#trying to keep the more unpleasant noises to a minimum | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

milla-frenchy · 1 year ago

Text

Joel, Jackson

6k2 | Joel Miller x fem reader | ao3 Summary: after years of wandering, you joined the Jackson community. Once back on your feet, you started patrolling regularly with Joel. Over the months, you ended up getting closer to that bruised man. Warnings: 18+ mdni. strangers to friends to lovers, oral (f/m), alt pov, piv, cum eating, cnc (safe word, knife play, rough sex, dirty talk, aftercare). No age specified

a/n: this is a contribution to the Jett’s Flora & Fauna challenge 🌷🪻🌻 Thank you for this beautiful event @morallyinept ❤️ Also, thank you to @cavillscurls, who kindly agreed to let me work on this anon she received, with Jackson!Joel and a cnc idea. Thank you very much, Mya 🙏❤️ Dividers @saradika-graphics 🙏❤️ @aurorawritestoescape thank you for beta reading, and for your daily support ily 💕💕💕🫶

Masterlist

************

You and Joel met in Jackson, when you joined the community, exhausted by months, years of wandering from camps to camps, where you lost everything over time. Your friends, your family, your boyfriend.

Tommy and Maria took you in and you rebuilt yourself, never thinking that you would find love again. That you would find it with that gruff, not very verbose man, about whom some people warned you. They told you about his violence, his ruthlessness. About things “other people” told them, and repeated without knowing him. That he only cared about Ellie and Tommy, that his family was the only thing that mattered to him. They were the only people worth fighting for. Even Maria had been resentful towards him for a long time, holding him responsible for what Tommy had done to survive.

Once you were back on your feet physically, and more or less mentally, you started taking part in the patrols. You needed to get out into wide open spaces. More and more, you were assigned to do them with Joel. He impressed you countless times in encounters against infected. Against a few people, even. Raiders, hunters. You always felt safe patrolling with him.

For several months, he didn’t speak much. Just the bare minimum. He wasn't exactly unpleasant, just a little gruff. As if everything that did not relate to basic principles seemed superficial to him. You enjoyed his company, not feeling like you had to talk. Your own reconstruction required a lot of energy, and you were grateful that he didn't draw on your resources. So you patrolled, each on your horse, sharing meals and surveillance. Even if you suspected him of not really sleeping during your watch. He probably didn’t fully trust your abilities, and you couldn’t blame him.

Often, during the breaks to let horses rest, you picked flowers, keeping a bouquet against your horse's rein. Sometimes he asked you what flower it was. Ultimately, it was the flowers that got you two talking about something not related to patrols, and helped you learn how to tame each other.

One day a patrol almost went wrong. You have been overwhelmed by the infected in a building. Until one of them jumped on Joel, throwing him on the ground. He was trying to use his rifle to keep the clicker away from him and his knife was out of reach. You rushed to pick it up before plunging it into the infected’s temple. Joel nodded, thanking you, then you cleared the entire building, making your way through each closed door, each room, each floor. Hiding in every nook and cranny to progress. You just killed two more and were squeezed between a wall and a piece of furniture, careful not to make any noise they could hear. Your body was against his, he made the “shh” sign with his finger, as he did so often. But that time, you saw him differently. It wasn’t Joel anymore, it was Joel, for a minute. You were so close, your eyes fixed on his beard and neck. You looked at his hairs, mixed with browns and grays. The veins in his neck throbbing and the muscles tensing under his shirt. Arousal overtook you. A strong, sudden desire for him, a physical wave, while it had been at least months, since you had wanted someone. Only your fingers had slipped between your thighs.

And you were there, in the middle of patrol, you both had almost died an hour before, and your only thoughts were absolutely not suitable for the situation. Your brain was a mess and your core even worse. When you finally looked up, you saw Joel's gaze lowered to you and his eyebrows furrowed. Asking you with hand signals why you weren't responding to his gestures. You pulled yourself together, and finished securing the building.

You went to the outpost. Joel was tense, restrained, and you asked him what was going on.

"What’s going on? What the hell happened to you in that building? Totally unfocused and inattentive. I’ve never seen you act so stupid.”

His anger disconcerted you, even though you knew he was right, that your behavior had been totally irresponsible.

“I’m sorry”, you answered sadly.

“You’re sorry? Well I’m glad to know that.”

“Damn Joel, what more do you want me to say? Ok, I screwed up. But a few minutes before I saved your ass. So excuse me, Mr. Perfect.”

“Fuck…”

He leaned back in the chair he was sitting on, rubbing his beard with his thumb, and sighed.

“I shouldn't have reacted like that, I’m sorry. I've never seen you distracted before, and I was probably still under the effect of that clicker that almost got me. Thank you. Just…please stay focused, okay? I can’t leave Ellie without me.”

“Yeah, of course.”

You went to bed. As soon as he mentioned Ellie you had put it into perspective. Of course he didn't want to leave her alone. You fell asleep, driving away your other thoughts. The feeling of his body against yours.

Other patrols followed, and seasons passed. You discovered other flowers that you had not seen in the states you had crossed before.

You only patrolled with Joel now. Tommy and Maria preferred to send pairs on patrol who knew each other well, their reflexes and instincts worked better. You had caught him snoring softly a few nights, which made you think that, finally, his confidence in you had greatly grown. You also slept when it was his shift. You absolutely trusted him. You knew he would slaughter anyone who came near. He was reliable, strong. He was Joel. You talked more and more, too, confiding in personal things. You learnt a lot from his life, as he had from yours.

He taught you everything he knew about survival and hunting. How to patrol effectively and secure a location. Many times, you told yourself that Jackson was lucky to have him in its community, despite what some people were still saying about him. But the negativity towards him had largely diminished. Maybe people realized you were close and didn’t want to tell you those things. Or maybe they had finally learned to think for themselves, and stop listening to gossip.

As for you...you never forgot the feeling you felt against him. And at night in your bed, your hand would often slide between your thighs, thinking about Joel. Imagining how you would feel if he was between your legs, his fingers in you instead of yours. His cock inside you.

He didn’t seem to have an affair or a friend with benefits. Sometimes you secretly watched him on patrol, when he was washing in a river, or when he was undressing thinking you were asleep. He had always behaved like a gentleman, without ever looking at you inappropriately. So at night, you dreamt. Making your imagination work, telling yourself that even if he wasn't interested in you, he was in your fantasies.

Joel enjoyed patrolling with you. You were attentive, calm and thoughtful. He hadn't forgotten the time he got angry with you. What you didn't know was that he knew why you had been distracted. He had felt your eyes on him. Felt the change in your stare. So yes, it pissed him off that you lost focus, but mainly because he didn't know how to react. Some women in Jackson showed their interest and made direct advances towards him, several times. He hadn't had anyone serious since Tess, and forgot about the emptiness in his love life by taking care of Ellie. The losses he had suffered hurt him too much. Sarah, Tess. Shortly after his arrival in Jackson, he had some fun here and there, but then stopped any rapprochement. This had undoubtedly contributed to his bad reputation, some women had taken it badly. It didn't matter to him. Getting emotionally invested with someone he could lose, like the others, was out of the question.

And then you arrived. You were wounded when you came to Jackson, physically and mentally. Then you rebuilt yourself, slowly, patiently. He liked your strength. The patrols were going well, you were a bit like him, not talking a lot, serious. He liked it.

And then there was that day, the patrol that had gone wrong. You saved him. Without you, Ellie would be alone now.

And then your body against his. He felt the way you froze. Felt your breathing stop, then start racing. Felt your nipples harden against his chest. When he got angry with you he blamed himself for his disproportionate reaction. You were on patrol, but he had gone too far, unable to react otherwise. He knew only too well why. He got attached to you, over the weeks, months, patrols. He was enjoying your company more and more, and not just as a patrol partner. He considered you a friend, and he’d had few friends in his life. Actually, since the world had been in ruins, he didn't think he had any. Didn't trust anyone enough for that. Tess was…family.

He liked seeing you smile, laughing out loud sometimes. He loved seeing your eyes light up and sparkle. He liked your passion for flowers, what you taught him about them. He liked seeing your smile when you found something notable while on patrol. He loved knowing that you wanted to do your part in the community. Because that meant bringing things to Ellie. He loved that you got along well with her, that you laughed every time Ellie gave him a hard time. He used to answer gruffly on purpose, because Ellie would always bite back, and you were laughing, laughing, laughing. And he loved hearing your laugh. And he realized that he liked maybe too many things about you.

Many nights, his fist clenched around his shaft thinking of you. Desperately, he had tried to think of something else, tried to not see you that way. He felt your gaze on him when he took off his jacket, when he washed himself in a river. You did it discreetly, but he was so used to being on guard and scanning his surroundings all those decades post-outbreak, that of course he noticed.

He trusted you, like he hadn’t trusted anyone since Tess. He knew he was letting his guard down, that he crossed a line that he had set for himself: not getting emotionally invested with someone he could lose.

One night during his shift he heard you moaning in your sleep, then crying. He placed his hand on your shoulder, gently shaking you awake, saying “shh, shh, sweetheart. It's ok. Wake up, you’re ok.” You opened your eyes and didn't understand where you were for a few minutes, before hugging him, your head nestled in his neck. For two seconds, his arms remained suspended, not knowing what to do, denying contact. And then he broke down and hugged you too, until your gasps stopped and you stammered an apology. “It’s ok, sweetheart”, he replied. Then he got up and resumed his post near the window, scratching his beard. You went back to bed, your back turned to the wall, and fell asleep again. He knew you mourned the people you had lost. Like so many people, like him.

You woke up the next morning, well after the start of your supposed shift. He let you sleep, and you told him he should have woken you up.

“No, it’s ok. You needed to sleep.”

“You need to sleep too. You won’t be much use if you fall asleep on your horse.”

He laughed, and your heart soared.

"OK, let's go. We have two days of patrol left, and no outpost until Jackson. We’ll have to sleep in our sleeping bags tonight.”

“The first quarter will be mine. I don’t want to get bitten because Mr. Miller had fallen asleep with the rifle in his arms.”

He laughed again. Your heart was beating so loudly you were afraid he would hear it.

You roamed around all day, inspecting a few buildings. The day was calm, just two infected. Finally, Joel asked you to choose the resting point, and you followed all the conditions which, for him, made a place safe and that he taught you about; visibility of any possible intrusion and a possibility of escape, first of all.

“This place looks good,” you said.

“Yeah, fine. Let’s go check out the surroundings.”

You tied up the horses, and looked around. No buildings nearby, enough to shelter you from the wind, excellent visibility.

“Yeah, it’s perfect,” he confirmed. You ate the dried meat you had left. You had prepared the quantities accordingly before departure. With a safety margin in case of unforeseen circumstances. He was always considerate, and taught you to be too.

You took the first shift to let him rest. Making rounds, attentive to noises. At the supposed end of your shift, he was sleeping so well that you let him rest. When he woke up, grumpy, he grumbled “damn, you should have woken me up. It’s risky to stay up longer, you could have fallen asleep.”

“Mmmm….risky like when you let me sleep yesterday?”

He frowned, before his face lit up. “You’re a little brat.”

“Yeah, I know”, you replied, smiling.

You took the road back to Jackson. It was spring and nature was waking up. Flowers were growing again, you loved them so much. You took a few breaks, to let the horses rest after such a long patrol. At the last one, you saw Jackson from the top of the hill where you were.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Yeah. We’re so lucky to have this place.”

When you walked through the doors, he offered to look after your horse as well as his but you refused. You wanted to spend a little more time with him before his daily life took him away from you. He devoted himself to Ellie, even if she grew up and spent more and more time with her friends. You finally went your separate ways, after he gave you one last nod. You sighed as you got home, already missing him. Although there would be a patrol soon. In your shower, your tears flowed. You felt alone.

After your meal, you made yourself some tea. It was steaming on your knees, as you were sitting on the couch, your legs folded. Someone knocked on the door and you got up to open it.

“Joel? Everything’s fine? Is Ellie ok?”

“She’s ok. She’s having a sleepover at her friend's house. Growing up way too fast.”

You smiled and nodded.

"Can I help you? Do you need anything?" you asked him, stepping aside to let him in. He stood in the hall, his mid-season jacket on his shoulders. He took out a bouquet of wildflowers from behind his back. You hadn't seen him pick them up, and your heart was coming back to life again, as a smile lit up your face.

“Here. I know you love them. I thought you would like to have some flowers in your home, their smell in your house.” You took them and thanked him, and you put them in a vase. He was holding his hands in front of him, rubbing them gently. He seemed embarrassed and you frowned.

“Are you ok?”, you asked.

“I…just wanted to thank you. For saving my life that day. I didn’t do it properly.”

“Oh. Well, you’re welcome. But you already thanked me, really. And you saved mine a thousand times, so…” You smiled at him, but it faded when you saw the way he was looking at you. As if he was about to tell you something difficult.

Time stopped. The only movement in the room was the vapor of your tea dancing above the cup.

“I know you’re looking at me. And I know why you didn’t react in that building.”

