealthy tendencies that have made people weary of him in the past. It’s really hard to gauge what he’s thinking about, though he seems to like it that way, only close friends being able to guess accurately. He’s recovering from a lot of childhood trauma at the hands of his Veneziano and Prussia, and unlike the other Germany, he’s much more imbalanced because of this. The first strong bonds he had went terribly wrong, leaving lasting emotional and physical scars. He’s very much a people-pleaser with a desperate want to be loved, and this want can often override his common sense.

Notes:

His Western Star Sign is Gemini

His DND Alignment is Chaotic Neutral at his best, Neutral Evil at his worst.

His favorite flowers are roses. Specifically Red Roses.

Refuses to wear pants that have less than four pockets in them. And his pockets are always filled with random things.

He likes to stick his nose into places where it doesn’t really belong. If you leave something open he’ll probably get into it.

Loves to take pictures

Strengths/Positives:

Stubborn to a fault and will never leave his friends behind.

A very good actor

Knows what people need to hear

very good at reading the room

Physically Strong

Incredibly Charismatic

Very positive and optimistic

Incredibly motivated to his goals

A lot smarter than he looks

Weaknesses/Negatives:

Stubborn to the point of madness

Can be a “My way or the Highway” type (thank his Prussia for that)

Often considered two-faced

Easily Jealous and Can be hard to work with

Lies too much

He fixates and drops his guard completely around the people he deeply cares about and because of it, often goes blind to them/their actions. Even if it hurts him.

Mentally falls into fantasies and forgets about reality, sour that things aren’t the way he wishes they were in his mind.

Likes:

His Close Friends

Dub-step/Heavy Bass Music

Going Out for Drinks

Having Bonfires

Fun

Reconnaissance

Naps

Free-running/Parkour

Working Out

Video Games

Dislikes:

Rules and Training

People Being Mean/Getting in His Way

Abuse

Denial

Bleeding

Boredom

Busy Work

Fears/Triggers:

Being Called a Dog or a Guard Dog

Being Stabbed/Sliced

Abandonment/Rejection

Being Replaced

Being Hated/Despised

The Loss of Those He Cares About

HRE

#hws #hws germany #2p germany #lutz #danger himbo

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blackfemmecharacterdependency · 4 years

Text

14. Exposing the Void Pt. 2

So, okay... This chapter kinda fucked me up and I rush edited because like... I just want to get past this whole thing. I think it’s important to note that outside of 10 episodes, the concepts we were given in I.T. would be drawn out a little longer and take more time to impact the characters and also for them to deal with and go through. So, as I warned previously, rough content ahead.

Word count 5331 Trigger warnings: Gas lighting,revenge porn, slut shaming, mental abuse,ableist terminology,violence

It couldn't really just be in her head, right? Had the opinions of strangers made her THAT far away from reality? Simon definitely “liked” every single comment where someone was being mean to her this morning… but by the time she asked him about it, none of the comments were liked. She knew she didn't imagine it. It happened for a few days before she flat out asked, "Are you fuckin' with me, Dude?"

"What do you mean?"

"With this liking the comments thing you've been doing, then undoing?" He stared at her like he was worried about her. "It's not funny. If you keep doing that, I'm gonna block you."

He furrowed his eyebrows and rolled his eyes, turning away from her. "Maybe you need to take a break from social media. It's getting to you."

It wasn't "getting to" her! HE was getting to her. Playing these games that she was unsure of why he wanted to mess with her like that. He knew she was sensitive about criticisms. To like the comments? Then unlike them later, so she felt crazy?? Wait… Grace… this is Simon. Why would he do that to you? Maybe you DO need to take a break from social media.

Her parents seemed as happy as she would expect about her wanting to go to college to get more pulp for her performance arts. They weren't easily excited, so their small approval was enough for her.

But… for whatever reason… Simon had talked to them about her issues with the Internet and after a long lecture about how they didn’t raise her to be weak and insecure, she was really at her wits end with Simon. She didn’t say it, but she was pretty irritated about it, to the point that she found herself snapping at him over things, then regretting it when he looked taken aback and hurt. Sometimes, she would see a flicker of anger and expect him to explode, so that they could finally just have their fight and be done with it… but he would always just turn off his reaction, which was probably something that he learned from her, but boy was it infuriating for her to go through.

If SHE fussed after he had diffused things, then she knew that she would be being a bitch. So, she simply choked down the anger and got over it after a little while. It’s just that those moments were frequent enough that it soon felt better to not even speak to Simon at all.

She signed up for talent shows and amateur night spots. She went on auditions for local productions. She threw herself into recitals and built her resume. She shut Simon out and focused on her skills for the future. Despite the fact that Simon was equally busy, she found that he managed to always be at her house whenever he wasn’t busy. They weren’t even kicking it as much. Usually, he was with her parents.

She would come home and chime, “I’m home!” And Simon would say, “Welcome home!” from another room. At first, she would go to greet him, give him a kiss, and speak to her parents, but closer to spring, she didn’t even announce whenever she got in. She came in, listened to see if she heard his voice in the house (usually did), and she would go to her room and start working on whatever music project she was into.

Followers were asking her for new content, but she’d always just say, “I’m working on something.” She would see the chats though - the sorrow and fear of fans that the haters had scared her away from the industry. She would turn on Summer Walker, Ari Lennox, Cleo Sol, Quin, Sza… She would let them sing comfort and confidence into her while she got washed up and set up to work. She would know that she was influenced by their work, but try not to just copy any of them. Plus, she added much more bass to anything that she made. She practiced rapping sometimes, but she often felt silly and knew that she would sound like a Kids Bop album if she actually tried to record her rapping. But, in certain songs, she was able to get away with distorting her voice a little and making portions of the rap match with the songs.

She liked to experiment with various styles, make beats, have a vibey sound that you could also shake to. “Black hippy girl with funk and soul, that’s mellow, but you can groove to it,” was how she tried to describe her work. There wasn’t a genre that really captured it well.

She worked on covers of songs, and made videos like Todrick Hall did, where she put together a cover singing multiple parts… but she didn’t want to share them and be accused of copying. She was copying, but only to see how her own would be. She rented studio time to do demos.

She came out of the studio one night, mentally preparing to go home and see Simon there with her parents, but he was outside when she came out. It startled her, but she smiled and said, “Hey… didn’t expect to see you here!”

“Doesn’t seem like you ever expect to see me,” he said, emotionless.

“Yeah. You’re usually SUPER BUSY with my parents,” she said bitterly, but cheerfully.

“Are you still mad that I told them about your Internet problems?”

“No. I just think it's weird how much time you spend around them. They’re my parents and I don’t even spend that much time around them.” He sighed, annoyed. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“This is the third night that you’ve been here and left roughly at the same time. If anybody is watching you, they might know your pattern. You should be more careful. You’ll make it easy for enemies to hurt you.” It was a weird thing to say, she had to admit. It creeped her out. His tone and the suggestion, BUT, it also was Simon, who was naturally paranoid, protective, and proactive. So, she figured that he was in worried boyfriend mode and got into the car with him.

Simon wasn’t around her parents as much for a few days. She had some peace, but also had time to think about how much she missed him. She even beat herself up a little and reminded herself that she KNEW this would happen. This was why she didn’t want them to date in the first place. It had ruined their friendship!

She texted him: Hey. I miss you.

Simon: Just a few days ago you didn’t even want to say hi when you came home.

Grace: I mean… I miss you being my friend. We’re where I was afraid we’d be if we dated.

Simon:... Do you want to break up with me???

Simon: Because a text isn’t a nice way to do that.

Simon: And this is a really bad time.

Simon: DO YOU WANT TO BREAK UP WITH ME?

Grace: No. I just want my friend back.

Simon: I want my friend back too. But, you’re the one who changed, Grace. Not me.

Grace: I thought all of my changes were positive, though. So… why didn’t they bring us closer together?

Simon: (Read)

She didn’t hear back from him until the middle of the night, when her phone rang, but she missed his calls. She usually was a pretty heavy sleeper, and she took melatonin, because she could never seem to go to bed at night. 17 missed calls by morning and she called him back first thing. “Simon? Is everything okay?”

Simon looked at his bloodied knuckles and lied, “Yeah. Sorry I called so much last night. I figured you’d be asleep, but I just… needed my friend.”

“What happened?”

“I got into a fight with my dad.”

“He’s home? What was the fight about?”

“I accidentally knocked something down in his workroom and I never picked it up. Listen, I know that you hate me spending time around your parents, but could I crash there a few nights?”

“Yes! Of course!”

“Thanks.” he hung up and looked at his father, who was drunk and passed out, his face pounded in from Simon’s fists. He might be stuck on that couch for a while. He might not even remember the fight that they had the previous night. But, Simon made sure to let out every portion of rage that he ever had towards the man. Surprisingly, it gave him clarity on some things. He had been struggling with whether or not he intended to destroy Grace. She seemed to be coming around in her texts last night. Maybe… he could forgive her. Maybe they could make things work. Even if he couldn’t have her, maybe he could have his friend back. He was going to spend a few night there and try to assess everything.

Thursday through Sunday bliss for Grace. By Monday, as she sat in class, sniffling, her tissues now wet beyond repair, she still couldn’t wrap her head around what had happened. Simon said that he must’ve left his web cam going from when he was practicing his arguments for an upcoming debate. It was important, because they were nearing the end of the school year and this one one of the final debates.

She hadn’t even planned on anything happening between them, but they had been doing so horribly lately and she wanted, more than anything to just feel like she was on his good side again. Hell, sex wasn’t the worst thing a person could do and she had done far more for Simon in her life. So, though it took her a moment to settle herself into being comfortable with it, it wasn’t like she was morally opposed or even repulsed by it. She didn’t have urges, but her parts worked. With enough focus, she knew she could enjoy it and perhaps it was stupid of her to think that it would or could fix anything, but she at least hoped it might help.

Monday morning, everyone was looking at her strangely. Some laughed when she passed. Some whispered. NOBODY seemed threatened. Shana finally broke the silence with a very loud announcement of, “Good Morning, Internet’s Honeypot!” Everyone laughed. That wasn’t funny.

She rolled her eyes, but approached Shana. “What are you so cheery about?”

Shana feigned shock and asked, “Oh, you don’t know, Give It Up Grace? It seems that somebody was naughty over the weekend. I’d even say, downright NASTY!” The girls with Shana started laughing and didn’t stop whenever Grace threw them a warning glare.

Something was wrong with this picture. “What are you talking about, Shana?”

“Your boyfriend says that somebody stole his laptop this morning from the journalism room. A likely story. He’s the only thief in this school. But, whatever the truth is about that, this certainly is authentic,” Shana turned her phone to show Grace what was very clearly her, in a very personal situation with Simon. You couldn’t really see him, but she was certain that anybody who saw this could make him out. She slapped the phone out of Shana’s hand and rushed away. Every pair of eyes that fell upon her seemed to know… they all must’ve seen it. Where was Simon? Had he DONE this to her? She checked the journalism room, where he was talking to a group of boys who she knew weren’t even in journalism… “Simon!” She called.

