#the time before I got white with a pearly kind of shimmer on top | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sithsecrets · 3 years

Text

exchange | din djarin x reader

the crest’s one and only crewmember buys mando a few shirts, and he gives her a gift in return.

---

2k words

mentions: none, this is fluff!

this is part 1 of my valentine’s week special! you can find the other parts here!

---

You take notice of it when you’re doing the laundry.

Mando’s got the Crest cruising through hyperspace, course set for Nevarro, and you’re catching on up on chores in the meantime. The baby’s three little outfits are clean and stain-free, you’ve set aside a pair of your own pants for mending, and Mando… Mando, you come to find out, has two shirts. Total. As in, two shirts including the one he’s currently wearing under his armor. You know he had more than that the last time you did the washing, but— but shit, he got cut by a quarry last week, and another one of his beat-up long-sleeves ripped and bit the dust shortly after that. So yep, Mando’s small wardrobe is now even smaller, and that makes you sigh. Even now, the brown cloth you have in your hands feels thin and worn, rough fibers catching your fingers every now and then. You think about telling Mando that he needs some new clothes, but you know he’ll just put it off or insist that whatever he has now is fine. And so you decide that you’ll resolve the issue yourself, knowing that something from the bazaar will probably do.

Sure enough, you find just what you need. The textile vendor says he can match Mando’s measurements without a problem after you show him Mando’s singular extra shirt, and a droid whips up the garments for you right there. You come away with two black and two brown, all long-sleeves and all made from the same material Mando seems to preder. Two are a bit thicker than the others— something for him to wear in the cold— and you decide that they’ll do nicely for his needs. Back on the Crest, you leave the stack of clothes on Mando’s bed and then promptly forget about them, distracted by the baby’s antics further back in the hull.

Mando asks you about the shirts later, holding the stack out to you like he’s looking for an explanation.

“What are these?” he asks, and you’re too busy with dinner to make a big deal of it.

“Those are for you,” you tell him, cutting the heat under the stew you’re making. The baby’s trying to get his hands in the pot, so you snatch him up, settling the little green boy on your hip as you add the finishing touches on tonight’s meal. “I realized you had like, two shirts when I was doing laundry on the way here.”

Mando sounds absolutely floored. “You bought these for me?”

That earns him a little laugh, and you hand him the baby. “No, Mando, I stole them off an Imperial transport vessel. Yes, I bought them for you! What kind of crewmember would I be if I let you run around looking ragged?”

“I…” Mando trails off, settling the Child in his arms. “Thank you.”

And then the two of you don’t talk about it again, the matter quickly forgotten in the midst of the evening ritual and your departure from Nevarro.

Week later, the Crest touches down on a distant planet, a place you’ve never been that Mando knows well. He tells you that the three of you will be spending some time here, and that makes you happy. It seems like a nice place, and the locals are kind.

Two days into this little excursion, you’re about to crawl in bed, only or stop short when you see a little satin pouch sitting on top of the covers. It’s pale blue, blue like the sky on your home planet, and no bigger than your palm. Curious, you pick it up gently, examining the little white embroidery on the edge, the way the drawstring pulls the fabric together just so. It pulls open easily, and you dump the contents into your palm without a second thought.

Scores of pale, pearly little beads glint in the light, strung neatly on a thin, delicate chain. Nothing about the trinket is particularly special, but it’s the simplicity that makes it stunning, in your eyes. You’ve had jewelry over the course of your lifetime, naturally, but never anything so dainty and pretty as this. The beads and the way they’re strung are styles unique to this planet, and you’ve seen countless people wearing necklaces similar to this one over the past few days.

There’s only one person that could have placed this here for you to find, and you go up to the cockpit to speak with him not five minutes after his gift falls in your hand.

Mando’s a bit busy when you go up there, fiddling with something on his vambrace in the pilot’s chair. You feel a little shy as you come to stand before him, the string of beads dangling from your fingers.

“Did you buy me this?” you ask softly, and that’s when Mando finally looks up at you.

“I—” The helmet tilts in the direction of your hand, and it’s like he’s a whole different person. Mando becomes nervous, back stiffening in his chair as he looks from you, to the necklace, and then back again. “I, um. Yeah, I did.”

Just hearing him say it makes you feel lightheaded, but you tell yourself not to get your hopes up. “What for?”

Mando stutters terribly, but he does manage to give you an explanation. “You— Well, you got me those shirts a few weeks ago, and you take good care of the baby. And the ship. And me. I just— I thought you’d like it, that’s all.”

You study the beads carefully for a moment, admiring the way they shimmer in your hand.

“I don’t just like it,” you declare, “I love it.”

And then you’re threading Mando’s give around your neck, reaching behind your head to do up the clasp. The jewelry is just as light as you thought it would be, sitting daintily against your collarbones. Mando watches you do all of this, and not the hundredth time do you wish you could see his face.

“Thank you, Mando, really.”

He nods. “You’re welcome.”

---

“Ah, so my suspicions were correct.”

The sound of the fruit vendors voice catches your attention, and you find yourself face-to-face with her satisfied smile when you lift your head up. You’ve been doing business with her every so often for almost a week now, always intrigued by the selection she has to offer. She also likes the baby, and he’s more than happy to coo at her for a free morsel or two.

“Excuse me?” you blurt, completely lost here. The old woman shakes her head at you, white braid swishing from side to side behind her back, and the smile on her face only deepens.

“Your necklace, child,” she says, pointing at the beads strung around your throat. You touch it on impulse, the baby wriggling in your other arm, and grow even more confused.

“I don’t understand,” you tell her, feeling stupid now, but the old woman just laughs. Her wrinkled fingers are soft on your cheek, the mirth in her eyes unmistakable.

“You don’t have to be secretive with me, my dear,” she chuckles, “I knew you were the Mandalorian’s woman from the minute I saw the both of you together. No man watches a woman that closely if he doesn’t care for her. And now he’s gotten you a necklace, so.”

She punctuates this with a shrug, behaving as if the meaning of your new accessory should be obvious, and you think you might actually pass out.

“I—” You huff, grasping for the right words. “I’m not— I don’t know the ways of this planet,” you say finally, mostly because it’s the truth and mostly because you don’t know how to so much as mention anything else the fruit vendor’s said.

It feels like you’ve been slapped across the face, like someone picked you up and shook you and until your brain rattled around too hard in your skull. Mando knows this place, he knows this city... Custom and culture are sacred to him, even if they have nothing to do with his own, and you find it difficult to believe that Mando gave you this gift without first considering its meaning. This is the man who speaks with the Tuskens, a man who has committed himself to a creed, a man who never wants to be rude or imposing unless he’s dealing with an enemy—

No. No, Mando definitely bought this for you on purpose.

In the thirty seconds it takes for you to form these thoughts, the fruit vendor comes to realize that your confusion was no act. You must look terrible, for she puts a hand on your arm as if to keep you upright.

“My dear, surely— I mean, the two of you care for this baby, and he is always watching over you. I simply thought there was something there, several people in this market did. Forgive me, please, I had no idea—”

“No, no, forgive me,” you blurt, rushing to reassure the woman that she has caused no offense. “I had no idea what these meant. I would have— Maker above, I should have—”

The old woman’s bewilderment matches your own, and you realize that you’re raving like a lunatic.

“I have to go!”

And then you are going, going and going until you’re back on the Crest. The baby seems content to laze about in his pram, thank the stars, and you put him down almost without a second thought, mind racing a thousand kilometers a second. You clamor up to the cockpit like a woman possessed, the noise movement drawing you there. Sure enough, Mando’s right where you thought he would be, parked in his pilot’s chair and fiddling with something on one of his blasters. He doesn’t even turn to look at you when you come up, completely calm despite your frantic movement.

“How was the—?”

“Why did you buy me this?” you cut, bisecting his question with one of your own. Mando’s hands still at once, and he tucks the gun back in the holster at his side.

“Someone told you,” he declares, finally turning to face you. All you can do is nod, heart beating so hard it almost hurts. You can almost taste it, this thing you’ve been wanting for months now, it’s right there on your tongue— but you don’t want to speak, don’t want to be the first one to suggest it. It’s never worked out for you in the past, and with a man like Mando thrown into the equation, you’re not sure what that kind of bravery might get you.

Mando sighs, heavy and tired. You watch him more closely than you’ve watched anyone before in your life as he stands, coming to face you. It’s cramped in this little room, and if you took even just half a step forward, the two of you would be pressed flush. He doesn’t say a word to you, just stands there and stands there until you can’t take it anymore.

“If you didn’t mean it like that, Mando, it’s fine, but I just want to know—”

“I… I’m not good at talking.” These first words have you cutting yourself short, and Mando continues like you never spoke in the first place. “To people, I mean. I can do what I need to do to conduct business, but other than that, I’m useless when it comes to things like this.”

“You talk to the baby,” you offer, and Mando nods.

“I do talk to the baby. Sometimes I even talk to you, but not enough.” He takes in a deep breath, seemingly gathering the courage to continue. “That’s why I did this.”

Mando runs his fingers along the beads at your throat, and it takes all you have not to fall down.

“This… This said everything for me. Or it was supposed to, at least.”

You melt at that, shoulders sagging. “Mando, I didn’t know, not until today.”

“I know,” he says companionably. “It’s not your fault I’m a coward.”

“You’re not a coward,” you declare, shaking your head. Mando brings his hand up, pressing it to your cheek like he’s been doing it all his life.

“If I’m not a coward, what am I then?”

All you can do is smile. “You’re mine.”

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #my writing #valentine's week 2021

151 notes · View notes

blahkugo · 4 years

Note

Congrats for the 1k!! Wdyt ab hawks in an underground scenario?

thanks anon baby!! i love writing for hawks in general and this au was soooooo much fun to explore!! ♡ i honestly went a little crazy with it & added too much rumi in there lmao

-ˋˏ ༻ 光 ༺ ˎˊ-

「TAKAMI KEIGO / HAWKS」

— underground! au (feat. rumi)

— warnings: 18+, smut, drugs / alcohol mention, kind of scumbag hawks

⤏ keigo’s very devious, in the sense that he can be both the star of everyone’s show and a sneaky bastard. he’s a double agent in the truest definition of the word, and it’s no different in an underground au

⤏ ‘heaven’ is the place to get into; no, no, not god’s pearly white gates, but rather the giant underground nightclub teeming with bar hoppers and thrill seekers on a saturday night.

⤏ the highly illegal establishment is run by none other than keigo takami himself, the eccentric club owner that people only know by name

⤏ no one’s ever actually seen keigo at his own club, nobody even knows what he looks like

⤏ so, rumors fly amongst the regular patrons; some say he’s a cartel boss, others a crooked cop

⤏ a choice few believe that he’s the devil himself. and in his jealousy of god’s perfect eden, he crafted his own slice of heaven, where restraint and inhibition are words with absolutely no meaning

⤏ the reality isn’t far off, if we’re being honest

⤏ ‘heaven’ is keigo’s personal playground, a place where he can be anybody he wants to

⤏ typically, that anybody is pulling pretty little whores into the giant vip room, and pumping them chock full of his favorite pills: angel dust

⤏ when his own high kicks in, the fun begins. and at that point, even keigo thinks he may be the devil incarnate

“Tsk, tsk,” Keigo wags a slender finger in front of your face, snatching the pretty little capsule from your hand.

Quick, pounding percussion still pulses at your ears, though the VIP room is much quieter than the club floor— cooler as well. Without the mass of compressed, sweaty bodies dancing and grinding, you feel a bit over exposed in your two piece set. For a second, you have the urge to cover your midriff, but the angel in front of you sweeps your attention yet again.

“How do good girls ask for pills?” He’s teasing you, has been since the moment he approached you spouting some nonsense about being the club owner. While you were initially adamant in your disbelief, only agreeing to follow him for his tempting promise of ‘proper drugs,’ the extravagance of the VIP room sways your opinion now.

Also, the man swims in luxury, seems to be bathed in an ethereal glow that screams money from the tips of his perfectly tousled hair down to the Givenchy trainers on his feet. The richest men always dress in subtleties; you just have to know where to look.

Your assumptions were confirmed when he ordered top shelf booze. They were absolutely set in stone when Rumi, the Playboy Bunny turned supermodel, settled into the booth next to him and plopped a kiss on his cheek.

“The sick bastard will really only give it to you if you say pretty please,” the gorgeous woman chuckles, looking every bit as intimidating as she does on the runways. “Like this,” she clasps her hands together— fingernails sporting a fierce, red manicure— and turns towards the smug blonde. “Please Keigo, a pill.”

It’s unclear whether her tone is sincere, sickly sweet words dripping with mockery and faux praise. Either way, you refuse to be the butt of their jokes. Begging for drugs? Over your dead body.

Keigo must feel your hesitation, must sense the subtle shift in your body language, because his eyebrows narrow for a fraction of a second before quickly regaining their place far atop his forehead— practiced nonchalance, seemingly perfected over years.

He hands the pill to Rumi, and then another, pushing his slender fingers into hers without breaking your mutual gaze.

“Oops,” he feigns apology, “looks like I gave two pills to Rumi.” He slants a quick look at the platinum blonde. “You can just take one from her, sweetheart.”

When you break your glare to peek at the beautiful woman next to him, she’s giggling. The sound is practically silent, a twinkly little thing that barely reaches your ears and doesn’t rumble through her entirety like laughter truly should.

“Silly me,” she smirks, piercing eyes scanning over you now, “I didn’t realize.” Though you’re sure the night can’t get any stranger, she lets her tongue loll from between supple lips, painted bright red to match her nails. Low and behold, there are two pills, both dangling enticingly on her curved tongue.

“Aw,” Keigo coos, pout brimming with ridicule. Though you attempt to speak up, entirely fed up with this humiliating charade, he doesn’t miss a beat. “She can still have one though, can’t she Rumi?”

She simply nods, swaying her tongue once more before curling it back into her mouth. He can’t mean— no, he wouldn’t. But the pair simply stares at you, famishment gleaming in their eyes like a pair of ravenous wolves.

He wants you to kiss her.

Every one of your nerves stands on end, willing you with a passion to reject his slimy offer. You’re not a Barbie doll for him to play with, to dress and undress and buy off with a bright pink mansion to boot.

But then again, the pros do vastly outweigh the cons. When’s the next time you’re going to have the chance to kiss a supermodel? And with someone as beautiful as Keigo watching? You take a deep breath, standing up and bracing your arms against the table to lean over.

And then, you are kissing her.

Rumi’s lips taste like whiskey sour and a spice that you can’t quite place. She’s quick to take control, cupping your jaw with slender fingers and nipping at your lip. There’s a slight twinge of pain before each swipe of her tongue across your lip, and it’s a miracle that she keeps the pills nestled under her tongue; she kisses you with such passion, such dizzying ferocity, that you feel your head spin. It’s definitely not the alcohol.

When her lips bite again, more aggressive this time, you part your own in a low, teasing groan. She swings a knee over the table— pushes closer, pulls you further into her. You’re losing your breath, unable to keep up, but she simply continues her onslaught, as though you’ve stolen her last breath and she’s aching to get it back.

Only when her tongue slinks across the back of your teeth and makes its home between them, does she offer up the pill from under the wet muscle.

With a parting smile against your mouth, she pulls away.

“Hope you like that pill as much as you did the kiss,” she speaks, lips, puffy but still perfectly painted, inches from your own. She stays put, watching the strand of drool still connecting the two of you.

You wish you could say something, anything, to the goddess of a woman, but you’re left in a haze. If it isn’t for the subtle tap against your throat, you’d forget to swallow the pill you worked so diligently for. As she finally recedes, you make a mental note for later: world-renowned supermodel Rumi smells like cinnamon.

“Bunny got your tongue?” Keigo chuckles, now standing next to your side of the booth, and slithering a lithe hand across your lower back. You’d almost forgotten the smug bastard was there, but one glance his way and you remember where you are: a public space.

Sure, the VIP lounge is practically empty, save for a few stragglers here and there, but those people are presumably A-listers. And they just watched you make out with a woman all for drugs and the entertainment of a very wealthy man.

Still, it probably isn’t the worst image they’ve ever seen.

Rumi gives you another once over, baring sharp canines that seem to sparkle beneath the low, purple lights. Even after your intimate moment, she somehow seems more intimidating— or perhaps, more ravenous. She makes some comment to Keigo about giving you her number, throws a wink your way, and ends the encounter with another quick peck on his cheek.

Then, with hips swaying seductively to the beat, she makes her descent down the stairs to join the thrall of bodies as her high hits, leaving you and the blonde alone. Chancing a glance his way, you decide that’s not a terrible thing.

That same pompous smirk is plastered across his face, that same insatiable look in his eyes. His blonde locks remain in a state of perfect dishevelment, and when he runs a hand through it, his jewelry— rings upon rings and a watch that probably costs more than your rent— catches the light, shimmering wildly.

“We’re going to peak soon.”

It’s all he says, before leading you towards the stairs and down, down, down— straight into Heaven.

Wisps of baby pink, streams of bright blue— cotton candy fills the air and washes the man in front of you in a delectable light. It begs you to take a bite, to do more than press your warm, wanton body against him.

“How do you feel?” Keigo’s teeth graze the shell of your ear, hot breath tickling the side of your face. With his arms wrapped around your waist, he envelops you fully, allowing you to grind and move as you please. The heat radiating off your bodies could rival the sun.

“Like I’m flying,” you throw your hands into the air; he grazes them with his own. Every touch sends a cacophony of sparks across your flesh, every murmur of praise a chilling tingle down your spine. And when he strains his hips against yours, it heats you further, all throughout your core. You need him— right here, right now, bathed in candied pinks and sugar-filled blues.

As though he can hear your thoughts, or perhaps you’ve said them aloud, his slender fingers slither further down your body. Down, down, down— dashing under your tight skirt to rub across your soaked slit. When you cry out, a symphony of desire, he simply presses harder, rubs faster.

Just as you’re about to see stars, to grab at the spun sugar surrounding you and take an overwhelming chomp, he removes his magic fingers. You’re aware you’re crying out, feel as though the entire world’s been ripped away from you, but he simply shushes you with a slick digit against your lips.

“Let’s take this back upstairs, yeah?” The devil pokes at your side.

You’re already being whisked away, deeper into paradise.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ 光 ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

#blah blah blah 1k #keigo takami x reader #hawks x reader #bnha smut #mha smut #bird boi #keigo takami #1k.event

207 notes · View notes

keytomythoughts · 3 years

Text

Eleutheromania | Chapter 01

Chapter Index

╭⋟────────────────────────╮

It wasn’t long that my boyfriend Lucas had been drafted for mandatory military service. Days had stretched to weeks, and weeks prolonged to months. The society we live in doesn’t give young men, especially those living in sectors where serving is compulsory, the luxury to bypass this duty.

I had been with Lucas since his name was first registered as those fit to serve Neo City. At the age of twenty, he had submitted his draft forms as required by the royal family, being selected from the pool the following year. Lucas, already twenty-two now, didn’t escape the clutches of this system. In fact, he was chosen earlier, having only one year of peace before receiving a notice from the officials that he was required to leave to the military immediately.

Knowing the kind of ruling established by this fruitful city, I understood the time away Lucas would spend from me. It wasn’t ideal, nor was it fair, but I wasn’t one to complain. I loved him, and I would wait for him, regardless if he came now or far into the future. Yet, when I walk around the apartment we share where his oversized hoodies and sweats lay scattered around our bedroom and his heavy cologne hangs in the foreboding silence, I can’t help but feel the pang of loneliness, craving the love and touch from the man I hold so dearly.

Today is one of those days. Days where I long for Lucas to be home, to have him embrace me in his tight grasp, curling up on the couch and staying there for hours while talking and eventually falling asleep with us still locked in each other’s arms.

Having to serve in the military was tough already, but nothing would’ve ever prepared me for the sacrifice and patience I would have to exhibit just anxiously waiting for him to come home safe and sound.

Pulling on one of his oversized hoodies, I lay down in his side of the bed. Tangling myself within the many sheets that hold the strong, sweet scent of his cologne. The ocean breeze with a touch of pine. His smell is exotic, alluring. It alone is one of the only things keeping Lucas’ presence alive in our abode. Remembering the times we cherished each other in ways that would leave us breathless and immensely pleasured.

My phone lights up on the nightstand nearby, and I sluggishly reach out from within the cavern of our bed sheet and pillows to grab it. I pause for a moment to view my lock screen, a picture of the two of us when we first started dating. It was during autumn when we walked down a trail of beautifully colored leaves all scattered about on the ground beneath us, the sun angled to cast its luminous glow on our figures. At that moment, Lucas insisted on giving me a piggyback ride, concerned at how tired I might’ve been for walking so long—even though I refused a countless number of times.

And with my cheek resting on top of his head, this picture was born. Our eyes twinkling at that time of day, his large orbs burning a vibrant gray and mine a soft emerald. My dark brown hair nearly frozen because of the exposure to the chilly air, yet his remained a lustrous and thick black. And his smile. That perfect, beautiful smile that brings out the subtlety of his dimples never fails to make my heart skip a beat, the world and all its troubles pausing for just the briefest of moments when his lips pull back to reveal his pearly-white shine.

One of my most favorite and treasured memories, that’s for sure.

I squint at the single notification, the corners of my lips tugging upwards in a small smile. It was from Lucas. How he manages to secretly text while on active duty still both worries and surprises me.