You froze. You expected that he wouldn’t want to go on patrol with you again, that the flowers were a way to say goodbye. That you were about to lose him, having crossed a line that had never been mentioned but that you had visualized deep down for a long time. You felt like you were on the edge of an abyss and about to fall. So you tried to get out of it, to do what you could not to lose him.

“I don’t know wh-”

“Please. Don’t do that. Don’t tell me I misinterpreted, that I’m wrong.”

You lowered your head and closed your eyes. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. Tears pricked your eyes.

“No. Don’t be. Or I would have to be sorry too, and I’m tired of being sorry.”

You opened your eyes but kept staring at the floor for a few seconds. Then you looked up at him and read his stare. A multitude of emotions jostled there. The waiting, the despair. Desire? He was lost, too. A thousand thoughts were racing through your head. Did you hear that correctly? Was he suddenly going to walk to the front door and leave? Your gaze was lost in a blur and you didn't realize it. When you came to your senses, his eyes were still fixed on you.

And suddenly you both took a step forward. At the same time, as if everything was choreographed. But it wasn't. As if your bodies were running the dance, not your minds. Only your hearts. His hands found your cheeks, and yours his waist, as your lips met. Your heart was beating wildly but you couldn't hear it. His warmth surrounded yours, and his lips, his tongue were even softer than you had imagined. His mouth left yours, as he brushed your cheek with his beard and his hands left your cheeks and slid down your back, holding you against him. Your nose rubbed against his neck, and you loved his smell. You hugged him close, your arms still around his waist, tighter.

And then you pulled away, looked at him, grabbed one of his hands and led him to your bedroom. Later, when you thought about that moment, you didn't even remember your walk down the hallway. Just finding yourself in front of him, next to your bed. Joel removing your t-shirt, pulling it over your head. His hands on your breasts, his palms surrounding them with his warmth as you unbuttoned his plaid shirt. Your hands on his chest, following the line of his torso, along his happy trail, to his jeans that you unzipped. Kneeling in front of him, just wearing your sleep shorts.

You widened your eyes when you saw his cock. It was…big. And you…you hadn’t fucked in a long time. Your tongue tasted his precum. You were afraid of being clumsy after all this time. Your lips rounded around his tip, and you sucked gently, taking your time. The feeling, his taste were driving you crazy. Your head started to move up and down, taking more and more of him in your mouth, and you heard him moan softly. Until his hand gently rested on your head, and he said “sweetheart…I ain’t gonna last. It’s been too damn long since the last time.”

He took your arm to help you get up and you kissed.

You went to lie down on the bed, and he knelt on the floor. He gently pulled you towards him and took off your shorts.

He nearly came, just by seeing your folds through the fabric.

His shoulders slipped between your knees. He was so broad that you had to lean your folded legs against the bed. He caressed your thighs, his skin on yours giving you shivers. He placed his hand flat on your pussy hidden under your panties, then slid his middle finger along your folds, making you whine. He smiled and leaned down, licking through your panties, from the bottom of your folds to your clit.

“God, Joel”, you whimpered.

He grabbed the sides of your panties, slid them down your thighs and removed them. You looked at him, he was so handsome. So caring. So…yours, right now. Then he leaned down again, brushing your clit with his nose, and you shivered.

“You’re ok?” he asked.

“Yeah…yes. It’s just…It’s been a long time for me too.”

“I know, baby”, he whispered. The tip of his tongue delicately brushed your folds, from bottom to top. You moaned, clenching the sheets in your fists. His hands were placed on your inner thighs. He ran his tongue again, deeper, and you rested your hands on his head.

“You taste so good”, he murmured.

He spread your folds with his thumbs, and lapped, drinking your wetness. Sucking, licking your pussy like a thirsty man. His nose sometimes brushed against your clit, and you were already seeing stars. Your fists clenched his brown curls. Then he moved back up to your clit, wrapping his lips around it, the tip of his tongue swirling over it. When he brushed the entrance to your pussy with a finger, you thought you’d faint. He pushed it in gently, eased by your wetness soaking the sheets. Your hips rolled into him and your moans filled the room. He added a second finger, and you whispered “oh god...”

He focused on your clit, pumping your pussy gently with his two fingers, just where you needed it. You felt the heat rising in your lower abdomen. “Joel…I’m gonna come”, you whined. He didn't stop, didn't slow down. He kept the same rhythm, until you exploded in his mouth and on his fingers. Clenching them within your walls. You came so hard that you were trembling. He left his tongue resting on your clit until you stopped shaking. Then he sat up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and crawled on top of you, helping you move up on the bed. He lay on you, careful not to crush you and said, “we don’t have to do more if you don’t want to”, but you wished to feel him as much as possible. “Wanna feel you”, you said. “Just…go slow, please. You’re…big.”

He smiled in the cutest way possible. Could this man be even more perfect than right at that moment? His body between your thighs, he took his cock in his hand, slid it between your folds to cover it with your wetness. Every time he brushed against your clit, you had goosebumps. Then he nestled it in your entrance, and you wondered how he would fit, but you didn't say anything. He placed his other hand on your cheek and looked at you, to check if you were okay. You nodded, and he pushed. “Oh, fuck”, you thought.

He pulled back, and thrust in again, just as gently. Your walls were accommodating his cock and you felt him slow down.

“Don’t stop Joel, please. I’m ok.”

“Fuck. Ok.”

He kept sinking, slowly. Then you felt his balls against your pussy.

“Yeah, oh god. Fuck. You’re fucking huge!”

He smiled again, and started to fuck you, thrusting back and forth. Slowly but deeply. Buried himself fully with each thrust, brushing against your g-spot.

“You feel so good around me”, he whispered. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and held him close, your face hidden in his neck, moaning continuously.

“It’s so good…god, that’s perfect”, he said in your ear. Your pelvis accompanied his. His body brushing against the perfect spot of yours. He felt your walls clenching around him, just before you came, your pussy squeezing his shaft. He stopped buried in your core, his hand still resting on your cheek. His other hand under your head and his forehead against yours. Until you stopped moving, your thighs falling back against the mattress. Catching your breath.

“Where do you want me?” he asked.

“Wanna taste you, please.”

He nodded, and stood next to the bed, his fist pumping his shaft in short strokes as you got on your knees, mouth open. He groaned, and within seconds his hot cum started hitting the back of your throat while he was whimpering.

He helped you up, hugged you and kissed you, the sweat on his skin mixing with yours.

You both showered, your hands brushing against each other's skin, mouths kissing cheeks, necks, shoulders, hands.

“Can you stay and sleep here tonight?” you asked him once you were dried.

“I hoped you’d ask me,” he replied, smiling.

You fell asleep, snuggled up against him, his arms around you. It was the first time you slept together, and it had been perfect.

The next morning he told you his fears of losing you, as he had lost the other people he had cared about. You said he couldn't live like this. That he still had many years ahead of him, and so did you, and that refusing to be together by fear was a sacrifice not worth it. That life was worth living. He finally nodded. Almost reluctantly, as if a part of him was still struggling against this idea.

After several weeks you told Ellie about your relationship.

“Shit, do you have any idea what you’re getting yourself into with that old grump?” she laughed. Joel rolled his eyes. You smiled, and replied, “yes, I do.”

You had to struggle to make him accept the idea that you would still go on patrol.

One day, when he watched the schedule, he saw your name next to another man for an incoming patrol. He stormed into Tommy and Maria's house, saying “absolutely not!”, hands on his hips and a dark, disapproving glare at his brother. You were at their house, having coffee, and you and Tommy were laughing two seconds after his loud entrance. “What’s so funny?”, he asked gruffly.

“Just wanted to prank you, big brother. You really thought I would put her on patrol with someone else? I don’t want you to beat the shit outta me.” Tommy looked at you and said, "damn that was too easy.” “Told ya”, you replied.

Joel rolled his eyes and poured himself a coffee, before sitting down across from you in the kitchen.

“You knew?” he asked.

“Yeah, and I definitely didn’t want to miss that.”

“Jesus”, he growled.

You got to know each other even more. You talked about your lives before and your losses. He told you about his pre-outbreak life, Sarah. The years that followed, what he did with Tommy and Tess to survive. The people they had robbed, killed. Boston, the smuggling. His deals with FEDRA. His journey with Ellie. The hospital.

You got to know each other sexually too. He was both tender and rough. His praise and dirty talk were perfect, he always knew what to say, and when to say it.

You fucked a lot, and pretty much everywhere. Your place, where you didn’t live anymore but you would use when Ellie was at home. His place. Against the wall of the Tipsy bison’s bathroom or on the sink.

The first time you knelt in front of him in an outpost during a patrol, while he was surveilling through the window, he told you "no, no way. Absolutely not”, shaking his head.

“Lemme suck your cock”, you replied. “Keep watching, it��s hot”, you added, unzipping his jeans. After he shot his load on your tongue, with his hand resting on the window and the other clenching your hair, he said "jesus, you're gonna kill me." And he ate you against that window 30 seconds later, after you swore to him that yes, you would watch the outside even with his tongue buried between your folds.

You established a safe word. “Patrol”. You smirked when he proposed that one. He never missed an opportunity to remind you he didn't like that you were still patrolling.

You played and you discovered each other. More kinks and more desires. Testing limits that opened new horizons of pleasure. You asked him a thousand questions about his past as a raider, and his contained violence during your patrols were making you terribly horny. So one day you told him about something you wanted to try. You wanted to see his dark side. What he was capable of. You wanted to play with your fear, doing it with someone you fully trusted. Someone who could lead you where you wanted to go, but would stop the second you asked. You didn't know where your limits were, but having a safe word was making everything easier.

So you told him precisely what you wanted. A pseudo kidnapping, where he would blindfold you and do knife play. Where he would be rough. Really rough. He listened, half amused, half surprised.

“You really want that? Wanna see this side of me?”

“Yes, Joel. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time, and I really want it.”

“And you’ll use the safe word the second you want me to stop?”

“Yes.”

“Promise me”, he insisted. “That you will not keep going with something that makes you uncomfortable, thinking that it will annoy me if you tell me to stop.”

"I promise. I know you’ll stop immediately, I trust you 100%.”

He looked at you for a long time before nodding.

"One last thing Joel." He smiled, and asked, “do you have any limits, woman?” You giggled and kissed him, saying “I’m not sure, actually.” Then you looked at him seriously and said, “I don’t want to know when it’s gonna happen. And if I say no, we agree that it's a part of the game. The only thing that should make you stop is the safe word. Or if you are uncomfortable. Do you agree with that?”

“It’s a deal, baby.”

You talked about it several weeks ago, and had done several patrols since then. You thought he would do it during one of them. You knew he hadn't forgotten. He didn't forget anything.

Joel had been preparing everything for weeks. He checked the place carefully during other patrols, every corner, anticipating every moment so that everything happened safely. He thought about how he would do it, how he would act, what you would love. And he couldn't wait.

You were packing your things for another two-day patrol. A moderately long one, which you knew well, but during which infected were regularly encountered, that time of the year.

You killed a few on the first day. Nothing particularly difficult, and you reached the outpost. You had your meal. You were getting ready to go to bed, and Joel, as usual, inspected the building again, then left to check the surroundings. You watched him leave through the window, with his brown leather jacket and a backpack, gun in hand. You went to bed, waiting for him to come back but sleep overtook you. You were dozing, without having fallen into a heavy sleep.

Darkness invaded the room and the sound of the floor creaking suddenly brought you out of this state, just before you were seized. You’ve been grabbed, felt a body against yours on the bed, and a hand covered your mouth. A fabric covered your face and your heart pounded. Part of you thought about the game you discussed with Joel, and another part thought that maybe someone had caught him, maybe killed him. Panic filled you and you struggled, but soon you heard “it’s really stupid to be alone in this abandoned place.” Joel's voice. Your heart rate calmed down and your body relaxed instantly, as the arousal hit you. You relaxed into the arms that were holding you. Damn, he gave you the scare of your life. He manhandled you, flipping you onto your back and straddled you, his thighs surrounding your chest.

“Ain’t that a pretty thing?” he said calmly, before grabbing your breasts with both hands, over your t-shirt. You heard a blade brush against his jeans, and he placed the tip of his knife against your neck. Your chest rose and fell with the excitement you were feeling. He grabbed your t-shirt in his fist and slid the blade through the fabric, pulling sharply. Revealing your breasts through the torn garment. He pushed it aside, the cloth just held by your arms and slid the blade along your chest.

“Your nipples are hard, sweetheart. Does bein’ scared fucking turns you on?”

“Please, let me go”, you begged.

He sneered. “Oh no. Got a pretty damn thing, with, I’m sure, a pretty damn cunt that I’m gonna stuff really soon. Ain’t gonna let you go.”

“Please”, you begged again.

“Maybe that’s what you wanted, being alone in this place. To get caught by a raider? Mmm, sweet thing?”

He never called you ‘sweet thing’. ‘Baby’, ‘darling’, or ‘sweetheart’. You knew he did it to accentuate the game, to turn you on. And god, he was good at it.