The boys all began hushed laughter and Simon smiled at her, kicked one’s chair and warned him, “Knock it off.” He met her at the door and she was breathing hard. “You… okay?”

“No! Have you not seen that recording? A recording, mind you, that I didn’t know about nor consent to! Simon, PLEASE tell me that you didn’t record us without checking with me… Tell me that somebody who has it out for me hid a camera or something and…”

“What are you talking about Grace?” He asked. She studied his face. If there was anything that he should be worried about, there was no sign of it on his face.

“Shana said that your laptop got stolen,” she said. “Was there anything on it that you need to tell me about?”

He blushed, “I mean… I do have quite a porn collection,” he said, laughing. “And I found it! I’d apparently just left it in the library. Why?”

“Did you record us this weekend? Yes, or no?”

He furrowed his eyebrows and scoffed, “Is that something that you think I’m capable of?”

The conversation went in circles of her insisting that SOMEONE recorded them and him finally going through his laptop to see the video in question, then denying realizing that he had done this. But, since he left his laptop in the library, anybody could have sent it out. “Why would I do this, Grace? You worshiped me in the moments following this, why would I use it against you?”

“I don’t know!” She squealed, crying and embarrassed and now guilty because she had accused him. He gave her a hug and she cried on him. He walked her to class, but he didn’t seem to mind the whispers that were echoing in her head as they passed people. But, he was a boy.

Nobody was judging him the way that they were judging her. She would hear details like, “You can see that he’s not even wearing protection! She has no self respect.” or “I don’t think he pulled out. Good thing her family can afford abortions.” Then there was Shana. Shana had been waiting YEARS to knock Grace off of her pedestal, and she took every chance she got to do just that.

“Ooop. Backshots Ballerina in the building, Girls!” or “Mommy in the Making Monroe has arrived!” The worst part was that Simon wasn’t defending her. He wasn’t telling Shana to shut her fucking mouth. He wasn’t glaring at people laughing at her. He… seemed to be enjoying the attention. Then again, the attention he got was positive. She saw guys fist bump him and clap him on the back. She saw him laughing with people and them all quiet down when she approached. Simon always had an excuse as for why - none of which were related to “this obsession of yours.”

This obsession? The entire student body had seen her entire body. It was circulating and they were shaming her for a private moment she shared with someone she loved… and he wasn’t even phased by it. Did he even fucking love her??? Was this typical boy bullshit?

“You know Grace, your insecurity was cute at first, but now it’s starting to become pathetic,” Simon said. “You’re a public figure. People will always have something to say about you. Suck it up.” She slapped him in the face and stormed off, equal parts satisfied and mortified that she had reacted that way. She didn’t see the smile on his face as he rubbed his cheek. He was breaking the void down. She was losing respect and she was losing her cool. It had been so long since she reacted in violence. It kinda turned him on. It was like seeing old her for a moment. Even if it was directed at him.

Maybe she could get on a train and just leave town. Cash in her trust fund, buy a bungalow. Never look back… “Grace?” a boy’s voice said. She turned to see one of the Apex dudes. He bowed his head and she tapped her right cheek with two fingers. He came forward and held a sunflower in his hand. “I’m sorry that you’re having such a bad day,” he said and extended it to her.

“What is this?”

He looked confused. “Tribute.”

“We’re still doing that? Nobody has said a word to me all day…”

“Is the Apex over?” he asked.

She sighed and took the flower, shrugged her shoulders and said, “I guess it can live on with Simon. I’m… done with everything in this place.” Tears welled in her eyes and he reached out to offer her a hug. She accepted. Graham? Grant? Was the first person, Simon included, to be nice to her about this thing that she was going through. It was short lived. Simon appeared out of nowhere and before she could think or speak, had the kid by the collar and slammed into the lockers.

“Who do you think you are?” Simon asked him, baring his teeth.

“Simon! That’s Graham! He’s Apex. He was just checking on me!” She said and pulled on Simon’s shoulder.

Simon pressed his forehead to Graham’s and he said, “If I ever see you touch her again, you’ll give your right hand as tribute to me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Simon. Understood Simon!”

“She’s. Mine.”

“I know, Simon. I’m sorry, Simon.” Simon shoved him and he rushed away. Simon raised an eyebrow and looked at Grace, expecting her to scold him for it. That’s what she was good for these days.

She looked relieved, though. She rushed into his arms and collapsed onto his chest. “I thought you didn’t care about me anymore.” She looked up into his eyes. They still weren’t soft like they used to be, but he had a bit of a smile on his face as he collected her.

“You never have to worry about that.” She squeezed him tightly and cried on his chest. He wanted to tell her to stop it. That people could see her and that she looked weak to them. But… that was the whole point of doing this to her in the first place.

Grace took a few days off of school. Simon brought her homework assignments. She was in bed most of the time. She wasn’t creating. She wasn’t living. She was sort of wasting away. Fortunately, so far the video scandal was being kept among the students, but she lay in waiting for when it went beyond them and she would have to try to explain herself to her parents. This was something that might never go away.

Thursday evening, Simon asked, “Are you ever coming back?” She shrugged her shoulders and climbed into his lap for cuddles. This was her comfort. A bubble with her favorite person, away from social media, away from relentless peers, away from her parents. Simon kissed her on the nose. “Has this… made you never want to try again?”

“No. I almost want to make a purposeful video and send it out myself, just to show these bitches that I’m Grace Monroe, and I can do anything.” Simon’s eyes lit up. That was his Grace! She laughed and rested her head on him again. “How’s it been for you?”

“I don’t like that you’ve let it keep you out of school. You HAD perfect attendance. Now, you don’t.”

“I don’t care about perfect attendance, Simon. I care about… being the perfect girlfriend. That’s my new goal.”

“What brought this on?”

"Just… I think I get why you haven't really been bothered about things. I've been shutting you out, shoving you away. I haven't been as open or supportive as I used to, so why should you be?" He looked different suddenly. He looked like old Simon. She knew those eyes. She knew that smile.

But, within moments, it went from warm, to guilty, to confused, to cold. He shrugged his shoulders and said, "There's a tough transition from childhood best friends to this. As long as you've got it now?"

"I think I've got it now." She said and kissed him again. She melted against his body and he strummed his fingers up and down the back of her neck. This is fucked up, Simon. You did something horrible to her, and now she's apologizing… But, she's still leaving you. It doesn't matter if she feels bad for being a bad girlfriend. It doesn't matter if she wants to undo that. She. Still. Wants. To. Leave. You. Proceed with her destruction… Its destruction. He cradled her, resigned that what he had already done and what he intended to do was completely fair and right.

Grace spent HOURS getting her hair unloc'd. She had to lose a lot of it, but it was still pretty long and made a large puffy halo that she could hardly wait to show off when she got back to school the next week. She felt brand new, though she wasn't excited to see the faces of her tormentors again. She and Simon got out of the car and she wrapped an arm around him and held her hand forward. Simon smiled and they moved forward. The kids made way, she smiled and greeted. Simon was quiet, but confident.

Shana said something and Grace exchanged knowing facial expressions with Simon. He smirked and gave her a little nod. Grace handed her backpack to Simon. She flapped her fingers, said, "Wah wah wah," then uppercut Shana. Uppercut. Shana bit her tongue and stumbled back, her mouth bleeding and her hand on her chin. Simon smirked. Grace accepted her backpack back.

The last time something like this happened (and it had been a while since Grace threw a punch on her own behalf, or on Simon's for that matter, nobody saw anything. They didn't know anything. They didn't say anything. But when the dean came rushing over, asking what happened, someone said, "Grace just assaulted Shana!"

Grace was startled by that. She saw other kids nodding and agreeing that was what they saw. She looked at Simon, who, instead of swaying them back to obedience said, "Shana asked for it." Grace's eyes went wide. The dean grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her to his office. She turned to look at Simon. He was just staring at them. He wasn't riled up or upset or even following. The kids gathered behind him, also just staring… What. The. Fuck…

Her parents were not happy. "Expelled? Expelled?? At the end of the school year?" Her father complained. "Over violence? We didn't raise you like this!"

"You've barely raised me at all!" She snapped. She winced and said, "I'm sorry… I didn't mean to. Shana was bullying me.."

"That's not what all of the other kids are saying."

"It's not even what Simon says," her mother added.

Now, Grace's nostrils flared. "What does Simon say?"

"It's no secret to anyone that Grace and Shana don't get along, but none of us expected it to become physical. Shana was definitely giving her a hard time, but Grace let her temper get the best of her and I hate to say it, but it was pretty uncalled for, to lay her out like that." Her mother read from Simon's text.

"I handed him my backpack. He knew that I was about to lay hands on that bitch. Please! He's just saying that to impress you. Simon's seen…" she shut up. She was about to get herself into more trouble. "He definitely knew what was gonna happen when I handed him my bag."

"Why would he lie, Grace?" Her father asked.

"He's… obviously still mad at me for wanting to go to school. Simon can get really sensitive and a little bit clingy. He's punishing me."

"That sounds like a terrible relationship," her mother said.

"It sounds like Grace making excuses for her disgusting behavior," her father said. The doorbell rang and the butler let Simon in.

He shook Mr. Monroe's hand, bowed to Mrs. Monroe and began speaking to Grace like she was some type of volatile animal. "Heyyy, Grace. Are you okay?" She clenched her fists and narrowed her eyes. "I talked to the Dean to try to get this handled. The best that I could do was to get him to let you finish the school year from home and still have your grades as a student of the Academy. But he does not want you to come into the building again."

"Why didn't you have my back?" She asked.

"Sounds like he did have your back!" Her father fussed.

"I am not talking to you right now, Dad!" She shrieked. Everyone froze and stared for a moment. Her father looked ready to angrily lash back, but her mother wrapped an arm around him and told Simon, "You'd better get her together, or else we'll have to."

"I'll take care of it," Simon said.

"I'll take care of it? You'll take CARE of it???" Grace repeated, then laughed and shook her head.

Simon watched her parents leave the terrace and he sat next to her. "You seem like you have some things on your mind."

Grace was wondering if she was the crazy one? He completely threw her under the bus at school and in front of her parents and they just… ate it up. "Do they know that I'M THE ONE that always has to keep you chill?"

"You're not that one right now."

"That's because you're being different. You're up to something and I can't figure out what?"

"I'm playing the game that we play with parents. You WANTED them to like me, did you not?"

"Not like this! They're not supposed to think you're better than me!"

"I see. I get it now. All those times when you insisted that we should be treated equally, you were just lying to me like you lie to everybody. And now that people are treating me good, you can't stand it."

"This isn't about PEOPLE, Simon, it's about MY PARENTS and how you're... you're... STEALING them!"

Simon tells her, "It's not my fault they like me more than you." Grace started crying. He sighed and rolled his eyes. "God, AGAIN with the crying. You're really a child."

"What is your problem? How can you say something like that to me when you know how I feel about my parents?"

He scoffed, "Yeah. And now we get to the truth about how you feel about me too. This is bigger than your stupid fucking parents." She looked at his face. He looked… like he was having a completely different conversation. His face would never let on that he had just said the mean things to her that he had just said.