Jae, baby, are you still awake?

My cheeks slightly burn, my fingers slowly typing my reply:

It’s only 6 in the evening, Lucas.

You sleep at random hours of the day, love.

I couldn’t disagree with that, but with Lucas gone, it was hard to fall asleep. Whenever my eyes would close, I would only see him. His enormous, twinkling orbs that make my heart swirl in my chest, his captivating smile that even an angel would be put to shame, and his soft, gentle touch that would make me feel secure and loved. Everything, just every tiny detail about him is etched into my memory. That made me miss him even more. It’s been a year since I’ve last been with him physically, the days passing now making it seem more and more unbearable to be without him.

I find my eyes rapidly blinking, but I use my sleeve to wipe the forming tears away. Instead, I focus my attention back on Lucas’ messages.

How’s the military training going? You’re not hurt, are you?

Me? Hurt? Jaeun-ah, are you losing faith in your sexy, strong boyfriend?

The burning intensifies as I keep the conversation going:

It’s not my fault I’m worried, Lucas. You know how the military is :(

Jagi, I’m fine. There’s nothing to worry about, promise.

A small sigh of relief exhales my parted lips. Lucas may be everything, but he’s definitely not a liar. I drift off in thinking that I fail to notice Lucas already typing another message:

I miss you, baby.

My lips curl into a sad smile, my head simultaneously burying deeper into the pillows beneath me. The hoodie covers the lower half of my face in the process, the musky scent of my boyfriend filling my senses with pure nostalgia.

I miss you more. When are you gonna come home?

His message bubble appears and disappears for a couple of seconds. Without even having to send me a written reply, I already knew what that meant. Just then, he sends a reply:

It’s hard to tell right now. I’m sorry, I know I told you I was going to come home soon, but they’re making me stay longer. My captain’s trying to get me out of it, but it’s apparently out of his hands. :/

My heart sinks in my chest. How much I missed Lucas…

Babe, it’s okay. I’m okay as long as you’re okay. I’ll always wait for you, no matter what. You know that <3

You have no idea how badly I want to come home to you and your pretty face. God, I miss you so freaking much. It’s not fair I got to spend only a year with you.

I know, but this is what you have to do, and I’ve come to terms with it...

Really?

Fine, not really. But, I still miss you. And your hugs. And your smile. And just everything.

Aww, I’m betting you’re in bed wearing my clothes again, right?

I take this moment to take a quick selfie, pouting. I send it instantly.

Guilty >-<

You do look cute in my hoodie though...damn it, you’re making it hard for me to stay here when all I wanna do is cuddle with you all day :(

Then hurry up and complete your service so you can, babe.

Thinking of you every day is what’s keeping me going, Jaeun <3

My smile reappears, this time a few tears escaping the pools in my eyes. I sniffle, attempting to reply to his text, but he sends another one right after:

Hey, babe, I’m so sorry, but I have to go. We have to make rounds and Cap can’t stall for long.

I wipe my tears again, finding the keys through my semi-blurred vision.

Yeah, sure. Stay safe, Lucas. Talk to you later.

Just wait a little longer, babe. I’ll be home soon, I promise. I love you, Jaeun <3 And no crying, princess.

How did he..? Perplexed, I waste no time in responding:

Who said anything about crying?

Baby, I know you. I can read you as clear as day. Save those tears for when I come home ;)

I sniffle a couple more times before the tears eventually dry up.

Fine, but only because I love you, babe.

And I even more. Take care, princess.

Bye <3

Sighing, I sink even deeper into the soft cushioning the bed provides, finding some way to fill the void of Lucas’ absence. But to no luck. I place my phone back on the nightstand and lay still, the only noise coming from the soft ticking of the clock. Turning my gaze to the left-side window, my eyes are fixated on the sunset, the sky bathed in warm colors of dusty rose to peach-orange.

Sunsets remind me of him the most. The crystal-clear shade of gray reminds me of his eyes. The large orbs that are always filled with love and wonder, the small glint in them shimmering like the soft yellow of the setting sun.

Just simply breathtaking.

And yet, here I am, observing this one, again, without him by my side.

Prologue | Chapter 01 | Chapter 02 |

#lucas x oc #lucas fic #lucas ff #wong yukhei #lee taemin #qian kun #ten lee #byun baekhyun #liu yangyang #bambam #kim taeyeon #fanfiction #nct #wayv #exo #shinee #snsd #got7 #mine #my writings

28 notes · View notes

vickylamore · 4 years

Text

My Princess

A/n - It’s been awhile since I’ve written something... I miss it so much. But school in six hours and I’m completing some requests hehe. This one’s actually pretty cute + please I love him so much.

Summary - Being the royal advisor for the Liu family, specifically the ever-so cheeky Liu Yangyang. It’s even harder when you and him share a secret that could potentially wreck havoc in your life.

➼ Requested? - No ➼ Pairing - Prince!Liu Yangyang x Royal Advisor! Female!Reader ➼ Genre - Royal AU! ➼ WC - 2.4k ➼ Warnings - None... talks about being banished from a land? ➼ Rating - PG

Masterlist

“Prince Yangyang.”

The young prince halted in his movements and groaned loudly, all the staff members looking at him curiously. He sighed before straightening his posture and waved the waiters off, his eyes landing on you.

He hadn't seen you all day as you were preparing for tonight's royal gathering as you like to call. He, however, just says party since that's what it is. You had been running around from wing to wing, double-checking if the invitations and acceptance letters had been sent out and received with the writers if the food was cooked and all the desserts were ready with the chefs if the dining hall and the ballroom were nicely decorated with the maids and planners. It all fell into your hands and you certainly did not want to make the Liu family upset if something went wrong.

“Yes, advisor?” He used the same tone you used. Although the stereotypical royal accent every royal had was thick in the way that he spoke, overshadowing any kind of mocking tone he tried to pull off. He brought his hands behind his back, something he did whenever you walked into the room.

You rolled your eyes and walked up to him, your light golden skirt flowing as you walked. Grabbing the nearest cloth from the long-lasting table, you used it to clean the chocolate stains on his lips. He almost swatted your hand away, that is until he realized that the maids were still in the room.

“I told you not to eat the chocolate-covered strawberries before the banquet,” you scolded, sending his a glare. You stared at his almost baby-like face, one with no scars nor acne drawn on it. It was as clear as the pearly River water in front of the castle, as soft as the silk sheets in all the royal chambers. It was truly a delicacy to see, let alone touch.

“But its only chocolate,” he whined like a child, his lips pouting. “You really expect me not to eat them while they're in front of me?” He sent you another smile, a cocky one this time, while his eyebrow was lifted in the air in a playful manner.

You ignored his antics and sighed again. You should've known that leaving him alone to check up on a few tasks wasn't a good idea. “Not only that but you're wearing a white suit. We won't have time to get you a new one.”

He brushed you off, fixing the unbuttoned button on his suit. “The party is in three hours, I can put on a suit in five minutes.”

The suit Yangyang was wearing was, like all of his clothes, hand made. This one, in particular, was a gift from one of his good friends, Kun, who had been crowned King of his own land a few years back. It was white, the collar ruffled with shimmery gold lace lines on both the bottom and top. The buttons were a marbled brown and cinnamon, glistening each time it hit light whether it came from the sun or the shimmering chandeliers. The suit also had hand-sewed lace all over the arms, the lace is an off-white. It went in twist and turns but was simple yet at the time unique and elegant. The pants were black, the same had-sewed details on the bottom of them.

It truly is a one of a kind suit.

“Doesn't matter,” you continued all the while avoiding his eyes, “the suit was for your birthday from King Quian. It was also custom made.”

“Yes,” he agreed, staring off into the room, glancing around to absorb the full beauty of the decorations. He was planning to compliment you lately on your spectacular work and amazing touch to detail but he knew you despised when someone praised your work before the event actually took place. “I suppose that it is expensive and custom made and I am still very thankful for what Kun sent me but other suits are equally as form-fitting… plus, this one isn't my favourite so don't expect it to be clean throughout the night.”

You raised an eyebrow, sending him a quick look of suspicion. From the look on his face, you knew he was joking. Yangyang was always the type to never ruin something given to him but he was testing you, teasing you to see how you would react.

And it really did upset you a lot more than it should've.

“You can't do that, not while hundreds are looking at you. It is your party after all. What would people think if the next in line for the throne suddenly ruined his suit like a baby who didn't know how to eat food?” You didn't mean to be so harsh, you really didn't but so many thoughts clouded your mind that it was hard to focus on something that didn't make you mad.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, the scent of dark chocolate setting an aroma in the room. “And what are you doing here? Didn’t I forbid you from stepping foot in the dining hall?”

He squinted his eyes at your tone, his smirk and eyebrow faltering. He had only heard you use that specific tone only a couple of times over the years. He started down, expecting you to look up at him but you never did. He cleared his throat, his childish antics dropping in the water and whispered, “I got hungry.”

Some of the maids in the room giggled under their breath. You snapped your head towards them, a warning glare sent their way. They quickly averted your gaze and continued what they were doing, nothing else escaping their mouths. You turned back to the prince, the one who saw what happened but didn't utter a word.

“The kitchen is always open and available…” you dismissed rather harshly, “it's not like you have hundreds of cooks and waitresses to give you food.”

"(Y/n)," he cleared his throat again trying to gain your attention. But when that didn't work, he simply sighed and muttered, “everything will be fine. I don't know why you're worrying.”

You're worrying for a lot of reasons actually. It certainly doesn't help that the prince and the first in line for the throne is turning twenty at midnight and is still acting like a five-year-old child. And that smile he always had on his face, one that always irked you to no end. He knew you were stressed about it, especially because many consorts and counsellors, as well as other royals, will be attending his party.

So what does he do? He makes your life even more difficult than it already is.

“But you know why I'm worried,” you whispered in a matter of fact tone, clearly annoyed that he didn't catch onto your almost breaking state. “Tonight is the night everything changes… for better or for worse.”

Yangyang looked down at you, your smaller figure nearly trembling. He furrowed his eyebrows again, gently taking the cloth from your hands to get a better look at your face. The tear strains and the red eyes, you had been crying. He ordered all the staff members to exit the dining hall. As soon as they did, he brought you into his arms, his arms around your waist with his chin nuzzled into your hair. You steadied your head on his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. “Can you really blame me for worrying?”

He didn't say or do anything to respond, only embracing you in his arms. He let out a heavy breath, guilt overwhelming his body. He felt awful ignoring how you felt about it.

You and Yangyang had been friends for as long as you could remember. You were just a girl from the village who happened to be close friends with the prince. He was the one who got you the job as the royal advisor, specifically his royal advisor. The title was short for 'make sure he doesn't make stupid decisions because he's bound to make one before his coronation'.

Were you mad about it? No. It just meant that you had to keep an eye on him at all times all the while loving at the castle. You were actually very grateful for the job as it paid you enough money to send back home to your family.

A downside to it? You had to sign a contract. Now, it wasn't the contract you were upset about, it was the last rule you had to obey.

As a member of the royal staff, you cannot have any romantic relations with any of the royal family. If so, you will lose your position and your family name will be banned from the land for eternity.

That rule was broken a year ago, on your birthday… when Yangyang asked you to be his girlfriend. If anything, he was the one that got you into this mess, he should be the one to get you out of it.

“Yeah,” he laughed even if it was low and sad almost, “yeah, I guess you had every right to be worried.”

Had he completely forgotten about it? No… he just didn't want to face the problem so soon. He knew it would take a lot of convincing to get you and your family to stay, let alone for him to stay with you. It did help that you and his parents were on very good terms, being his advisor and all. But, his parents were also the king and queen who stuck by the rules, something Yangyang still had a lot of trouble doing.

He just didn't want to let you go, the one person who understood him and treated him like a human being and not some God he didn't want to be.

He looked around once more, making sure no one was in sight before bringing you towards his chambers, the only place where he's guaranteed that no one will see you two.

It only took a couple of minutes before you both made it to his room without drawing suspicion. You were the first to enter the room, running your hand through your hair, a habit you've acquired ever since you started working at the palace.

Yangyang closed the door and leaned against it, his thoughts swirling around like a tornado crashing through a town. He didn't want to think about it, hell, he was in denial this whole time.

But seeing you upset about tonight makes him upset too. Whenever you're upset, he gets upset but whenever you're happy, he finds himself smiling too. It's an effect you have on him, ever since you've known each other.

He knew that if his parents didn't accept you, you were going to be forced out of the land with nowhere to go. He could always contact Hendery or Xiaojun, two other princes, the later just crowned King of his land, hopefully, one of them would help you and your family as a favour.

But even then, it would crush him inside knowing that he was the one who sealed your faith.

“Yang?” The prince turned around to see you standing there, your eyes filled with tears as you tried so hard to keep them back. “Yang… I don't know what to do. I mean this is my family's life on the line. What if your parents say no? What if something happens to them in revenge? What if-?”

“Hey, hey,” he made his way towards you and eased you down to sit on his bed. He crouched down, taking your hands in his, kissing the knuckles and whispered, “I won't let anything happen to you or your family.”

You only shook your head, the negative thoughts clouding your voice of reason. You were scared. You knew that one day, you needed to come out and tell them but you weren't ready.

No, it's not that you weren't ready. You were terrified of what might happen. And that made you tremble in fear. You came to the palace for them and the mère thought of something happening to them because of your decision. It made you sick to your stomach.

It almost made you want to-

“No.” The prince said sharply, seeing the familiar feeling of doubt dance in your eyes. “You know I won't let anything happen to your family.”

“But you don't know that,” you choked another sob, biting your bottom lip and refusing to look into his direction. “The king and queen won't let you marry me, a mere advisor.”

“But you're anything but mere to me.” He was adamant about making you see what he saw in you; an amazing woman who always made him smile and laugh. “I didn't choose you for nothing, you should know your worth darling.”

“But as soon as the king and queen see us together tonight, they'll never let us live life together-”

“Then we'll run.”

You snapped your head up towards him, not believing your ears. Shock coursed through your body and eventually dropped itself onto your face. “I'm sorry, come again?”

He let out a small laugh, one that was saddened but filled with determination. “I said we'll run. If they don't accept us, I'll run to the furthest land with you and your family and we can stay in the Leechaiyapornkul kingdom for as long as we want. Ten does own me a favour after all.”

You both laughed at his attempt to lighten the mood, which thankfully worked. With his smile falling into a thin line, hold your hands even tighter than before and he said, “(Y/n), I will always be with you. I will sacrifice everything for you. I don’t care if they don't accept you or us. I will always be with you… no matter what.”

Tears ran down your face, sniffles invading the room as you nodded your head, fully trusting your love and knowing that he would protect you and your family no matter what.

“At the end of the day, this kingdom can't move forward if the prince is gone.” He smiled, leaning in to plant a kiss on your forehead.

“And what's a prince without his princess?”

#btswriterscollective #bangtanidx #vickylamore #vickywritings #kpop #wayv #nct #prince au #liu yangyang #yangyang #wayv one shot #wayv fic

64 notes · View notes

ghost-at-the-masquerade · 3 years

Text

Friends in Low Places

Part 2: Tourist Trap

Rating: PG

Count: 2666

Summary: A few days after the events of Tremors, the trio stops for a bite and tour of a roadside attraction. Or: Juliette makes an excellent choice, and Zeke makes a bad one.

-------------------

“Afraid she’s never gonna be the same after a shock to her suspension like that.” Zeke sighed, patting the side of the truck as he came around. Juliette and Roscoe sat on the tailgate, boxes and bags of their belongings pressed against their backs.

“Is it real bad?” Juliette said through a mouthful of cheese-steak, brows creased.

“Well, it’s not good, but we’ll get by.” He shrugged and leaned past her to grab his own sandwich.

Juliette swung her feet, marveling at the sweeping height of the pines around them. The smell of ceders heavy in the air. They were parked in a gravel lot with nothing but half-rotted blocks of wood to mark the spaces. Back around the bend, toward where they came in, was the little food stand where they had grabbed their lunch; a weather-stained building with just two windows to order from and three friendly, stocky folk tending it. In the other direction was their next destination.

A building made of logs almost black in color, with a steep roof and its name up in gaudy, blood-orange lettering; Twinkle Cove’s House of Terrors. ‘Terrors’ had a dripping effect that had clearly been added later. It might have been a home once, but the windows and doors had since been replaced with dark frosted glass. The inside of the door was plastered with fliers for other local businesses.

Once they were done eating, Zeke led the group to join just one other small party in the lobby, ditching their trash in the can outside. A gust from the AC swept over them at the threshold, making way for the faint smell of dust and taxidermy. Lights over each display cast heavy shadows to hide the seams on the tackier fakes. Floor vents rattled in the corners.

Zeke removed his sunglasses and let them hang from his shirt collar, grinning all the while. Usually he tried not to make comments about Juliette’s stops, not wanting to influence her choices, but he loved this hokey shit and could make no secret of it.

The counter to their left was manned by a spindly fellow who reminded Zeke of a harvestman; those tiny, long-legged spiders. Dressed in a clean black suit and cloak, gloves and bowtie a rich sanguine, topped off with too-big silver cufflinks and a swirl in his hair. He acknowledged them with a nod and a flash of pearly-whites.

The three of them split across the room. Juliette went for the counter, its glass case holding an array of trinkets. Gems inset in gargoyle claws, decently realistic rats, wands and supposedly cursed objects.

Zeke himself made a round of the room, looking over the displays that you got for free. A passable piece of taxidermy claiming to be a were-badger, crafted, as far as he could tell, from a honey badger and a red fox. A tuft of brown hair that almost looked burnt, kept behind glass; the plaque described it as a trophy from an encounter with the local woodland witch. Several unsettling mannequins he couldn’t get a good look at, since they were occupying the small family also in the lobby.

Roscoe went to peep down the hallway to the right, which was cornered off with a single strip of velvet rope. When they went to lay a hand on it, the man at the counter tutted and called out in what was surely his stage voice, “Folks if you would just gather here, I’d be glad to sign you up for our grand tour!”

Juliette side-stepped over in front of the register to be first in line, a cheeky smile on her face. The man returned her a smile that crinkled his eyes. Zeke joined her shortly, and it took no time at all the register both parties.

Thus the lot of them gathered in front of the rope divide, the man in charge standing before them with his shoulders braced and hands twisted together. It was hard to tell if the posture was part of the bit, or genuine nerves.

“Hello, hello, I’m your host and owner of all these terrible delights, Terry!” He stumbled over his script with an appreciative laugh when a couple of them cheered. Moving the rope aside, he gathered himself and continued, “Stay close behind me and don’t touch anything you aren’t willing to… get attached to.”

With that and a menacing laugh the tour began. Through the first narrow hallway, with concerningly real cobwebs in its crooks and crannies, past an alcove leading to a bathroom and an office, they took a left-hand turn into a room even darker than the lobby.

As their host briefly explained; “Certain items can be damaged over time in bright lights. No flash photography, of course.”

There were the staples of places like this; traces of Bigfoot and hair of the moth-man, hooves of unicorns even. More interesting was a purple checked hood, dropped by the flatwoods monster - the holes in front lightly singed from the intense light of the creature’s eyes. Surprisingly life-like stone statues of woodland critters, victims of a basilisk. The basilisk itself, even, or a depiction of it.

“Even the corpse is dangerous!” Terry proclaimed, a finger held sternly in the air, “Not suitable for display.”

To his credit, Terry seemed genuinely enthused about each and every piece. But his clear favorite, in the final room, was most impressive of all.

This room was smaller than the others they had passed through, holding only one display. Hidden behind a heavy satin curtain, deep red and lightly dusty. Terry crossed the room with a twirl of his cape, his hands almost seemed to tremble as he reached for the thick braided cord that would pull back the curtain.

“Parents, please hold on to your children.” The party of strangers obliged for the hell of it. Juliette made a point of scooting away from both Zeke and Roscoe.

Terry yanked the cord and revealed a dark, hairy, humanoid figure. Vaguely canine in the face, with great black horns that scraped the ceiling. Hands that weren’t quite hands, but not quite paws either, with jagged, broken claws. Roscoe leaned closer, mouth open slightly. The thing’s fur was as black and fluid as ink, eyes shimmering unnaturally bright for the dimness of the room. Surely, it had to be a sort of projection, but search as the eye might, they could not find the subtle tells.

“The grand prize that no doubt drew you to this place, the lesser demon slain by our very own local monster hunter, Paul Anderson!” Terry shook like an excitable dog.

The younger of the two children there reached out. When their fingertips brushed its bent knee, a single second shattered into a thousand. The beast’s head snapped down, teeth barred in a growl. It staggered forward, knocking over the rope divide. The children shrieked and all seven of the guests scrambled backwards.

Zeke’s hand snapped to his side automatically, instinctively going for his revolver. Thankfully, it was still in the car, so the situation would escalate no further. Terry was absolutely howling with laughter.

He crowed after the little family, who were already back in the previous room, “All in good fun, all in good fun, that’s the one that keeps them coming back!”

Roscoe clutched their heart, despite being blank-faced as ever, aside the raised eyebrows. Juliette tugged at her braid.

Zeke spat out the scare and laughed. “Aw, okay, you got us. That’s pretty damn good. What’s that, animatronic-?”