“Let’s use this mouth for something better than whining.”

You heard the zipper of his jeans, the rustling of clothes. You heard him jerk off. Then he lifted the fabric covering your face slightly, just to free your mouth. He pressed his tip against your lips, and ordered, “suck my cock.”

You shook your head to keep him away from you and he grabbed your throat. “You know, I like it when they fight. Turns me on even more.” He squeezed your chin between his fingers, forcing you to open your mouth. You licked his tip shyly. “Don’t be a fucking tease. Suck it”, he growled. You opened your mouth wider, letting him slide in, and you blew him. Letting him impose his rhythm. Fucking your mouth until you gasped for air on his shaft. “That’s better, sweetheart. You could almost make me cum down this throat. But I wanna fuck this pussy and make you feel my cock in your stomach.”

He moved back, remaining straddling you, but this time he sat on your thighs, before tearing your panties in two with his blade and you blenched. He released his grip and you tried to pull away but he quickly lay down between your thighs, pinning your body with his.

“You really think you can escape? You won’t feel better if I fuck you after making you bleed a little, believe me. Stop this bullshit.”

“Don’t do this, please. Please, sir…”

“Sir? Fuck I like it”, he said, forcing his knee on your thigh to spread it. Your pussy was dripping, you felt your arousal flowing. He was fully clothed, pressed against your body. He grabbed his cock in his hand, sliding it against your folds.

“Shit, you’re soaked. You really want that cock,” he said, his mouth against your ear, his beard brushing against your skin and his blade against your neck. “Yeah it really turns you on. I’m gonna give you what ya want.” His voice was cold as ice.

He slipped the tip at your entrance and you begged again, “no! Please, stop it!”

“Don’t think so, sweetheart”, he said in a low voice, and sank in your core, putting his hand over your mouth just as he bottomed out. Without covering it completely, in case you wanted to use the safe word. He pulled back, and slammed into you, taking your breath away. “Fuck…suckin’ me right in.” Then he pounded your pussy with his cock, so hard that you could barely breathe.

“Yeah, found a really good cunt. You're gonna come for me sweetheart. Gonna cum on this cock.” He pulled back to cover his thumb with your wetness before thrusting in again, with deep but slow strokes now, and twirled his finger over your clit, making you moan.

“Yeah, you’re a pretty thing, for sure”, he said. He felt his orgasm building, and was just waiting for you to come, and then he would remove the fabric from your face.

“Fucking perfect cunt”, he growled. “Takin’ me so good.”

Your walls were clenching his shaft more and more, until you came hard, whimpering, grabbing his biceps.

“That’s it, come on my cock.” He pulled back and got on his knees, removing the garment from your face, just in time to shoot his cum all over your stomach and breasts, one hand pressed against the mattress. "Oh god...Fuck...Fuck, baby..." he said, panting.

Then he leaned towards you, took your face in his hands and asked “are you okay, sweetheart?”

You leaned him in and kissed him, and said "never better. Fuck, you scared me at first and it was so hot and perfect!!”

You couldn't contain your joy and you saw the relief on his face. “Damn...you didn't use the safe word so I didn't stop, but fuck, you've got nerves, baby!”

“Yeah, well…that means that next time we can go a little further”, you added with a big smile.

He grabbed a wildflower, he had picked before joining you, from the bedside table. He had put it there while he had been holding you, and you hadn't noticed anything. He handed it to you and smiled. “For my girl”, he said. This man was perfect, and he was yours.

You got back to Jackson. You were behind him when you came through the gates on your horses, looking at him. His slightly graying curls. His mid-season brown jacket and his broad shoulders. His ass on the saddle. And you smiled.

Joel, Jackson.

You loved him, and you loved that place.

Thank you for reading 🙏

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️

Follow @millafics and turn notifications on for fics updates

@littlemisspascal @pascalsanctuary @survivingandenduring

740 notes · View notes

phvle · 2 years ago

Text

Sociotype Profiles — LSE

Ego

Leading Te

LSEs are highly practical and busy individuals who direct their energies to solving mechanical and procedural issues in the here and now. Possessing a keen ability for applying new information to real problems, LSEs are adept at researching a range of useful subjects and utilising what they learn to aid their daily lives, sharpening their mind into a useful and adaptable tool for their benefit and those of others. Trying to be as capable and self-sufficient as possible, LSEs try to act in a way that everything they do serves some real, concrete use and they will endeavour to lend their energies to any matter around them that needs addressing, working to fix the problem so that everything runs smoothly and effectively. This can keep them continually on their feet moving from one task to the next in order to keep things working to a high quality. Frequently, the workings and processes of the immediate surroundings are taken on by the LSE as a personal responsibility and they will proactively attempt to improve this environment, not only fixing particular issues and keeping things working, but measuring and quantifying the results of their efforts, looking to see if there is anything to be learned for further improvements. LSEs need to feel that everything to be done to optimise their environment has been done, and will try to offer advice to others so that they can similarly function more effectively. As such, LSEs often make capable teachers of daily tasks to others, explaining step-by-step how best to go about doing something in a way that works well. Similarly they may put themselves to use sharing their knowledge and informing others of things they find interesting and relevant to a situation, allowing others to learn from such experiences and help themselves. In this way, LSEs earnestly try to be of the greatest assistance they can be to their environment and those that inhabit it.

Creative Si

Most frequently, the processes worked at and improved on by LSEs exist in the real, physical world, with the increases to efficiency being specifically in terms of increasing visible, measurable output with minimum waste of energy and resources. As such, quality of utility is prioritised in anything LSEs are working on. This leads to clean, fluid procedures in harmony with the surroundings, reducing clutter, mess and noise in a way that feels organic and natural. Such methods result in LSEs relying much on their hands to physically work on things, being able to interact directly with objects and move them around into the way that best aligns for a particular result. LSEs have a capable grasp of the details to the matters they work with, making them efficient managers in being able to account for minutiae that others may miss. LSEs feel unease around inefficient, clunky processes and have difficulty not stepping in to fix something causing a jam or unpleasant grinding of the gears. Similarly, LSEs try to avoid waste of resources available to them, trying to put each and every part to frugal, sustainable use. LSEs tend to be particular about how they are doing things in the day to day, often insisting upon doing things to an appropriate level of quality and refusing to perform shoddy work for other ends. Furthermore, LSEs are aware of the value of their own body as a tool in the workings around them, and pay much attention to its needs and upkeep. LSEs may be very capable of working hard, but they are unlikely to overwork themselves or forget to take time out for recuperation. Instead, they leave adequate time for leisure, putting together relaxing events for themselves and those close to them, or simply taking out a quality evening on their own. As such, LSEs are able to maintain themselves mentally and physically for continued productive efforts.

Super-Ego

Vulnerable Ni

LSEs are most driven to optimise tasks in the day-to-day and assessing their productivity in terms of immediate, visible results. Relying on what their senses tell them empirically, they are unable and largely unwilling to grasp the unseen effects of their actions in the long term and are uninterested in thinking far beyond the daily application and use of ideas and tools. They may reject the notion of placing much faith on hunches or beliefs in outcomes without considerable concrete proof. The main drive of LSEs is to work hard and well with the situation immediately before them, and this may significantly lessen the efficacy of their efforts when something seems like a prudent option but fails to lead anywhere or accomplish anything in the long run. Although capable organisers, LSEs prefer to handle things in the moment, or arrange loose plans for activities on a particular date. They will be far less likely to prepare for or give much thought to things happening that have no clear tie to present happenings. LSEs need flexibility to find the most efficacious plan in the moment and have difficulty lining these up with a singular, predicted outcome. Rather than limit their activities and improvements to those that best bring about a long-term result, LSEs prefer to be of continuous use throughout the day in as many areas as possible, and are likely to reject the notion that unseen higher goals or needs must be achieved at the expense of immediate practicality. For this reason, LSEs may take on projects, regardless of whether they can see its end within their means or not. However, such an approach is not always going to lead to beneficial results further down the line, with LSEs becoming so caught up in attending to the mundane processes that they can miss the big picture and things only achievable from commitment and dedication to a particular end. This need to fix any issue as and when it comes up can cause LSEs to easily and inadvertently wander off track with their plans and cause their daily helpfulness to not amount to very much on a larger scale. While being capable of working with speed, LSEs often lack appropriate haste, not knowing when no action is going to better help a situation than acting immediately. As such, they may hustle and bustle about from one task to the next, wasting their time for only superficial utility.

Role Fe

Although naturally dry and businesslike in their approach to the world, LSEs understand the need to make themselves appealing to others and for the sake of ease in conversation, will endeavour to be friendly and appealing in public, breaking the ice and keeping people happy in a socially engaging manner. In doing so, LSEs are better able to persuade people to allow themselves to be helped, as well as keeping those who might interfere or disrupt their efforts from wanting to do so. In these attempts, LSEs tend to be very polite and gracious, trying not to offend and coming across as a respectable, likeable person or even a role model for correct behaviour. However, LSEs tend to dislike the insincerity and superficiality of these attempts and much prefer finding people who they can interact with on closer, more accepting terms. In these more intimate relationships, LSEs feel they are better able to cut loose and simply be themselves, without having to play up to a crowd. The external charm of LSEs is a mask that can quickly wear thin when faced with people who are unresponsive to their attempts to help or inform, and in such situations, the LSE may quickly grow frustrated at others' stubbornness and wilful ignorance. In this way, the gregarious role that LSEs play is ineffective in more challenging situations, where people do not merely need to be kept happy, but won over entirely.

Super-Id

Mobilizing Ne

Although the restless energy of LSEs can make them already highly busy in the moment, a substantial amount of attention is given to the many possible things they can do next. LSEs tend to be highly intellectually curious and creatively open to expanding their horizons. As such, they are often looking for new perspectives and ways with which they can improve themselves, trying to think outside the box to find an unexpected or unlikely solution to a problem. They tend to dislike the idea that they may be limited in some way, taking the view that they can achieve anything they want if they simply work hard at something and will try to maximise their capability in many possible avenues. Similarly, they may attempt to come up with new, unexplored ideas to apply to their activities, offering their insights to others and taking pride in themselves should they be accepted and lead to beneficial results. However, the capability of LSEs to think of multiple unexplored scenarios can be adversely affected by their blindness to eventualities too far ahead of what their immediate observations can tell them. Although pragmatic and resourceful, LSEs are disinclined to give their ideas much careful forethought or consideration when they could instead be putting things into practice. LSEs may frequently be willing to try out a new idea, only for things to not turn out as they had hoped. When faced with inevitable failure, LSEs tend to instead conclude they simply have not worked hard enough and will up their efforts, often in vain. LSEs want to be be people of insightful creativity, who come up with good ideas, and may be very resistant to hyperbole of people saying their ideas will not work, demanding proof rather than abandoning their efforts to another's fatalistic hunch.

Suggestive Fi

Naturally pragmatic and business-minded, LSEs are best at making objective, effective decisions in the here and now, relying on the facts to inform them how best to proceed. However, LSEs are less able to consider more subjective sources for decision-making. Although deeply desiring a meaningful relationships with certain special people, LSEs have a hard time relying on their personal sentiments to make personal judgements on the internal qualities of others, whether they like the person or not. Usually, they will try to rely instead on factual information, what someone has done and whether their record is that of someone who is beneficial. However, LSEs desire assistance in being able to follow their heart when deciding how they feel about a person. Although wanting to see the best in others, LSEs tend to be unsure how to justify the correctness of such a feeling, greatly appreciating those who are able to validate their feelings and point out their potential as worthwhile relations. Furthermore, the busy tendency of LSEs to work hard at improving their surroundings can lead them to unintentionally neglect their long-term relationships with those close to them. As such, they desire patient, understanding people who are able to make time for them and allow them to unwind and simply be themselves in their spare moments. By doing this, LSEs can begin to form close, special bonds with their best friends and partners. More than anything, LSEs desire for someone else to look within them and see the goodness of their soul, treasuring those who can bring to attention that they are not merely useful, helpful people to others, but also fundamentally good and beneficial in nature.

Ignoring Ti

LSEs are most disposed to acting in a manner that is practical and convenient, relying on their knowledge and common sense in order to do things effectively. As such, they tend to be averse to precise rules and guidelines, structuring their day and limiting their ability to think for themselves. Suffice to say, LSEs prefer to work at companies that give them breathing room and promote their self-sufficiency. Often motivated to explain how things work to others, LSEs are likely to do away with complex terminologies and precise definitions, preferring instead a looser, albeit drier, sequence of facts and helpful commentary that a person may use to help themselves. For LSEs, there is little true improvement to be had with simply devising a framework or model, as it simply makes people reliant on a set order and does not teach people to apply their own minds to solve problems situationally. LSEs are aware that in different circumstances, set systems and laws can be limiting, rather than enabling, and as such, are prone to avoiding using them unless absolutely necessary. Instead, LSEs prefer to give general guidelines and pieces of advice for how a person can may live more sufficiently and prudently, helping people by teaching them how to best apply their own common sense.