"Is… this about me leaving for school? You turned on me because I was gonna leave for school, Simon?"

"You lied to me. You betrayed the Apex."

"The Ape… Simon WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? The Apex doesn't have anything to do with this!"

"The Apex has everything to do with this!" He finally actually looked as mad at his words. "We were the Apex. Just you and me! We had everything we needed in each other. We belonged together. We built it together. It was our mark on the world. Our show of power and greatness… and you just threw it away! You threw ME away." He out his face into his hands and tried to catch his breath. She still didn't know what this even meant.

"I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry that it felt that way. I just wanted to do something for myself… if it makes you feel like this, I won't leave, Simon. We'll work it out…"

He uncovered his face and it was surprisingly clear. She couldn't figure out what to think of him, but her heart was all over the place. Simon told Grace to calm down, but she was already sitting quietly, thinking, and she was getting mad that he was behaving like not only a stranger but a… horrible person! "I am calm," she said, though her teeth. "Just still very confused. Why are you being this way, Simon? I just gave you my virginity like a week ago.." her voice cracked.

He smirked, looked her right in the face and said, "That meant nothing to me."

She gasped and clutched her heart. This was… too much. Was she having a nightmare? Simon would never say these things to her. He would never hurt her. "Simon… are you saying that you don't even love me anymore?"

"I'm saying I don't even know who you are. The girl that I loved was strong, powerful and she cared about me. She wasn't a liar, pretending to love me until she could get away from me. Pretending to see me as an equal, but squirms anytime someone sides with me. She was worthy of respect. Whatever you are, you're not even worthy of her name. You're not worthy of respect. And you aren't worthy of love. You're nothing to me."

She shook her head and looked out at the estate. Tears were pouring down her face. He put his hand on her back and rubbed it and for a moment, despite everything he had just said to her, she was relieved that he seemed gentle with her. But the he said, "Before I go, I want you to know that I actually did record us on purpose…" her head turned sharply to him and she stared at his thin lips as he said, "And I'm the one who leaked it." …Then...he smiled.

Grace punched him in the teeth. He threw his hands up to cover his head. He knew her fighting style. She hit you in the face and head and neck. That's where she was swinging, but he was blocking well enough. So well, she was enraged and pulled his hair, twisting it in her fist to try to lift his head. Before she could strike him in the face again,she felt her mother's hands rip her away from him.

"Grace! You've caused us enough trouble with your violent outbursts! And now you’ve set your fists upon Simon?" All Grace could do was roar in anger, startling her mother.

Simon almost couldn’t hide his smirk. Luckily Mrs. Monroe was staring at her daughter (in horror), "I'm sorry, Mrs. M This was my fault. I didn't mean to make her so mad. I know how she gets when she gets mad…" Grace charged at him, but Mrs. Monroe stood between them and grabbed her wrists.

"WE will talk about this later!" She placed a hand on Simon's back and led him back into the house to assess the damage and be sure that he wasn't ready to sue like Shana's parents were.

Grace asked herself, "Am I fucking crazy?" Simon smirked at her as he walked away with her mom. "No. He's. Crazy. HE'S fucking crazy!" She grabbed a handful of her fro and leaned on the rail with the other hand, sobbing.

Simon turned to Mrs. Monroe and said, "You realize that I love her right?"

Mrs. Monroe became visibly tense as she replied, "I realize that there's some feelings between you that you believe are very strong, but I also know that my daughter is hard to love."

"That's not true! I loved Grace almost the moment I met her. She's very generous. She's helpful. She's protective, oh and she's genuine... being genuine is the most important trait of a friend."

While Mrs. Monroe wasn't paying attention to him, he and Grace looked at each other through the window, and he glared at her hatefully. She stormed through the living room and up the stairs, slamming the door behind her.

Then, she just… cried again, and sat down on the floor. She's unsure to this day how long she sat there, but she knows that both of her parents came together, each separately, the housekeeper, the butler and some doctor tried to talk to her before she finally got up, went into her bathroom and resumed sitting in the bathtub. She was there for 13 hours. She remembers that much. Not much else. The entire time period was just… day after day of hurt. And he still wasn't done with her.

#If They Didn't Get on the Train #AU Infinity Train #Infinity Train #Nesha Fanfiction #Infinity Train Fanfiction #fics

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vampirrediaries · 4 years

Text

Enemies Of The State : Dark!Klaroline {9}

summary:

This fiction follows the events of just how Klaus Mikaelson and Caroline Forbes lost everything that tied them to their humanity, leading them into something neither of them can come back from.

—————

{10 years ago}

“Let’s find her”

The room was contemplating on what exactly to do about their friend, tension at an all time high as Rebekah started to recall everything she knew about the humanity switch.

“That is if she’s still in Mystic Falls,” The Original groaned “She might’ve skipped town for all we know.”

“I don’t see a reason for her still being here,” Elena deadpanned. “I mean why would she? There’s nothing left for her here.”

“What’s the damn point then?” Damon rolled his eyes. “If she’s left Mystic Falls, then you have nothing to worry about Blondie”

That earned Damon a nasty glare from the Original, to which he shut his mouth in response. Anyone knew better than to aggravate Rebekah in stances such as these, seeing how she could swiftly kill everyone in the room. Stefan let put a heavy sigh, trying to ignore his ignorant brother.

“Maybe she’s still here,” The younger Salvatore said hopefully. “We can still find her-”

Elena nodded slowly, turning to Rebekah hastily. “We need to go before she gets any other ideas.”

The room quickly agreed, excluding Damon, who only groaned as if he was unnecessarily being included in this mess.

Dawn was beginning to crack as they made their way outside, almost as if their world was at peace. Stefan thought about this as he trailed back with the Original, who looked as distressed as he did.

“How was she?” Stefan spoke under his breath, turning to face Rebekah. “When you saw her. What was she like?”

The blonde vampire furrowed her brows, knowing the answer all too well. She’d seen something in her, strikingly similar to what she’d seen in her big brother. Darkness. Pure raging darkness. Rebekah shivered inwardly at the thought, but replied simply in response to the deeply layered question.

“Gone,” She stated. “She was gone.”

————

“Can’t this thing drive any bloody faster?”

Kol rolled his eyes from the driver’s seat, trying to ignore his older brother in such high risk situations. Going back to Mystic Falls was single-handedly the worst thing Klaus had ever demanded of him. Their enemies practically crawled in that town, and Kol could imagine how unnecessary his involvement was, but knew better than to disagree with the temperamental Hybrid.

“We’re only twenty minutes away, Nik” Kol sighed, resting his hands steadily on the wheel.

“Twenty minutes too long,” Klaus growled in response. “I’ve ensured that this dagger will be in his heart, unless he’s gotten there before us-”

“Why do you even care about this girl?” Kol cut him off, quietly asking the risky question.

Klaus was immediately silenced by this, taken aback by the question he himself didn’t fully know the answer to. He never was the one to be so open about things concerning his humanity, especially not when he knew his weaknesses could be easily targeted. Elijah figured him out, and used her against him. Her. One of the things that tied him to a weakness he desperately wished didn’t exist.

But he only stared straight in response, not wanting to say anything about the matter.

“Keep driving,” He only muttered under his breath “The sooner we get there the better.”

***

Tension arose once again when the group had reached Caroline’s home. Elena tentatively knocked on the door in hopes that Liz would answer. The house remained as still as ever.

“Guess she’s skipped town,” Damon spoke up dryly “Shocker.”

“Shut up, Damon” Rebekah hissed, frustratedly walking towards the door. “What on earth are we going to do now? That girl could be anywhere-”

“Bonnie could always do a tracking spell, right?” Stefan looked towards the witch hopefully, but was met with a sullen glance instead.

“I need something personal that belongs to Caroline, and chances are is that she’s taken everything like that with her.”

“Damn it,” Elena sighed in exasperation “Imagine what she could be doing right now. She was already neurotic as it was.”

Stefan stiffened at this remark, trying to ignore the how criticising she had to be even in dire times like these. He often wondered if they even cared about Caroline like he did. She was always pushed aside unless she was useful, and even then she was only used as collateral damage. He wallowed in this before his thoughts were cut in.

“It won’t be long till the animal attacks hit the news,” Bonnie hastily suggested “We’ll have to find her the traditional way.”

“No!” Rebekah frantically hissed, clearly opposed to the idea. “She will make a damn bloodbath long before that happens. We don’t have the time!”

“So what might you suggest then?” Damon asked with a bored voice once again. “Since you’re so hell bent on finding Caroline, give us some ideas.”

Rebekah shot daggers at Damon, him getting on her last nerves. She strode up to him impatiently.

“I am hell bent on finding the bloody girl because her actions will reflect upon the supernatural that live in this town,” Rebekah spoke venomously. “Including you and your brother. You wouldn’t want the council to drag you out of here, i’m sure.”

“We can handle the damn council, Blondie,” He replied with impatience. “You’re an Original, and we are stronger than a couple of weak council members who think they run the damn place!”

“The more time the pair of you waste with your bickering is the more time we let Caroline spill innocent blood,” Stefan finally cut in, exasperated.

“This entire thing is a waste of my time,” Damon chuckled humourlessly in response, turning his back away from the crowd. “Have fun finding ripper Blondie.”

Rebekah geared up to shoot Damon with the worst threats she could come up with, but had only gotten a single syllable out when a calm, but deadly voice everyone knew too well was suddenly heard.

“Nobody is going anywhere.”

The group immediately whisked around, audible gasps echoed through the empty streets when he was found stood as elegantly as ever, arms covered with an immaculate blazer as he’d crossed them. Rebekah stared with wide eyes, the last person she had expected standing in front of her.

“Elijah,” She breathed out helplessly.

————

Caroline ran her hands through her perfectly coiled hair as she stood outside the club, waiting until she knew that the humans inside were too drunk to care what was going on around them.

Even if a vampire was sucking them dry.

She deliberately didn’t drink from the blood bags to build up her hunger precisely for this moment, her mouth watering for what she yearned for the most. She could hear the multiple heartbeats pumping blood through their bodies, disguised beneath the pumping bass of the horrid dance music she liked as a human. It seemed like centuries ago, when she was still innocent. Who knew that she’d end up here, about to murder people without a care in the world?

Caroline rolled her eyes, finally entering the club when she couldn’t take the thirst anymore.

She took it in. It was loud inside, and fairly dark with only the strobe lights illuminating the surroundings. Dance music filled the moderately sized space, with every unsuspecting human (like she hoped) too drunk to care. Caroline smiled wickedly. Perfect. She strode in confidently, her heels clinking on the dance floor as she looked around ravenously. So many options, but who do i feed on first?

Caroline’s eyes finally landed on a girl who was shyly swaying along to the music. Her friends were confidently dancing, while she was overshadowed. She looked around eighteen, way too young to be in a place like this.

Hmm, she’ll have to do.