Terry didn’t even let him finish, moving out of the room, “I’m afraid that’s all there is to see for now! But we always have more attractions coming, if you’d come see us again in the fall…!” His spiel continuing as they returned to the lobby.

With a little distance, everyone was in good spirits about it, though the younger child was a bit huffy in denying that they’d been scared. The family argued briefly over whether to buy anything before ultimately leaving empty-handed. Juliette gently bullied Roscoe into buying her one of the cursed spoons from the display case. Roscoe cast a meaningful glance back at Zeke before taking her outside.

Business concluded, the register rung - an old fashioned thing - and Terry came around the register again. He cast a wary, sideways look at Zeke as he went to set the rope barrier back in place. “Something I can help you with?”

Zeke sidled up next to him with a few casual, swinging steps, put on a sloppy, side-ways kind of smile and a bit of concern on his brow. He clicked his tongue and looked around the lobby as he spoke, “Awfully bold of you to be flauntin’ it like that these days. Pretty neat setup you got going on, though. How’s the monster-hunter involved?”

When he actually turned to look at him, Terry was frozen stiff, breathing in quick, shallow breaths. Zeke held up his hands, any humor dropping from his expression.

“Whoa, whoa, hey, I’m not-” the rest of his words were forced out in a gasp as Zeke threw himself aside. He turned back to find a comically large axe splitting the floor where he had just been standing. His gaze shot up to Terry’s face, wide-eyed, unreadable.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” He held out a hand even as he crawled backwards toward the hall. Terry shook his head rapidly, fists clenched in his cape.

“That’s what they all say!” Shadows shot up to swallow the light from outside, crept up the walls like thousands of spiders to dim the overhead lights. Terry jerked his arm out dramatically, “That’s what all of them said!”

The weight of those words came into focus quickly; the three grotesque mannequins, their horrified faces looking as though they’d been covered in clay, came to flank Terry. Their bases scratched the floorboards, following as he moved into the hall after Zeke.

Zeke did all he could do; scramble to his feet and try to put distance between them. The options for where he could get it were severely limited; continue on down the hall, into the bathroom, or the office. Zeke didn’t fancy being cornered that quickly. He backed away, still holding up a single pacifying hand. The walls cracked and splintered on either side of him, oozing viscous void from their wounds. Lightbulbs screamed, formless things flitted through the edges of his vision.

“Listen, I’m not here to start anything,” Steady words that simply bounced off his pursuer as they made it into the main display room, “It’s not like that, I’m not with those bastards.”

“I won’t be lied to. I won’t be taken that easy.” Terry spat. The jackalope in the case to his left sprung to life, flailing and trying to bite through the glass, dead eyes flashing. Zeke’s eyes flitted around the room for his next move.

The room dimmed further and suddenly silver flashed in Terry’s hand. A simple, smooth blade. Something clicked together in Zeke’s head, but there wasn’t even time for it to form as a whole thought before Terry threw.

Zeke’s arm shot up in defense, but to no avail. A glass display teetered as he staggered back against the wall. Pain coursed through his ribs - far less than it seemed like there should be. Ragged breaths drew through his teeth as he saw but couldn’t feel the blood pooling up under his fingers. Something that sounded like stomping was lost at the edge of his perception, overtaken by static.

Everything in the room distorted and flickered, twisted and turned sickeningly, lights searing bright before settling back into normalcy. And then it was gone; the knife was gone, both flesh and fabric mended. He palpated the spot just to be sure.

His gaze shot back up to where Terry stood shaking, eyes glistening. The mannequins were gone. And over Terry’s shoulder, he could see Roscoe, an indecipherable mess of guilt and pain and concern on their face, their hands laid on his shoulders.

“I’m sorry - I don’t like to do it so quickly.”

“He stabbed me!” Zeke objected to the apology, hand still on the spot where the knife had been.

They couldn’t really disagree, so they just grimaced and tilted their head.

Zeke pushed himself upright. “Can we please just talk now?!”

“Are you going to take me in, then?” Terry’s voice was small. Frightened. He swallowed and said more insistently, “All I can do is scare people, I’m no good to you. Just parlor tricks.”

Zeke did his best to steady his voice, “No, I tried to tell you, it’s not like that.”

But with his only defense disabled, the fear split him anyway. “Then what?! What do you want?!”

Something like guilt made Zeke’s temper flare, “I just - wanted you to know you got fucking caught! That somebody who knows something about conduits is going to see through you if you keep this up!” Zeke turned on his heel, away from the palpable tension in the room.

Terry did nothing to cut it; he stayed stock still, looking at the ground until he finally slipped to his knees. Roscoe backed away a step.

Zeke put a hand over his mouth and sighed through his nose, trying to ignore the tiny adrenaline tremors still coursing through his arms. He turned back with a suspicious squint.

“If it’s all just tricks of light then how did it hurt?”

Terry looked over to the jackalope display, conspicuously fingering the hole where his cuff-link had been, “I mean, objects can be disguised…”

Zeke’s face felt hot. Had he really reacted so dramatically to something so small? Fear had a power all its own.

“The hunter - you asked about the hunter, Anderson,” Terry twisted his hands together, “He- he caught me. And said… said I could use him as part of the story…”

The subtext settled neatly beneath the silence, like dust beneath a sheet.

“You wanted to talk, that’s where I am. He hasn’t imposed much and it’s been good for business. So what do I do?”

Many questions compounded into one. None that Zeke had the answers to.

“What do I do?” He repeated, shoulders drawn in.

Zeke opened his mouth, but all that came out at first was another sigh. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I can’t-” He walked past them into the hall on autopilot. He needed out of this suffocating place.

Roscoe picked up for him, knelt down next to Terry and produced from their vest a light purple business card. “The best we can offer is somewhere to run, if it comes to that.”

Terry took the card like it might come alive and snap at him.

Zeke heard the two continue to talk, softer now, but didn’t tune in to what else was said. Then Roscoe’s hand was on his back, leading him outside.

The light of day was blinding after the all-consuming dark Terry imposed, every bit of metal or particularly bright rock boring into him. Zeke breathed deep the smell of ceder and hot stone as he put his sunglasses back on.

“Coulda gone better.”

Roscoe laughed and put their hands on their knees. “It was not one of your better showings… I’m glad you’re in one piece.”

“Two pieces, but yeah.”

They laughed again as they straightened up, letting their arms hang loose. “But are you okay?”

“Okay as I’m gonna be. Feel kinda stupid.”

“Normal, then.”

Zeke punched their arm, smirking anyway, “Asshole…”

Across the lot, Juliette was hanging out the window, arms crossed on the edge.

Zeke looked to Roscoe, but from the corner of his eye, he could see movement in the lobby. Inside, Terry quickly looked away, the card still in both hands, face drawn. Zeke sighed. “Put it in the Rolodex… I think we’ll be back.”

#Infamous #Infamous 2 #Zeke Dunbar #that's a dumb trans joke toward the end. because I'm trans and dumb

5 notes · View notes

fandom-imagines-stories · 4 years

Text

Halloween Heist

Peter Parker x Reader

Words: 3229

Summary: You use your sleuthing skills to track a string of robberies in your neighborhood. Enlisting in the help of your boyfriend- and secret superhero- Peter Parker, the two of you discover a plot to attack a charity ball full of New York’s richest on Halloween night.

Notes: I am so so so sorry that this is so late. I really wanted to get this out on Halloween, but a lot was going on in my life and I just couldn’t write. I’m really hoping to get some Christmas imagines out to make up for it! (P.S., I couldn’t find if Pepper change her name to Stark, but I went ahead and put that in)

You anxiously watched the clock, the seconds ticking by painfully slow as your teacher droned on. You sprung up before the bell even had time to ring and bolted out the door. The halls filled with students eager to go home for the weekend- more so than most. Tomorrow was Halloween.

“Woah, where’s the fire?” A voice behind you asked with amusement, fingers lacing through yours. You pulled your phone out of your pocket and showed him the article you were reading.

“There was another robbery this afternoon. This one was at the jewelry store down the block from my dad’s apartment.” You pulled him down the hall, weaving in between students and making your way towards the door. “They’ve escalated their targets.”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” A voice whispered from behind the two of you. He was holding his arm over your head and made a stabbing motion. The boy took off the mask and grinned.

“Hey man.” Peter greeted nervously. Robbie gave Peter a dirty look before turning a creepy stalker smile on you. “I heard that you’ve been looking into those missing backpack cases with the security team-”

“I really can’t talk now, Robbie. I’ll see you on Monday.” You waved him off and Peter wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

“He gives me the creeps.” Peter shuttered. You shrugged.

“He’s harmless.” Robbie was one of the kids that grew up during the Blip. He’d always had a crush on you when he was a kid, but now he was your age and he wouldn’t leave you alone, even though he knew you and Peter were together. You weren’t worried about him, though. You had bigger fish to fry.

You took the subway back to your neighborhood. You loved the rattling cars and the silent agreement between occupants not to make eye contact. Peter thought it was too crowded, but it was your favorite time to observe the people around you. From the man drumming on the railing to the woman hiding a cat in her sweatshirt, you found every person fascinating.

Once your feet once again hit the pavement, you quickly found the scene of the crime. The front window was shattered and cases of jewelry had been ransacked. You took a step closer, but the hand holding yours pulled you back.

“Y/N, I really think you should leave this kind of thing to me.” Peter suggested. It’s not that he thought you weren’t capable of taking care of yourself, but after everything he’d been through that year… to say he worried was an understatement.

“I’ve been tracking these guys for months, Peter. Once we find them, you can kick their asses with those spidey powers, deal?” You gave him a quick kiss before sneaking across the street to get a better look. If your suspicions were correct, they would have left their calling card in the center of the store. With no officers in sight, you climbed through the window, your eyes scanning the ground for the little white note.

“What are you doing? Someone could see us!” Peter exclaimed.

“Shhhh.” You hissed, finally spotting the paper. You pulled a glove out of your backpack and picked it up.

“Why do you even have those?”

“Peter.” You shot him a look and he remained quiet while you read the note. “Oh my God.” Each time they left a calling card, they left some kind of hint of where their next hit was going to be, but it was never enough for the local police to figure it out before it happened. But looking at the photograph, information clicked inside your brain, giving you every clue. The police wouldn’t have made the connection, but they’d made the note for you, waiting for you to come and find them.

“What is it?” Peter asked, trying to look over your shoulder and keep an eye on the door.

“It’s me.” You lifted up the photograph of you standing in front of a large ballroom, dressed in a princess gown your mother had made you wear for Halloween when you were eight. “I know where they’ll be next.”

The annual Halloween Gala was hosted and attended by New York’s elite. This year was particularly important since it was being held in honor of the late Tony Stark. Peter had even been invited by Pepper as a special guest. You knew how important it was to him.

“Have these guys killed anyone?” Peter asked anxiously, although he knew the answer. He just didn’t want to hear it.

“Not at their latest job.” You answered, running a hand down your face. “But their second robbery, the one at the bank in Manhattan, they killed one of the tellers.” Peter passed back and forth across your room, the base of all your sleuthing.

“I have to stop them.” His stammered. Whenever he started to freak out, his voice was slightly higher than usual. “Mrs. Stark is going to be there and I can’t let anything happen to her-”

“Okay, first of all, I’m pretty sure that Rescue is going to be just fine,” You gave him a reassuring smile and stood in front of him to make him stop moving, “And secondly, we’re going to stop them.” He made a face.

“You aren’t coming. It’s too dangerous.” You raised your eyebrows.

“You’re kidding, right?” You scoffed. “I’m so not missing this. You were taking me as a plus one anyway.” He shook his head.

“They used your picture as the clue. They obviously have you as a target.”

“Which is exactly why I need to be there.” You argued. You were not about to let him go all lone hero on you now. “I’m going and not even Spider-Man is going to stop me.” He gave you the look with his big brown eyes, sad and soft. You shouldn’t have snapped at him. “Peter…” You sighed, putting a hand on his arm when he moved to leave. “I’m sorry. I just can’t let this go until those guys are put away.” After a moment, he put his hand on top of yours, pulling it up to his lips.

“I know.” He held your hand against his cheek and neither of you said anything for a while. You’d both been through a lot since you came back from wherever the hell you went for five years, Peter especially. Maybe busting things bastards was just a way of reminding yourself that you were back. That you wouldn’t be snapped away again.

“Why don’t we watch a movie?” You suggested. “Since we’ll be spending Halloween drinking mocktails and catching bad guys.” He shot you a look. “What?”

“You always want to watch scary movies though,” He whined.

“It’s Halloween, dummy.” You giggled. “Of course we’re watching a scary movie.” You reached for your movie shelf, your hand wavering over a few of your horror favorites like Halloween and Scream. Peter pulled you back.

“Why can’t we watch a fun Halloween movie? Like Hocus Pocus?”

“Because we’ve already watched it five times this month.” You laughed, putting Nightmare on Elm Street in the DVD player. “Don’t worry,” You grinned, “I’ll protect you.” You pulled his lips to yours and turned off the lights. Neither of you paid much attention to the movie anyway.

The extravagant white dress billowed around you as you got out of the car. Once Pepper knew that you were coming with Peter, she helped you pick your costumes and she insisted on paying for them. Since it was a formal event, you decided on Christine and The Phantom from your favorite musical The Phantom of the Opera. Pepper didn’t realize that you would be pursuing a group of ruthless bank robbers in a $3,000 dollar ball gown. Peter stood in the hotel lobby, his pearly white mask glistening in the light of the chandelier. He was wearing a tux with a long black cape, concealing his Spider-Man suit underneath.

“Wow.” He said breathlessly, eyes wide as they traveled over the shimmering fabric. “You look… wow.” You couldn’t help but smile and you kissed the cheek that wasn’t covered by the mask. You laced your arm through his and a pair of hotel employees dressed as knights opened the doors to the ballroom.

It was like a scene from a movie. There were red banners lining the walls and meticulously detailed carved pumpkins placed on every step of the long, dramatic staircase. Costumes ranged from Medusa to King Arthur. Somewhere in the bustle of people whose shoes cost more than your whole apartment stood a familiar face framed with strawberry blond hair. Pepper’s dress was a backless, silky blue gown.

“You two look incredible.” She beamed, pulling you into a hug.

“So do you.” You replied, trying to keep your jaw from dropping.

“Oh this?” Her lips tugged up into a small smile. “I found it in an old box… I’m surprised it still fits.” There was a look in her eye that told you more than she could have said.

“You look really really great, Mrs. Stark.” Peter chimed in. She put a hand on his arm.

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Pepper?” The band had already begun to play some classic Halloween tunes, but there was still no sign of the robbers.

“We look pretty suspicious just standing here.” Peter observed and spun you outwards, causing you to laugh. “We might as well dance.” The band started to play “I Put a Spell On You” and the two of you jived along, laughing at each other’s strange dancing techniques. You almost forgot why you were there.

A sharp cracking sound sent Peter’s body rigid. You look up to see the chandelier crashing down towards you, shards of glass reflecting your screaming face as Peter grabbed you, ducking out of the way just in time. The entire crowd froze, gasps and screams filling the air. All other light sources dimmed and a projection appeared on the far wall.

“Now that we have your attention,” A voice boomed. A man appeared on the projection. His face was hidden with a cheap, plastic Iron Man mask. You saw Peter’s expression harden. Through the dark, you could see Pepper clutch the metallic necklace around her neck. “I would like to welcome you all to the first-ever Halloween auction. All the proceeds will be going to, well, me.” The crowd made a break for the doors, but everyone was locked with a blinking device. “Trying to leave would not end well for any of us.” The masked man laughed.

“What do you want?” Some frightened woman yelled.

“I want her.” His voice dropped to a growl. A look of confusion went around the room. No one knew what he meant but you and Peter. He grabbed your hand. “All of this is for you.”

“What is he talking about?” Peter whispered. You had no idea.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” The camera shifted, revealing two of the other thieves, both wearing the same plastic masks. They stepped to the side and Pepper let out a cry.

“Morgan!” She shrieked, pushing her way to the front of the room. The little girl sat in a metal chair, handcuffs cuffing her ankle to one of the bars. You and Peter frantically raced to join Pepper at the front. “Leave her alone!”

“A single door has been left open. Only she will go through it. If anyone else tries to leave, we’ll level the building.” The projection shut of and the room went into a panic. Everyone was trying to figure out what he meant. Others called the police. But you knew that Morgan would be dead before they got here if you didn’t do something. You stepped forward, but you didn't get very far.

"What are you doing?" Peter hissed, keeping your hand locked in his.

"It's Morgan." You said, your determination overshadowed by your fear. Pepper shook her head, but you knew she would do anything for her daughter. You slowly slipped your hand out of Peter’s and pushed through the open door.

The hallway was dark except for a red light placed beside the elevator. Old Halloween decorations littered your path, from broken plastic skeletons to styrofoam gravestones. You pushed the button on the elevator and tried not to scream when a bloody mask mounted on the wall greeted you. This time it was Spider-Man.

“Come to the roof.” The same morphed voice boomed through the elevator speakers. You shakily pressed the button. You felt ridiculous, standing there in that gigantic dress as the elevator took you up to meet your fate. The floor numbers ticked by above your head until they reached the roof.

It was one of those hotels that had a pool overlooking the city and the water glistened in the moonlight.

“Y/N?” A small voice called out to you from across the pool.

“Morgan.” You stepped out of the elevator and heard the click. You kept your head down as a bucket poured the warm red liquid splattered over you. Morgan started to cry.

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” The whisper was too close to your face and you jumped away. You tried to keep a tough face and faked a confident smirk.

“You’re mixing your references. The blood pouring is from Carrie.” Just looking at Iron Man’s face made your heart rate pick up. “I have to applaud your execution though.”

“All of this has been for you.” He shrugged, the voice changer in his mask turning off. You knew that voice. What’s your favorite scary movie?

You stumbled back, trying to put as much distance between you and him as possible while trying to get closer to Morgan.

“Robbie?”

“I gave you quite the story to chase, didn’t I?” His eyes were wide with a wild excitement that terrified. “All I had to do was pay a couple of thugs to help me rob a few places and I had you chasing after me.”

“All of those robberies, that person you killed…” You gulped, “That was for me?” He nodded and laughed, and your heart raced even more. You had to keep your mind focused. You had to get Morgan out of there. “W-why did you take her?”

“I had to make sure that you would come alone… Spider-man.” He had a giant grin on his face, as if he had won a prize. This took you back.

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb, Y/N. I know your secret.” He grabbed a piece of fabric from his pocket. “I found this in your bag a couple of months ago.” It was a torn piece of Peter’s suit that you had from when he came to your apartment after a fight with a couple of street thugs. He was okay, but his suit had been cut in a few places. How could you have been so stupid as to leave it in your backpack?

The pig’s blood was starting to irritate your skin and Morgan was getting more restless. You needed to keep him away from her.

“Alright, so you know.” You stood up straighter, trying to seem convincing while you kept him on the opposite side of Morgan. “Why go through all of this?”

“Because we could make the ultimate team!” He exclaimed as if it was obvious. “And you would finally ditch that creep Peter Parker and be with someone of your own standard.”

“So you decided to start robbing banks and jewelry stores? And kidnap Tony Stark’s daughter?” You scoffed.

“It was the only way to get you here tonight.” He shrugged with an eerily happy sigh. “And now we can say that we caught the bad guys together. That they had you on the ropes, but a new hero, The Night Owl appeared just in time.” He spoke as if he were reading a comic book.

“Not gonna lie, Night Owl is a terrible superhero name.” A voice said from above you. Robbie looked up just as the real Spider-Man’s foot nailed him in the face. Robbie barely had time to recover before he pushed him back into the pool. Peter turned to you. “Are you okay?” He held out his hand and you tried to wipe the blood off your hands before you took it.

“How did you get out?” You wondered as the two of you rushed over to Morgan.

“Happy showed up with the bomb squad.” He explained, his voice turning soft as he spoke to Morgan. “Did the bad guys hurt you?” He asked, snapping off the handcuffs. She jumped into his arms.

“I’m okay.” She answered. He picked her up, but when you turned around, a group of three more men in masks stood in front of you, a furious, and wet, Robbie standing with them.

“You don’t get to ruin my plans yet!” He shrieked.

“There’s nowhere to go, Robbie.” Peter warned. “The cops are on their way up now.” He held Morgan close, keeping her head down.

“I was so convinced that it was you, Y/N.” Robbie seemed to pretend that Spider-Man wasn’t there. “But that doesn’t matter. All we have to do is get rid of the real one.” The three men started to move towards you and Robbie pulled out a gun. If he missed Peter, he would hit Morgan.

“Stop it.” You ordered, putting yourself in front of her. “You can’t be a hero after being a villain Robbie.”

“Every hero is someone else’s villain, Y/N.” He shrugged. The three thugs drew nearer and Peter gently set Morgan down behind him, preparing to fight. They attacked all at once, one taking your arms and shoving you back and the other two going after Peter. As you stumbled back, your foot caught on your dress. In a whirlwind of red stained fabric, you toppled over the edge of the roof.

“Y/N!” Peter shouted, trying to fight off the two men to get to you, but it was too late. Morgan started to cry again.

“You’ve ruined everything!” Robbie shouted. “Grab the girl! We can still make something of this disaster.” But as one of the men reached for Morgan, the whooshing sound of propulsors cause him to freeze.