Demonstrative Se

Frequently, LSEs are highly restless, busy individuals who seem to be everywhere at once, acting on a desire to improve everything they lay their eyes on. This tirelessness makes them highly productive when they need to be, getting things done at a pace few others can sustain. Expertly able to respond in the moment, they are capable of quick, successful decisions. Despite this hyperactivity, LSEs tend to shun ferocity and competition with others for the sake of winning. Although very decisive and capable of assuming leadership of a situation, LSEs prefer not to see themselves as an authority of power, so much as an authority of wisdom, and will endeavour to assist others with what they know, rather than lead or control others into doing what they want. That being said, LSEs can be frightening in the rare situations that they lose their temper. However, LSEs are individualist and self-sufficient at heart, not seeing any justification in being the boss of others. Although often being successful in life due to hard work on their own initiative, LSEs simply aspire to be their own masters and perform tasks capably without interference of pushiness from others. Despite being unwilling to push others to do things, LSEs are very able to push themselves when necessary in order to get things done, often protecting the weaknesses and failings of multiple others in doing so. Such workhorse tendencies are sustainable by their hardy nature, although LSEs are not pain-embracing, and will be aware of the point where they begin to feel tired, being able to take an appropriately long rest after such bursts of activity.

Source: Wikisocion

#personality theory #personality types #typology #socionics #sociotypes #lse #estj

6 notes · View notes

dustedmagazine · 2 years ago

Text

the sheaves — Excess Death Cult Time (Minimum Table Stacks)

We can’t seem to find a photo of the sheaves, but this came up in the image search.

Excess Death Cult Time by the sheaves

If you’re going to compare the sheaves to the Fall, fair enough, but let’s be clear. The reference point is not the hooky, keyboard-lighted Fall of the Brix years, they of “C.R.E.E.P.” and “Cruiser’s Creek.” No, this is more like the late dystopic Fall, the slurry, spitty years following Country on the Click, where Mark E. Smith drawled madly on over disintegrating textures of rock-adjacent guitar noise. Like end-stage Fall, the sheaves are always falling apart, always dissolving into chemicals, always losing the thread. Listening to Excess Death Cult Time is like trying to make sense of a dream you’re having, not later, but while it’s still going on.

The title track, for instance, starts with a bass haring off in an indeterminant direction, and someone coughing. Soon, two more guitars are at it, noodling high and not in any recognizable key, at odds with one another, but possibly making the convergent points. (Imagine a bar fight where two drunks are yelling at each other at increasing volume but, weirdly, yelling the same thing.) The drums very nearly hold things together, or at least keep them in the same room, but chaos roils underneath, always ready to spew up out of the murk. And over all this, the singer, drones disconsolately, his voice discernible mostly as a buzz but occasionally taking shape in words, i.e., “Are you losing your hair, it’s passing you by, it’s passing you by, it’s a lovely excess death cult time.” The song is a mess of sharp-edged parts clanking together.

This is a band not afraid to try out a song called “Guitar Wank,” which, true to its name, gives a pair of players license to do whatever the fuck, in concert and conflict with a high noodling keyboard, also wandering untethered. The song coalesces out of parts, taking shape from dream-like voices, doubled, but slightly out of sync, and a snaggle of intertwined dissonance. Imagine staring at tangled piles of junkyard wires until you can see the shapes of animals in them (and then staring longer, until these shapes disappear). This is what listening to “Guitar Wank” is like.

Not that it’s unpleasant, especially if you’ve been weaned on folk-noise-industrial eccentrics like Siltbreeze’s Pink Reason and CIA Debutant. If it were easier to get to the songs, you might not bother. Everybody loves a challenge. And so, perhaps, it’s worth mentioning that two songs on this disc come together right away, not exactly welcoming you in, but at least opening the door.

“Hit Silly” is the real ringer here, with its rumbling shimmy of electric guitars and half swallowed vocals giving it a cracking, staticky sheen like early Guided by Voices. It’s considerable signal cuts through the noise. Indeed, it’s anthemic the way the guitar chords shift in inevitable ways. There’s a clear progression and none of the antic scrabbling in corners, the mumbled venom, the chaos.

“Lariat Slung” makes it a party, too, with its thundery bass and antic carnival keyboards. The singer elides and swallows the words, muttering ominously most of the time then breaking into startling clarity. “Oh there’s nothing to do, all of the time, oh say, I feel sick, all of the time.” You might feel a little woozy yourself by this point, but in a good kind of way.

Jennifer Kelly

#the sheaves #excess death cult time #minimum table stacks #jennifer kelly #dusted magazine #albumreview #post-punk #The fall

5 notes · View notes

kleenairaus · 8 months ago

Text

The Best Guide to Air Conditioning Repair and Maintenance in South East Queensland

Having a broken air conditioner system in the season of high temperatures is unpleasant. Thus, for any resident of cities like Brisbane, Gold Coast, or Ipswich, which is in South East Queensland, taking care of the quality of your cooling unit is an absolute must. This paper is especially for you who have a cooling system and are wondering how to maintain and repair the unit. Hence, it works effectively and dependably throughout the year, regardless of season.

Understanding the Importance of Regular Maintenance

If you keep your air conditioner running long, check it for regular maintenance and avoid unexpected breakdowns; your machine AC can run at high capacity due to maintenance and less electricity life. Your machine can consume less electricity. Your bills charge a minimum, and a lower carbon footprint will be achieved.

Common Air Conditioning Problems

Lack of Airflow: If insufficient air comes across the evaporator, your vehicle’s air conditioning system might suffer from a dirty cabin air filter or a faulty blower motor.

Odd Sounds: Coarse, intermittent, grinding, gurgling or grinding noises are usually indicators of mechanical problems.

Ponding Water: If your air conditioner leaks water on the inside, it probably means that the condensate drain is clogged, but if the water is on the outside, you have to worry about a refrigerant leak.

Wacky cooling: If your AC is working but can’t maintain the set temperature, it could be a thermostat problem or a freon leak.

The Significance of Professional Repair Services

Suppose your air conditioning unit is broken down. In that case, you can contact these reliable professionals or licensed firms to ask for expected Air Conditioning Repair and Maintenance in Brisbane. When there is a problem with the air conditioning machinery, in most cases, it is much better for a professional diagnosis because the individual with some essential background in air conditioning can misunderstand the reason for problems and thus may invest more money instead of saving it. Now, we all know that every machine, particularly with moving parts (especially by electrical energy), requires regular maintenance checks, so take care of your units before the floor of your apartment is filled with ice.

DIY Maintenance Tips

For those jobs, you do need professional maintenance, but you might want to try these yourself:

Replace or Clean Air Filters: A dirty filter chokes off airflow and revenues. Replace/clean every 1 to 3 months (depending on use frequency).

Check Outdoor Units: Keep the area clear of debris and vegetation; ensure adequate airflow.

C Check Insulation: Verify that the insulation around refrigerant lines is still intact so the heat loss by conduction isn’t increased.

When to Call for Professional Help

You can do most of the regular maintenance yourself, but you cannot beat a qualified pair of eyes for some more specific issues. You will probably need professional help when one of these things happens:

Doing it yourself when your air conditioner stops working is NOT a good idea—either of these sounds like a problem you would want a professional to take care of.

Air Conditioner Repair Gold Coast: If your AC doesn’t work or blows cold air most of the time. Give us a call to do all the troubleshooting and corrective actions to get this determined.

Refrigerant leaks: These require certified technicians with expensive or rare skill sets, which can sometimes be hazardous to the environment and your safety.

Electrical Problems: As dealing with your air conditioning electricals can be dangerous, such problems should be solved only by a licensed electrician.

The Benefits of Regular Maintenance

Investing in regular maintenance for your Air Conditioning System offers several advantages:

Cost reduction: If adequately appropriately handled, it will be more efficient at work. So, the expenditures on electricity bills would consequently fall.

Extending your life: With maintenance, your air conditioner lives longer, saving you money on a replacement that would have been needed too soon.

Cleaner Indoor Air: Replace a dirty filter and coil to reduce indoor allergens and air pollutants, and start breathing clean, healthy air!

Conclusion

If you are a resident of Ipswich, Brisbane, or the Gold Coast, you have to check your system, be it a novel or the latest model, from time to time to make sure it lasts longer and performs well. Below, we explore the issues, suggest ways to find them, and offer helpful advice on maintaining your air conditioner. A little regular preparation and maintenance go a long way.

If your AC malfunctions because of erroneous wiring, you should know that relying on Custom Plumbing & Air Conditioning is always possible. Air Conditioning Repair in Gold Coast, Brisbane, Ipswich and surrounding areas. Call us to service your system to ensure it’s functioning correctly before hot subtropical Queensland summers!

SOURCE LINK : https://kleenair.com.au/blog/the-best-guide-to-air-conditioning-repair-and-maintenance-in-south-east-queensland/

#ac cleaning service in queensland #accleaningserviceqld

0 notes

annoyinglandmagazine · 2 years ago

Text

Summary: In which Eol is his usual unpleasant self and gets on the bad side of every single Noldor in attendance

There was a round wooden table sparsely lit with candles while the wind howled and echoed outside the stone keep of Himring. Around the table were seated several lords of Doriath, a considerable portion of the grandchildren of Finwe and a few more senior generals.

Eol was leading the delegation and they all knew that they were running into a dead end, as they had been once they’d dispatched with the bare minimum of passive aggressive greetings. He was clearly disinclined to give the Noldor any of the trade deals or military support they were asking for and there was little reason for him to try and reach a deal, as they had nothing the Sindar particularly needed. Thingol would certainly not care either way, in fact he may be more pleased with him if he did end up just wasting the kinslayers’ time.

They’d been at it hours, going in circles until most in attendance were resting their chins in their hands and staring listlessly at the same proposals before them, rendered meaningless by repetition. Suddenly an idea occurred to him, he spoke, interrupting a point the Noldor king’s son had been making and the Noldor all turned to look at him, both in shock that he’d interrupt their highest ranking prince and surprise that he’d finally began to show some interest in the proceedings and contribute for a change.

‘I think we can all see that this is going nowhere. I do not wish to do business with you and I should need considerable incentive to change my mind.’ Eyebrows were raised at this bluntness but none could deny that this was an accurate summary of events.

‘And what incentive did you have in mind?’ this was said in a mocking tone by one of the Feanorians, a blonde who had done nothing but smirk arrogantly over the course of the meeting.

Eol straightened up and voiced the proposal he’d come up with, ‘Well I think a bride would make a pleasing good will gift as a show of your commitment. A woman is a fine enough prize and my willingness to take on the challenge of taming one of you Noldor sufficiently, with all I’ve heard of you letting your females fight, to make one fit for a Sindar court is payment enough.’

Some of his delegation nodded, perhaps it could be a way of creating good faith potentially (oddly diplomatic by his standards) but the Noldor looked taken aback. Perhaps their society was not accustomed to political negotiations not involving the threat of violence.

The leading golden haired prince from the slightly less murderous side of the family, though all the Noldor were tainted with the blood of the Teleri, spoke first, clearly attempting to make peace as if Eol had just issued a grave insult. ‘I’m afraid such marriages are not in our custom. We do not have a supply of women ready to be auctioned off to the highest bidder.’ His tone remained light as if Eol had simply made a badly timed joke and was being forgiven.

‘What about that one?’ His eyes travelled to a raven haired lady sitting at the table next to the arrogant blonde from earlier. She had seemed engrossed in her note consulting and all that was said as if she were actually involved in decision making, Noldor women were strange creatures but at least she hadn’t presumed to speak herself.

Though the bloodthirsty nature of the Noldor repulsed him he could clearly see why they were renowned for their beauty from her flushed cheeks and soft figure. He continued, oblivious to the room suddenly going so silent it was as if all the noise had been sucked out of it and left only with tension.

‘She must be of high enough social status to be permitted sit in, and none of you are reported to have wives. She’s certainly pleasing enough to the eyes, and healthy too, she could bear me good heirs for my house. She’d do very nicely I think.’

He’d directed this towards all of them in general, and did not notice the moment that the woman in question had heard him and slowly lowered her pen and raised her head while listening to him speak. He did not notice the way she stiffened at his words, frozen to the spot and clenched her hands into fists.

He received a reply after a moment of silence from the crown prince. His voice was quiet and shook slightly as if in horror, ‘Are you talking about Caranthir?’

He shrugged ‘If that is what she is called.’

He did not not notice how much paler all the Noldor in the room went as he let his eyes cast a lingering assessing gaze over the woman’s curves. He was not looking in her eyes and so missed how they widened in discomfort until he glanced up a second and grinned at her, relishing how she hardened her gaze into a blistering glare and his leering at her seemed to make her shrink back.

‘Yes she’ll do nicely. Seems to be some fight in there but if I took her off your hands I could straighten that right out of her, she’d be sweet and submissive for me in no time. A strong hand at the beginning is all, you Noldor make too many allowances for your women, it makes them insolent.’