Caroline impatiently strode over to the unsuspecting girl, trying to hold back the hunger which was made evident by her blood red eyes. She shook it off, not wanting to give away her supernatural status. Not just yet, anyways. Having fun with your food first makes the hunt all the more satisfying.

His voice echoed in her mind like a phantom. He’d told her that once, and she looked at him with disgust.

Get out of my head, Caroline thought with revulsion. Purely because Klaus Mikaelson reminded her of how beautiful he’d made her feel. Humanity could only go so long, and he was her trigger. The only way to make sure that her days of feeling something were long gone, was to focus purely on her prey.

So, with a clear mind only full of bloodlust, Caroline approached the teenager with a smile as sweet as she could manage.

“Hey there,” Caroline spoke with a light tone. The girl whipped around, obviously sober. She looked at her innocently, raised eyebrows as she waited to hear what the blonde wanted.

“I was wondering if you could show me where the bathroom is,” Caroline asked inauspiciously, still smiling in order for her prey to not be afraid. The girl merely nodded, walking towards the stalls as Caroline eagerly followed.

“Here they are,” She spoke with a friendly tone. “I often get dragged here by my friends, so i know where everything is and stuff.”

“Don’t you like coming here?” Caroline responded casually, her thirst growing by the second. Her prey shook her head.

“Not really my scene,” She sighed, looking back at her group. “I should be getting back to my friends.”

Caroline held back a smirk, but still reprimanded innocence. “I didn’t even catch your name!”

“It’s Alice.”

“Could you do me a favour Alice?”

“Uh...sure?”

“Lean your head back.”

Alice looked at Caroline with confused, yet scared eyes. The vampire was far too bloodthirsty to keep on a charade for any longer, but still waiting for the right moment.

“W-Why?”

There it was, the moment she was waiting for. Caroline’s eyes went to the shade of bloody red as she took in Alice’s horrifed expression. The tight grip on the girl’s arm was bruising to make sure she wouldn’t escape, but she was too paralysed to even try.

“What do you want with me?” the girl choked out the words in a small voice, not even trying to free herself. The vampire got closer to her ear, menacingly whispering her intent.

“I want to kill you, Alice.”

She was still paralysed, silent tears streaming down as Caroline held her by the neck. She could hear her small pleas.

“Please don’t, y-you don’t have to do this.”

Oh, Alice Caroline thought venomously. But i’m so hungry.

She suddenly plunged the razors into her neck, the taste of what she yearned for finally filling her mouth and her need. Alice thrashed against her, using the very little energy she had for her life, but Caroline didn’t care.

She just didn’t care.

It felt amazing, really, hearing the human’s heartbeat slowly deteriorating as she sucked the life out with ravenous teeth. Nobody looked towards their direction, Alice’s cries being helplessly muffled by the pumping bass. Caroline held on to the body for dear life, wanting more and more, until finally she had sucked her dry.

The poor girl’s corpse lay still and white when the Vampire was done with her, extracting her teeth from the carotid artery which was now empty and void, as if the blood never existed. The girl was a now a ghost, much like Caroline’s humanity as she looked at the body with no remorse.

Blood hummed in her veins, much like electricity. She felt electric, powerful and void of any remorse or sympathy. Caroline felt it more, that darkness that had long consumed her being. She carelessly wiped the blood by the back of her hand.

The vampire picked up the corpse of the once lively girl, and slung it over her shoulder as she swiftly flashed away from prying eyes and out the back door. Nobody saw her as she dumped the body into the trashbin, conveniently placed in the dark alleyway. Somebody else could deal with it, she was too caught up in the thrill of the hunt to worry about her victim.

Caroline wanted more. She wanted and needed it all, and another body couldn’t hurt right? One less soul to worry about, in her twisted opinion.

“Well this is something i never thought i’d see.”

The vampire immediately froze. The voice had caught her off guard.

She knew that whiny voice all too well.

“You thought wrong,” Caroline said in a cool voice as she heard the clinking of notorious black heels that only she would wear. The smell of vanilla perfume was evident. Yes, she knew exactly who this was.

“Mind telling me what you’re doing here?” Caroline asked casually. Of course she would be here.

“Why don’t you turn around and i’ll tell you exactly why i’m here, Cupcake.”

The vampire finally turned around, her eyes fixated on her face. She wasn’t mad, just surprised. Of course, that was one of the things that only she had mastered. The element of surprise.

Caroline simply smirked.

“Hello Katherine.”

——————

masterlist

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cupsofsuga · 5 years

Note

ot7 yandere meeting your parents and your parents not liking them💘💫

BLOODLINE ━ YANDERE BTS REACTION*:･。.

WARNING - This is a yandere au, meaning the following may be triggering to some viewers. I am not trying to discriminate the boys in any way, this is for entertainment purposes. Viewer discretion is advised!!!

Thank you for requesting, angel!

KIM SEOKJIN

━━━ You and Jin have known each other for your whole lives, never spent a moment without each other. You often reminisce of the times where you’d both ride your bikes through town together or spend nights under a fort you two created, trying your best to hush your own laughter in fear of waking up a parent. The innocence of your childhood was what you missed and now that you’ve grown into a teen, the atmosphere and neglect of childlike joy are now tangible. That’s where Jin comes in, like some sort of superhero wearing a cape with a cheesy slogan. He is there to heal the scorching sensation in your heart and to fight off the sorrows that dared to linger in your head. Upon seeing this newfound connection, your parents didn’t favor the idea of you spending time with that certain boy the called “trouble”.

No worries, though. You’re a teenager, you use bitter lies like it’s your very own sword. You crouched and climbed through each other’s windows during nightfall acting like inmates when all you really were was lovers. Hushed laughter turned to quiet whispers to avoid getting caught, and Jin hated acting like this infatuation was supposed to be kept at secrecy. How could they act like loving somebody was such a crime? How can they take away this soul he needs in his life in such a vicious manner? Those were questions that quickly vanished when you two would go elsewhere than each other’s rooms, finding an open woodland space and trying to remember the names of constellations or to gas stations at 4 am just to laugh as you did years ago. Spending even just a few seconds in your arms is what makes his anger subside and he can feel pure again.

These moments with you feel like they’re eternal, even though they’re spent in the dead of night, scared of the eyes of your parents. You both are 17, which means 1 more year until he can scoop you into his arms and escape this deadbeat town. Whatever the future had planned for him, he won’t care about a thing as long as he gets to spend the rest of his days with you by his side.

“I know we’re only just kids, but, God, Y/N… I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you…”

MIN YOONGI

━━━ The two of you eat in bitter silence. Your mother, once again, shared her much-unneeded opinion about him. She insulted him, mocking him of his weight and claiming he couldn’t defend you in any way. It angered you, severely, and you held a tight grip on your fork to hold yourself back from exploding at her. Seconds of silence go by, ticking away like the deafening echo of a clock. But then, under the dinner the table, you feel a tenacious grip on your hand. Yoongi holds and squeezes onto your palm like he is about to be devoured by the darkness of our galaxy and he clings onto a single star for dear life. He holds onto you like you’re a lifeline and without your touch, he’d die in the most miserable, violent way possible.

Her comments hurt him and he couldn’t defend himself with his poor, weak fists. Her few words made him feel small, defenseless, like a small bunny rabbit against an entire pack of hungry wolves. Tears build up as the insecurities scatter his mind like the raindrops of a heavy storm. Yoongi starts to shake and tremble, trying to hold these inevitable tears back and not let his emotions go rampant at the dinner table, which already had a disastrous mood that lingered around everyone. Luckily, you noticed, tightening your grip on his hand (if that was even humanly possible anymore) and walking straight out of the house, not without a cold “fuck you” directed to your mother.

His tears flow out like a goddamn waterfall down his cheeks. Down, down, down they go as his choked sobs fill the midnight air. Such a melancholic time to be in. The embers of the sun cannot bring warmth to Yoongi’s soul, anymore, and he must cry in the saturated light of the moon. The idea gives off pandemonium of sorrows, but then you come. Your arms are locked tightly around his petite figure, letting him shake with sobs in your grasp as you coo and reassure him that her cruel words don’t mean a thing. But then, there it is. There’s the sun, he can feel the warmth on his face. Yoongi can feel the seraphic scintillation of sunbeams embrace and kiss him softly. And although there is no sun, only the moon, that won’t take away the serenity of this moment.

“Please, please, please… Don’t let me go. Don’t ever let me go… Please…”

JUNG HOSEOK

━━━ Phantoms of unheard ghost lie in your heavy heart. Their insults towards your lover hurt like stab wounds and come like bullets. Every second circling around Hoseok is golden and eternal and you question about your parent’s blindness to his pure aura. He is so, so very joyful resting in the wrath of your presence that it turns physical. It twists and turns his heart in such a pleasurable matter that their heavy, bitter words don’t even give him the slightest of bruises. Like a perceptible weight of seraph that weighs down gently on his chest. Like the freedom of summer, or like a solemn melody that reverberates blissfully in your head. Entirely single fleeting moments spent in utter enchantment, where worries fail to exist.

Every second spent with you is the exact moment where the noose nestled on his neck breaks loose and he can breathe.

Hoseok feels with his heart instead of his fingertips. He cries tears of mercury instead of water. He smiles with the beams of the moon instead of the sun. He is an inhuman creature, an angel or a siren of some sort. Many were quick to fall under his magic way of seething joy, but they never mattered, only you do. That’s all he ever desired, after all, was your affections intended solely for him and him only. So, when your parents mocked and insulted him of being too soft and sensitive, he was quick to brush them off. It’s ok. He doesn’t care about them at all. Only your opinion mattered, anyway, and he’ll do anything to validate and lionize whatever thought crossed your mind.

“It’s ok, Y/N… I only care about you and you only… Please don’t let their words get to you. It hurts me to see you in pain…”

KIM NAMJOON

━━━ You spend your days drinking moonlight straight from the glass and bathing in fields-worth of flower petals. You wear the earth on your body, sleep in river streams and taste of the brightest stars. You may be a witch, you may be a God, or you could just be Y/N. Y/N. A name that has the void in his chest filled to the brim with galaxies, planets and the light of a billion stars. A name that is the only cure to heal his shattered and bruised heart. A name that is said with the blood of holy gods but with the softness of a goddesses touch. The name that is equivalent to a lullaby and is sung from the angels that dance and sing within his own heart.

But… what’s this? You parents have failed to see his love for you…? How could this be? Namjoon has shown nothing but pure, loyal devotion for you and they see him as nothing but some stupid imp!? That can’t be, it won’t be! He wouldn’t let this become a reality!

Namjoon becomes suffocating and intolerant, but he is desperate in times like this. You reassure him your parent’s opinions surely doesn’t make your love for him differ in the slightest and as much as he listens and cherishes every syllable that leaves your lips, those words don’t affect him in the slightest. He bombards your parents with flowers, foods and any gift he could possibly think of. As much as it harms his soul, he tries to ignore their stares of hatred and whispers of gossip. It hurts, but that won’t stop him. Namjoon will do anything to prove to them that he is a good man and is completely worthy of spending the rest of time with their child. Anything.