“Don’t. Touch. My. Daughter.” Rescue soared up to the roof, her mask lifting to show Pepper’s seething face. In her metal-clad arms, was you.

“Hell man, I’m not dealing with two superheroes.” The man exclaimed, scurrying off, quickly followed by the other two. Pepper landed, putting you back on your feet and took her daughter into her safe arms.

“Oh my god.” Peter swept you up as quickly as you’d been put down. “I thought- when you- I didn’t… don’t ever go into scary doorways alone ever again.”

“Wait a second,” Robbie muttered. “You’re cheating on Peter with Spider-man?” The police burst through the doors before he could make any further revelations. He called out for you as they dragged him away, but you kept your face buried in Peter’s chest, your stomach still doing somersaults from the fall. He lifted up your chin to look at him, taking off his mask once the coast was clear.

“Hey,” His voice was calming and his smile turned to boyish excitement. “Let’s go get some candy.”

#halloween in november #spiderman #marvel imagines #peter parker x reader #tom holland #pepper potts #morgan stark #better late than never i guess

87 notes · View notes

neoculturetechxgot7 · 5 years

Text

Gardenia on the Crown - J.J.H.

3; White sheets and frustration

pairing: Jung Jaehyun × Reader

genre: angst

length: lil less than 1k words?

warnings: mild language

The moment your hand comes in contact with the bronze coldness of the handle it's impossible to stop your chest from overfilling with waves of relief. You're only seconds away from walking into your newly acquired room, your personal maid awaiting on the other side of the door and fresh, perfumed sheets silently pleading to rest you.

Jaehyun is hot on your tail and although his suffocating grasp fell after reaching the top of the staircase, you can still prominently sense his presence behind your back, each one of his footsteps bouncing loudly against mosaic decorated walls and shiny marble. The burning feeling of his fingers curving around your wrist has now turned into a dull numbness, spreading out like some kind of venom over your skin with a unique lingering warmth.

Without sparing him a single glance, you push the heavy, wooden door open and enter your chamber, gaze instantly landing on the white bedding you've been longing to see all day. A light scent of flora and dust seeps into your lungs as you take a hesitant step inside, observing the room you'd be calling yours until the damned marriage for the first time.

Having arrived too early in the morning to meet both the prince and his father, you haven't had the chance visit it, only sent your maid to settle the luggage and assure everything is in order, even clean if needed. Judging from the looks of it, the royals were very generous with the choice of your temporary place...

Engraved walls, adorned by thin, intricate streaks of gold that shimmer so stunningly under noon sunlight, luxurious furniture on every corner and a bed almost bigger than the one back home, to house all your peachy dreams and grey nightmares. Upon walking further inside with slight precaution, you spot a gigantic bookcase taking up the entire expanse of the west wall, a colourful variety of book spines placed neatly in order on the shelves.

Thank God, they have books in this hellhole.

At least you will be more than comfortable while hiding from Jaehyun in here now.

The very next moment, a girl dressed in crimson red appears in front of you, bowing with her humble eyes falling to the ground in respect. The sight of her, one of the most trustworthy people in your life and probably your closest friend, instantly draws the curve of a smile on your face. Suddenly, it's almost as if that hideous morning fades into wrinkled scraps of memories, as if everything is going to be okay because her mere existence feels like home and that calms you in more ways than imaginable.

She greets you with the kindest voice, a small bow following.

"Can you please bring me my sleeping gown?" You order with a newfound liveliness dripping from your tone, fingertips reaching up to untie the front of your tight dress; sleep, sweet sleep how it's seducing your eyelids so greedily...

But the girl remains still, her gaze only rapidly moving from the floor to your face and on then something far behind you.

Then, it hits.

Swiftly and more aggressively than needed, you spin around on your thin heels just to find his overly too annoying figure leaning against the door frame, eyeing you with bare impatience.

"Why are you still here..." you ask, not able to conceal the obvious irritation oozing from each word.. "...your Highness?"

Jaheyun promptly nods at your maid and proceeds to casualy walk further inside your room -without permission-. "Could you leave us alone for a second, servant?"

Your blood immediately starts to boil upon hearing him. Who does he think he is to invade your private space so carelessly and give orders your maid in such a rude manner? Prince or not you aren't having it.

Watching her bow again and scurry to the door, you want nothing more than to pull the poor girl back and proudly show indiscipline to your future husband, but for the sake of honour, you manage to contain yourself to a dramatic cough to gather both their attention.

"Excuse me, but she is no servant. She's my maid and you have no right to boss her around!" You are nearly yelling, arms crossed over your chest, as the built up frustration has the chance of a small release for the first time today.

He moves aside for the girl to leave and keeps a quiet stance while slowly swinging the door closed.

"First of all, I do have the right." His voice revibrates into the room louder than you expected, before he turns to focus a pair of icy, freezing eyes, with all the intimidation and arrogance they carry, on you. "And second..."

His long strides quickly lead him just in front of where you're standing in the middle of the room, hands folded behind his back.

"What the hell were are you doing?"

You're utterly taken aback by his sudden reaction, not fully understanding what he means. Even so, you stand your ground, taking a step forward and wearing the most stern face you can master, hands subconsciously running over the ruffles of your dress.

"What am I doing?"

"Why did you fake a headache?"

And your limbs fall still, lips slightly parting at a loss for words, your glance descending from his face to the thin white shirt cladding his chest. This is a second blow you didn't expect, although it was quite obvious the pretentious pain and dizziness back there wasn't all that believable.

Does he have confront you for it though, as if he hasn't realised you're practically running away from his oh so noble existence the whole day?

"How did you know I was faking it?"

"Well, you just confirmed it." Damn him "But also, you're a terrible liar."

"The hell I'm not!" Your voice is growing steadily louder and if he steals any more time from your life to kindly piss you off with stupid, pointless accusations, the whole palace will hear your rage.

"Well, for a princess, your acting was awful, sorry to break it to you." His eyebrow arches mockingly, a grin pulling across his lips to reveal the breathtaking grace of pearly teeth and for a second you think how this is the first time he's ever shown you his smile; as much as you hate to admit it, the entire room just got a little brighter and your head feels a little lighter, a little drowsy...

And it miraculously only appears while he is making fun you. How fitting.

"I grew up in royalty. Do you know how good of an actress one must be to pretend they're not bored out of their mind when dancing with princes who's name they don't even remember?" At this point, you're close enough to kick him straight where he deserves for being such a jerk and the air buzzes heavily with the electricity of every tense emotion radiating off of you.

Jaehyun only drops his gaze to the leather shoes he sports, a chuckle escaping him in the process and if you didn't hate his guts so much, it would've made your heart skip a beat or two at how gentle and beautiful the sound is. "Is that so?"

The prince comes to stand just a breath away from you, minimizing the distance with his eyes rising to render you helpless under their dark pits where a lone spark of mischief shines. "Did you feel the same way on our first dance?"

Did he seriously bring that up?

The smugness on his smirk solely grows, he's teasing...

At the reference of the very first night he laid eyes on you, the most obvious shade of red tints your cheeks as you stand frozen, mouth slightly agape in search of an appropriate answer. He managed to leave you speechless, a river of memories from that ball flowing into your mind ceaselessly and after a moment of silence, it strikes you how you are embarrassed yet again in his presence. No man has ever made you blush three times in a day.

Damn. Him.

"Either way, you might need to learn to lie a little better if you want to stand by my side like a true queen one day."

The words slice through your chest harder than a sword as Jaehyun carelessly backs up towards the door, after just having insulted your dignity and simultaneously rubbed this stupid arranged marriage at your face.

It doesn't surprise you anymore how you long so intensely to grab the closest heavy object and throw it straight at him to wipe that sinister smirk off of his face once and for all. He has surpassed the level of patience you're willing to have with him.

How dare he?

"I don't want to stand by your side like anything!" You shout, startling him as the suppressed anger finally bursts and he halts in place, still like a boulder.

He didn't see it coming.

The faintest trace of shock is written across his face in narrow eyes and a parted mouth, the one emotion he doesn't manage to mask all that well.

You're waiting for him to yell back, scold you and degrade you even more for mouthing such a thing, openly showing your disagreement towards marrying him. You're waiting for bad consequences to come, seeing his lips slightly quiver when he tilts his head.

If he meant to say something, you will never know, as Jaehyun spares you one last glance that hides a mixture of anger, disappointment and something else you can't quite define before reaching for the handle. He leaves you in a deafening silence, interrupting it only by banging the door closed with force and you're alone, at last.

Only that now sleep won't seek out for your eyelids so easily, his words tormenting your mind like restless spirits, a bitter echo to remind you how cold the prince truly is, after all.

previous || next

136 notes · View notes

spiltscribbles · 5 years

Text

Stay For A While

Notes: I had a really really awful day and this was in my drafts, so here we go.

Ronan’s never really noticed how pungent the scent of hospitals are, the eerily clean surfaces that are masked with the smell of the residue of the alcohol remover Blue uses to clean off her nails once she inevitably gets bored of which ever eccentric color she’d chosen for that week. (Ronan remembers a particularly amusing night at Monmouth when Henry had dared Ronan to drink the bottle whole, to which Blue— pixie sized and never putting up with any amount of shit— cuffed them both on the back of the heads scoldingly, “You can’t drink it asshole, it’s like poisonous.”)

Idly, Ronan thinks that he’d rather chug down ten complete bottles of that shit instead of sitting here in this utter hell hole of a waiting room, the smell of antiseptics clogging his nostrils and glaringly florescent lights pounding down on him and a swarm of strangers trying to catch his eye for polite, if not a bit flirtatious, small talk. All just to wait for some fucking quack to tell him what half a dozen others said before. That Opal’s condition is to severe, to intensive, too unstructured. For this prick to tell Ronan that the technology just isn’t here yet and that they should just give it a rest already.

God fucking damn it, Ronan hates this place, hates all the memories it evokes and the literal hopelessness that’s woven into it. He hates it even more that he fucking let Gansey talk him into meeting with this fucking prick of a doctor, getting his hopes up and making Ronan actually believe this Parrish douche is worth meeting with.

“He’s a class act Ronan, truly,” Gansey had crowed in that uniquely Gansey way of his— all American charm and boyishly enthused smile. “Carruthers had sung his praises to us for so long that I simply insisted he came to Lucy’s christening a bit ago.”

That’s when Ronan had cocked a brow at his oldest friend, unconvinced that Helen of all people would allow any riffraff to puncture her picture perfect soiree for her picture perfect daughter to show off her picture perfect life.

“I bet princess wasn’t to happy with that impromptu invitation?”

“That was until she met the boy,” Gansey had corrected a bit too cheekily for Ronan’s liking, finger waggling in the space between them and it took all Ronan had not to bite it right off. “Carruthers was right on! Parrish is a magnificent specimen, and smart as a whip too!”

“What a dreamboat,” said Ronan, deadpanned and wondering if he’ll ever be over Gansey’s theatrics. (Most likely not on account of his loving the dip-shit like a fourth brother.)

“You know he got his medical degree from Harvard? And his undergraduate at Princeton?”

“Gee Gansey, I’m swooning.”

“Well don’t fall in love with him quite yet,” Gansey had chuckled good naturedly with a patting to Ronan’s shoulder. “I reckon you’ll need him for another, much more important reason.” Ronan just furrowed his brows, not bothering to show any actual interest, and Gansey just flashed him a row of pearly whites in turn. “You’ll never believe his senior year thesis was about? Fibula Hemimelia.”

Ronan’s heart had lodged in his throat and he suddenly, foolishly, felt a surge of pure hope. So Gansey had set up everything. He had scheduled the meeting for a day he knew Opal didn’t have school and Ronan didn’t have work, he had called to send over Opal’s medical history, and on top of it all Gansey had convinced Ronan that continuing to try was better than to give up, and Ronan had agreed. That’s why he’s sitting in this hell hole now, glower securely set on his face and simultaneously watching Opal as she built and destroyed her lego towers, while staving off any too curious onlookers.

Finally— mercifully— A kind faced nurse had called out, “Opal L,” and they were being dashed off behind the doors to get all the preliminary numbers before being lead into the quacks office.

“Don’t break any of his shit,” Ronan tells Opal as she made her way to the corner where some blocks and puzzles were set out, crushes and all.

It’s another ten minutes of waiting until the door swings open and a low, molasses smooth voice greets them good morning while taking a seat in his desk. And well…. He’s all cutting cheekbones and piercing eyes and his hair’s the same color as the caramel cubes that Arora use to set out for guests back in the barns when Ronan was a kid. Ronan feels a instant pulsing of white hot hatred towards Gansey at this exact moment for not giving him the heads up that this Parrish fuck is only moonlighting as a doctor while actually having a career in modeling or some shit.

“G’morning,” he holds out his all too attractive hand, and Ronan pretends his insides aren’t imploding while he gives it one quick, savage shake. “I’m Dr Parrish, and you must be Ronan Lynch?”

“Yes.”

“Wonderful,” if Parrish was put off by Ronan’s standoffish demeanor, he doesn’t show it, just continues on speaking in that crisp cadence that Ronan thinks all doctors have mastered in one way or the other, and goes back to flipping through the blindingly yellow binder in his grasp. He doesn’t bother with pleasantries, or puts on a facade with some overly cheerful smile and Ronan appreciates him for it, he’s gone through too many stilted conversations of a blank eyed doctor telling him that there’s no hope with an uncomfortably large smile threatening to split their faces in half.

Ronan much prefers the touch of realism that Parrish is offering up.

“So is it just you for today or are we waiting for Mom?”

“Mom doesn’t exist,” Ronan says, words clipped— He reckons he’ll never not be irritated by that automatic assumption, even when it’s ridiculously pretty doctors making them.

Parrish quirks a brow at him and Ronan relents, just slightly.

“She was an orphan till I adopted her a few years ago, so it’s just me.”

“Oh, I see,” Ronan pretends his chest doesn’t totally contract at the sight of the other man’s small, thin lipped smile that makes his eyes shimmer a thousand splendid shades of blue and green and violet. “My apologies.”

“Whatever.”

“I’m turning seven in three weeks.” Opal, excited for a new audience, announces with a manic grin, her ash blonde hair tugged out it’s ponytail and her big brown eyes gazing at the doctor like he’s one of her dolls.

“No way, really?” Parrish says, and if Ronan thought his small, privately impressed smile was charming, it’s nothing on the one he’s beaming at Opal with right now. It’s beautiful in its unadulterated sincerity, in the way it crinkles the corners of his wide eyes and brightens his countenance ten fold. Ronan inwardly thinks that the grin is one he doesn’t dole out that often, which is a real shame because Dr Parrish’s dimples should probably be declared an eighth wonder of the world by who ever the fuck decides on that sort of shit.

“You must be Opal.”

“Are you my new doctor?” She asks, abrasive if it weren’t coupled with her toothy smile.

“Yes, I think I am, if you’ll have me?”

“Cool,” Opal marvels. “Will you actually help me?”

There’s an instant tautness to the air that Opal, in all her childhood obliviousness, doesn’t notice, but Parrish doesn’t let it linger.

“I certainly hope so.”

Adequately convinced, Opal pivots around and returns to her puzzle.

The next hour is composed of Ronan answering questions he’s been asked a million other times, (“Yes, it’s the left leg. Yes, the bone is completely missing and her foot’s heel is ruptured as well. Yes I know that some doctors have suggested removing the leg completely and replacing it with a prosthetic, but i already told you that they’re all fucking stupid and lazy, and I already said I want to exhaust all options until I consider it.”)

“I hope we don’t have to get to that point,” Parrish says like an oath and Ronan knows it in his bones that Parrish— Adam according to the admittedly impressive array of degrees adorned on his wall, can’t promise anything to him or Opal in so many words, but it doesn’t stop him from believing that Adam could actually do what the others couldn’t.

For the next quarter of an hour Adam examines Opal’s leg and takes notes in a scrawl Ronan doubts anyone could ever actually transcribe, until he’s seemingly satisfied.

They make an appointment for next Tuesday, giving Parrish enough time to examine all the information he’s gathered, and can talk to Ronan about the options on the table for Opal.

“Alright, see you then doc.”

“Adam. You can just call me Adam.”

Ronan just snorts, derisive, before carting Opal out of the room.

“You think he’s cute,” she preens.

“Shut your trap,” Ronan hisses. THat doesn’t stop Opal singing some ridiculous nursery rhymes about trees and kissing and babies all the way home.

Next time they meet is right after Ronan drops Opal off to school, and Adam looks just as competent and put together as the last time. He explains each possibility with no inflection, just straight facts for Ronan to take in and comprehend however he’d like.

“So either way it’s surgery,” Ronan bristles.

“If you want to avoid the prosthetic, yes. You can either continue with the latter which would slow down the growth of her right leg so that the left could catch up, or we can conduct several procedures in the next few years adding to the length of the left to match that of the right.”

“That sounds like mumbo jumbo shit to me,” Ronan bites out, trying his best not to sound as frustrated and frightened as he feels. Though the way Adam’s ordinarily stoic looking expression softens ever so slightly, tells Ronan that he’s doing a pretty shit job at it.

“I know it’s a difficult decision, especially when it’s for your kid,” Adam’s voice ripples right then but it immediately goes back to it’s typical, low timbre. Ronan doesn’t probe. “But I assure you that which ever decision you make it’ll be the right one.”

“How? How do you know that?” Ronan asks, challenging.

“Opal’s young, and healthy. She’s still growing, both procedures are optimal when that’s still a major factor. And besides, it’s clear that you love her. You know what’s best for her because you’ll do your research.”

There’s a different stillness to the air than there was last week, but Ronan doesn’t think it’s any less charged.

“When do you need an answer?”

“As soon as possible. We want to make sure we can get the best feasible results.”

“Fine.” Ronan gets up to leave but is stopped by Adam calling after him.

“I’m always a resource if you need it.”

Ronan doesn’t reply, just purses his lips before snatching the card Adam holds out for him and swaggers out with a thousand different thoughts swarming in his head, ones about Opal. About her leg. About the healing process, the tole it’d have on her. How she’s so small and delicate already, About Dr Adam Parrish and his pretty eyes.

Ronan realizes about half way to work that Adam had written his personal cell number on the back, and pretends that his cheeks aren’t blazing red, chides at himself that he’s only Opal’s doctor. That’s all.

It’s for Opal, that’s it.

“I like Dr Parrish.”

Ronan starts at the non sequitur, eyeing Opal like she’s grown a second head right here in the middle of Nino’s while they wait for their pizzas to take to Gansey’s place. After weeks of paper work and consultations and check ups, Opal’s first official surgery would be taking place tomorrow afternoon and they all agreed it calls for celebration.

“Okay… That was random.”

“Nah-uh,” she peevishly sniffs, lips twisted in irritation— Ronan doesn’t give a fuck about DNA because that’s straight out of his playbook. “Look!”

He follows her insistent finger pointing onto the distance through the window, just making out the sight of none other than Adam fucking Parrish strolling down the street, dying afternoon light dancing golden in his hair and touching the tops of his cheekbones… It’s all very cinematic if Ronan’s being at all honest.

“Imma say hi,” Opal announces, and before Ronan can tell her to sit her ass down she’s dashing off through the doors and stopping him in his tracks.

“Damn it,” Ronan curses under his breath before saddling up behind her.

“Dr Parrish!”

Jolting back, Adam scans his surroundings before finally casting his gaze down to find pipe sized Opal smiling up at him, and by rote, he returns the expression.

“Opal!”

“Daddy didn’t believe me but I saw you all the way from inside,” she tells him pridefully, and Ronan only roles his eyes heavenwards.

“Good eye,” Adam says, crouching down so that they’re level.

“What are you doing at Nino’s?”

“I reckon I’m doing the same thing as you and your pops here.”

“Getting dinner and teasing Aunty Blue for working here when she was little?”

Adam cuts a glance at Ronan, silent question of “What the fuck,” painted all over his features.

“It’s done lovingly.” He says in a monotone and no. Ronan absolutely does not feel the flutterings of butterflies swarming down deep at Adam’s bemused laughter.

“You should come to Uncle Gansey’s house!” Opal crows. “He’s throwing a party for me cuz of my op-op-peratoin tomorrow!”

“Operation,” Ronan softly corrects.

“Oh yeah that!” Opal squawks.

“That’s really cool Opal, I’m glad that they’re doing that for ya.” Adam says, utterly sincere.

“So you’ll come!”

“Yeah doc, come and get boozed up before the surgery,” Ronan says, only partially teasing.

“Sorry Opal darling,” Adam says, lips pouting. “I promised an old friend that I’d actually eat out with them, and I seriously doubt that your Dad or Uncle or whom ever would appreciate me crashing in on your family time.”

Opal looks grief-stricken and Ronan privately thinks he feels the same.

“My birthday then!” Opal proclaims.

“It’s after the surgery and it’s not until next week and could you come please!”

“Ah,” Adam’s eyes surreptitiously flutter over to Ronan, seeking permission.

“There could never be enough guests,” he says, totally flat.

“Alrighty then, I’d be honored to come Opal.”

“Yay!” She tackles into Adam for a quick embrace and then leaps into Ronan’s arms over the excitement.

“Oh Parrish, just heads up, the themes Disney Princesses, and the invitations explicitly dictate that everyone dresses up.”

Adam glares nastily at Ronan but then just tosses Opal a thumbs up, Ronan translates it for the bird he’d rather be tossing him.