*******

Even his own delegation looked uncomfortable with his words now, clearly Eol’s views on how to treat a wife were not ones that many would like to see as that of their culture as a whole. Many were looking at him wide eyed, practically begging him to just stop talking.

Of course Fingon was much less concerned about the Sindar right now than trying to avoid this escalating further, though with both his and Finrod’s attempts to give him hints to avoid digging himself further and further into a very dangerous hole going thoroughly unheeded he wasn’t sure what else there was to say.

After all they had probably arrived at the highest possible level of escalation short of holding swords to everyone’s throats and setting the room on fire when a Sindar lord expressed, in full hearing of all six of Feanor’s sons, a desire to rape Caranthir.

Worse still, going by her uncharacteristic stillness he’d actually managed to scare her. He’d never had a particularly close relationship with her and he knew she could certainly take care of herself but all the same in that moment he was indescribably furious himself towards the person responsible for her unease.

His thoughts of Aredhel, mercifully still in Nevrast with Turgon and not in the presence of this disgusting excuse for an elf, did not do anything to make him think more rationally. The idea that someone could even think to talk or look at someone in that manner, if someone had behaved like that to Aredhel- really he was impressed Maedhros hadn’t slit all their throats yet, he wasn’t sure he’d have the same restraint.

On reflection perhaps Maedhros and his brother were simply in shock, tinder just waiting for a light that came in the form of a single split second glance of distress to the lord sitting in the centre of the table.

Maedhros sprung out of his paralysis, his sister had signalled to him that she was distressed and that was enough for him.

‘That is enough.’ And his voice was not a yell, but still more full of rage than any yell could have been.

‘That is the daughter of Feanor you are addressing, and she far outranks you any aspect of status, ability or character you could imagine. She is certainly not some prize to be bargained with and will make her own decisions on who she chooses to marry or will not marry at all. I would never dream condemn her to a life with a person like you if you offered a silmaril in her place.’

As Maedhros unleashed the full force of his famed wrath on that wretched creature Curufin was mostly distracted from making any proclamations of his own by trying to warn Celegorm against flinging himself across the table with no weapons but his nails and teeth, at least until Maedhros had finished speaking. Amrod and Amras were reluctantly waiting but menacingly sharpening daggers while making full eye contact.

Maglor gave his full focus to the subject of his protective fury, he was talking to her in hushed tones and, with slow caution, placed his hand on hers, receiving an uncertain smile of reassurance in return from the still slightly shaking nís.

‘So get your filthy eyes off my sister right this second or there is no power in all of Arda that could keep me from cutting them from your head.’

He seemed to take a moment longer to decide what action he could afford to take, right this second Fingon knew he wished nothing more than to kill him in some horrible manner and though he could not really blame him both of them knew there would be repercussions.

In all technicality Maedhros could not make proclamations and decisions in regards to Doriath without conferring with the High King but neither Fingon more his father would have dreamed of saying that this matter was in anyone but the Feanorian’s power. Whatever they decided he would see to it that all their factions knew it to have the full backing of the Noldor as a whole and he knew Finrod would assist him there; in the name of Galadriel and Aredhel if not of Caranthir.

He did not let his blazing gaze falter for even a moment as he continued, ‘You will leave this place right this moment and never darken my doorstep again. No land of the Noldor or those who wish to be our allies or trade partners may permit you entry or any other form of assistance.’

‘If I find you have ever so much as spoken one word to her, in a letter or if you somehow manage to be in her presence again, you will consider that a death warrant signed. I will send an emissary to Doriath who your king will permit entry to explain what you have done and your fellow delegates,’ here he glanced threateningly along all the Sindar present, ‘will corroborate his story. I’m aware Thingol distrusts our people, thinks of us as his enemies. If he does not see fit to punish you in some manner he will learn what it is to have made an enemy of the House of Finwë.’

#Silmarillion #tolkien #female caranthir #genderbend #maedhros #Eol #celegorm #feanorians #Caranthir #fingon #finrod

57 notes · View notes

delicrieux · 4 years ago

Text

☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 24: OH...HI

after months and too much longing, you finally meet corpse in person.

─── corpse husband x reader ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: 3.8k

author’s note: we did it joe.

ultimate masterlist. ҉ myso masterlist ҉ previous. ҉ next.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

You woke up. That’s a lie, you didn’t sleep. Too much to plan, too much can go wrong and you’re...Not nervous, no, that’s not quite accurate. Excited. Yes, excited, so excited that two Redbulls and three coffees (so far!) make you jitter around the apartment like a butterfly that can’t find a flower bed to rest on.

Rae has almost had enough of your...random spurts of energy. So what if you ran a few laps, climbed a few tables, sang karaoke a bit too loud and yet another noise complaint had been issued? It arrived exactly an hour after your concert via your displeased landlord. Rae was, of course, the one to apologize because you were too busy trying on miniskirts. After that ordeal was taken care of, no sooner than Rae shut the front door with an exhausted sigh, you emerged from your room clad in your prettiest outfit. You present it to her with a bright smile and flourish.

She is not impressed.

“Will you quit it?” She questions, arms crossed over her chest. Your grin does not damper -- you’re used to such harsh treatment, having accepted her backhanded way of showing love long ago. Instead, you flick your wrists, showing off an ungodly amount of rings. You’re not certain of the exact number because you can’t count, “Y/n.” Her voice gains an edge, but you persist. Show off your shoes that have cute lil’ charms that jingle jangle not unlike the spurs on a hot cowgirl’s boots, “Y/n.” Her eyes narrow in displeasure, her stern tone making you falter in your dramatic stride down the imaginary catwalk, “Just stop.”

Okay! So maybe you’re not as used to her coldness as you thought you were. Your expression sours, and you quit the act, even if a part of you - one you barely fight off, goodness, you almost perish in that battle - wants to continue but even more annoying. As if you could somehow block her rationality with manic energy.

“What?” You ask, trying to keep the mood lighthearted despite her squared shoulders and tight frown, “I’m just having a bit of fun!” You say with a joyous little laugh, reaching for a glass of much needed water.

“No, you’re panicking.” Her words make the glass still, hoovering by your painted lips, but it’s short lived. You take a greedy gulp and it tastes fresh with a pinch of lipstick, “Look, I get it...” She shakes her head softly, “You’re meeting the guy you like for the first time, you jumped the gun straight to dating and now you’re...Anxious. It’s normal, you know.”

“But I’m not anxious.” You persist, and you really do mean it. You don’t like how she looks at you as if you’re the one that’s misunderstanding your own feelings. You set the glass down with a soft clink, heaving your own sigh, “I’m not, I’m really happy actually.” You explain softly, “It’s just...my way of dealing with it. I’m more... Worried about Corpse, to be honest.” You add, a tad quieter, “But, like, it’s all good!” You exclaim, strolling up to her and landing your hands on her shoulders, “I prepared.”

And it’s true! You had spent the night scouring the depths of the internet. Read every WikiHow article on how to deal with someone with extreme anxiety, how to not make things painfully awkward, and how to talk to boys (just in case. The last time you stumbled upon that particular article was way back in middle school when you had a crush on that one guy you saw in your school’s cafeteria every now and then. Naturally, that led you down the rabbit hole, and according to WikiHow’s How To Tell If A Boy Likes You guidebook, you found out that he was absolutely enamored with you because he glanced in your direction, like, two times. Safe to say that love story went nowhere. The point still stands).

So you forward all of this information to Rae, nestled in her bed whilst she lazily folds her clothes; clarify that you know that nothing much can happen, and that this whole situation is delicate, and that you must tread carefully because you don’t want to overwhelm him. She pauses her actions, glancing behind her to watch you staring idly at the ceiling, so peaceful, so thoughtful. And it’s not the eerie calmness you had displayed during your murderous spree in the last Among Us game, no, it’s just...quiet understanding.

“I’m actually impressed.” She says. You merely hum, counting the dust slowly descending in the cascading light, “You’re not as clueless as I thought.” Your lips quirk into a shy smile at the compliment- “Or as tactless.” - and turn downward just as quick.

“That implies that I’m always tactless.”

“You are.” She states and you sit up, a soft frown pinching your brows, “Not like, in a terrible way. You just...don’t think about your actions. Or the repercussions. You just know that you can get away with everything.”

“And I can!”

“That doesn’t actually mean you should do something just because you can. You know I’ll always support you. Literally everyone will always support you. But I’m not gonna coddle you. You’re just...a lot. Online and especially in person. But the fact that you’re actually taking this seriously and taking his feelings into consideration is...well, the bare minimum, but still, good job.”

...Much to think about. You don’t like thinking, it makes your head hurt. Though, that could just be the lack of sleep. You cross your legs and plop your head in your hand, tired eyes blinking owlishly, “Do you...think I should change what I’m wearing?”

Prompted by your question, she gives you a careful once over, “I mean, it’s signature you.”

“Signature me is a hoodie and some sweatpants.”

She smiles, “Then go change. Your outfit is a bit distracting for just...Hanging out indoors, no? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind either way, though.”

“I just...” You bite the inside of your cheek, mulling your words over. Truly, the last time you were so attentive was when you went Psycho Mode in Among Us, which, to be fair, wasn’t that long ago. Perhaps there wasn’t a chance to let your mind dull - it’s almost as sharp as your butterfly knife, “I figured that if, like,” You vaguely motion with your hands, “if I be, like, all over the place, and wearing something cute, he’d be, like, distracted? And less anxious? No...awkward silence?”

“First meetings are always awkward, it’s natural.” She chimes, “I mean, if you’re so nervous-”

“I’m not nervous!”

“-then just don’t overthink it. I know it’s easier said than done, but you’re you, and Corpse is Corpse, and he likes you for who you are, and even if it is a bit awkward, I’m sure it’ll, like, blow over in a second. It really doesn’t matter how you look, Y/n.” She grins, “Plus, it’s not like you’re greeting him in your underwear or something.”

You will not admit that that was your plan B, not when you just landed in her good graces. You nod, “...I’ll go change.”

And so you do. Pick out your cutest hoodie and some sweatpants. Put away your jingle jangle shoes with a broken heart, instead of them donning your fluffiest socks; slip off some rings because they keep falling off of your fingers. It’s almost like all of those transformation scenes in rom-coms that are still popular for some reason, except you’re hot before and after, so there’s really no transformation at all.

Now you wait. Just wait, all other activities are excluded from this. Rae comes back to find you sitting on the edge of your bed, back straight, hands neatly folded on your lap. She compares you to a Sim’s character and you allow her. After mercilessly mocking you and snapping a few pictures - for blackmail, you assume - she helpfully informs that she is leaving because she doesn’t want to get in the way, but your psychic abilities which you acquired just now tell you that she simply doesn’t want to witness this train wreck. Not that it’ll be a train wreck, it would be if you were nervous, but you aren’t.

You just aren’t. You fidget with the rings adoring your hand; toy with the hem of your hoodie; bounce your leg up and down. It’s just caffeine, okay?! Fuck this, Twitter time.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

[ADDING A MUSICAL INTERMISSION, LISTEN TO THIS IF YOU WANT (I WROTE THIS CHAPTER WITH IT IN MIND)]

The waiting commences, only now it somehow feels more intense. The sun is setting, and you really want to be one of those cute girls that fill their camera roll with pictures of the sunset and the roseate sky, but your hands are trembling and holding up your phone feels like too much of a hassle. You’d rather just sit there, alone in the apartment, in the pin-drop silence, extremely uncomfy and tense, as if waiting for the end of the world.

A notification sounds off and your life flashes before your eyes. Hastily, you check it, a sticky mixture of delight and something else, something unpleasant constricting, making your stomach churn. He’s here. Holy shit, it’s happening. You order your anime plushies to stop fucking panicking, they’re like, totally embarrassing you at the moment! You wonder if they have their own little group chat, but instead of Totally Spies it’s called Total Embarrassment. Yikes, okay, that was harsh. After a good scolding, and a heartfelt apology for getting so heated, you smooth down the non-existent wrinkles on your modest outfit, and quickly waddle over to the electronic apartment thingie something something... you unlock the main door, okay!? This is for some reason feeling very not cash money, so you break out in a little dance number.

The doorbell does not sing that shrill, unpleasant tune; rather, there’s a soft knock on the apartment’s door, and you pause your shuffling, your renegade, and perk up at the imposing future hidden behind a slab of wood. Your heart beats a melody all on it’s own, and it’s loud, uncoordinated, like a musician that’s still familiarizing themselves with their instrument. And there’s that knock again, as uncertain as you’re feeling, and your clammy fingers latch onto the lock and turn it and now there is no more hiding - such a possibility is no longer an option; no more sporadic dances or sitting in disheartening silence and letting your thoughts weight you down.

You’re not quite sure what you were thinking about before you saw him in the threshold, head tilted slightly, fluffy dark hair obscuring the bags under his eyes, hunched, one ringed hand clutching onto the strap of his duffel bag, the other frozen mid-air, ready to knock one more time lest you didn’t hear him the first two. No, truly, you can’t, for the life of you, remember what all the fuss was about.