“I know they don’t matter to you, but, how can they think of me like that? That I’m just some idiotic hellion that only sees you as some sort of toy!? I see you as my entire world, Y/N, and I need them to see that, too… I don’t want anyone to ever think you mean nothing to me…”

PARK JIMIN

━━━ Lover’s Spit is playing, mixed in with the white noise of passing automobiles and tires against the road. It’s a cloudy day when you and Jimin finally pack up and return home from your parent”s house, and Jimin was more than ready to be safe and alone with you. He feels envy; envy for the unforeseen heaven you’ve found in this place rather than finding it within him. You loved being back at home, he can see it in your eyes. It’s like the most beautiful explosion of diamonds and pearls across the nebulous, velvet-touched sky. And as he stares out of the window, groggily watching the trees and cars pass by and music echoing in his head, he feels resent.

“Everything ok, love?” The heavy bass seems to dim down and all he can hear is your voice and feel your sweet attention finally on him. Like an angel’s kiss on a fresh, moggy spring morning, he can finally feel your affections intended solely for him. But when Jimin finally forwards his stare from out of the window to your pretty face, you see a look so heart-shattering that even the clouds start to disintegrate.

Such a devastating look he gives you. Lips trembling, tears clinging onto his lashes like broken shards of diamonds. His features look as if they were chiseled in marble and placed somewhere in Rome. So pure, so beautiful, so melancholically dreamlike. There’s sorrow buried deep in his heart and you’re aching to find out what caused this.

“Y/N… I-I know you love them, but, please… Please don’t leave me… I couldn’t survive without you. Just… Just tell me you love me. It’s all I need to hear right now…”

KIM TAEHYUNG

━━━ Taehyung gulps the glass in front of him like it’s holy water and he’s desperate to be purified of his sins. Their stares linger far too long and he can’t help but wonder, do they know about his vicious infatuation? Do they see him when he lurks outside your window to simply admire the art before him? He now holds shame in his heart, and it burns. At first, your parents were ambivalent about him. But now, it was clear of their feelings for him. They despised him. He followed stars and planets to try and shift and shape their opinions about them, but nothing worked. Through courage, kindness, loyalty, truth, and gratitude, he was left with bitter, eternal disgrace.

There’s a sudden grip on his wrist. Tight, but comforting in this matter. Oh, there you are.

Taehyung suddenly feels delicate, soft, cherubic, in a way. Spring days and the kisses of the moon resting in the crevice of his heart. Dahlias, lilies, tulips, and marigolds begin to fill and flutter within his chest, a sudden warmth nuzzling through his body like the sunbeams embracing his skin on a July afternoon. Taehyung can finally feel so loved and safe with your touch on him. Even though this silence belittles and mocks him, there are worlds forming in his heart. And for now, the light of your love is all he needs.

“Y/N, you are such a gift… A gift that won’t stop giving. Please… Never stop loving me. I don’t know how I’d live without your love…”

JEON JUNGKOOK

━━━ Jungkook can see his reflection in the glimmer of the plate in front of him and has an utter hatred for what he sees. Too possessive, too soft, too emotional, too jealous, too sensitive. His hands start to shiver, his knees ache and his lip quivers. Were all those harsh words true? Could it be possible you felt the same way as well!? This voice inside his head is chanting “calm down!” like it’s some sort of magic spell and he’s trying to summon the dead. But, his plans fail and Jungkook can’t seem to bring a halt to these worries. He begins to hyperventilate as he sinks into himself. “How could you love someone like him?”, they ask. But, really, how could you?

He is nothing but some socially anxious kid who is trying with every weak bone in his body to prove his devotion to the human he loves with the worth of the entire galaxy. You’re a god, and he’s nothing but some filthy hellion that is desperate for your affections. You were born made of shattered stars with a big chunk of the moon that rests in your heart, he was given nothing but thin skin and a glass soul. You are the moon, a light in the darkness that shares its own wrath of eternal peace and beauty. Jungkook is the sun, so overwhelming and so utterly there, and god, does he hate it. But before this epiphany eats him whole, you drag him from the dining room and into your childhood bedroom to try and soothe him of his sorrows.

You shush him when he starts to cry, holding his head with your palms like you have an entire planet in your hands. You wipe his tears and whisper words of reassurance, telling him that he is completely perfect just as he is and how he shouldn’t let their blasphemous words dominate him. And although his insecurities crafted by your parents have now taken a toll on him, your touch and your love heals him, so now he can inhale the scent of summer and exhale the dust of your affections.

“Thank you… Thank you, thank you, thank you… I-I-I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but, fuck… I’m so goddamn thankful to be yours…”

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gemder · 4 years

Text

a bubbline wip, featuring a dissociative episode by our fave punk rock vamp. set shortly after Stakes.

She doesn't know how long she's been hovering over the couch like this, with her gaze trained on the bumps and dips on the ceiling and her bass planted in her arms. How many times has she sung that old song, so old and resilient it survived the death and rebirth of the world (and the both of hers twice over, now) just by hiding in the corner of her mind she doesn't like to visit? She can't see the sun or moon rise through the entrance to her hideaway from this part of the house, and the cave-imposed darkness tells her nothing of the time or how much of it has passed.

She doesn't dare budge from her spot. She's been turned twice now; she knows from experience that any sudden action, anything to startle her base thought process, could spark that bloodlust from last time. That was some ugly biz, if she remembers correctly. It's been a while, but something like an uncontrollable urge to drain the lifeforce of every living creature within 30 miles sticks to you. She's just going to have to wait it out, until the itch in the back of her throat dies down and she doesn't worry it'll become an insatiable burning for hot blood, no matter how long it takes.

Marceline has had an excessive amount of time to learn how to be alone; 1003 years, in fact. So why does it never get any easier? Why does being left never hurt any less? Why does she seem to be so completely destined for eternal loneliness? What asshat decided she deserved to spend the entirety of her neverending life without a single constant presence?

Mom went out with promises of keeping safe and finding food and I love you so much, sweetie, that alone is strong enough to bring me back to you. It took two weeks before little Marcy came to the conclusion that her mom wasn't coming back with food or supplies, or even returning empty handed. Simon let a stupid magical crown take over every single cell of his brain and wrote a bunch of scattered letters about it while it happened instead of, you know, telling the frightened 7 year old she was going to be left soon. Dad just up and left to go back to running the Nightosphere after a few weeks, with nary a parting word nor any notice. Her post-apocalyptic comrades had no choice but to flee from an otherwise inevitable extinction. Bonnie had to go and grow up, and in the process decide that her 900-something year old girlfriend wasn't mature enough.

(She checked that old, busted up camper as often as she could over the following months. There was never another life in that thing after she hopped down the little steps and let the screen door slam back with the carelessness of a 6 year old.)

(She found a decomposed corpse months later that just happened to be wearing some torn up rags that looked like her mom’s old sweater and jeans. It must have just been a coincidence, though; there were a lot of recently dead back then, and even more moth-eaten sweaters in the world.)

(“I’m trying to save you, but who's going to save me?” ‘I don't know, old man, maybe you could have saved yourself? You could have not purposely used the magical relic that was making you go bananas?’ If a 7 year old could make it through the apocalypse without magic then so could a fully grown man.)

(He left her to survive on her own in the name of being executive manager of hell and he still wonders why she wants nothing to do with him, why she used to have such a hard time so much as calling him “dad” when he’s never been anything like what she was lead to believe dads were supposed to be like.)

(She’s 1000 years old, how in the name of the nightosphere could she not be mature enough?)

(Over the years she’s replaced the world “hell” with “Nightosphere” the same way the being once referred to as “God,” back when even she was young, is now called by their proper name of Glob. The Nightosphere really is hell, so it fits.)

(Sometimes she takes the time to think about how she's the heir apparent to the actual, literal, real life hell, and how she's one of the oldest beings around these days, maybe the oldest to still really be sane, but still a messed up teen.)

(She doesn't know how old she was when she was turned; years and months and all that are hard to keep track of when the species that invented it is all but extinct. Is she old enough to drive? Probably. She does and can regardless, because screw the old ways. Old enough to drink, smoke, vote? Debatable. The point is that she’s 1000 years old but actually, like, 18. What the fuck.)

She drifts, both mentally and physically. She's had plenty of time and isolation to ponder the Big Things about life and the world and why and how things happened the way they did, and what it means. She will have an abundance of opportunities in the future to think about these things, too. Some day she'll reflect on this part of her life in the far away, nostalgia-filtered sepia tones she currently thinks of her childhood and adolescence. She'll remember when Finn and Jake were the heroes of Ooo, when Simon used to chase after princesses who will have long since passed, when she couldn't get over her ex-girlfriend who happened to be sentient candy. It will be distant and she will miss it terribly, the same way she misses her mother, and Simon when he was Simon, and fries in a long-abandoned diner. But it will be a wound long since closed and numbed, like the deep scar she got on her calf sometime in her early teens that still exists today, preserved in her immortality and a sentimentality that prevented her from insta-healing it away, sting and blood long gone.

She has forever to reminisce, but only right now to live in the present. She makes mental patterns in the bumps on the ceiling, and slowly loses grip on her body. She is a million miles upwards, where the sky holds no oxygen and the stars are still pinpricks in a sea of indigo construction paper. Like a kid poking holes in the top of a jar of lightning bugs, equipped with a fork and enthusiasm at being able to destroy something for the sake of encapturing something else. She is, at the same time, hovering above her uncomfortably hard couch. One of her hands slips from its place atop her bass, and Shwabl licks it from his spot next to her on the dusty carpet.

She doesn't hear the knock at the door. She is right there, but she is centuries back and in a different part of the continent entirely. She doesn't hear Bonnie getting increasingly agitated, trying and failing not to raise her voice at her through the door. She doesn't notice when Bonnie lets herself in regardless of Marceline’s lack of response, or when Shwabl jumps up to attention at the guest.

It's the “Marceline, what -” that breaks her dissociative spell. That tone of exasperation in that particular voice is a very familiar one, especially within the last decade. She comes to to find that there are fresh tears in the corner of one eye and the words to a song as old as her youth on her lips.

“Oh, hey Bombòn. How goes it girl?” Marceline has had a millennium to convince the world that she's chill and totally not a big mess, and it shows in the lilt to her voice that screams ‘I'm just chillin’’ and not ‘I've been dissociating and crying and probably singing for who-knows-how-long and I'm really messed up’. She still doesn't dare move from her spot, because moving around could still trigger what she's trying to wait out.

“It's been three weeks, Marcy. Three weeks, and all that heavy biz, and no one's heard from you since. Doesn't that seem even a little bit irresponsible to you? Didn't you think people would worry? Or even wonder ‘hey, what happened to that girl who saved all our butts and got revampified?’”

“Dude, I've just been chilling. You know how it is; jams, games, pets, it keeps a girl busy. It’s cool. Ice cold, in fact.”

Bonnie sighs. Marceline has heard that sigh a million and three times over by now, and she's learned to like that particular sound from the pink girl; it's the one thing about herself that she can't manage to sweeten to the point of oversaturation, until it (like the rest of her) is practically dripping sugar. Marceline likes to deal with the authentic rather than the idealized versions of people, because the latter rarely ever means anything good is coming her way.