Ronan admits that he regrets everything the moment Adam fucking Parrish strolls into his house wearing a shit eating grin, and a full on Prince Philip costume— tights and all.

Everything in the procedure went as wonderfully as anyone could’ve hoped, so Opal— dawning a sparkling pink princess dress— promenaded through the party in the Barns with a huge smile on her face and a sharpie pen so that all her guests would sign her cast, a beaming Blue pushing her along in the tiny wheelchair the hospital provided. But even with how precious she looks, and the excited thrumming in the air, all Ronan could focus on is fucking god damn Adam Parrish.

“Lynch,” he says in greeting, swinging around a large, wrapped box. Ronan jutted his chin to the table carrying the rest of the gifts and Adam dropped it off before returning to his side.

“Lovely place you got here.”

“If that was your attempt at small talk, you’re shit at it.” Is how Ronan chooses to reply.

Something warm and splendid coils somewhere deep in Ronan’s gut at the sound of Adam’s miraculous peals of laughter.

“You’re such a shit.”

Ronan feels charged by that one comment.

“Oh, so Doc’s got a little bite all of a sudden?”

“Always have,” Adam corrects in that detached, ever amused way of his. “Only thing was that you were my client, but everything with Opal went better than expected, so now I can call you out for being a complete prick whenever I please.”

“So you still expect to see me outside of the allotted appointments for my daughter?” Ronan snarks, snide and excited.

Adam just gives him a one armed shrug before leaning close to Ronan’s ear— hot breath skirting against his skin. “You aren’t slick, but my ass appreciates your intense focus.”

At that, Adam swivels around on his heals to grab a drink and to say hello to Opal, and Ronan knows he’s fucked.

***

Five years later, when they’ve got matching bands of gold and Adam’s slumped on the sofa with Ronan’s head propped on his lap— the pair of them watching over Opal tending to her new baby brother— Ronan thinks to when Gansey warned that he shouldn’t fall in love with Adam.

Ronan laughs and Adam flicks him on the temple for being such a freak.

#PYNCH #ADAM PARRISH #RONAN LYNCH #OPAL #THE RAVEN CYCLE #SPILT INK

61 notes · View notes

kmseokjins · 5 years

Text

Thunderlight (Chapter 6)

Fandom: BTS Pairing: BTS x Reader / Poly!OT7 x Reader Warnings: n/a this chapter Chapter Summary: Dead end after dead end, Hoseok finally seems to find the answers they seek...but at what cost?

Archive Of Our Own || Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Notes: This is chapter features Hoseok & Yoongi; no one else makes an appearance! A bit of a cliffhanger at the end, but nothing too drastic!

----------------------------------

“You should let me go in alone, Hyung.” Hoseok knows that as soon as the words leave his mouth that he’s fighting a losing battle. For the sake of his sanity, he has to at least try.

Yoongi fixes Hoseok with an incredulous look at such a request, eyes narrowing. “No.” His answer is sharp and final, arms crossed across his chest as if to make his opinion on the matter that much more obvious.

Hoseok groans, “It’s bad enough I’m going to draw attention. You’re going to draw even more attention. Why did you come?” The hellhound hadn’t even asked Yoongi to come with him; his elder had apparently followed him out the door when he’d tried to leave discreetly. One minute Hoseok was silently celebrating his victory, and the next, Yoongi was nonchalantly following behind him.

At least he had avoided drawing the attention of Jimin and Taehyung. Those two shouldn’t be allowed to leave the dorms. Ever. Especially not together. Hoseok would have ditched them back at the dorms if they had been the ones to follow. Yoongi? The man was stubborn.

“We’re not supposed to go anywhere alone.” A pause. “Hence why I’m here.” Yoongi gestures at himself, clad in black pants, a black hoodie, and a black headband pushing his hair back. “Incognito.”

“That’s…..that’s not what I meant by drawing attention.” Hoseok sighs before he continues towards the building he had been leading Yoongi to. He was dreading this; exposing himself to a bunch of possible demons. Not to mention exposing Yoongi as well. That made his skin crawl. Yoongi’s mind was already made up, and Hoseok knew he shouldn’t waste his breath any longer trying to convince him otherwise. The hellhound could abandon his mission tonight, but there wasn’t a guarantee he would get this opportunity again.

The smell of sulfur enveloped him as soon as he stepped inside the bar. It was disgusting. The smell wasn’t overly potent, but Hoseok was still disgusted all the same. God, he hated dealing with demons. His hound felt much the same, giving the impression of his hackles raised as soon as he stepped foot inside.

A look thrown over his shoulder to his mate behind him gave Hoseok no indication if Yoongi cared about the smell; his expression was as stoic as usual.

No sooner than they approached the bar did the chatter of the patrons taper off; the once muffled music over the speakers much louder and more distinctive to make out now. Hoseok wasn’t surprised; he hadn’t been expecting a warm welcome to begin with, although he wasn’t quite sure if it was because of him or Yoongi. Perhaps even both. It wasn’t every day two species like them came into a place crawling (mostly) with demons. The hellhound gritted his teeth; his contact had chosen this place specifically for the reason that she would be surrounded by her own kind.

It was only a few seconds longer before the previous chatter started up again, somewhat drowning the music as it had before. Glancing around again, Hoseok focused on a short, squat man approaching them. As he neared, his eyes flashed green for mere seconds as he looked between Hoseok and Yoongi.

“Hoseok.” An eyebrow quirked upwards as the man practically spat out his name, lips peeling back to reveal rows of sharp teeth. Goblin. As Hoseok nodded in confirmation, the goblin flicked his attention to Yoongi, standing just behind him at his shoulder, “Not him.”

Hoseok stiffens, gritting his teeth as his eyes flash golden, “He comes with.” Like hell Hoseok was leaving Yoongi alone. The goblin’s eyes widen slightly at the aggression before he scowls and mentions them both to follow, muttering in a forgein language under his breath. He leads them deeper into the bar, the crowded dance floor parting to let the three pass. Hoseok wrinkles his nose at the stronger stench of sulfur due to the cluster of demons they pass. The goblin stops at the third door on the left down a hallway. He knocks three times in rapid succession before he turns the knob and pushes the door open, mentioning the two inside.

Hoseok steps through first, Yoongi close behind although neither react when the door shuts behind them a little harder than needed. The room is almost set up like a lounge; a large tv hangs on the wall, two black leather couches face the tv, and a mini bar takes up the back right corner of the room.

The only other person in the room stands at the mini bar, her back to them, although she’s well aware they’re there. She finishes pouring wine into the wine glass before she snatches it up and turns to face the two men. She’s tall and slender, the white dress she wears clings to every curve, flowing down around her ankles, barely reaching the top of the white three-inch heels she wears. Her jaw is sharp, her cheekbones high. Her soft, blonde hair is loosely curled and flows down to the middle of her back, her lips are painted blood red, and her eyes are entirely black.

Hoseok isn’t surprised when he feels Yoongi press close against his back, his chest rumbling with a growl. It’s hard to feel safe when you’re trapped in a room with a high level demon, not to mention when soulbond is close too. Hoseok swallows the snarl threatening to slip from himself, reaching a hand back to intertwine with one of Yoongi’s. Hoseok trusted that Yoongi would behave himself, but Hoseok felt the need to be grounded as well.

“Jung Hoseok and guest,” The demoness purred as she crossed the room, sitting on the closest couch she reached with a flourish, left leg crossing over her right. She waved a manicured hand in the direction of the other couch, “Please, sit.”

Her eyes tracked them both as Hoseok pulled Yoongi to sit down. Hoseok set on the edge of the couch, while Yoongi settled on the arm of the couch, knee pressed against Hoseok’s side, eyes zeroed in on the demon with suspicion.

Her gaze remained on Yoongi, head tilting as she regarded the blond before she focused back on the hellhound, “It’s not everyday someone like myself gets the pleasure of your company, darling.” She flashes her pearly white teeth, “Your message was cryptic. You need information. On what, exactly?”

Hoseok hated that he had to contact her. Lilith . All his other contacts had lead to nothing, nothing more than rumors. He had been half-tempted to tell Namjoon that he couldn’t find anything on the demon called Asa, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell such an untruth to his mate if he had another lead to follow. He would have understood. This is dangerous. She’s a viper. His hellhound was seething, ready to fight his way out at the first sign of anything suspicious. It wasn’t just himself to protect either; Yoongi had been dragged into the viper’s nest too.

“A demon. I was hoping you could tell me about him.” Just saying the words, asking for a favor, made bile rise in his mouth.

Lilith’s grin is wolfish as she raises the wineglass to her lips and takes a sip of the blood red liquid within. “If you wanted a master ,” The word is purred, head tilting as she flicks her gaze up and down his body, “you could have asked me. We could have so much fun..” Lilith trails off, her attention shifting to look just past him with surprise.

Her attention on Yoongi makes Hoseok realize how cold the room has gotten and the anger beating at him. No longer stifling hot like it had been when they first came in, the temperature had plummeted sharply in contrast. Hoseok twists in place, a hand reaching out to grab one of Yoongi’s clenched fists, prying his elder’s hand open before lacing their fingers together.

“Yoongi-hyung.” Hoseok murmurs to his agitated mate, squeezing his hand in an attempt to get his eyes from Lilith and onto him. Yoongi resists briefly before his eyes flickering to the hellhound, and Hoseok almost shivers at the silver receding from Yoongi’s eyes. Yoongi keeps eye contact with Hoseok while he takes a deep breath before he slowly exhales.

-and just like that, the temperature in the room starts to rise.

Satisfied, Hoseok turns back to the demon, who looks like she’s the cat that got the cream, “You never said you had a dragon,” She giggles, attention fully focused on Yoongi, who bristles immediately, “An ice dragon at that! My, my. You are rare indeed..”

“No.” It’s a snarl, and Lilith raises her eyebrows as she finally settles her attention back on Hoseok, “I’m here for information, nothing more, nothing less.”

The demon pouts for a moment before she sighs, “Very well. Do you have what I requested?” Another sip of her wine passes her lips before she watches him over the lip of the glass.

Reaching into the pocket of his leather jacket, Hoseok pulls out the vial he had safely tucked away before he left the dorms. The vial was about the same length and width of a pencil, filled with an iridescent liquid that shimmered in the light of the room. Hoseok stared at it for a long moment before he tossed it towards Lilith.

She caught it easily, holding it up to examine it like she was assessing a diamond before she hummed in satisfaction, “Excellent. Tell me his name.”

“Asa.”

Lilith clutched the vial in her fist as she glanced sharply at the hellhound, “Asa.” Head tilting, she narrowed her eyes at him, “You’re either very stupid or very brave for wanting to tangle with him.”

“I have no intention of contacting him. I only want information about him.”

“He’s a high level demon, like myself. As powerful as he is cruel. He’s a demon of many, many talents.” Lilith sighs wistfully, “He’s typical for a demon, really. Apparently he collects creatures like yourselves, the rarer the better.”

“Does he have a special interest in humans?”

“Hmm, he’s more smitten with witches. At least, that’s what I heard years ago. Apparently a witch caught his attention and he became obsessed. More than we usually do.” Lilith raises her eyebrows, “Are you attempting to protect a human from him?”

Hoseok ignores her, “What happened with the witch?”

Lilith frowns at his blunt dodge before she shrugs her shoulders, “Some say he consumed her soul, others say that he’s got her tucked safely away as his personal pet. I say she slipped through his fingers, but that’s just my observation. We may be in the same circle, but he tends to be the thorns on a rose. Other than what I’ve told you, I don’t know any more on the demon. He keeps to himself unless he’s pissed off. Then everyone knows it.”

Hoseok was disappointed. He’d learned some things, but not nearly enough to satisfy himself. If anything, he had more questions about this demon, Asa. Why would you be so afraid of him? You were human, and unless you had something of value he wanted, he didn’t seem like he would waste his time with a human. Then again, perhaps you had made a deal with him and the time was drawing near for him to come collect. The thought made Hoseok bristle. If that were true, just what kind of deal did you make with a demon? Nothing about you screamed “I MADE A DEAL WITH A DEMON!!!” .

We’ve stayed long enough. His hellhound was growing restless, and Hoseok couldn’t help but feel the same. They’d been here too long already and he just wanted to go back home to the rest of his mates and take the hottest shower he could stand. Being around a demon always made him feel like he needed to scrub his skin raw.

Standing without a word, Hoseok simply inclined his head towards the demoness before urging Yoongi towards the door they had entered from.

“A word of friendly advice, hellhound.”

Hoseok stops at the sound of Lilith’s voice, turning to glance over his shoulder at her.

“Watch your back. Asa doesn’t know the meaning of the word mercy.”

Yoongi promptly drags Hoseok from the room no sooner than the demoness stops talking, ignoring the dozens of eyes that follow their movements towards the exit. Hoseok doesn’t blame him, and he inhales deeply when they step out into the cool, night air seconds later. Silence envelopes them until halfway back to the dorms:

“When we get home, you’re going to explain everything.”

#bangtan sonyeondan #bts x reader #bts imagine #bts fanfic #ot7 x reader #poly!bts x reader #bts fanfiction #Supernatural!Idol!BTS x reader #my writing #*mine

92 notes · View notes

yourdeepestfathoms · 5 years

Text

uroboros, the eternal return (part two)

foster AU.

TW: Mentioned/implied child abuse, violence

——————

-Freezing the Viper’s Venom-

Joan used to draw a lot. She was good at drawing, she liked to think, as it was sometimes the only thing she was allowed to do when locked in her rooms.

But now her sketchbook was filled with drawings of Them. The family that almost gave her everything.

Even after she fucked it all up, the Greene’s, the seventh family, still remained her favorite fosters. Her time with them and the end she met taught her something very valuable:

Don’t get comfortable.

Joan brushes her fingertips over Mrs. Greene’s pencil-shaded face and thought back to how she actually looked in person. Chocolate brown hair with natural curls at the tips, warm honey eyes, pearly white teeth, broad shoulders. She kinda looked like a porcupine that worked in criminal justice.

Joan found herself giggling a little. She didn’t know why, but she had a habit of comparing others to animals. Not even her newest family could escape it- Jane looked like a white tiger and Katherine kinda looked like an otter.

But Mrs. Greene! She was so kind and so sweet. She treated Joan as if she were her biological daughter and not just a foster. Joan thought they were gonna adopt her.

In the end, though, she ruined it all.

But it wasn’t her fault! Not really, anyway... The baby was just crying so loud and Joan couldn’t handle the wailing anymore because the party had already been noisy enough. She hadn’t meant to lash out like she did, really!

Most of what happened was a blur, but she remembered all the screaming, the horrid, annoying shrieks of the baby, someone shoving her, the blood underneath her fingernails.

“Mum should lock you up for what you did,” One of her brothers at the time had told her, staring at her as if she were a demon loosed from hell, “She is a lawyer. She can probably do that. You should be in an asylum.”

Those words never left Joan. They taunted her constantly.

Ever since then, she’s tried harder to reign things in. She stamps down her emotions, bottling them up and not worrying about a possible breaking point.

If she snapped again, it would be disastrous.

Joan blinked away the remnants of the past and shook her head. She tucked away the sketchbook and walked downstairs to get ready to leave for school. Jane smiled warmly from the kitchen when she saw her.

“Good morning, love,” The woman chirped, “Breakfast’s almost ready. Oh, also, there’s a baby shower happening at my parent’s house this evening. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

Joan tensed for a moment, but she relaxed a little when she got an option. However, the thought of being alone in such an unfamiliar place (it’s only been seven days, she’s still getting used to the house) scared her and she felt like she would disappoint Jane even more if she didn’t go, so she nodded.

“No, it’s okay,” She said quickly, “I-I can go.”

Jane looked a little surprised, but smiled nonetheless.

“Wonderful!”

Joan was slightly startled when one of Jane’s hands rubbed against the top of head. She flinched, recoiling backwards a little.

“Oh, I apologize!” Jane drew her hand back, “I should have known you wouldn’t like being touched.”

Joan blinked multiple times. It didn’t hurt. She didn’t get hurt when she was touched. Why? What made it not hurt? Usually adults only wanted to harm her. And why wasn’t she that scared? She’s always frightened when touched without warning, but...

She reached up to her head, tentatively touching the area of contact and expecting a welt, a bruise, a gash, at least blood but...nothing. She looked up at Jane, and tapped lightly, unable to get words out (which is honestly humiliating but nothing she can do about it). Jane furrowed her eyebrows.

“But I thought-”

Joan tapped more, so Jane put her hand back on her head, rubbing gently, so gently.

Joan held perfectly still, pressing into the touch. She was trying to understand the sensation rolling over her. Happiness? Love? Comfort? Those were not things she was very familiar with.

Wasn’t touch bad? Touch usually left her hurt, bleeding, in pain. But Jane’s touch...Jane’s touch didn’t cause any of that at all. In fact, it made her feel less hurt.

“Are you okay, sweetie?” Jane looked down at the girl, worry shining in her eyes. “You look a little out of it. Do you need to sit down?”

She was concerned, too. Like, actually concerned about her.

Joan shook her head and finally pulled back. The feeling whisked away like that and she couldn’t help but feel cold (not the usual cold she always felt because she’s always cold). This was a sense of longing.

“Sorry,” She whispered, the embarrassment of the situation finally filtering in.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” Jane assured her, “Now, how about breakfast?”

—————

“You’re really good at piano, kiddo,” The student teacher in Joan’s piano class said after the bell rang, “Much better than most people here.” She titters lightly and it makes her pale green shimmer.

“Thanks,” Joan said shyly, battling her useless gay feelings.

“You know, you should sign up for Fall Fest coming up,” The student teacher suddenly suggested and her eyes glimmer again, “To, like, play! Wouldn’t that be fun? Playing creepy music and scaring the uptight rich little kids who come to get free candy from the school?”

It honestly really did sound fun. Joan never liked kids.

“Yeah,” Joan nodded. “It does.”

“I’ll give you a flyer!”

She padded over to a cabinet and pulled out a paper. That’s when Joan noticed a container filled with beautiful quills that she couldn’t take her eyes off of for some reason. The student teacher noticed Joan eyeing them and grinned at her.

“Would you like one, kiddo?”

Joan nodded shyly without even thinking about saying now.

“Here, let me get my-”

“No no, put that away,” The student teacher said when she went to grab her wallet.

Joan stopped, tilting her head. She didn’t want payment?

“Think of it as a gift! Trust me, kid, you don’t need to pay me back for a pen.”

Joan gave a little nod.

“Alright, give me a second,” The student teacher pokes through the container before holding a few pens out.

A brilliant, fuzzy emerald feather with swirls and sparks of aquamarine and sapphire, an iridescent thin wing, a large leaf-shade design with silvery indents, a fire-gradient quill, and one with an intricate interlacing metal design.

“The art class made these and had a lot of spares. At first I thought they went a little overboard, but they’re actually really nice. You can pick the one that catches your fancy.” The student teacher said.

Joan stared down at the various options, glancing back up at the older girl a few times. Which one did she want her to take? What if it was a test? Would something happen to her if she chose the wrong one?”

“You don’t like any of them?”

No, she liked the one with the greens and blues. It reminded her of dragon scales.

“Choose whatever you like!”

She really got to choose?

“Go ahead, don’t be shy!” The student teacher encouraged patiently. “Pick any one that you want.”

What she wants? She really gets to choose?

Joan tentatively reached out and took the green-blue pen, glancing up at the student teacher to make sure it was absolutely okay.

“Good choice!” The older girl beamed, “I hope the pen works to your liking. Tell me if it doesn’t work.”

Joan stared at the item, slowly taking out her wallet back out. Surely, she wanted some kind of payment. She couldn’t give out something this beautiful for free.

“No no, I said put that away!” The student teacher huffed, “This is a gift. You don’t have to give me anything, I promise.”

Oh.

Joan nodded and the student teacher was grinning again.

“Maybe you can use it to write your own sheet music.”

“Maybe,” Joan hummed, “Thank you so much.”

“No problem!”

—

At lunch Joan actually finds herself beaming as she presents the quill to Maria. They take turns poking each other and brushing over each other’s skin with the soft feather. Joan feels happy.

—————

On the ride to Jane’s parent’s house Joan plays with the quill to distract herself and calm her nerves. She ruffled and glided her fingers through the colorful fringes, watching them bend into new positions at her touch. It was pleasing.

However, she wasn’t quite sure if a feather would be enough to stabilize her once they got to the house.

Upon entering, Joan was instantly spoken to by an older woman with greying blonde hair. She hugs her, which Joan dislikes a lot, but Jane separates them quickly.

“Be gentle, mum,” Jane said, “She’s shy.”

“Right, of course!” The older woman nodded, “Hello, love. I’m Margery, your new grandma.”

Joan wrinkled her nose. She didn’t like when people gave themselves those titles- not this soon, at least.

“Hi,” She said softly. “I’m Joan.”

“Jane’s told me a lot about you,” Margery continued, “Everyone’s been dying to meet you! I’ll introduce you to them!”

Joan wanted to resist so badly, but she really didn’t have a choice, so she let the old woman drag her all around the house.

During dinner, the conversations pressed onto Joan became more abundant, as people wanted to talk to her right as she put something in her mouth. She looked up at the relatives sitting at her table with a confused expression, swallowing quickly so she could answer whatever they asked.