“...Oh.” It’s a soft sound, so quiet, but not surprised, rather...relieved. Faint shimmers of a smile reach you, hidden behind a black face mask - the panini chic! You must stan a respectful king - but there’s something about the way he looks at you that makes you question it’s sincerity. He fails to return your gaze, rather choosing to stare somewhere over your shoulder. His eyes seem unfocused. Apprehensive. A wild thought occurs to you that he expected you to trick him somehow, and wild thoughts invade the land of your mind often, but never in such a way. You clutch the handle just a bit tighter.

His hand retreats to his side, up to his mask and you think he’s about to unhook it but he stills, and there’s panic there, as if he had been moving unconsciously, as if he hadn’t realized what he’s doing. He plays it off by idly scratching his cheek, muttering an equally quiet, “Hi.” to fill the silence.

Finally, your WikiHow knowledge can come in handy, along with your common sense, “Hey, pretty boy.” You mutter, pulling away from the door, “Make yourself at home!” You slide to the kitchen, your socks acting not unlike ice-skates cutting through the Arctic frost covered ground. You hope that with you occupied and not watching him as closely he’ll feel slightly more at ease.

You’d like to hug him. Kiss him, definitely. But if he’s so uncomfortable that he can’t bring himself to shed his mask in your presence, then there’s really nothing you can do.

You hear the door shut and lock behind you as you pull out two glasses from the cupboard, humming a song you can’t quite recall the name of. You ask him if he’d like something to drink - it was a short flight, yet a flight still, and planes always make you thirsty, and there you go talking his ear off. You end abruptly, but smoothly, like a true diplomat; if he notices, you have no way of knowing - he doesn’t provide even a hint. He’s hard to read, and literature was never your best subject. But you’re trying.

He sets his duffel bag down on a nearby chair, “I, uhhh,” His voice is raspy and low, another indication of a pathetic lack of sleep, “I...got you something, uhh, I dunno-dunno if I should...give it now, or?” He sends you a questioning glance, but it doesn’t linger. Your offer of drinks is momentarily forgotten, though you hardly mind.

You grin, “Sure! I love gifts, gimmie gimmie.” You make grabby hands, and he snorts, and it would’ve sounded endearing if he didn’t sound so fucking tired. He unzips the bag, and you pad your way to him, mindful of personal space (something you, in most social situations, chose to pretend does not exist). You note his hands quivering lightly, just like yours had in the agonizing wait, but he hides it well. You wish you could hold them. You’re afraid to try.

He pulls out a black hoodie and you recognize the custom art on it instantly - it’s his merch. He presents it in awkward flourish, murmuring a “Tadaaaa” under his breath; your heart skips a pleasant beat, and you have to bite down on your lower lip lest you smile appears too big. The fabric is soft under your fingers, and you accept his gift with a dramatic bow, and he turns his head away with another little laugh. You’re chipping away at the ice around him; it’s a slow process, but it’s worth the effort.

Truly, your own hoodie is shabby in comparison - icky, how could you have ever worn such a thing in the first place?! You’ll have to do extensive research in fashion magazines and Printerest so such a slip-up may never happen again. You discard it hastily and put his on instead; it smells like washing detergent with hints of cologne, one you instantly pin point belonging to him, “It’s, uhhh, it’s mine? I hope you, uhh, I didn’t have any spare ones, so-I hope you don’t...mind.”

He’s finally looking at you, but he’s still tense, still hesitant, and you shake your head softly, “No,” You admit, “I like it even more now.” You pull on the hood, toy with the strings and yank them quickly; your face is concealed, save for your nose, “Comfy.” Your commentary is unmatched, best of it’s kind - eloquent and effortless, much like yourself.

Another small laugh reaches your ears, and it sounds a bit livelier than the others had been. Success!

“Stop that.” He says gently, and you see moving shadows; his hands loosen the strings and your face is revealed to him once again. He’s close now, and he doesn’t move away; his hands come to rest on your shoulders, warm even through layers of fabric, “I came all this way to see you, don’t hide your face from me.”

Your eyes narrow playfully, your finger rapidly tapping away on his clothed cheek, “What’s all this then? Hm? Hm?” Instead of swatting your hand away, which you figured he’d do, he complies and finally tugs that fucking mask off. Your breath catches in the back of your throat and you halt your ministrations - truly, seeing him smiling on screen is nothing compared to him smiling in person. You can’t quite contain yourself any longer - your excitement might burst out in another dance number otherwise - as you throw your arms over his shoulders and pull him flush against you. He’s quick to return the embrace. Maybe it was all the encouragement he needed.

“Wow,” He mumbles, only slightly offended, “so I finally show my face to you, in person, and you just-...you just look away?”

“I’m hugging you, dumbass.”

“...Touche.”

Things fall into place after that, like a dozen puzzle pieces fitting together. He won’t let you go - he doesn’t want to. You put on some music, something easy and indie and that doesn’t require too much effort to listen to, as the two of you contemplate what to eat. Cooking by yourselves was dismissed due to the unstable relationship between yourself and cooking utensils. The stove and you had had a falling out recently, but this feud had started long ago, back in pre-school, with only short intervals of friendship. He listened to your extensive explanation absolutely enraptured and only moderately confused.

So you settled on ordering pizza from Domino’s. You have no trouble calling or receiving phone calls, because you have no trouble doing anything, and he admitted that he only really calls you because he gets too anxious to do more, so you’re tasked with ordering the food. You accept this mission with pride.

You stand tall, gazing out the window into the wild California domain: massive buildings and towering eucalyptus trees, bleeding skyline and the sun slowly getting swallowed up by the ocean. Corpse looms behind you, with his arms snaked around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder, looking at you through the corner of his eye. You wait patiently for the underpaid, overworked staff member to pick up, and once they do, you have the audacity to grin brightly and chirp, “Hi! I want pizza.”

Conversations flow smoothly, and you make hot chocolate - because you are hot and you crave chocolate - and he insists he wants one too, because you want one, and you don’t hesitate to overflow his cup with whipped cream and an ungodly amount of miniature marshmallows. A premature heart attack, just for him. Whoever said romance is dead has clearly never met you. When the doorbell chimes, you’re astounded that an hour flew by so quickly.

After the delicious meal, the movie night must commence. So what if you watched 10 Things I hate About You yesterday, you insist that you have already forgotten the plot. You lead him to your room and he tries not to stare, but can’t help himself. Pretty boy in a pretty girl’s room. His eyes linger on the massive posters of Chrollo on your walls, and you sense his displeasure rolling off of him in waves.

“What?” You huff, fluffing the pillows, “You don’t like my husband?”

He jabs his finger into his chest, into the spot of his heart, “I’m your husband.”

“Side hoe, then-”

“-No.”

You didn’t lie when you said you love to cuddle, or that you’re clingy. It’s a good thing he’s just as clingy as you are, because when he lays down and you latch onto his side. He doesn’t complain, rather wraps his arm around pulls you close. His thumb draws lazy circles on your side; with your head resting on his chest, you feel each rhythmical rise and drop.

The opening credits play on the projector, the room dark enough for your pile of plushies to look like a whole fucking human just standing in the corner. A ghost! Sucks for it, you’re not scared. You feel safe. Protected. So comfortable in Corpse’s hold that you’re honestly wondering how did you manage to be so long without him. To think all of this started when Sykkuno followed you on Twitter. What a lucky accident.

“Can I ask you something?” Your voice cuts through the bopping 90s soundtrack and Julia Stiles’ voice. He hums. You take it as a yes. Tilting your head upwards, you find his eyes again, a thorn of displeasure picking you as you note that that apprehension you had seen previously is still very much there, “...You really wouldn’t date me if I was a worm?”

His chest rumbles with a laugh and his lips split into a grin, “I would.” He presses your side for emphasis, “I really would.” He repeats, reassuringly. You, however, are not convinced.

“But I’d be a worm.”

“I know. We’d... roll around in the dirt together, or something.”

“But you’d be human.”

He frowns softly, “Why couldn’t I be a worm, too?”

“Those are the rules.”

“What kind of shitty fucking rules are those?”

“I dunno, it’s like the Thanos snap or something. I just turn into a worm. I’m the only one.”

“That’s fine.” He smiles, “I’d take you out on a fishing date or something.”

Shocked, offended, and heartbroken, you hit his chest and pointedly turn away with a pout, which he finds very funny for some reason, but you fail to see the humor anywhere except the movie. Despite the fact that he’d sacrifice you for a fish, you smile shyly and close your eyes. He did say you would take a nap together, and if he really thought you’d stay awake for movie night, well, then he’s just an idiot. You had decided you would fall asleep as soon as he was next to you. It’s a miracle you managed to stay awake for so long.

“...Sleeping already?” You don’t appreciate his teasing tone.

“’m not sleeping...” You murmur, “’m resting my eyes.”

“Sure.”

You’re not quite certain (of anything, really) how much time drifts by, but you’re nearly lost in unconsciousness, in the warm, nice feeling that comes along with him like a cloud. Perhaps he thinks you’re asleep, he has to, else he wouldn’t say anything at all, “You’re stuck with me now, you know.” It’s such a soft admission, riddled with the same notes of anxiety that always prevail in his speech; with the same hopeful sincerity he had been gazing at you the whole evening.

Moving your lips is such a hassle, but you manage, “’m...stuck...” You mumble, “’m...stuck...what are you doing step-”

“No!” He laughs, and your lips quirk into a lazy smile, “No, no, no. Just no. Do you talk in your sleep?” You fake snore at that, loudly, “You’re like a little dragon.”

“...Fuck you.”

“Fine, a kitten, then.” That’s better. You feel something chapped, but soft, press onto your forehead, “Goodnight, Y/n.”

God, you’re so fucking happy. Does he know how happy you are? How happy he makes you? But you’re too tired for screaming and flailing around, too tired to even crack an eye open. You want him to know all the same, “...like you.” You whisper, but you don’t know if he hears you over the movie, “...I like you.”

His reply is instant, breathless, “I like you too.”

Good, you want to say, and maybe you do - can’t tell anymore. Sleep takes you too quickly.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @bingusmode - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury--moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband fanfic #corpse x y/n #corpse social media au #corpse husband social media au #social media au #myso #make you say oh #reader #xreader #imagine #imagines #fluff #wtf i have never been this soft no one hmu

2K notes · View notes

verascrow · 4 years ago

Text

#01 - Tape One | series masterlist

⮞ Beta Reader - @jschllatt ! thank you so much for proofreading this for me !

⮞ Pairing - Monster!Technoblade x Monster-Hunter!Reader ⮞ Summary - A sleepless night and a hazy mind aren’t the smartest thing to bring along on a solo mission that could end in your demise, but what’s the worst that could happen? ⮞ Rating - Mature (SFW) ⮞ Warnings - cursing , weapons ( hatchet, crossbow, gun ) , slight anxiety ⮞ Word Count - 2.8k ⮞ Taglist - Open! Send an Ask or DM to be added

Time is a finicky thing. It's a social construct created by humans as a desperate grasp at something they can control. Of course, they can't control the sun or the stars. That would be insane, would it not? Humans were the people who gave time meaning. If not for them, we would only see it as darkness and light, not the hours we've put between them. How was it they made up such an important idea, something key to their everyday lives, that only they as a race use? Humans are the only ones who use time, their actions simply affect everything else.

Take canines, for example. Their genetics tell them when they are to hunt, to mate, to kill. They don't depend on the hours or the days, that itself is a foolish thing to them. Why would they need to know it? They know that once the sun has set; the hunt is on. With humans around, they have disrupted the balance of it. These once feared predators depend on the hand of a human to feast. They depend on an electronic clock to sate their pangs of hunger.

Looking at it, how would humans be without time? Would the world crumble? Would everything they had once known to be true turn out to simply be a lie? Mayhaps-but that is the beauty of it all. The beauty of chaos, the beauty of the world closing its curtains in the final act. And when the crowd asks for an encore, who would the world be to deny their wishes?

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock-

The tick of the clock snaps you back to reality like whiplash, your previous thoughts fleeting from your mind in an instant. Your eyes are blurry, everything around you set in a foggy haze. Even aside from daydreaming, everything felt fuzzy. The clock didn’t help with it, the constant noise only setting you on edge more than you already were.

How long had it been? Hours, maybe? A few minutes? You couldn’t tell, and frankly, you couldn’t care either. Letting out a small sigh, you pinch the skin between your brows, slumping over as you try to ground yourself. You open your eyes after a moment, the blurriness from before subsiding for the most part. Now, you found yourself met with the sight of several manila folders and post-it notes scattered across the mattress you found yourself on.

Ah, yes- so that’s why you had been up at such an ungodly hour. Your mission. The suicide mission they had assigned you to. Good gods above, how long had you been awake for? Taking in the organized chaos that was your bed currently, it made you grimace. How many files did they have on a single monster? Sure, you wanted to be prepared, but this was absurd.

However, that apparent thought had never crossed your mind in the previous hours, evidence being the bags forming under your eyes and the overall stiffness of your body. Taking the folder that had found itself on your lap, you flipped it open, reading over the open page.