(She rationalizes that the Ice King component of Simon, while not idealized, is not authentic in the least; the products of full humans getting mixed up with magic seldom are. The authentic Simon Petrikov is the one who found a 6 year old girl in the ruins of a suburban New Mexico town and still had enough selflessness in the aftermath of the apocalypse to comfort her and take care of her.)

The sigh doesn't lead to the reprimanding the vampire expects. Instead, she watches as Bonnie leans down in her peripheral vision to pet Shwabl, expression focused intently on the dog. She's doing that same schooled neutrality shit she used to do during those globawful trade meetings - the ones Marcy used to steal her away from the go gallivanting through the rock candy mines.

“What kind of sweet tunes have you whipped up, then? Lay it on me girl.”

Marceline lets her face adopt a smirk - the expression has become a reflexive habit after centuries of being a bitter undead loner - even as something in her stomach drops. Bonnie rarely asks about her music because she knows so much of it is personal, and that which isn't is vulgar or morbid and prone to being shared regardless, not to mention the fact that Bonnie’s interests definitely don't lie in the arts, or punk rock music, or most of the uglier parts of Marceline.

“You know my latest album is the epitome of personal mush, Bons. It's so personal I'd have to kill you if you heard any of it. But, I do have a new demo about a fisherman.”

Bonnibel definitely wants something out of her; she has that smile she reserves for Cinnamon Bun and Finn when he's going on about dumb 13 year old boy things, the one that's polite and reservedly encouraging, the one that Marcy has always found to be condescending although it always looks as sweet as its wearer who is literally made out of candy, almost as sweet as the girl’s public persona.

The thing about being 1000 years old and also a teenage girl is that you spend forever being a socially-minded person on some level or another, because back in the day that's how girls were socialized to be - social-driven creatures who cared more about what Allyson wore on Tuesday or what Theresa said about Serena in math class than anything practical. So Marceline has had a long time to notice the tells and ticks of the select few she surrounds herself with often enough to care about. PB smiles like her kindergarten teacher used to on particularly trying days when she thinks the people she's with are idiots but can't call them out for it. Her eyebrows droop when she's so tired that sheer willpower will no longer keep them up. She plays with her hands when she's nervous. She used to chew on her hair when she was younger and in the process of creating her kingdom, when stress was a new feeling she hadn't yet made a feedback loop out of.

This is totally, completely because of the sexist socialization of the old world, and nothing else. Totally not because they dated for a good chunk of time, or because one or the other might, maybe be having rose-coloured thoughts about the other again.

“Everyone and their granny has heard that one, Marcy. If you've had all this time to do nothing but groove and game then I wanna hear some tunes! Don't be a butt about it.” She's trying to gode the older girl, but Marceline is itching to get out of this particular conversation. Somewhere in her cursed, mostly re-dried blood she knows this is a test.

“I don't bust into your lab and start interrogating you about your experiments - can you just lay off, man?” she says it more harshly than she had meant to, but being yanked back to reality and immediately questioned over every move will do that to a person. “Tell me what's been going on in Candyland. You finally get all the earwax off of your junk?”

“You know if you did ask about my science experiments I would be happy to tell you all about them - well, the ones that aren't classified. It's called caring, Marce, it's a thing that friends do.”

A tense silence follows as Marceline thinks of something biting (but not petty!) to throw back at her.

“And yeah, actually, I did. The dingus left a huge mess but there's nothing my purple cleaner can't get rid of.”

Bonnie can't leave a single box unticked, can she?

“Glob, that stuff is nasty. The fumes make me gag, and I don't even need to breathe!”

The princess raises a brow at her. The queen furrows both of hers in frustration and fixes her gaze back on the bumps on the ceiling. When she was younger she used to make images out of the dips and dots in the kindergarten room ceiling; the RV’s was smoothed and didn't allow that particular part of her imagination to play around.

“And I think the expression you're looking for is sharing is caring, Bubs. It's a thing they used to say waaaaaaaay back in the day whenever the old people got tired of little kids fighting over toys.”

*******

this was gonna be a longfic feat. mutual pining by our fave disaster gays and more references to marcy’s life pre- and during the apocalypse bc i have a lot of feelings about Stakes. might come back to it, who knows!!!

#ash talks #ash writes #bubbline #bubbline fanfic #writing wip

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taehyungsgrowl · 5 years

Note

I was only pretendending with Jim. Make it as sad as u can

Friends don’t kiss - Jim Mason x Male!Reader

A/N: This has literally been in my ask box since.. January. I’m really the worst; I’m sorry. But now that both my angsty miniseries are completed.. why not start another, right?

I got inspiration to tackle this after talking about some Jim x Male!Reader concepts. I understand this was probably sent with the intention of Jim x Fem!Reader, but uhh here we are. I hope you all enjoy this. I think I’ve made it pretty obvious that my favorite genre to write is angst so! Please let me know what you guys think.

Trigger Warning: angst, mentions of homophobia + battling w figuring out their sexuality, light sexual mentions (no smut), violence

Plot: Jim and his friend face the judgemental society of Palos Verdes and battle their own inner demons.

Word Count: 2k

Confusion ran through Jim’s mind.

“What are we doing?” Jim asked breathlessly into the boys mouth, “Just go with it,” he groaned in response, darting his tongue into Jim’s wet lips.

Now he sat alone in his room with his thoughts for company.

Y/N had dodged Jim’s questions about what it was they were doing. Besides the frequent late night car rides that were often filled with smoke and brushing lips. What were they? Jim loved Y/N. Even before he kissed him.

Y/N was there for Jim since he first arrived to Palos Verdes. He took Jim under his wing and became his friend.

He didn’t want all that to just be thrown out the window because of it.

But selfishly, Jim wanted more. He wanted more than just late night kisses in secrecy. He wanted to laugh in dinners under neon light signs. He wanted to hold Y/N’s hand and drag him out of parties and kiss him against a wall. He wanted everyone to know.

He didn’t know what he wanted them to know. Hell, Jim himself wasn’t sure what that was. He just knew that he wanted to be more than friends.

Jim’s attention focused on the faint sound of the waves crashing furiously in the distance. One after another. It hypnotized him back to that night. The night they let their guards down for the first time. The first time they allowed each other to feel the other.

Jim’s attention was tied to the smoke.

Tied to the intangible. Tied to something that would slip between his fingers if his hand reach out to grasp it.

In hindsight he can almost laugh at the metaphor. His friend - so close, so tempting to touch only to have it vanish before his eyes.

Y/N’s head tilted towards Jim. He felt the sea in his eyes bore into him. The depth of Jim was much more than met the surface; Y/N felt lucky to be of the few allowed that privilege.

Y/N extended his hand towards Jim, offering him the lightened joint. Jim’s slender hand found its way wrapped around Y/N’s wrist. Their hammering heartbeats were drowned by the sounds of the darkening ocean before them. Y/N could feel the tension rising in his stomach. Jim leaned closer. He’d never felt safer in his life. He let the stars above them protect them as his lips met Y/N’s.

Jim would swear he felt the shift in Y/N’s mouth kissing him back. The fleeting moment ended and they both pulled away.

“I, uh,” Jim laughed, attempting to hide his embarrassment. Friends didn’t kiss. “sorry, bro.” he pulled on the back of his hair, nervously.

Y/N coughed, looking down at the sand, “No worries, man. It stays here.” He took another long drag of the tightly wrapped joint. Y/N peeked at Jim from below his lashes. His large hand grasped Jim’s bodysuit clad thigh, “It’s all good.”

But it didn’t stay there. It followed Jim everywhere he went. They weren’t sure how or when the change happened, but it did. Stolen kisses and light strokes of skin were the new norm for them. And it confused Jim immensely.

Apart from confused, Jim couldn’t help but feel the anger build in him.

“Why don’t we go out?” Jim suggested moments before, “Let me take you out, like,” he coughed into his fist, “like a proper date, I mean.” He sat on the floor, with his back pressed into the navy blue comforter of his bed.

Y/N furiously pressed into the buttons on the controller, staring blankly at the screen. “We don’t.. We don’t have to do that, Jim.” Y/N avoided meeting Jim’s sky blue eyes. Jim held the the depths of the ocean and the possibilities of the sky in his eyes.

But Y/N was too afraid to submerge in them. Too afraid of what they’ll think. Too afraid of being.

“Yeah..” Jim didn’t seem to pick up on the underlying tone of Y/N’s no. “But what if I want to.. Take you out.” he paused between his words. He heard the sigh escape Y/N’s lips as he set the controller down.

“Come here,” Y/N patted the bed, inviting Jim up. Zero hesitation, Jim lifted himself up and on the bed in a blink. His face was held by two large hands, pulling him in closer.

Y/N kissed Jim gingerly. Savoring his taste; attempting to erase his worries.

“Y/N..” Jim spoke against his friends kiss, “What are we doing?” he turned his face, giving Y/N access to his neck. Y/N brought his lips back to his, “Just go with it..” he kissed his again.

And Jim wanted to go along with whatever this was, but he couldn’t and he knew that.

“Mm,” he failed to suppress a moan, “no.” he shook his head. “Y/N…” he pushed the boys chest back, “Stop.”

Y/N’s brows furrowed, “Jim..”

“I - I can’t.. I can’t continue doing this,” Jim gestured in the space between them, “Without knowing.. What this is.” annoyance evident in his voice.

Another heavy sigh. “What is there to know? We’re friends, Jim.” Y/N tried to relax back into the mattress. Friends.

“Bullshit,” Jim got off the bed, “Friends don’t kiss. Not like we do.” he crossed his toned arms over his chest; defensive body language on display.

“Maybe I should go.” Y/N again, was met with the incapacity to face Jim with the truth.

The tension in the room was palpable. Jim felt caged in. All he could do was nod and stare as his best friend walked out his door.

The shrill sound of his phone ringing broke him out of the trance like sadness that washed over him. Buzzzzz Buzzzzzz Buzzzzzz, the phone dragged across the wooden nightstand. The glimmer of hope he felt thinking if Y/N calling, quickly disappeared when he saw the name CHAD burn brightly on the screen.

Jim brought the phone to his ear, allowing the rambunctious idiot to talk first.

“AYYYY JIMBO!” Jim hated the name. “‘Rent’s are outta town and I’m going all out, boy!!” he could hear his other friends yelling in the background.

“You coming or not, bro?” Chad asked,

“I’ll be there.” short answers is all he could manage now. Pushing the rejection down into his lower abdomen, he swore he wouldn’t think of it tonight. That was a problem for future Jim.

***

Y/N’s dad’s voice echoed in his mind. Words of hate that spewed out of his cracked lips engraved in Y/N’s brain. His fear stemmed from something much deeper than himself. Terms of aggression directed at love. Conflict stirred with Y/N.

I never should have let it get this far, his own brooding voice of reason repeated in his head.

The buzz from his back pocket made him jump. “PARTY @ Chad’s” the message read. Shoving it back into his pocket, he went home and decided that a party with pretty girls and booze was what he needed.