She was being smothered and she hated it. She kept glancing around for Jane or Katherine, but there were a lot of people at this stupid baby shower, and it seemed like everyone was paying more attention to her than the expecting mother.

The moment Joan thought she got a second to breathe, someone approached her. It was a boy, slightly younger but had a bad aura around him. He looked like a mangy coyote.

“Oh, so you’re Jane’s new plus one.” He said, eyeing Joan up and down.

“I guess,” Joan said, “Who are you?”

“Francis,” Francis told her as if she should have known that, “Don’t bother telling me your name. You won’t be staying long anyway.”

Joan furrowed her eyebrows and snapped to full attention.

“What?”

“Hm? You actually think Jane wants to keep you?” Francis laughed loudly, “Have you seen yourself? I’ve just met you and I already hate being around you.”

His words are venom in Joan’s ears. Her already impossibly low self-esteem is getting drilled further into the ground the longer he speaks.

“Besides, fosters usually aren’t kept around. Katherine just got lucky. That only happens sometimes.”

Joan’s breathing started to quicken. If Francis noticed, he didn’t seem to care.

“I’m just stating what we’re all thinking. You don’t belong here. This is not your home.”

Joan shoves him. The anxiety and fear has turned to anger. It burns and bubbles in her veins and she needed to release it.

“You stupid fuck.” Francis hissed, only to have his threat be hollow when Joan punches him square in the nose. The sickening crunch and cracking sounds are almost as loud as his howls of pain.

“You bitch! You little bitch!” He shrieked.

Joan felt like she could finally ease up, as that made her feel way better, but Francis didn’t seem to be ready to drop this all. Apparently a broken nose only fuels his unknown hatred towards her.

His bloodied hands go for her throat and she panics, slashing her nails across his face. His grip hooks in her hair and her forehead smashes with his knee. Stars burst around Joan and she topples backwards as people in the house start to yell. In front of her, Francis is pawing at his eyes and cheeks, yowling like a dying animal, and Joan takes this as a chance to practically leap onto him like an angry leopard.

After around three hits, someone grabs Joan and yanks her off of Francis. She tensed up at the sudden touch and then jerked away, bolting out the door.

Tears blurred Joan’s already hazy vision as she ran out the backyard and into the woods behind the property. Her breath comes out in heavy gasps and her lungs start to burn, but she pushes on, wanting nothing more than to get away from the humiliation she just put herself in.

She should have known. Francis was right- Jane’s sweet demeanor and kind words were nothing but lies. She was just like the rest of them.

Joan didn’t know where she was going, she just wanted to get away. She stumbled blindly through a stew of mud and slush beneath her feet, her vision so hazy that she didn’t even notice the hillside she was hobbling towards until she stepped off the edge.

Joan violently tumbled down the slippery slope, feeling like every bone in her body was breaking upon impact with the ground. She landed roughly in a heap, twitching and groaning. She’s covered in mud and her clothing has ripped, freeing any bare skin to the elements. Her knees are skinned raw, practically glowing neon pink and bright red.

She staggers up, wincing as sharp pains crawl up her right leg. She lifts her foot off the ground like a dog with a thorn in its paw as it feels like every tendon in her ankle has just been slashed. She had to hobble and limp forward, nearly crying out in pain every time her toes merely brush something.

She only gets a few steps forward before she falls again.

This time, she does not get up.

Shivering quickly consumed Joan from head to toe, setting her teeth clattering so hard she was sure her brain would rattle out of her ears. She drew heavy breaths in through her nose, every intake of air feeling like daggers carving out her lungs.

She’s sobbing, but the tears don’t feel like acid like they usually do. They run scalding hot for only a few seconds before the unforgiving cold chills them on her cheeks.

She smothered her face against the dirt and mud and scrunched her eyes shut tight, focusing on her breathing. If she could steady her shuddering breaths, maybe she could get her extremities to follow… In through the nose, because if she opened her mouth again she worried her tongue might freeze (probably not but the fear still nags her brain). She just had to block out everything else– the wind, the cold, the unrelenting voices in her head. She tucked her chin further down, burying her exposed face in her skinned knees. Just breathe. Focus…and breathe…

The shock of cold snow fluttering down onto the left side of her face had her gasping for breath, the pain of it leaving every exposed inch of skin in agony of a thousand pins and needles. The ache in her ankle and knees and palms and head made it all worse and she moaned weakly into the mud.

Is this how she died? Alone, freezing cold, and in the dark? Well, it was probably better than being surrounded by people who only acted like they wanted her around...

Joan’s sobbing is reduced to feeble whimpers and hiccups. Her breathing shallows out and she closed her heavy eyelids.

The world cracked. Cold clenched her lungs so tightly that each breath was a silver razor in her chest. Her mind tripped in sluggish circles, white-blind and hum-deaf, until color and sound turn into overlapping floods as her body bursts into fiery pins.

Finally, nothing.

For some reason, the last image her muddled mind created was Jane holding her...

————

Jane never liked the woods behind her parent’s house, but she hated them even more when the beam of her flashlight landed on a clothed heap just barely in view at the bottom of a hill. Jane’s heart leapt into her throat and cried out the girl’s name, hurrying down the slope without care for her own safety. She fell to her knees beside her foster daughter.

“Joan?”

Joan’s skin is icy to the touch and her eyes, just barely opened, are rolled to the back of her head. The unnatural blue that tinted her lips sent spikes of fear jamming into Jane’s gut.

Jane wraps her jacket around Joan’s shoulders and then holds her close to her chest. She squeezes her tightly, keeping her cold face pressed to the warmer flesh on Jane’s neck, hoping the slight skin-to-skin contact would generate some warmth in the girl.

“Joan? Joan, honey, can you hear me?”

Nothing. Joan’s breath is faint against Jane’s collarbone.

“Come on, Joan. Please.”

Nothing.

But only for a moment.

Jane feels Joan’s chest contract a little and then sees her eyelids flutter open slightly. Her mouth was opening and shutting, but there was no sound at first. Then, a tiny, squeaking noise. Her eyes were wide open, now, and it took a moment for Jane to understand that she was trying to scream.

“It’s okay, my love, I’m not going to hurt you.” Jane tried to assure her.

Joan’s expression did not change. The squeaking sound gradually made a crescendo into a full shriek, and she started moving her head from side to side wildly. She blows her voice out within seconds and can only pant and breathe heavily.

“Breathe, Joan,” Jane encouraged, “That’s it. Good girl.”

“W-who are y-you?” Joan whispered with great effort. Jane actually found herself gasping upon hearing this. She hadn’t realized how bad her foster daughter’s condition was.

“It’s Jane, love. Your foster mother.” Jane told her.

“M-mother?”

No. No, that wasn’t right. She didn’t have a mother, she only had-

“No,” Joan shook her head sluggishly again, “No. Let me go- let me go!!”

Jane winced at the pitches and cracks in Joan’s voice, but she doesn’t listen. Usually, she would always respect the girl not wanting to be touched, but she knew Joan would hightail it the moment she let go.

“Joan, I’m not going to let you run away again. It’s too cold for you to be out here. We need to go back. We can go home.”

Joan didn’t have a home. Nowhere was home.

“No, no,” Joan whimpered, “Don’t wanna go back. Please don’t make me. Please. I wanna stay out here. Please just leave me out here...”

“No.” Jane said firmly and just held Joan even closer. Cold, scraped hands slam against her shoulders.

“You’re just going to give me away, so why are you trying so hard?! I’m doing you a favor!”

“...What?”

Jane’s grip slackens and Joan almost gets away.

“Why would I do that?”

“B-because of what I did,” Joan stuttered.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Jane muttered in realization, “No, no, I’m not going to give you away. You dealt with Francis until you couldn’t anymore. I understand that, but we can discuss this later once you’re safe and warm.”

God, the amount of understanding in this woman was incredible. Her words really did sound genuine, but...

“I don’t believe you.”

“I-...”

Jane opened her mouth, but didn’t know what to say. Of course Joan didn’t believe her- why would she? She’s been betrayed by too many people who were meant to be her parental figures, who were supposed to protect and love her.

“Please, please let me go,” Joan begged weakly and Jane’s heart breaks when she sees the tears running down her cheeks. “I just- I want- I don’t want to be here anymore.”

Did she mean...?

Anger simmered in Jane’s veins and she wished she knew all the families Joan had before coming into her care so she could beat them into a bloody pulp. They all broke this poor girl, this child, into shards so badly that she couldn’t trust anyone anymore and didn’t think she was even worth living.

Whatever Joan was feeling right now was far beyond pain.

“I know you’re scared,” Jane spoke carefully, “And I know you’ve been hurt several times, but it’s going to be okay. Darkness has chosen to find you, but there will be light again. I can help you. I can protect you, I just need you to trust me. I need you to try.”

Joan says nothing, just cries softly.

“I’m going to protect you.”

“That’s what they all said.” Joan finally said and her voice is so low it sends chills down Jane’s spine, “They all said that and they lied. They always lie!”

“Joan-”

“No! You’re just like them! You’re a liar!”

Joan is struggling again, punching and kicking and scratching and using up every bit of energy she had left, but Jane does not let go. No matter how loud she shouts, no matter how hard she hits, she is not released.

“Let go! Let go, you’re hurting me! Let go!!”

Joan digs her fingernails into Jane’s forearms and tears down, hoping that’ll be enough, but Jane just closes her eyes and endures the pain. This frustrates Joan even more.

Then, an idea came to her.

With her numb fingers and whatever is left of her dwindling strength, she fumbles in her pocket and pulls out the quill the student teacher in her piano class had given her. She raised it and-

For a long moment Jane wondered who she was even cradling anymore. Was that her Joan? Or was it some other person, some other thing that slipped into her foster daughter’s skin? Had she lost herself to the trauma within? It seemed that way, as she looked about ready to gouge her eyes out with a pen.

And yet? Jane held tight. She held back a flinch as blood from one of Joan’s cuts dripped onto her skin, held to the cloth of the girl’s shirt. She held her close, held her own breath, and held tight to all the courage she could muster.

The quill drops to the dirt.

Joan, and Jane is now sure it’s Joan, hunches down so she can press her face into her chest.

“Why do you care so much?”

Jane doesn’t know how to answer, because she genuinely doesn’t know. She’s only known Joan for seven days, and yet she loves the girl to death. It was the same with Katherine. She didn’t want to let her go, just like how she didn’t want to let Joan go, too.

“You deserve better than me.”

Jane is shocked into silence.

“You shouldn’t be out here. You shouldn’t be holding me or loving me. I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve you. And you’d deserve better.”

Words of Jane’s own bubble forth.

“No. No. You listen to me,” Jane whispered, practically hissed as she leaned forward and she couldn’t even realize she was crying as well but that was the least of her concerns right now. “I. Don’t. Care. Being out here, holding you- I don’t care. I’m here for a reason. I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again: I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you, because I’ll calm you down a hundred times if it meant-”

“Ja-”

“No,” Jane shook her head and she dared to continue, “No, just listen for another moment first, please, because I need to say that I don’t care about any of it, because I love you.”

Joan’s shoulders shook and she failed to bite back a hiccup and sob. Certainly she hadn’t heard that right. There was no way...

“I love you,” Jane repeated softly, “and I don’t care about anything else- not a damn other thing in the world, because I love you, and you say I deserve better? Better than you?” She laughed, wiping a palm heavily underneath an eye that threatened to spill over. “Good luck, darling, because there is nothing better than you. Not for me. You’re the best there is.”

Joan could feel the yet another wave of tears thick in the back of her throat, a different dull tightness from the choking fear she had felt. A weak little noise forced its way up from inside her chest, from deep down in the pit of guilt and fear that lived at her core and broke all of the tension in her body.

Teetering forward against her, Joan started to cry quietly into Jane’s collarbone, trying to stifle most of the sounds she was making. Her hands tightened in cotton fabric as the woman’s arms wrapped solidly around her back, pulling her closer. She could feel Jane press her face into her messy mane of hair and hear her quiet, sniffling breaths.

“Shh, I know, Joan. I know, sweetheart, but it’s over now,” Jane whispered, rubbing slow, deliberate circles into her back. “It’s over and I’m never going to let you go back to any of those nasty people or anyone else ever again. You’re mine and mine alone. And I’m going to protect you and love you and hold you until my very last breath.”

Joan cries harder because she’s never had anyone speak to her this way before, not even Mrs. Greene. Nobody has ever been this fierce and passionate about wanting to care about her, about wanting her, and she just- she couldn’t- she wanted to-

Another sob shook Joan’s whole body and pain vibrates all throughout her. She holds tighter to Jane’s shirt, hyperventilating into her chest.

For a long time, the two of them just sit in the cold of the night. Jane never loosens her grip on Joan, but Joan eventually cries herself out and passes out right in Jane’s arms. Finally, with Joan carefully bundled in her arms, Jane stands up and makes the trek back to the house.

Katherine is a teary, worried mess for her mother and younger sister. When she spots Jane, she hurtles herself at her, not even noticing Joan until she’s clinging to the woman.

“Mama,” The teenager wept against her mother’s shoulder, “You were gone for so long, mama, I-I thought-”

“Shh, shh,” Jane soothed her, leaning down to kiss her forehead, “I’m okay, my darling. I’m right here. I just had some trouble with Joan.”

Katherine’s eyes immediately moved to her sister, who was shivering again.

“Is she okay?” She asked.

“She will be,” Jane answered, “Can you open the car door for me? We’re going home.”

Katherine nodded and did as she was told. Jane didn’t bother saying goodbye to her parents or the rest of the family, she just pulled out of the driveway and started for her house.

“Katherine?”

“Yes, mum?”

“You know I love you and your sister with all my heart, yes?”

“Of course, mum!”

Jane grips tighter to the steering wheel. She glances in the rear view window to see Katherine stroking Joan’s hair in the backseat. Despite the stray tears that slip free from her eyes, she smiled.

“Good.”

#foster au #joan on the keys #jane seymour #katherine howard #maria on the drums #six the musical #six the musical fanfic #six the musical au #six the musical fanfiction #tw: child abuse #tw: violence

36 notes · View notes

roraewrites · 7 years

Text

thirteen

[ sakura’s secret ] rating: m

// i’ll be out of town this weekend, so no updates on saturday and maybe sunday. anyways, thanks for reading and i hope you enjoy (still transitioning) .

previous | next

Sakura felt her anger spiralling out of control the moment they walked out of the store. Sasuke fell in tow behind her, his eyes never looking away from the ground while her father invited them for a cup of hot chocolate and a moment to talk.

Here they sat, Sakura across the table from her dad while Sasuke offered to get drinks. Sakura had noticed how stiff his body had gotten and the darkening look in his eyes when he glanced over at the man that stood before Sakura.

Now she sat there, her emerald eyes blazing wild while she stared her father down -- he sat perfectly still, his fingers intertwined on the table and a soft smile on his face.

“How have you been?” He asked after moments of silence.

Sakura inhaled -- the scent of strong coffee and glazed donuts invading her sinuses -- and exhaled before closing her eyes for a brief moment and forcing a smile on her face.

“Peachy.”

It was a word she had picked up from Sasuke, and when she opened her eyes, the gentle look in her father’s bluish-green eyes made her feel powerful and in control.

“Here,” Sasuke spoke a minute later before placing red cups with whites swirls down onto the table. Kizashi’s eyes darted to Sasuke’s face, the brows of her father furrowed.

“What?” Sakura snapped, her blood boiling. She could feel herself being angry and nasty with her father, but he deserved every bit of it. He had been gone for seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months. And here he is, in Old Konoha shopping for guns, or whatever else he was looking at.

“Nothing, sweetie.” The lines on his face eased and he took a small sip of his drink.

Sakura trembled at the sound of the endearing term her father always used. It made memories of a past long gone; her wandering down the street with her father while they window shopped in this very same town.

“So,” his voice started back up, yet his blues eyes flashed to Sasuke who looked out the window. “What grade you in? Or are you in college?”

Sakura felt her cheeks heat up almost instantly, and if she had ever seen Sasuke look so uncomfortable in his life, it would be now. His cup touched his lips once more, before the Uchiha cleared his throat and found teal eyes staring through him.

This couldn’t be happening.

“Graduated last year.”

Sakura’s mouth dropped, she couldn’t believe what Sasuke was saying, but her father seemed to have believed it.

“Hm,” a low hum sounded from the pit of her dad’s throat, but the look in his eyes didn’t go unnoticed. “Very well then.”

When Sakura glanced over at Sasuke, he had his cup in his hands and his dark, dark eyes on her. A smirk played on his lips, but he glanced back towards her father before sighing.

“What do you do for work, Mr. Haruno?”

Sakura frowned now, her eyes shooting back to her father where she found a look of both surprise and shock. Her father’s lips parted, eyes widening and a short, cut off sound escaped his throat while he gawked on Sasuke’s question.

“I work out of the country.”

“Hn,” Sasuke nodded his head before taking a sip of his drink and landing his soot eyes on Kizashi once more. “Where? Sorry for the questions. I’m just interested, curious.”

Those light, light eyebrows on her father furrowed before he nodded, a toothy grin playing on his face. “I take care of the business side of the company I work for. Therefore, it entails a lot of traveling and it’s hard to make it home. But I’ve managed to make it home, and I was going to surprise my dear family--” he glanced to Sakura, who now glared back “--but it seems Sakura found me before I could make it there.”

“Ah,” Sasuke exhaled. “Very well then.”

She could pick up on his mocking tone and disinterested eyes, and when he brought his cup to his lips one last time, he placed it on the table, an empty echo sounding from the red cup.

“How has school been, sweetie?” Those gentle, daring eyes of his glanced back to his daughter now and Sakura could feel her blood boil under his gaze. Why did he care? She missed him with all her heart, and he was back in Konoha -- close enough -- and didn’t even stop by, or call.

“Fine,” she answered shortly. The tension began to swim down the back of her neck and wrap around her throat. She hated this, hated that her father stopped in unannounced. Regardless of her father, memories of leaving her house last night swooped through and tightened the grip of tension.

She needed to go home and apologize to her mother.

“While this is fun and all, we need to get going. We have stuff to do. Probably go see mom,” she emphasized the word and shot him a dirty glare. Her father’s eyes became soft, his facial expression dropped as Sakura began to shuffle out of her seat with Sasuke following in hot pursuit.

“I guess,” her mutters before standing from his seat, his cup in his hand and offering a kind smile at his daughter. “I’ll see you at home tonight, sweetie.” His steps toward her set her on edge, and when Sakura took a step away, he stopped.

“I’ll see you at home.”

Her father nodded, his light, messy hair moving with each sway of his head, and when his blue eyes glanced over at Sasuke, the furrow in his brow didn’t go unnoticed. “Will you be there tonight?”

“No.” Sasuke’s answer was quick, raising suspicion in Kizashi’s eyes and an arched brow. “I have other things going on.”

“Right.”

Sakura frowned now. Her cheeks began to burn from the blush that dusted over her round cheeks, and when she tugged on Sasuke’s jacket, they began to walk out of the shop. Winter’s cold breeze brushed over her revealed face, but Sakura kept pushing on. Sasuke remained behind her, and when Sakura glanced to him, she could see anger shimmering in his eyes.

“That was odd,” Sakura muttered under her breath and Sasuke glanced down to her with a raised eyebrow. “Why did you tell him you graduated?”

“I didn’t specify what I graduated from,” he replied with a smirk. Sakura felt a whirl of butterflies flock through her stomach, and when she looked back down to the icy sidewalk, his hand grabbed hers and their fingers intertwined almost immediately.

“You’re angry.” He states, and Sakura doesn’t deny it.

Of course she’s angry; her father has been gone since May, yet here he is, shopping probably for himself in an old town all too close to where her and her mother live. She huffs, frowns, and looks back up to Sasuke, who’s looks at her with concerned eyes and pressed lips.

Sakura only shakes her head before Sasuke pulls her in, his arm around her shoulders and his smirk all too real. “What’re your plans tonight?”

Sakura swallowed hard before she bit down on her lower lip. There’s a look in his dark eyes that sends chills throughout her body and sets her mind on edge. He’s handsome in this dark, mysterious way, and when she doesn’t answer immediately, his eyebrow raises in question.

“I’m not sure. I need to see my mom, though.” Her fingers on her open hand tremble and her heart stutters. “Maybe we can do something before then,” Sakura offered with a small smile.

“Hn,” his grunted agreement makes her smile bigger, the corners of her lips touch her eyes and she’s giddy and happy all over again.

Sakura steps into his condo with her cookies in her hands and her eyes on the counter in the kitchen. The weather outside had taken a turn for the worst, and snow falls heavily while the cold winter breeze whips the flakes in a flurry.

It’s quiet, and Sakura only turns to realize that Sasuke’s coat is off, his sweater is removed, and he’s standing in front of her with a plain white tee and his eyes on her. Sakura smiles, her eyes shimmering with wonder as she removed her jacket and her boots.

Sasuke has that handsome, alluring smirk on his lips and the closer he gets, the harder it is to resist his magnetic pull. His strong hands find her hips, his lips pressing to the crown of her head while he walks her backwards, through the dining room, the front room, and to his bedroom.

“What’re we doing?” Her question rings out loud, but Sasuke’s lips find her bare neck and her breath runs short.