“Upon a prior expedition, Piglins seem to be tame around those wearing gold items. Whether it be armor or simple jewelry, they seem to be passive towards those wearing the metal. One scout found themselves near the beasts, but said creatures left him alone upon seeing the gold wedding ring around his finger.”

You squint your eyes, trying to make sense of the next sentence. Was that a Y, or a T? Gods above, you were exhausted. Letting the folder drop back onto your lap, you bring your palms up to your eyes, rubbing harshly to keep a hold of your consciousness. You’d be able to look at the files whilst on the road. Sleep was more important right now if you wanted to survive until the next day.

Knowing the casino’s fellow patrons, they’d probably get a kick out of seeing you leave all drowsy and such. Hell, that wouldn’t come close to how entertaining it would be to them if you didn’t return. With a groan and a sigh, you begin gathering all the files. Paper-clipping a few together here, stapling a few there until the process was complete. Looking at the files stacked together, you really were in over your head. The number of files was making your head dizzy, not counting how sleep-deprived you were in the current moment.

Placing the folders in a neat stack on the floor beside your bed, you finally let your body relax. Your back falls against the mattress, sinking into it almost instantly. It was nowhere near comfortable on a normal day. The mattress was hard, firm, and wildly uncomfortable, but now? You might as well have been sleeping on a cloud. Before your hazy mind could even process it, you were out like a light, left to your own devices in the world of unconsciousness.

05:30 in the morning. Who in their right mind decides that the crack of dawn is an appropriate time to wake up? Quackity, apparently, because that’s exactly the person who was pounding relentlessly on your door. The loud and sudden noise is enough to make you jolt upright in your bed. Your foggy mind can’t even process what is happening, much less when he speaks.

“It’s 05:30! Get up! You leave in the next hour, c’mon! You’ll be burning daylight before you know it, so get your ass ‘outta bed!” His shrill voice is enough to get you to peek your eyes open, immediately met with the darkness of the room. With the warm sheets you found yourself in, the comforting dimness of the room, you almost fall back asleep then and there. Almost being our keyword here, because you wouldn’t want to make Quackity mad, now would you?

With a groan, you’re able to kick the sheets off of the bed, successfully leaving you out in the open as the cool air of the room sets across your warm body. It sends a shiver running through you, effectively allowing goosebumps to settle across your skin. The feeling is unpleasant, but that’s the point of it. With minimal effort, you sit yourself up in the bed, immediately regretting your actions.

Your muscles are tight, making every turn and twist of your body painful. A silent scream rips through your throat as you stretch your arms above your head, only to turn into a satisfied groan as your muscles relax. One would have thought that the richest hotel in the city would at least have comfortable beds, but apparently not. No, instead, you were better off sleeping on the carpet, which you could proudly admit was comfier than your own mattress.

Looking out the small prison-like window your room provided, the sun hadn’t even risen yet. The sky, a blur of dark blues and purples sprinkled with stars, was your only greeting. You could see the lighter hues begin to peek over the horizon from where you sat. A masterpiece from your window, who would have thought?

Aside from the awe-inducing view, you yourself felt far from it. You had a lot to do in the span of an hour. A short time span, but it was feasible. With hurried motions, you’re able to dress in form-fitting attire; something not too tight, but at the same time not too loose. It was important to wear such clothing in these times. Something too tight could leave you breathless, in this case, vulnerable. If it were to be too loose, it could get caught on something or weigh you down. That shouldn’t have to explain why that would be unfortunate.

Style aside, you now had to tackle the process that was your files. The ones you had obtained were a copy. They’d never give you the original without a backup in store. That would simply be foolish. Instead, you’d been given a clean copy of said files, all neatly tucked into their respective folders. Of course, that neatness had been your doing alone.

You made quick use of your time, neatly tucking the folders and files alike into your bag. The bag itself was less of a bag and more of a backpack, however, it served both uses. The fabric was weatherproof, as you liked it. It was strong, not even a tear could be seen over it. It had lasted you all your time here so far. Hopefully, it would survive the rest of the way.

With your bag fully prepared with your files, clothes, and things of the like, you set out for the armory. Swinging open your door rather roughly, you make your way down the halls, turning here and there and speeding down a flight of steps or two. Checking a clock on the wall as you amble down the halls, you see that you have just under 20 minutes before Quackity is on your ass. Perfect.

With a final descent into the basement of the building, you reach the armory. The place itself is impressive, with one wall lined up entirely with weapons. Guns, crossbows, blades; any weapon of destruction that you wanted was here. The rest of the open room stayed reserved for a shooting range. Was it the smartest option that it was indoors? Maybe not, but would you rather be shooting outside where beasts of unknown origins could hear you? Hell no.

The man running the armory shoots you a look as you enter. Some could interpret it as a glare, but to you, it was nothing short of a hopeful wish for your demise. Unfortunate maybe, but you couldn’t be one to judge. Politely, you offer a wave. Nothing flashy or energetic, simply the bare minimum.

You don’t look to see if he responds in any way, as you probably wouldn’t be met with anything. Instead, you turn your attention to the wall. They really had any weapon you could need here, didn’t they? Every single one was in pristine condition, that you could see at least.

You would have never touched a weapon in the old world, that you knew as fact. Why would you if you didn’t have a reason to? Why so much as place a finger upon something that could cause harm, when you could put your efforts into something else? Those thoughts, ones that you used to have, have been long forgotten as of now.

Taking a moment to admire them, you reach for a sleek, black crossbow. Weighing it in your hands, you press the stock against your shoulder and take a step behind you towards the range. It feels nice in your hands, not too heavy nor light. You take one arrow from the attached quiver, loading it with a quick move of your hand. Turning around, you kneel down and peer through the scope at the hay targets 15 yards away from your current position.

You hover your finger above the trigger, lining up your sights with the yellow center of the target. At that moment, nothing else matters. Not the man behind the counter, giving you shady looks as he watches you with an unimpressed look. Not that mission, the simple task that weighed your life in its hands like a god. Nothing. The only thing that mattered now was you and the target.

You steady the crossbow, using your other hand to hold it up. If you missed this, how could you survive in the field? Your eyes arrow in on the small, yellow circle in the center of the target. It wouldn’t be too hard to hit it, considering there was no wind nor monsters chasing you at the moment. You wanted to hit the minuscule black dot in the center.

With a sharp breath in, you fire. The arrow fires, flying through the arrow and straight towards the target. The man behind the counter raises an eyebrow, watching the arrow as it rips into the target. He lets out an annoyed huff, already heading under the counter to get a full quiver for you. Bullseye.

You smile to yourself softly, the good feeling of accomplishment flowing through you. Letting the weapon rest against your side, you turn back to the wall. With your primary weapon figured out, now you needed a melee and possibly a secondary weapon as well.

You choose something less flashy for your secondary, simple G17. The pistol isn’t your favorite, but it’d be better to have it than nothing. You had one when you first started out, the damn thing jamming too many times for your liking. Granted, you didn’t have sufficient ammo for the gun, but you’d rather it worked in life-threatening situations than not.

Now all you needed was a melee weapon. Easier said than done, seeing the sheer amount of different options at your disposal. You didn’t need something flashy, nor did you want it. You let out a quiet laugh as you look over some of the more… unusual options. Good gods, as much as you wanted it, you didn’t need a damn sword with you.

Looking back to the more tactical options, something catches your eye. A steel hatchet, an awfully beautiful one at that. The dark metal shines against the flickering lights of the armory, the edge of the blade reflecting your own features. You grip the handle, prying it off the wall, and hold it tightly. It was a lot lighter than you’d thought, feeling at home as you curled your fingers around it.

It was on the smaller side, but that only added to it. Gracefully, you toss it from one hand to the other, feeling the difference between the two. You’d wield it in your dominant hand, but it’s worth the effort to try with both. With a nod to yourself, you grab all three weapons and head to the man behind the counter.

He’s just as unamused as he looked when you first entered, scrunching up his nose as you place the weaponry on the concrete counter, the items clinking together in the process. He ducks under your line of sight, grumbling to himself. Within a few seconds, he pops back up, all the supplies you’d need in his arms.

A quiver, hatchet cover, ammo; anything you’d need for however long the mission would be. His tone is bored as he asks for payment, sliding your things across the counter with his hand held out. Reaching into one pocket of your bag, you pull out four poker chips, a mocking smile on either red or blue side.

His eyes widen as you drop them into his palm, staring at them with confusion. His voice almost hints at that of anger as he speaks up, voice gravelly. “I said two, not four. Are you an idiot?” His eyes are dark when they look into your own. You shrug your shoulders nonchalantly, grabbing your things and clipping them to your bag. “Consider it my thanks, Phineas.”

His mouth is agape as you leave, lifting your hand up as a ‘farewell’ while you head out the door. As your footsteps fall heavy against the floor, you contemplate your prior decision. Chips were the casino’s idea of money. You received chips if you did particularly excellent work on something, which was rare for most. Four chips for your safety didn’t seem like too far of a stretch. One would pay the world for their life, would they not?

Your steps echo down the halls as you make your way towards the main door, anxiety bubbling up. Gods, you were going to die on this mission, weren’t you? A solo mission against one of the most powerful beasts you had ever read about? You might as well have been writing your will then and there. The carpet of the lobby muffles your steps, leaving you to listen with no distraction to your racing mind.

Was this the last time you would step foot in the casino? You squeeze your eyes tightly, stopping in your tracks right in front of the door, letting out a groan. Fuck, you were overthinking this. Even if you didn’t make it to tomorrow, at least you made it this far, right? With a little pep talk to yourself, you push open one of the glass doors and step out into the darkness that lays outside of the casino.

“Oi.”

The voice makes you wince involuntarily. Turning to your left, you see the familiar mop of jet black hair leaning up against one of the casino’s walls. Your hands find themselves at your bag’s straps, pulling them tightly against you as you meet his gaze.

“Quackity.” Your voice comes out small, not something that you liked. His breath comes out in a puff, the cold temperature of the morning making the sight visible. Like a dragon, you think in the back of your mind. The childish thought is tossed aside as he pushes off of the wall, watching as he rubs his hands together and making his way past you. He stops at your side, not looking over at you. No, he just looks ahead as the sun rises behind you.

“Come back, won’t you?”

⮞ Previous Tape ⮞⮞⮞ ⮞ Next Tape

⮞ Technoblade Route Taglist - @cutiebear45 @kiki-is-the-name @hololizard @sunshinebutnotrainbows @valkyrieidunn @dominickle @err0rnan0 @lacunaanonymoused @ura-writes @jaciahbabes @mega-trash-cringe

⮞ Author’s Note - After long last, another tape! I went through quite the rough patch with this one. It took me a long time to finally find some inspiration, but this is evidence enough that I did somehow. I’m hoping to update next Sunday, possibly earlier, but we’ll have to see what my mind deems fit.

112 notes · View notes

oilan · 5 years ago

Note

22 and 31 for You Know Who if you’re still taking prompts? 👉👈

These are both very good prompts and I’ll post them separately. Here’s 22~

---

Though they had promised themselves to be discreet during their visit, Combeferre's family had retired to bed hours ago and the house was quiet. They had been left alone in the parlor, the only noise in the house the crackling of the warm fire in front of them. It was too tempting, and what could they do to resist? New lovers can be forgiven for getting carried away. Combeferre was half in Enjolras' lap, lost in deep, soft kisses, in the feeling of a warm hand at the back of his neck. Enjolras shifted below him, turning so they were pressed together more closely, his breath catching as Combeferre dipped his fingers beneath the placket of his shirt to brush the smooth skin beneath. Even through the headiness clouding his mind, Combeferre knew it was wiser to pause this, if only long enough for them to go upstairs to the bedroom, but he could not bring himself to pull away, not when he brought his hand down to Enjolras' hip, and he arched upwards so invitingly...