***

Empty cups and bottles littered the pathway to the door. Jim walked into the house that vibrated with the low bass of the speakers.

“Jim! Hey! It’s Jim!” Chad slurred out, draping his arms around Jim. “Here. You need a drink, buddy,” he laughed shoving the bottle of vodka into Jim’s chest. Chad stumbled out of Jim’s grasp and continued on his host path, greeting anyone who walked in the door with the enthusiasm of a used car salesman.

His lips latched around the mouth of the bottle; he tilted his head back allowing the briny liquid to dribble past his tongue. Grimacing in the way is burned his throat, Jim continued to swallow back the alcohol.

Bodies becoming blurs and word spilling without thought - Jim was drunk. Drunker than he wanted to be, if he were being honest. “I don’t know you know like you just,” Jim doubled over, hands on his stomach as he laughed at his jumbled speech, “Dude, what the fuck am I saying?” Jim tried to keep focused on the person he was talking to, but the blank stare looking back at him told him the stranger was on another playing field.

Shaking his head and waving him off, Jim stumbled down the beige colored hallway. Multimillion dollar homes used to intoxicate the youth; Of course no one cared as long as they stayed out of their hair.

Numb fingertips scraped along the textured walls. Jim’s lean body tripped against a wooden bedroom door. Hazy thoughts led him to turn the knob.

“Oh shit!” he took a step back taking in the sight of the brunette sitting on the man’s lap. He couldn’t see his face, but the girl’s face was burning as she reached down to look for her shirt.

That’s when the man’s face was revealed to Jim.

Y/N.

Jim’s face fell; there was no hiding the hurt in his heart. Intoxicated state making his emotions far more prevalent in his actions. “What the fuck?”

Y/N was frozen still. Jim’s hardened stare and tensed jaw said it all. “I.. get outta here, man.” his eyes wandered back to the girl. She clutched her white blouse to her chest. She looked between both men, confused as to what was going on.

“Fuck you, Y/N.” tears stung his eyes as he approached the bed where Y/N sat, wide legged and paralyzed.

“Y/N..” the girls small voice rang in the room as she grabbed on to Y/N’s arm in fear. Fear of Jim.

Jim’s eyes were glazed over, but not by the alcohol. His eyes were glassy in cold anger.

Y/N’s shirt found itself fisted into Jim’s hands as Jim pulled him up by the collar, giving him a hard shove to his chest.

“Jim!” the girls sharp voice was ignored by the two. She scurried out of the room, getting away from the scene unfolding.

Y/N wasn’t inebriated, he was registering his thoughts as Jim attacked his broad chest. He grabbed Jim’s hands trying to pin them at his sides to keep him from hurting himself or him. He knew Jim carried a mean punch; especially when pissed. And he hadn’t seen Jim this pissed since some asshole messed with Medina at the beach.

Snatching his arms back, Jim pushed harder. Y/N found himself slammed against the wall. The frames around him shaking by the impact.

“I thought you liked me,” Jim wiped at his face angrily. The redness around his nose and eyes mirrored the red he saw when he found Y/N with the pretty brunette in lace.

“I’m not raising a fucking homo.” his father’s words played in his head. The words he said when he found a note Y/N had written about the way he made a boy laugh in the 6th grade. “What do you think everyone would think of me, huh?” he’d storm around the room. “You’re gonna find yourself a pretty girl and forget about this fucking nonsense.” the note was crumbled by the roughness of his father’s hands.

Maybe it was the memories flooding back to Y/N or maybe it was because he found himself at loss for words. Staring into stiffness of Jim’s usual softened features, Y/N felt so much hate. Hate towards himself. Towards his father. Towards Jim.

“I was just pretending, Jim. I didn’t think you.. were taking it seriously.” he held Jim’s gaze. Shoulders squared and ready to refute anything Jim spat back.

Only he wasn’t ready for what Jim threw back at him. The crashing of white knuckles into his nose, sent the back of his head meeting the wall with a bang. Hot blood trickled down his lip and past his chin.

A fit of anger washed over him, shoving Jim back with everything he had in him. But Jim’s force was stronger; the build up of his fury was only amplified by the vodka he’d consumed. His movements were clumsy, but they were forceful. He tackled Y/N on the floor, pinning him to the ground as his fists collided with his face again.

Seeing raging white, the last thing he remembered was a strong pair of arms lifting him up by his shoulders and carrying him away.

Bruises and blood being that last thing Jim saw of Y/N.

Tagging: @codyfernss @maso-xchrist @infernal-langdon @langdons-rep@starwlkers @langdonsoceaneyes @michael-langdon-appreciation@cryptid-coalition @flowersiren@daadddysprincesss @ticklish-leafy-plant@queencocoakimmie@ghostiesbedroom@theharvestgirloffire @kykybright98 @kaigitana@lovelylangdonx@jimmlangdon @michael-langdxn @gremlinkween@langdonsinferno @americanhorrorstudies @et-tu-bitch@yourkingcodyfern@eternal-langdon@asstichrist @sammythankyou @astir-bread@snowandicicles@avesatanormalpeoplescareme @jim-mason2@sweetlangdon@kinlovecody@cameronmonaghantrashaf @divinelangdon@fallenangel4996@langdonscody@litenbaby @1-800-bitchcraft @lvngdvns@lunedieu@wroteclassicaly@bbyduncan @mega-combusken @langdonsdemon @coollangdon@lathraios @venusxxlangdon @ladynuwanda @langdonsboots

please lmk if you wanna be untagged! or added to the taglist!

#LMK WHAT U THINK #please be nice lol #jim mason #jim mason x reader #jim mason x male reader #ttopv #The Tribes of Palos Verdes #jim mason angst #angst #cody fern #male x male pairing

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mellifluoushood · 5 years

Text

401 - A Calum Hood Imagine

Word Count: 3,000

Trigger Warnings: none

A/N: So, I wrote this in 2015 before I deleted my original blog @fightingirwin/@punkfletch and I found it yesterday and ended up loving it so much I wanted to post it! I’m going to write a part two now because I LOVE wedding!Calum and wedding!5sos. Enjoy this teeth rotting, soul stopping, heart wrenching fluff that’ll make you all soft and gooey. - B x

P/A/N: Listen to “Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Kina Grannis from the Crazy Rich Asians soundtrack if you wanna be real messed up.

She was asleep. Fast asleep with drool dripping from her lip, her hair tangled around her face, and heavy breaths. Her face was relaxed, no worry marks around her eyebrows or tight smiles that stretched her cheeks. Though her blemishes and rosy cheeks were something she despised, she wore them to sleep with pride, happy to just curl up and forget about the day that made her breakout from stress and almost yell from irritation.

All of it was her. Every little bit. His eyes followed the soft slope of her jaw, across the love marks scattered across the soft skin of her neck, her bare collarbones, to where the silky white sheets covered the rest of her body, the one she shared with only him. The one where she would unclench her thighs so Calum could see the stretch marks on her skin and the one where she would often cover with her arms because she thought she was too heavy but would uncover herself for Calum. Because she trusted him.

She trusted him with everything she had. All of her secrets, her flaws, her dreams, her fears. Everything that was her… she trusted him with. She trusted him with the late night talks and the early morning drool, she trusted him with her stretch marks and her aspirations of her career, and she trusted him with the whimpers of fear when she was unsure.

It was so mind-blowing to Calum, that something as elegant and unique and special as she was, would ever trust him. She was something the world needed to worship and praise, but yet she lived quietly with him, trusting him. It was simple, really, how much she loved him. And how much he loved her.

He trusted her with his life… his existence… his everything. She knew him up and down, in and out, side to side, hair to toes, hand to hand, and everything in between. She knew what made him tick and what made him melt. She knew what he hated and what he craved. She knew his little quirks and absent doings and she knew his colour-coded speech. She knew what to do to calm him down after a hard day in the spotlight, working behind the scenes to make sure he didn’t go insane. She knew how to love him and talk to him, cooing at him and kissing his neck when she knew he needed it.

They were well-oiled machines that were filled with love and trust. They worked together in a way that not even an old couple could. They knew where to step to avoid the other while working in the kitchen together and they knew what place to avoid because the other would need it in a moment.

The love didn’t just keep it going, it was the friendship. It was the thrown popcorn at midnight and the ridiculous hours of eating Chinese food when one couldn’t sleep. It was the countless hours fighting over the other’s safety, just to realise they fought because they wanted the best for the other person. It was taking the driving shift when one was dozing off on their infamous road trips. It was Calum killing the bugs for her. And it was her sewing up the holes in his clothes. The friendship held inside jokes and a secret handshake they made up long ago while drunk off red wine and listening to the Foo Fighters. The friendship was covering for the other when someone needed a sick day off work. The friendship was having Jimmy John’s delivered to one of their workplaces, with no note needed, and the other’s order memorised down pat. It was the little things they shared that made all the gears fit together.

The trust was so unspoken between the two that it was the energy that kept the machine going. When one was afraid, the other empowered. When one was alone, the other comforted. When one was talkative, the other listened. It was a balance, an unspoken one that kept the machine going. The energy. There was a positive and a negative. A giver and a taker.

“I can feel you staring,” she hummed, brushing a piece of hair out of her eyesight, opening a single eye to peek at the boy.

“Did it wake you?” His voice rumbled, him scooting closer and wrapping both arms around her waist. She nuzzled her face into his chest, listening to the slow breaths and matching heartbeat.

“No… just stirred me awake slightly.”

Calum cracked a smile to himself, thinking about the engagement ring he had slipped on her finger last night without her knowing.

“Now I’m awake. I felt your heartbeat speed up. What’s up? You don’t get this excited in the mornings.” It was well known that Calum was not a morning person. He didn’t like leaving the little drool stain on her pillow and the memories of being tangled in their sheets together.

When her head poked from his chest, she used both hands to steady her on his tattooed chest. And that’s when she saw it. The huge rock sitting on her left ring finger, sparkling in the early morning sunlight. Her breath caught in her throat, immediately looking up to Calum for an explanation with eyes wide.

“Last night, we were laughing. We were laughing so hard you cried and I almost threw up. I don’t even remember what it was about, but I didn’t care because I got to hear your laugh. And I knew that was one thing that will forever remind me of you. It sounds like bells to me. Whenever I hear a loud church bell, or Christmas bells, or bells welcoming me into a store. It reminds me of you because it’s so melodic and fitting for any situation. It reminds me of warmth on cold winter days and the welcoming of me somewhere.

“Everything you do is connected to some part of my world. My bass picks remind me of the time that I taught you how to play and the look on your face when you played “Wherever You Are” for me. My shirts remind me of you because you hold me close no matter the day, no matter the time, no matter the conditions. You always keep me close, always showing me you’ll protect me when the time comes. They also remind me of the times you wear them around the house and refuse to give them back until I give you a kiss. My reflection reminds me of you. I always subconsciously flicker my eyes to see if you’re there, with me in the reflection somehow, even if we’re thousands of miles away. Because you’re the better half of me, you’re the most beautiful part of what I’ve become, and I want that to be visible to everyone… not just to me.