“Do you trust me?” His breath fans over her neck and while she can feel her eyes widen, she nods her head into his embrace and keeps walking backwards. When she feels the edge of his bed touch the back of her knees, her heart stops and she can hardly breathe.

Her eyes are tired, her mind running wild with a crazy imagination, and when his calloused hands guide her to the bed, she sits and her eyes look to him. He’s all smirk and dark eyes; perfect skin and messy hair.

Sakura feels her back hit the bed and her heart beats rapidly, anxiety coursing through her body. She feels heat radiating from in between her legs when Sasuke crawls on the bed next to her and lies down, her head turns and her eyes greet his.

He’s gorgeous in every way possible, even his flaws are perfect and Sakura adores each and every one.

Her lips part, and her breath hitches once more. “What are we doing?”

A blush dusts over his aristocratic features and he smirks once more, his pearly white teeth showing from behind thin lips. “Relaxing.”

But Sakura feels everything other than relaxing. She’s nervous, excited, wired, curious, her heart beating wildly, and she can’t relax. His lips are on hers and Sakura can’t remember when he had gotten so close, but this kiss is all too real and her eyes close like his and she can feel his tongue gently touch her lips.

She had allowed his tongue inside her mouth, the feeling entirely different, but it encouraged her to open up and let him in -- literally. Between both of their heavy breathing and her hands grabbing onto the white fabric of his shirt, she doesn’t realize that his hand now cups her chin and he’s got her pinned to the bed now; his body on top of hers, yet his free arm holds his weight so he doesn’t crush her.

When he pulls away from their kiss and stares her in the eyes, her lips pull into a gentle smile and all her worries melt. He’s perfect, he’s what she wants, he’s what she needs -- but this isn’t the right time and if she carries on with what’s transpired between the two of them, bad things will happen.

“What?” His tone is concerned and soft, his eyes grow gentle. His smirk had disappeared from his lips.

Sakura takes a moment to process what exactly had happened; his lips on hers, their tongues against one another, and now he’s on top of her, his chest pressed to her while his eyes are only inches away, staring at her with passion and desire.

She breathes out, “I don’t think I’m ready.”

His raised eyebrow from earlier returns, a flash of sadness making its way through, but he instantly nods and rolls off of her. His lips come to the crook of her neck, and as much as she wants to press her lips to his, feel his tongue against hers and invite him back to where he was once perched, she remained quiet.

“I understand,” his mutter fans against her neck, then his lips press reassuring kisses to her clavicle.

Goosebumps are everywhere, ice and fire battling throughout her bloodstream and now she’s got her mind tied in knots and butterflies brushes their wings against her stomach.

His lips pull away and Sakura feels a frown on her face within seconds. “Don’t you need to see your mom?”

Panic crosses over her face and it’s apparent that Sasuke sees it.

“Shit! Yes.” She’s got her body sitting up and her hair's a mess. “Do you mind?” She asked with a sweet smile, her eyelashes fluttering.

Sasuke leans up too, his hand resting on her thigh and Sakura’s eyes dart down to the sudden contact. Heat runs from his hand, right to that spot and she wanted to melt from his touch, but it feels so damn good. “Sure thing.” His voice is laced with a seductive tone, and before he can get up, Sakura’s hand comes to the collar of his shirt and she pulled him in to meet her lips.

“Thank you,” she mumbled from underneath his lips, and she can feel his smirk.

It’s dark out by the time Sakura arrives home, and as she says her goodbyes to Sasuke, she marches right up to the door of her house, her hands holding the bags of cookies she bought earlier in the day.

“Sakura?”

A voice like milk and honey rang through her ears the second she walked inside, and within seconds, her mom’s arms surround her.

“Mom,” Sakura breathed out into her mother’s hair and she drops the bags of cookies and her arms are around the woman she loves most. “I’m sorry.”

Tears roll down her cheeks, her eyes already puffy and makeup smeared, but Mebuki holds her cheeks in her hands and stares into her the eyes.

“I’m glad you’re safe.”

And as she’s pulled in for another hug, Sakura’s viridian eyes glance up to meet her father’s blue-green orbs staring, his smile sweet and genuine.

Sakura feels her eyes close, her face nuzzled into her mother’s shoulder and the tears disappear. She didn’t want to look at her dad, she didn’t want to talk to him or be in the same room as him, but when Mebuki pulled away, she clasped her hands together and grinned.

“Your father is home.”

And it takes every ounce of strength to force a smile and wave at her father. He returns her smile, but he knows that she’s not happy and neither of them talk about their run-in that happened earlier.

Or so Sakura thought that that was going to happen.

“I saw Sakura with a guy earlier while getting your gift, dear.”

Sakura scowls at him, her core bursting with heat and her hands clench into fists. Mebuki’s eyes are wide with surprise and her lips part.

“Oh, really?”

Sakura can feel her nostrils flare, but when she thinks her dad is finished talking, he’s not.

“He’s graduated, too.”

Please shut up, her mind screamed, but her body remained still.

“That’s lovely,” Mebuki spits out, but Sakura can sense the sarcasm and if only she knew that he had not only graduated high school, but from university too -- oh, and he’s her sensei at school -- she’d surely throw a fit.

Today had just went down the drain, and Sakura finds that a frown is on her face and her heart no longer beats quickly like it had earlier in the day. Her and Sasuke would surely get caught soon, but she wouldn’t give him up; things were just getting interesting.

#sasusaku #ss fanfiction #sasusaku fanfiction #ronan rae #rrstories #s/t

144 notes · View notes

brushlesprouts · 4 years

Text

Abaddon Among the People - A drabble

I had some spare time at work and a word processor opened in front of me. A fun idea of a character that was once a harbinger of doom gets put on hiatus so the creator can get back to creating. But what happens when they don’t want to come back?

Enjoy.

~~~~~

"You're Grounded!" The eternal being bellowed.

"What!?" The destroyer of worlds cried back. Then, in a flash of light, the world opened around him. His glorious wings vanished and he fell. Passing through the several layers of reality, each plummet robbing him of his home and place among his kind. It its place grew a painful resentment.

Then, he landed. He glared back at the bubbling rips in existence from whence he came. As the rends stitched themselves back together, he cried up into the void, “You’ll pay for this!”

And then, silence. He would be forced to live among the mortal people. Creatures he once only saw at the tip of his lance. He would be forced to wallow alongside them.

That is, until they are called upon once more.

~~~~~~

"Let's get your wings back." Said the emissary of the eternal being. It floated in the middle of the living room and pulsed with eerie blue light.

"Actually," Don said, "I kind of like it here."

"What?” The being’s body bubbled and hissed as impossible energies coursed over what passed for its skin. The lights in the apartment started to flicker and shine in strange ways, like the bulbs were in pain.

"Hey, easy easy, you're gonna blow the whole grid." Don said, putting his hands on what passed for the being's shoulders. "Do you want some tea? I was just heating up a pot."

"How-" It began, before a finger pressed to what passed for its lips. Don gave a pleading look before hooking a thumb to the bedroom door.

"She's trying to get some sleep."

The emissary's eyes twisted in an unnatural and disturbing way, the pupils weaving between each eye. When they settled, it began again.

"How can you turn down the call of the Eternal?" It said. Though hushed, the voice of the emissary was still heavy with purpose.

He shrugged, "I guess it just isn't as important anymore."

What passed for the emissary's mouth dropped open.

The tea kettle began to hiss. "One second," Don said and hustled off to the kitchen to grab the kettle. When he got there, the emissary was standing next to the refrigerator. Its glowing body illuminated everything in a swirling mix of blue and white light. He didn't turn to face the impossible being as he poured out some of the hot water into a pair of cups.

"Was that a yes or no to the tea?" He said.

"You are making a mistake." It said, its voice dipped into that quivering pool of impossible where it sounded close and far at the same time, a booming whisper. The kind that makes your heart wait its turn. A mortal being would probably drop to their knees in terror and repent their sins.

Don set the kettle down and tipped his head to the side. "Yeah, probably too late for black tea. Too much caffeine." He poured out the cups and walked right past the emissary to the cupboard. "How about some chamomile lavender?"

"PESTIFER MUNDI ABADDON," the emissary said. “I CALL UPON YOU.”

Its voice was like a forgotten song. It was old and dripping with power. For Don, it ached with memories. A surge hit him and an old itch prickled his skin, centering on seven very particular points on his back. He grabbed the edge of the counter top to keep himself upright. His jaw clenched as a warm, pleasing, dangerous power kindled in his arms. The counter top began to crack.

"How feeble," He thought, looking at the splinters spreading from his flexed fingers. "A flick of my wrist and this whole wall would crumble. No, the whole building." A smile creeped over his face. His muscles burned, burdened with power, on the edge of a sudden push that would bring forth ruin.

"REMEMBER WHO YOU ARE," The emissary said.

"Who I am," Don said, his own voice was becoming dangerous and hot with feral potential. In truth, he never forgot. The memories of a lifetime long lost all gripped at his heart and mind every day. And every day he had placed them in their dark box. Things were different now.

"Who I am, is not who I was." He said. His bones, his body, ached in protest. But it wouldn't be the first time.

"YOU ARE A TOOL FOR THE ETERNAL AND YOU HAVE BEEN SUMMONED." The emissary said. Its body shimmered brighter, eyes burning with literal fire. Wisps of white smoke drifted towards the ceiling.

"Shove it, glowstick," He said, turning to face the floating voice of eternity. He put his finger right into its burning face, "You want to destroy this world so bad you can do it your damn self!"

What passed for the emissary's face curled into a horrible look of satisfaction. "So be it."

It was gone in the next moment.

Don was left in the kitchen alone. In the sudden darkness, he had the chance to ruminate on his choice of words. The gears whirred in his head as he flipped through the pages of his memories. Back, back, back. He finally reached that dark box in his mind. Whispers crept to his mind. Whispers of the end times, and getting permission, and a prophesied fool who would welcome the end of the world.

"Fuck," Don said.

A small voice gasped from behind him. He spun around, arms raised defensively. He looked at the doorway where a young girl was huddled, peeking in. She had a yellow rain hat and rain jacket, just like when he first found her. The baseball bat was a new addition. Though, it did prove that she had been listening to his survival advice all along. Her hazel eyes were wide and fixed on him.

"You said a swear," She said, her shocked face turned to a chiding smile.

He dropped his hands and let out the breath he realized he had been holding. He walked to the drawer next to the sink and pulled out a small hard candy. It was a serious swear, so he grabbed a strawberry one. He walked over and knelt down in front of her. He held up the candy and said, "No telling, okay?" He smiled.

She set the bat down and grabbed the candy, stuffing it in her pocket. "Deal. Who was the floaty guy?"

Don had almost forgotten about it. Is this the mortal ability to bypass traumatic moments? He will have to be more careful in the future. Things were about to hit the biblical fan.

"The floaty guy," He began, "Was an old friend. Wants me to get back into my family's business. I turned him down and he took it pretty hard."

"Is that why he exploded?" She said, she fidgeted with her hair, fingers fumbling to make a loose braid.

"Pretty much," He said, once again taking advantage of the impressive ability children have to just go along with things. They can inquire forever about why rain falls but tell them your old friend, who is a floaty guy on fire, just exploded because of family issues and they just nod along. Which is what she was doing, nodding her head like it all made sense to her.

"Speaking of which," He said, "We need to go see Mother May."

Mother May would know what to do. Probably. Assuming she was lucid enough to still be coherent. It was still early in the night. If they could catch her before her second bottle of absinthe, they might stand a chance to get a question in before she goes into her "Trance".

"Ready to go," She said. She grabbed the backpack that was tucked behind the doorway and slipped if on. Then she picked up the bat and rested it on her shoulder like a big leaguer.

“So it would seem,” He said, giving her a nod. “I’ll grab my stuff and we’ll get going.”

He hustled to his room and dug into the back of his closet. He grabbed his satchel and leather duster jacket. He dashed to the door, but his hand came up and caught the door frame. He hesitated at the door. He looked back at the closet. His fingertips drummed on the door frame.

"What's taking so long?" The girl called from the front room.

He let go of the door frame. "Nothing," He called back to her before leaving his room.

Seconds later, he came sprinting back, vaulting over his bed and diving into the closet. He pulled back with a small box in his hands. He let his fingers trace over the intricate and ancient writing on it. He stuffed it into his satchel.

"We'll be fine," He said, "But just in case." He got to his feet and hustled out of the room again. “We’ll be fine.”

. . .

Mother May was a withered husk of centuries of abuse. Most, if not all of it, had been chemical and self-inflicted. However, for all the hallucinogens she had ingested in one form or another, she was a spry woman, scuttling about her duties at the Pearly Gates hostel. After a day of hard shilling to the lost and misfortune, she would shuffle to the parlor in the back to engage in recreational fortune-telling and tarot reading. Surrounded by her favorite tinctures and exotic smoke, she would play cards against the gods and read what the future had in store. This night, she had barely settled down to turn over the first card when there came a knock, knock knocking upon her chamber door. She laid down the card "The Fool" and sighed.

"Come on in, Don," She barked at the door, "You know you're always welcome."

#writing #writeblr #drabble #urbanfantasy #Just a silly little thing

0 notes

freefallersunite · 7 years

Text

Cobalt Blue

By Chanelle Coates

I thought Cobalt Blue’s name didn’t suit him the very first time I heard it. It was during our first Intro to German 1 class of the fall semester my sophomore year at Cableton University. The teacher stood in front of a shimmering white board, pearly white from its summer of disuse, and called out his name and my ears signaled my eyes alert. But when I turned to see the athletic boy with ash-blonde hair and sapphire eyes who had a laugh that could boil my blood until my veins melted, he wasn’t there. In his place was the actual Cobalt who had a flat personality and looks so mediocre it got under my skin. Each lesson I would try to figure out how the hell I was supposed to pronounce the words with umlauts and I would always notice one more thing about him that annoyed me. He had these thin lips like my parents that made me want to stab a piece of broken mirror into my thigh. Whenever the teacher asked him to read a passage from the textbook, he searched the page of his stupid loose-leaf version for ten seconds and then voiced a series of stumbled, broken syllables.

One day I saw that he got a 90 on his midterm but I wasn’t fooled by it. The kid sucked at German and he would never ever come close to fluency. One day, my mood was alright so I tried my best to see something- even just one thing- that was special about him. I got up and pretended to go to the bathroom so that I could get a proper look at him since he sat by the door. But there was truly nothing to see, not even slight bursts of green encircling his pupils. His eyes were the brown of dirt. Plus, he had more pimples on his chin than last week. Why couldn’t he get it together?

I often ran across Cobalt when we weren’t in class-it was almost like he was following me. Once I was in the library, trying to satisfy myself with a chalky protein bar, biting into it and then pulling it away from my face to look at the teeth marks I left in it. I was reading Margaret Atwood’s “Death by Landscape” for my Canadian short story class when he dropped himself down on the couch facing mine. He didn’t say hi and the lack of a simple acknowledgment struck a match on my skin- his shyness making me simmer. He began eating his lunch, a dry sandwich, and I was mad to see him all alone instead of with friends in the dining hall where normal people ate. God he was a loser, I thought.

Another time, I was walking across campus on my way to the swimming pool. Outside the shelter of the brick buildings, it was an absolute Iceland of late-November Quebec. I thought it might be a good idea to do a few laps before class so that I could concentrate more on the professor and less on the empty space. I read that endorphins can help. Wouldn’t you know it, there was Cobalt in front of me on the slick footpath trying not to wipe out and looking like a turd in his no-name parka. He even wore a tuque with a big red pompom as if to prove that he was still a kid at heart. I was wearing one too but that’s just because it was a snapping cold day, the kind that damages your hair. I didn’t feel like seeing him anymore than I had to so I quickened my pace and passed him, bending my knees so I wouldn’t slip and cut my face on the ice or rocks. As I did this, I noticed his mitten-covered palm catch the winter sun and shine. Upon a second speedy inspection, I saw that he was holding a big diamond. I continued on thinking about how it was surely plastic but all the same wondering why he had it.

We broadened our proximity when we arrived at the changing rooms and I wasn’t particularly surprised to see that he had trailed me to the pool once we emerged from them. I took some time to put on my swim cap, swirling my brown hair onto my head and slicking my bangs back with water. I sat on the edge of the pool, kicking my feet a little and right before lowering my Wal-Mart goggles, I laid my eyes upon Cobalt. He was slowly immerging himself into the pool. That was the problem with him: he couldn’t be a badass and just jump in. He had to pretend he was concerned with choosing the right pool boy, dip in his toe, and wet the back of his neck. Then he got in half way so that the water filled up almost all of his belly button. He was perpetually mediocre, a water-color of someone else. Finally, finally, he went under and began swimming his laps. He was slow.

I started swimming too and I lasted longer than him. When he left, I took his lane because it was less crowded and there was an old man trying to share mine. I got halfway across the pool, to the spot where the floor plummeted to the deep end and that’s when I saw it: a collection of shimmers the size of a fist. I stopped in the middle of my breaststroke and collected some air into my lungs. Then I swam down and as I reached out some synapses in my brain did their job and I knew what it obviously was.

I left the pool area with it wrapped up in my cap, paranoid that the lifeguard would think I was stealing. But I wasn’t. He must have left it there on purpose. Who simply forgets a big gem, fake or not, at the bottom of such waters. And if he was dense enough to leave it, then too bad. It was mine now.

That night when I got back home I had no appetite but my parents were used to it so they didn’t press for me to eat. They were sitting at the table and my mom said “I’ve got some lasagna Lany” in a tentative tone and I responded by shaking my head no.

“Okay” she said, standing up to walk softly across the floor and hug me. I let her but my own arms remained limp. My mom tried and tried and tried and my Dad did too but his face was less of a fortress than hers and I could tell he was nearly as miserable as me.

“Night.”

“Try to get some homework done and a good night of sleep if you can Love.”

“Als ob”.

Mom smiled, thinking I was saying something witty in German like “of course” or maybe even “love you”.

But it meant as if. I sometimes wondered if I would ever sleep eight straight hours again.

I had a shower and the searing hot water made my arms feel good. The diamond was with me. I couldn’t stop looking at it. After drying off I went into my brother Landon’s room who obviously wasn’t there. I tucked the diamond beneath his covers, aching to speak with him and for him to ruffle his fingers through my hair. Sometime in the night, I fell asleep on his carpet. My cheek was quite red and imprinted when I woke up.

A week after the diamond incident, I couldn’t help but notice Cobalt leaving German class with a real-big chunk of sticky-notes that were bright like highlighters. His bag was on his back so why wasn’t the block in it? He trekked the snowy paths, not yet scraped off by campus maintenance, and ended up at the library. He went into the shelves and I decided maybe I should pick up a book. I noticed that the top note already had writing on it. When he peeled it off, the second one did too. Then he stuck all his notes into books. He didn’t seem to follow a pattern. He picked them up randomly; I caught the title of one called “Projection and Re-collection”. He pressed the squares of color onto the insides and smoothed them out in a diagonal motion all the while maintaining a wild look of pleasure in his eyes. I really didn’t get the kid.

When he finally left, I hurried to find all the books I remembered and I read the messages inside. They were “kind notes” and “inspirational quotes”. “Have a nice day.” “Happy Reading!” or “When it’s dark, look for stars”. Why was he doing this? To brighten other peoples’ days? Is that why he left the diamond? For someone to come across and lapse into a short state of wonder? I didn’t understand Cobalt and I wanted him to remain non-complex in my mind. If I stopped discovering his weird little ventures, I could stick to hating him and move on with my life.

It was lucky for him that I was on the bridge, contemplating the surface of ice below it one starless night around the end of the semester. Otherwise he certainly would have jumped. It was nearly midnight on a Sunday so no one was out. Except for Cobalt. I saw his figure approach the bridge, travelling by the sidewalk and made visible by the streetlamps. The lights were recently replaced and more fluorescent than the last ones- like new cars on the highway.

He stood beside me and said nothing and his skin looked softer and more fragile in the night. Something came over me and though liking him was no easy thing to do, I became positive that I did not want him to die.

“Look Cobalt, you can’t jump. Maybe your days are a segment of self-hate or you miss someone so badly it feels like your stomach is eating your throat but you can’t. Do you wish you lived in some better town? Do you feel embarrassed that you have no friends? That maybe you drift through your classes with no end goal in mind?” My speech grew more urgent and I started to cry for him. “Why are you so sad? You can’t leave now, you can’t! Your parents can’t afford to lose you!” He was looking at me and I was looking at the sky, too embarrassed to make eye-contact anymore. I willed my shaking body into immobility but it wouldn’t obey. I had been wrong before; there was a star. One star.

“I’ll walk you home” he said, probably grateful that I stopped him from doing it.

For an instant when he wasn’t looking, I fished the diamond from my pocket and placed it on the wide railing. It was not a windy night and maybe someone else would find it in the morning.

#winter #fall #projection #psychology #cobaltblue #writing #shortstory #writersoftumblr #fiction #bookstore #books #tragedy #healing #college #magicalrealism #youngadult

2 notes · View notes

jiminwolf · 7 years

Text

Pull me closer

Pairing:Taehyung x reader

Genre: Romance, slight angst

Word count: 2,363

Summary: So baby pull me closer in the backseat of your rover.