“I think of everything and I think of you. I think of everything you do and say and act and think. You are my world. Every little piece of the world, good or bad, has you in it somehow. And I realise how boring and barren my life would be without you. Christmas bells would just be for holiday celebrations and my shirts would simply be something I wear every day. Everything would be plain. But, you make everything more.

“You make my love more, you make my trust more, and you make me more. You’re someone who’s helped me grow and prosper but find my own path. You held my hand and helped me up when it just seemed like too far of a step up, but let me fall and make my mistakes on my own.

“You are everything. You are everything to me. And I’d be stupid as hell to let that go. And I would be selfless if I let everyone else see it. I want them to know that you’re the sun, the moon, and all the stars, without seeing all the depth and stories within you. I want to be selfish and hold you close to me for the rest of eternity. I want you to be my sun, my moon, and all of my stars, even when my soul becomes a star itself. So, what do you say? Is forever okay with you?”

All 399 polaroids are strung out on laundry lines, decorated with black sharpie scribbled in dates and fairy lights twisting upon the rope. Yards of laundry lines were decorated with a Polaroid from every day of their engagement. The day of being engaged, but not quite the last day of being engaged.

He stood outside her door, listening to her giggle with her bridesmaids. He had been pestering her for just one more polaroid, to make it all complete. But, she had her firm belief in superstitions and that he was not supposed to see her before she walked down the aisle. No matter how much he tried to lure her out, she dodged his claws like a clever mouse, giggling here and there just to let him know he wasn’t succeeding. One hand shoved in his tuxedo pants pocket, placing the other on the door frame outside of her dressing room.

“Just one photo baby, and I’ll leave you alone.”

“Just one?”

“Just one.” He confirms, her steps get closer to the door. They stop for a couple of moments and he hears the snap and process of the polaroid. He smiles to himself in victory, not before hearing another one snap right behind him. He twirls around to see another bridesmaid with a matching Polaroid camera. She just smiles to herself, takes her developing photo, and walks towards the reception area to hang it on an empty slot that was right in front of the long table. Another bridesmaid appears from behind the door and slips underneath Calum’s arm, carrying the developing photo of his soon to be wife.

“You’re good, you know that?”

He can hear the smile in her voice, “I do.”

“Hey! Don’t say that just yet!” A bridesmaid shouts at his bride-to-be and he hears another laugh through the white door.

“Forever is okay with you?”

“Forever is okay with me.”

His hands were sweaty and he felt like if he wiped them once more on his tuxedo pants that the sweat stains would be visible. His arms are locked in front of him, trying not to attract attention by shaking. Everyone watches as his best man, Ashton, walks down the aisle with her maid of honour, her best friend. Then comes Michael with his sister and Luke with her childhood friend. Michael and Luke give him reassuring pats before the music picks up the volume, everyone rising for the bride.

The temptation to let out a wail is so damn tempting, but he keeps his mouth shut. He removes one hand from his intense lock to bring up to his mouth, completely stunned and in tears of her beauty. Her hair is pulled back in an elegant up-do, her makeup done flawlessly, and dress fitting her body so perfectly. She’s an angel.

Tears begin to drip down his cheeks, Calum not even bothering to wipe them away as they are accompanied by many more. His smile quivers and so do his hands as he gets wrapped up in her beauty. Their eyes don’t break from each other once, each having their own tears and own memories and own promises between the two.

And when she’s finally in front of him, he just mouths, “Wow.”

Her father smiles before kissing his daughter on the cheek, pushing back her veil, and shaking Calum’s hand.

“Take good care of her, alright?”

“You have my word, sir.” One of his hands claps down on Calum’s back, while the other guides his daughter’s to his. Calum’s hands lock with his brides, eyes meeting as well.

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

Calum and his bride turn to face the man who was marrying them, the friend who introduced the two of them.

She doesn’t even listen to the introduction or what story their friend was telling about her and Calum. She’s just telling silent stories with her eyes to him, him replying in this secret language that they’ve put together over the years. By the time the vows are in order, she grabs the handkerchief that the friend holds out to her with a giggle, while Calum fumbles with his piece of notebook paper.

He clears his throat, wiping at his eyes, “I wish to repeat everything I said to you the morning I proposed to you. But I want that to be between us, something special and something filled with love to hold onto when there’s a rough day and I’m not there to comfort you. I feel like I could say a billion other things about how you’ve changed my life. But, the one that stands out to me most is how you’ve saved my life,” he begins to choke on his words, “When times were dark and I kept bumping into the sides of the tunnel with no light by my side, you appeared like this little ball of happiness, so full of love and so bright, willing to do anything to make sure that I was okay. You guided me to the end of the dark tunnel and stayed by my side as I continued to walk on my path of life. You showed me loyalty and trustworthiness, you showed me unconditional love and selflessness, and you showed me a companion and a brighter world. You not only saved my life but made it the best it can be. Now, I promise you to be a companion, a loyal partner, and an unconditional love to show you selflessness, trustworthiness, and a brighter world with you just like you did for me. I promise to love you unconditionally in the lowest parts of your life and the highest parts of your journey. I promise to treat our children with the love you’ve shown me and I promise to do everything in my power to keep you safe. I love you and I will spend the rest of the time showing that to you. I belong to you, wholeheartedly, in life and in the afterlife.”

Taking a deep breath, Calum looks up at her with tear-filled eyes, noticing that she too is crying, a lot harder than he ever would have thought. She’s smile through her tears, her face painted with joy and love for the man in front of her. Calum takes one of her hands in his again while her maid of honour hands her vows. Clearing her throat and dabbing at her eyes with the handkerchief that the friend gave her, she looks up at Calum before looking down at her written words.

“Calum Thomas Hood. The name has a billion different meanings behind it and a billion different stories. Stories of how the first time someone said your name that I blushed, stories of how the second time we met you shamefully told me your middle name, stories of how the third time you were over at my house and begged me to make some cookies, only to steal the batter and I had to chase after you, yelling, ‘Calum Thomas!’ to get it back. For the longest time, it was stories behind your name that made me smile and blush whenever someone talked about you, but now it’s meaning. It’s the meaning of happiness, loyalty, trust, and love. I hear your name and I think of how safe and loved you make me feel, no matter the day and no matter the distance. You have put a new meaning in your own name as well as my own life. You give my life a different meaning, one that is oh so special, and one that only you can put there. I promise to give you the same meaning in your life, that you hold dear to your heart when the miles get too high, and the day gets too hard. I promise to show you a new meaning of love and happiness and loyalty as we spend the rest of our lives together. I hope that once we part, our souls find our way back to each other, because hell, forever is okay with me.”

The tears are splashing onto her cheeks, her voice cracking and shaking as she reads aloud her vows. Calum is staring at her with awe in his eyes and a look of love on his face, his eyes burning from his unspilled tears. Calum gently wipes away her tears with his thumbs, not breaking eye contact before holding hands and looking at his friend where he continues the ceremony. When the time for the exchanging of rings is to come, the maid of honour and the best man hand both Calum and her their rings for each other.

The officiant preps and guides Calum through his words as he slides the ring on her finger, “My love, a ring is an unbroken circle, a symbol of unity and love, representative of the greater circle of life of which we all spiritually are a part of. Having neither beginning nor end, but a continuous cycle of which you are an element. For you, it begins with the gift of life, and will continue through the end of time.”

She takes Calum’s ring and slides it on his left ring finger, smiling and repeating the same thing as Calum. Taking each other’s hands, they both eagerly look at the officiant to say the magic words. He makes it short and sweet,

“By the power vested in me by the state of California, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Calum, you may kiss your bride,” everyone cheers before Calum grabs her waist, pulling her close and kissing her so passionately and softly that it feels like time itself has stopped.

#CH #calum hood #calum hood imagine #calum hood fluff #calum hood smut #calum hood fic #5sos #5sos imagine #5sos fluff #5sos smut #5sos fic #wedding!5sos #wedding!calum #wedding!cal #fluffed #isabella writes

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doomedandstoned · 4 years

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A Listener’s Guide to ‘Defying The Righteous Way’ by Cardinals Folly

~By Billy Goate~

~Photographs by Murder Basement Studios~

CARDINALS FOLLY belong to the Reverend Bizarre school of doom, but also takes its cues from '80s Gothic rock. In this way, Cardinals Folly (who started life as The Coven in 2004) and Lord Vicar were among the first to pioneer a sound that soon caught on with other bands like Acolytes of Moros, Caskets Open, and Weird Tales, to name a few. Their style makes for a transfixing listening experience and I've been enamored of the band since discovering their first LP, "Such Power Is Dangerous!' (2011). Who would have dreamed then that the trio from Helsinki would one day be playing Doomed & Stoned Festival?

It's also hard to believe that the doomed crew of Count Karnstein (bass, vox), Nordic Wrath (guitar), and Battle Ram (drums) are now on album number five, with two EPs and two splits also under their belt. As prolific as Cardinals Folly seem, they don't seem to have lost their edge on 'Defying The Righteous Way' (2020). After all, this far into an artist's discography I'm used to picking up on notes of lethargy, with some bands having to really stretch the definition of a "song" just to get another album out there (usually under contractual obligation). When you do what you do for the love of music, the compositional pen flows freely.

Let's start with the title. Defying The Righteous Way is an obvious dig at one of the Norseman's truest adversaries: Christianity. When the religion of Jesus came to Finland it was an aggressive ideology of conquest co-opted by the Catholic Church. The Northern Crusades saw to it that one way or another the Skandanavian people were converts, even if in name only. Before metal, there was still a heavy underground, so to speak, comprised of resisters who may have given lip service to The Cloth, but a very pagan connection to the earth.

The modality of Cardinals Folly quite often marries doom with ancient mannerisms of song, illustrated in the stately Medieval rhythm and the chanting chorus of "The Great Santur." I think it is this aspect of the band's output I've enjoyed the most, as it feels like they're somehow bridging a connection to the past, when resentments simmered for clergy and king alike.

For newer listeners, Defying The Righteous Way makes as good an introduction as any to the band's characteristic sound and style portfolio. Cardinals Folly toggles between fast-trotting songs like "Witchfinders," mid-tempo stompers like "Last House On The Left," and the more traditional slow burners like "Stars Align Again." In this way, they call to mind Saint Vitus (especially the Scott Reagers-era) out of all the Fathers of Doom.

If I have any complaint, it's simply that there isn't enough sadness on the album for my taste, with the exception of "Last House On The Left," which has some very effective moments of melancholia in its second half. Maybe it's because Mikko Kääriäinen's vocals have always hinted of sorrow for me, but they're mostly used to express gravity. I suppose "Strange Conflict" does come closer to scratching my depressive itch. By the way, I do love its Joy Division-esque pulse during the six-minute mark.

While the songs may not pop out immediately in a sing-along sense, the collective vibe does grow on you. There's an undeniable energy about Defying The Righteous Way that reveals a band with finely tuned musical instincts and a damning fire within, still longing to Burn The Priest.

Give ear...