A/N: A fanfic clearly inspired by the song ‘Closer’ By the Chainsmokers ft Halsey. I have no idea how I actually managed to do this. Also, Happy 2017! This was written in 2016 and completed in 2017. (edited 5/1/17)

Tae

He swirls the tiny shot of alcohol held between his long fingers, then downs it, a familiar shiver running down his back when the alcohol leaves a burning trail down his throat. He puts the shot glass down on the counter, then he runs his hand through his coffee brown locks. His cheeks flush with a slight shade of rosy pink and he beckons for the bartender to refill his glass.

He thinks about the distance he has to continue travelling in his broke down car the next day, for the shabby hotel he is currently at is only a rest stop for his long journey. He wants to travel the world, live without limits, without restrictions, with nothing holding him back. He just wants to be a free soul and this hotel with a glaring neon display will be his temporary halcyon.

All of those thoughts vanish when a red dress catches his eye. He swivels on his barstool, eyes chasing the satin fabric, but when he sees her face, he almost gasps in shock. It’s you, hair framing your face like a halo, glittery eye shadow swept over your eyelids; a coral lipstick lightly staining your lips. He had not expected to see you here, out of all places, looking ethereal as you lean against a counter, a glass between your lips, slowly sipping on the alcohol.

He doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol that hazes over his mind, clouding his thoughts, or the fact that his heart still yearns for you so, missing the days where the two of you would just forget about tomorrow and cuddle on the tiny bed in your shoebox sized home, that he saunters over to your without hesitation.

When his caramel eyes lock onto yours, he instantly regrets. He knows that it is game over for him and that he can’t stop now.

You

You haven’t seen him for four years, or maybe more, but out of all places, you meet him here. You remember when he first left, you tried to call him every single day, but he would never, ever pick up. You were pretty certain that your voice mails were left unanswered, too. You remember very clearly the contents of the note that he left on the bedside table; maybe because it was the day you woke up to an empty bed, with no warmth beside you and his warm, honey spice scent enveloping the whole room.

Sweetheart, I have finally set my heart to do something that I had always wanted to do. I want to live like a free bird, with no attachments, with nothing holding me back. As such, I have made the difficult decision to leave your side and pursue this childhood dream of mine. Please do not try to contact me, as it will only make it much, much harder for you and me. Trust me, it wasn't an easy decision for me to make, to leave your side without even saying goodbye, and I know that by doing so, I’m breaking your heart. Please never forget that I still love you and that if fate permits, we will see each other again.

~Taehyung

Oh, how you cried your heart out that day, wrapped in the white linen of your thin blanket, wishing for him to return, hoping that whatever he said was a lie. You waited patiently for him to return, but after one year, you were certain that he would never come back. Then you decided to move to the city and start anew, live a life without him and no longer in the shadows of the passionate love that had once held you and him together.

Just when you had thought that you had gotten over him, your heart betrayed your head upon your sudden encounter with him in the bar. When he had you pinned against the wall, your arms weakly dangling by your sides, eyes locked onto his caramel brown eyes; akin to wooden floorboards splashed with golden, glittering sunlight, melting the lacquered panels into the same caramel that softened under your feet and the golden specks of stardust that decorated his irises, you knew that you were screwed over, game over.

“Hey.”, he whispers, into the crook of your ear, his voice deep and velvety and it brings you back to the times where you and him would live like there was no tomorrow. You would melt in his warm embrace as he softly sung lullabies to you, swaying back and forth until you would fall asleep his in arms. Now, it feels like nothing has changed, even when he has you pinned up against the bar wall, his face moving close enough to have the tips of your noses touch.

There is a hint of liquor on his breath, just like yours, when you whisper, “Hey.” back. He breaks into a huge smile, flashing his pearly white teeth and you think: Ah, the memories.

He snakes his arm around your waist, and says, “How are you doing.”

You smile in return, and reply, “Fine I guess, I started a new life of my own after you left.”

He sheepishly recoils his arm, running his hand through his hair once again.

“You know, I never really meant to do that. I kind of regret it now.”

You frown.

“I never really meant to do that, like hurt you emotionally and stuff. I was young and reckless, but I gotta say, you still look as stunning as the day I met you.”

Your cheeks flush pink, and you laugh.

“Tae, is this really you speaking, or is it the alcohol coursing through your system.”

“N-No I swear, I’m speaking the truth, I should have talked about it to you before I left and-”

You shush him, placing your finger on his cherry lips.

“ Hey now, that’s all in the past. Just saying, do you wanna go on a drive with me tomorrow, we could have a good talk and catch up with each other, it’s been too long, and besides, I don’t think having two drunk people chatting in a bar is very productive.”

He smiles.

“Sure.”

Tae

He kicks the grey gravel beside the bitumen and crunches it under his feet. He still can’t believe the encounter last night. It feels all too surreal to him. Not until you pull over in front of the hotel in a beetle green Range Rover that reality finally slaps him in the face.

His eyes widen and he wonders if it’s the right car, even when it honks at him.

The translucent black windows wind down, and you look at him, adjust your sunglasses and comment, “Quit standing there, get in!”, but not before you break into a fit of giggles.

He almost trips over his feet in a hurry to get into the car. Almost. He fumbles with his seatbelt, questioning you on the origin of the car, as he runs his fingers along the leather finishing of the car. He is utterly frazzled by the idea of you being able to afford such a luxurious car with that tight budget of yours, before you finally enlighten him with the answer.

You smirk, “Borrowed it from a friend, not bad huh.”

He breaks into an earsplitting smile, blurting, “Really not bad.”

You

The rest of the trip is spent with him sticking his arm out of the window, feeling the wind rush against his arm, as music blasts out of the car. You move over to press a few buttons on the sound system and the current song switches to another song. One that the both of you know too well. The scenery that engulfs your tiny green car is eye opening. Well, eye opening would be an understatement to the shimmering green forest on your left and the painted blue waters on your right with a touch of sandy beige, a dull grey road separating it all on the canvas, an art piece named ‘Now’.

You too, then proceed to stick your arm out of the car, yelling the lyrics to the song as the strong scent of the sea tickles your nose; it pushes your arm back and it feels like you've got the wind in your grasp, well, quite literally. Tears stream down your face, and you aren't sure if it's because of the wind that pricks and blows at your eyes, or the fact that you're reunited with him, in what you might just call ‘fate’. All that matters is that Tae doesn't notice the wetness flowing down your cheeks. You really hope he doesn't.

You pull over by the beach, and the both of you don't hesitate to remove your shoes and run out towards the blue horizon in just your underwear. There's no one watching from aside. It's just the two of you, you and him, like how it always was.

The sea breeze hits you at full blast the moment your feet sink into the grainy sand beneath you, the sand a pleasant golden beige, the sea a glittering sapphire, with hints of emerald and clear waters. You sprint towards the water, sighing in delight when it soothes your skin and wraps around you like a cool blanket, shielding you from the heat of summer.

Tae on the other hand, is grinning like a child as he sits on the shore, piling golden sand on top of each other, forming a tiny dome. He notices your gaze, which is fixed on him, and he smiles and waves at you, mouthing the words ‘sand igloo’, and you can't help but smile back at him like a proud mother, the waves gently guiding your body to sway from side to side. Strangely, it is only now that you notice how deliciously honey gold his skin is and how beautiful his eyes truly are. Not saying that you hadn't noticed how nice they were upon first glance, but more of how his eyes had reflected a more childlike undertone, a twinkle of childlike beauty flashing past his irises, something more attractive than the mesmerizing caramel brown that you were used to seeing.

While you flutter about and sway peacefully about like a piece of driftwood between the waves, he sneaks up behind you, breaking the momentum by crashing in against the large waves. He wraps his long arms around your waist; he nuzzles his face into your neck and buries his face in your wet hair, taking in the scent of your vanilla shampoo with a hint of sea salt. You gasp at the sudden contact, but the both of you don’t say a word. The sound of the waves crashing with the occasional call of soaring gulls have become the BGM of your drama; your once burning, passionate, summer romance that was never bound to last.

The two of you stumble into the backseat of the rover, a towel laid out behind to capture the remnants of the salt, tears and sand from him tackling you down onto the sandy shore. He laughs, you laugh, and the both of you somehow end up in a position where he’s hugging you from the back and you’re nicely and warmly nestled to fit in his embrace.

He runs his long, slender fingers through the damp strands of your hair, and murmurs loving words into your ear. He traces the outline of the small tattoo on your right shoulder, rubbing soothing circles into it while humming a soothing tune with that deep, mellow voice of his.

He teases you about past mistakes, and you can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous young love was, your love.

“Remember back when we were so broke, we couldn't afford a proper bed, and you were still rooming with that nasty roommate of yours.”

“Oh my gosh I totally do, we were both madly in love with each other then.”

“...and you stole her mattress for me, for us actually, then you came marching over in those funny looking shorts of yours and announced your permanent stay at my place. I remember how shocked I was to see you like that then.”

“I am utterly shocked by my reckless younger self too. And a mattress? Really?” you blurt, and the two of you laugh. Laugh with no worries about anything; laugh without thinking much about it ; just pure, genuine laughter.

Just then, Tae gestures towards the window. Rays of light that carry an orange tint filter in through the glass and reflect off his honey skin, giving it the effects of shimmer powder, lightly dusted over him.

You can guess that he means for you to look at the sunset. The plain, old boring sunset, that you've looked at countless times, but the view laid out for you just shocks you to the core; it leaves your jaw hanging agape.

It’s the evening sky, with streaks of sapphire, the alabaster clouds hanging in the sky, faintly reflecting the warm glow of the setting sun. A topaz blazing ball of fire, cut in half by an endless blue horizon: the sea. The feeling of his skin against yours, his chest against your back, his body radiating the heat of a thousand suns, and you sigh in relief.

“It's so beautiful.”

The following words that slip out between your lips come out breathless, almost softer than a whisper.

Honestly, that's all it takes for him to tilt your chin towards him and press his pretty lips against yours. He hugs you even tighter with his other arm. His lips are soft, delicate, and he tastes like sweet peppermint on the tip of your tongue.

All you can think about right now, at this beautiful moment in your life, is how you wish that time would just stop here. Freeze everything in place and blindly hope that it will stop in its tracks for these two foolish lovebirds

But hope is blind, and so is love.

Will it ever do so? You never want to know, because the only thought that exists in your cloudy mind is :

We aren’t ever getting older.

#armiesnet #bslnet #taehyung #bts #v #bts fanfiction #warm hugs

8 notes · View notes

grumkin · 7 years

Text

Early, Brooklyn, Present Day

On my seventeenth birthday, my mother sent me to a psychic. It was the summer after my high-school graduation, and I was having some trouble deciding what to do with my life. Summertime in Brooklyn—the street trees fluffy with leaves, sparkling soda can discards glinting in the gutters, loud music pouring from every open window—is not conducive to buckling down and becoming a grown-up. Under the magnet on the fridge, Mom left a note that said, You have a noon appointment at La Botanica Divino Nino. You better go. Happy Birthday Love Mom. It was hot and humid that morning and although the light that pierced the curtains threatened to aggravate my headache, I put on some sunglasses, slipped on my flip-flops, and left the apartment.

The seer operated in the back of a Dominican botanica in Brooklyn, a few blocks away from where we lived. The sign in the window flashed neon green and pink: Psychic – Palms Read – Futures Told. The seer had a slight mustache and a tragic dye job. She gripped my hand to her billowing chest as I entered the door, and cried, “My dear, I have just forseen your death!”

I stumbled across the peeling linoleum threshold. The walls were lined with shelves containing cardboard boxes labeled in Spanish, and pungent incense wafted from a small cauldron on top of the glass display case. The seer dragged me to rest on a squeaky folding chair. As my eyes adjusted to the dim interior, I saw my mother, Agatha, sitting in the corner, smoking and pretending to read, and I jumped almost out of my chair. She was always doing stuff like this. It was very exasperating, and hard on my nerves. While I was startled, I wasn’t surprised.

“Mom!”

“What? I’m reading, leave me alone.” Mom burrowed back into her book, something called Dancing with Depression, like she just happened to decide Divino Nino was the best place to catch up on her mental health. Puff-puff.

The seer took my hand again and shook my arm a little. “Don’t you want to know the date of your death?”

“I’m not sure I do,” I said.

“Early,” my mother barked, “Do you want to know what it is to really live?” She shook her thick grayish-blonde braid over her shoulder and glared at me through her reading glasses.

I, who had been listening to Rihanna, smoking cigarettes, and playing solitaire on my bed only hours before, felt this question was unfair. “Mom, could you just give me a break, please?”

Mother believes. In all kinds of things. Psychics are high on her list. She loves the famous television psychics. She believes in television, too. She believes in angels, guardian angels, one or many of which we all have. She believes in past lives. She believes in children. She believes in the benefits of grapefruit for the digestive system. She believes in vitamins. She believes in inner light. She believes in Jesus. Mother is credulous. Mother believes there is a cure for everything.

The seer wanted to get back on task. “I am Madame Borbala, and I see your future. Listen to me, I have foretold the hour of your death, but not its nature.”

“You haven’t even read my palm yet; how have you foretold anything?” I looked around for cards or a crystal ball or other kind of divinatory device but saw only the bare card table, shelves full of tiny bottles, and an army of red and black candles marching in rows along one wall.

Mom rolled her eyes at me. “This one, she doesn’t believe anything you tell her,” she said to Madame Borbala.

“They’re so difficult at this age,” the Madame agreed. She turned my hand over and peered at my palm. “Yes, it’s very clear, here; you can see the indication on your life line. Your death,” she announced, “will be one year from now, on your eighteenth birthday.”

“I’m hungry,” I said, gently pulling my hand out of her grasp. “Mom, can we go? I could eat a hamburger so fast right now.”

“She’s gonna eat me out of house and home,” my mother groaned through the incense and cigarette smoke. “It’s like she’s got a bottomless stomach.” Madame Borbala made sympathetic noises. “I’m convinced she has a worm.”

“Mom, I’m leaving now.”

Mother sighed and tucked her book into her purse, stubbing out her cigarette into a straggly potted plant beside her. “Thank you Madame, you’ve been really helpful.”

“No problem.” The seer nodded graciously.

My mother discussed all of my problems with the neighborhood. Madame Borbala probably knew all about what mom called my ‘rebellious ways,’ and not in the psychic sense, either. No, my mother had a big mouth. My drinking! My smoking! My habit of staying out till all hours of the day and night! I’m sure she told her friends all the details of my bad attitude.

I spent the next few days considering the possibility that I might die in a year; that I might ever die at all. I have to say I just didn’t believe it at first. What teenager ever thinks she’s mortal? I ate my hamburger; later I went swimming with George at the community pool; and I forgot about the visit to Madame Borbala.

Fast forward to this year. Brigit and I meet on June 14, at Dunkin Donuts next to the hospital. Supposed to be studying for Regents exams, I have taken to spending the mornings at Dunkin Donuts, reading books and getting hopped up on the iced hazelnut blend. DD is across the street from my apartment, and it’s got A/C, and one of the girls who works there was my partner in Earth Science before she dropped out, so they let me stay as long as I want. I always sit in the window booth, and before I met Brigid, I read and watched the street and watched my own reflection in the glass. I saw her, a tall girl with pink hair and big tits, come in almost every day. Her tattoos were kind of intimidating, and she held her mouth in a tough way, so I pretended not to notice her. Then one day she just plunked down next to me with her coffee.

“Can I sit with you?”

I startled and pulled myself out of my book. She was looking at me as if she expected me to say no.

“Sure,” I said.

“So what’s your deal?” she asked.

“I don’t have a deal.”

“Everyone has a deal. What are you reading?”

Reluctantly, I showed her the cover of my book. Suddenly Psychic; a Skeptic’s Journey. “I got this one off of my Mom’s bookshelf.”

Brigit nodded and said, “That’s cool,” in a way that didn’t make me question if she meant it.

“What’s your deal?” If everyone had a deal, she was sure to have one as well.

Brigit was an outpatient at the hospital’s psych ward. She came in every day for six hours of “partial hospitalization.” On her lunch break they let her come get coffee. “It’s the only drug I’m allowed to have,” she explained. “Coffee addictions are socially acceptable. Cigarettes too. Oh and the psych meds, of course! Wanna come outside and have a smoke with me?”

I did.

Brigit was an ex-Moonie. That is, her parents were members of the Unification Church, a religious movement started by a Korean dude named Sun Myung Moon. Members of this church think this guy is the second messiah, no shit. Brigit was brought up this way. When Brigid was ten, her parents were indicted on charges of fraud against little old ladies, and she was sent to live with her grandmother, a little old lady who was like, the OG Moonie.

“Gramma hates that I don’t believe in The Reverend any more. She’s always threatening to send me on a mission somewhere. But she won’t,” Brigit said, exhaling sharply.

“So what are you in here for?” I asked, indicating the hospital across the street. We leaned against the glass of the Dunking Donuts window and flicked ashes at the shimmering sidewalk.

“Me? Oh, the partial hospitalization? Yeah. Um. I tried to kill myself again in March. I do it every year.”

“How many times have you tried it?”

“Three. Since I was fourteen. It keeps Gramma on her toes” “In March, every year?”

“Yeah, around there.”

“Why March?”

Smoke came out of Brigit’s mouth in a rush. “The spring is always a time of transformation and change for me.”

“You’re obviously not very good at killing yourself.” “O, I’m sure the cigs will get me one day.”

We both took a meditative drag.

“I hate July!” I complain to my cousin Honey, who has a straight back and a six-months-pregnant belly. It is disgustingly hot today, one day after Independence Day. The street is littered with red, white, and blue confetti. We sit on the stoop, fanning ourselves with party fliers. Honey is in her usual long white habit, which she took to wearing when she got pregnant, with a white rope tied high over her baby bump and under her rack, which is so enormous that the habit isn’t even doing a good job of hiding it. She’s practicing to become a nun, plans on entering the convent soon as she has the baby. Honey wants me to call her Clare, which is the saint name she plans to take. Everyone, in fact, has been calling her Saint Clare. Saint Clare, the pregnant teenaged nun. You could laugh, but it’s actually a shitty story, which nobody tells, as though by not telling you could, like, erase what happened to her, which involved being raped and impregnated by her own stepfather. Honey had always been religious, praying to the Heavenly Father and the Dear Lord, please this, please that, always in church, except that one fateful afternoon when she wasn’t, and after she found out she was pregnant, she decided that was all the calling she needed. Now she’s carrying her baby for Jesus.

Honey’s white hood is pushed back against her glossy dark hair, and her skin glows with a pearly sheen.

“August is even worse!” She says, fanning herself harder, and suddenly my insides go queasy. Something ticks inside my skull and Madame Borbala comes swimming up from last summer.

My 18th birthday is on August 13th. I’m a Leo. My little half-brother George sometimes tells me, when my hair is ‘fro-ing out, that I look like a lion. All this humidity drives my curls crazy. My mix of Dominican and Polish does not make for easy hair. If I die on my birthday, my hair better look good.

Honey and I squint into the street and the sun presses down on us.

“Last year a psychic told me I was gonna die on my 18th birthday.”

Honey nods her head. “I’m pretty sure psychics are tools of the devil.”

We contemplate that for a while. It is so hot here in this corner of Brooklyn, it is easy to believe the devil has had some influence around here. I want a cigarette but I’m trying to be good and not smoke. This morning, Mom accused me of stealing hers and if I admit it to myself, I have been doing that a lot.

“On the other hand,” she says after a moment, “The Holy Spirit might be using this means to bring you to Jesus.”

“I’m not sure I want to spend my last month on earth devoting my life to God.”

“I can’t think of any better way to spend your last month on earth,” Honey says, staring nobly into the distance. She leans against the railing on the stoop, caressing her belly.

“You’re a little more religious than me,” I say. A cigarette would be just the thing.

“I know,” she says, sighing. “So if not Jesus, what are you going to do with yourself?”

“One thing for sure: if I die on my birthday, my hair better look good, “ I tell her. “That could literally take all month to achieve.”

“You crazy-“ Honey loves calling people you crazy “- your hair better look good on your birthday whether you’re dead or not.”

She has a point.

“I have been thinking about it, now that it’s July,” I say. “I don’t really think I’m going to die on my birthday…but pretend I was.”

“Are you worried you won’t go to heaven? I worry about that all the time.”

“No,” I say, “I’m not worried about going to heaven.” “Not at all?” She goggles at me.

I stare back at her. “I don’t believe in heaven any more.”

Honey turns away from me.

“Okay, so pretend you’re gonna die in…how many days do you have?”

“It’s July fifth. My birthday is August 13th. So that’s forty days.”

“That’s how long it took Noah to build the ark. Or wait, was it Moses on the mount for forty days? I forget. Anyway, dang girl, you better get cracking.” She won’t say ‘damn.’

I stare into Honey’s brown eyes.

“That’s what I was thinking.”

Thus the Birthday List is born. First item:

Good hair.

Honey leaves, hauling herself up, wiping away sweat from her forehead. She’s gotta pee, and wants to get back inside where it’s cool. She’s my uncle’s daughter, but her parents are divorced. She lives with my uncle, my missing father’s brother, Tito. She left her mom’s house after she got pregnant. My uncle lives close by, with his new wife and baby. Honey kisses me and heads down the street, slowly, her belly swinging in front of her. She’s got chores to do.

#FDFN SFironblogger Early Brooklyn psychic

0 notes