"Aha! I knew it!" The pair entangled on the sopha startled so violently their heads banged together, and Combeferre fell off of Enjolras and onto the floor. Heat rising in his face, he looked up from the crumpled heap in which he lay to see his sister standing in the doorway, wearing a dressing gown and doubled over with silent laughter. Enjolras, for his part, looked as dignified as one could look when caught in such circumstances. His clothes and hair were in disarray, but he had sat up straight and adopted a calm expression, though Combeferre noticed he had dragged a cushion over his lap. After a moment of silence, Marie-Anne wiped tears of mirth from her eyes. "I was just coming downstairs to refill my water," she said, gesturing with the pitcher she was holding, "And what do I find? I knew there was something going on between the two of you, and I was going to tell you to be more careful, Brother, but I didn't expect you to be carrying on like that. On the sopha? Really? I sit there, you know." Raising himself up to a sitting position, Combeferre was about to fling out a rebuke in annoyance, but something she said made him pause. "What do you mean, you were going to tell me to be careful?" Marie-Anne rolled her eyes. "Augustin, you have always been oblivious about this kind of thing. The two of you were making eyes at each other over dinner with such intensity that I'm surprised Mother and Father didn't catch on. I'm deeply hurt, by the way, that you didn't tell me. I tell you everything -- well, almost everything -- about me and Celine." "I was going to tell you." His sister shrugged, and then fixed Enjolras with an appraising look. Under ordinary circumstances this would likely have resulted in a cold glare back, but perhaps Enjolras had been thrown off-kilter by the interruption more than he let on. He blushed crimson. "I suppose I should congratulate you, Brother," said Marie-Anne. "Even I can tell he is beautiful. Well done. And Monsieur Enjolras, as Augustin's sibling, I suppose I am duty-bound to inform you that if you so much as bruise my brother's feelings, I will come after you. That is what siblings do for each other, isn't it? I don't care how skilled you are at savate or fencing or single-stick. I will put a most unpleasant end to you." She said this calmly and from the look on Enjolras' face, he believed her. "Oh, leave him alone, for heaven's sake," said Combeferre, half-heartedly throwing a cushion at her. She did not even bother to dodge it; it missed easily. "Both of you should go to bed before anyone else comes downstairs," she said, turning and starting to make her way to the kitchens. "And do try to keep any noises of passion to a minimum. I'm tired, and I promised Celine I would go to breakfast with her early tomorrow morning."

#enjolras #combeferre #enjolras/combeferre #homo and vir #I imagine this is what having siblings is like... just giving each other shit all the time #but loving each other really #les miserables #my fic #kissing prompts #kissing meme #oldbookist

11 notes · View notes

cle1024 · 6 years ago

Text

erubescent | hhj

member: hwang hyunjin

genre: angst, fluff

summary: why are my cheeks erubescent? i shouldn’t be feeling this way about you; i’m not supposed to trust you. bad boy!au, florist!au, high school!au, enemies to lovers!au

warnings: swearing, underage drinking, cigarettes

a/n: it’s big cliche teen romance hours. i’ve been working on this for a while so it’s kind of long, i also apologise in advance for any spelling or grammatical errors. enjoy!

Monday, 2:35am.

Music blasted from the garage down the street, as it had been for the past four hours. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, a huff passing your lips before you shoved the covers off of your sleep-deprived body. The house was on the other side of the road, three houses down, yet the sound it emitted was still agonisingly clear. There wasn’t a party or get together going on, it just served as the background noise for some boy who decided to do god knows what at two in the morning. ‘Some boy’ referred to the devil incarnate. Personally, you had your own bad traits and habits, and you were willing to acknowledge that. The boy, on the other hand, was not as willing. He was cocky, self-absorbed, arrogant, and many other synonyms. Students at your school found him annoyingly charming and attractive, parents found him to be deceptively charming and a total sweetheart, you thought he was a dumb prick. A self-absorbed, untrustworthy, dumb prick. A no-good, rudderless, troublesome bum. Hwang Hyunjin was the bane of your existence without even trying.

Luck was never on your side, evidently. The bus ride to school took fifteen minutes at the least and school started at 8:00am sharp. Your bus was intended to arrive at 7:40am, but eight minutes had passed and it vehemently refused to show up. A groan bubbled in your chest, prepared to be expressed through your soft lips and into the crisp morning air, but the chance was cut short, much to your dismay.

“Doesn’t school start at 8:00am?” As if your morning couldn’t get worse. The distinct voice of the boy, who’d managed to keep you up all night with his music, echoed from beside you. As far as you were concerned, he had no clue who you were: no name, class, nothing. You’d prefer to keep it that way.

“Yes,” Hyunjin clicked his tongue before shoving his hands in his pockets. You weren’t sure if he was expected more of a conversation from you, perhaps some stuttering and blushing on your behalf, which you most certainly weren’t going to provide. Your morning had already gotten off to a shit start due to his behaviour, no need to make it even worse. As the clock ticked to 7:51am, the bus finally pulled up in front of the two of you. Hyunjin made a beeline to get on first, almost knocking you out of the way in the pursuit. You rolled your eyes: what on earth did people see in him?

Wednesday, 1:22am.

You banged your head against your desk continuously. Life was an unpleasant, torturous ride that you could not get off of. Hyunjin’s music was blasting from down the street, this time accompanied by the obnoxious laughter of his friends, all the while your chemistry report sat unwritten in front of you. Of course you had the scaffold and results you needed, but none of the motivation to write a full scientific report. What was the point? You didn’t wish to pursue a career that had anything to do with chemistry. It infuriated you immensely, the way adults dictated what was and wasn’t important to learn, even if you had no intention of applying it to your life later. You allowed your head to rest on the desk solemnly, the pain forming from where you’d hit it repeatedly - not hard enough to do any damage, but enough times for it to cause some pain. That, partnered with the lively sound of Hyunjin’s house, was enough to give you a killer migraine. You rubbed your temples tiredly, trying to recall if there was any panadol stashed in the cupboard near the kitchen. Much to your displeasure, you were almost certain there wasn’t. You sighed as you refocused your eyes on the bright laptop in front of you. With an exasperated sigh, you let your fingers wander over the keyboard to write the stressful report. You had roughly seven hours until you had to be at school and subsequently hand it in, going one more day with a few hours of sleep should be fine.

It was absolutely not fine. You had fallen asleep at your desk after printing out the report and stapling it together, waking up with a major neck cramp and back ache. Furthermore, you only managed to catch your bus by a second, any later and you would’ve been forced to watch the bus roll away and catch sight of Hyunjin’s smug face as he sat at the back of the bus. Though you were glad you wouldn’t be subjected to such a look, you were stressed out of your mind. Stupid fucking chemistry report. As soon as you made it off the bus you muttered a thank you to the driver, speed-walking in the direction of your school. Hyunjin dawdled behind you, a fairly large distance between the two of you. He didn’t understand why you were in such a rush to get to that hell hole. He’d only noticed you for the first time on Monday at the bus stop, but now he saw you everywhere. Every time he wasn’t in class on Monday, either because he was skipping or because it was break time, he managed to catch a glimpse of your face.

And you always looked like you wanted to die.

It was quite humorous to Hyunjin, almost paradoxical in a way. You appeared to pay attention in class from the glimpses he got, dedicated to your studies he could assume, yet there was never an emotion other than stress or distaste creasing your facial features. He didn’t blame you, though. As soon as he could get out of that school he would run off to become a choreographer at the same studio as Minho. If he was old enough, he would do it now, but Minho said the company was strict on the ages of choreographers: “I’m not fucking around, Hwang. If they find out you’re still in school, they’ll come into my house and cut up all my clothes while I’m sleeping. I don’t have the money to buy new ones!” It was a very specific, unrealistic threat, but Minho could be very persuasive when it suited him.

Friday, 1:41am.

How anyone in the neighbourhood got any sleep was beyond you. Every night the Hwang house pumped music, different genres but none that piqued your interests or matched your tastes. At this point, it had been a week since it had started - you believed that was when his parents left town for a trip to visit relatives, at least that’s what you’d heard around school. People had been buzzing with excitement when they heard that Hwang Hyunjin had an empty house and could, as a result, throw a rambunctious party. Of course you weren’t as keen on the idea, but nothing you could do would stop it from happening. The party, thankfully, hadn’t happened yet, and you were secretly praying it never would. Though, now that you thought about it, could it be any worse? You already lacked sleep due to his deafening sound system, would the rambunctious sounds of teenage laughter really add to the noise? The only times you could make out the noises of his dickhead friends was when the music had been turned down significantly so they could hear one another yelling and hooting. Your eyes rolled at the thought, imbeciles. In their defence, the group had never directly done anything to you that made you feel that way. Rather, the way they acted left a bad taste in your mouth and a ringing sensation in your ears. Just like Hyunjin, they exuded an inflated sense of entitlement and were noisy beyond belief at school―at least when they were together. When they were apart, some of the boys were more quiet and mainly threw dirty looks or dropped an occasional comment. You weren’t sure whether Hwang Hyunjin classified as one of those boys as you’d never seen him alone at school, there was always someone matching his footsteps and snarky remarks. Come to think of it, the only time you’d seen Hyunjin stood alone was when you’d been late to catching the bus or the bus had showed up ten minutes late. Regardless, you had your reasons for wanting to stay as far away from them as possible.

You sigh at the bright screen of your mobile, the energy draining from your body at the thought of working through the weekend. There was nothing wrong with the florist your family owned, you were merely unsatisfied with being paid the minimum wage of nine dollars and thirty cents an hour. Majority of the customers you’d had the duty of serving were restaurant or cafe owners, people with sick friends or family, lovesick teenagers, or middle-aged women who wanted to spruce up the dining room. Your mother often spoke of an elderly lady who came in with her handsome grandson, though you’d never been working when she frequented the store. You supposed the store was easy money, just neatly wrap some flowers with an adequate meaning and smile as genuinely as possible. There was never any displeasure from customers or passing civilians, but standing behind a counter for nine hours was less than stellar―and it was only for the grand payment of $135.40, that was better than nothing you supposed. You rested your head against the cool glass window of the bus, the cold air frosting the surface temperature. Grey clouds loomed across the autumn sky, the transition to winter becoming clearer each day. Autumn was usually a blue-skied sunny time, though as it faded into the crisp winter everything became abysmal. The sky took on monotone greys and watered the grass every now and then, it became dreary and people lost energy simply by looking at the dark weather. Though it was a small motivator for some, signalling that winter break would approach in a months time. Late November, always so deplorable. That was usually the time you had the most people coming into the flower shop looking for some bright arrangement to make their home feel less cold and dull; they cared not for the meaning but for the colour, even if it meant throwing together flowers of hatred and passion to achieve such a look. You wanted to laugh at their ignorance, but how could you blame them? Everything just felt so cold at this time of year.

Sunday, 5:36pm.

Rain gently pattered the glass windows of the store as you swirled the straw poked in your strawberry milk carton. The pink liquid followed the movement of the straw in a slow swirling motion, twisting in currents of dairy as a form of entertainment for your exhausted self. Business had been slower than yesterday, likely due to the ugly shades of grey and sharp rainfall haunting the sky, but you didn’t necessarily see it as a bad thing. You’d been standing in one general area since nine in the morning and your feet were aching. Your eyes drifted from the liquid inside the carton to the white clock on the wall―6:00pm wasn’t that far away. You were down to your last few sheets of the brown craft paper used to support the delicate bouquets, perhaps you could just restock that in the meantime. A cracking noise sounded from your back as you straightened your posture, rolling your shoulders from their previously hunched position. Your legs moved slowly in the direction of the staff only area of the shop, walking through the opened door in search for new paper. As you sifted through the craft paper, debating whether you continued with the tan brown colour or switched to an opaque blush pink, you heard the faint echo of the bell from above the door and the sounds of the rain grew heavier momentarily before the door shut. Your ears could just make out the sounds of quiet muffled talking, two voices evidently present, though you couldn’t pinpoint the exact words. With a stack of new pink craft paper in hand, you exited the storage room and returned to your usual spot behind the checkout, placing the newly gathered paper underneath the leftover brown sheets. From your position, you could clearly spot the two customers studying the large vases of fresh flowers, the taller and younger of which with their back to you. They had short yet messy black hair, slightly growing into a mullet from a lack of trimming, a white hoodie and light jeans. Their companion was much smaller, an elderly lady with grey hair and a soft smile. Perhaps this was the grandmother and her charming grandson that your mother spoke so fondly of―though that thought was immediately dismissed when the two figures turned to approach the table you stood behind. Hwang Hyunjin, of course it had to be.

You weren’t the only one who felt less than stellar about the situation. As soon as Hyunjin laid his eyes on the person behind the counter, you, he groaned internally. He hadn’t a clue what your name was, nor had you done anything to him, but he distinctly recognised you as someone from his school. This was going to be beyond humiliating―surely you would taint his infamous reputation at school, or at least blackmail him to avoid doing so. His grandmother smiled warmly at you as she placed the yellow flowers on the counter, “hello, dear. Just those ones today,” you nodded with a small smile, your fingers working carefully to wrap the bouquet in shades of tan brown. Hyunjin tried to avoid looking at you entirely, though he couldn’t help but wonder what happened to the lady who usually ran the store―you did bare a striking resemblance to her, so he just made the assumption that you were related by blood, just as he was to his grandmother.

“Any special occasion for the flowers?” Your soft voice floated to his ears as you tied a silk ribbon around the paper.

“Oh no, my grandson just likes tulips,” his grandmother chuckled as he forced an embarrassed smile, “though it would be nice to have some colour in this dreary weather,” you nodded understandingly. That was always the case in such weather. Hyunjin’s smooth hands placed the money in yours as he picked up the bouquet, praying to escape the store as soon as possible even with a growing storm outside. As soon as he heard the register close, he made his way to the front door of the shop while his grandmother shouted a quick thank you from behind him. You watched in amusement as the infamous Hwang boy exited the dainty little shop. You certainly never took him for a lover of flowers, let alone tulips. Then again, you only knew his reputation. You didn’t know Hwang Hyunjin.

Monday, 3:51pm.

Hyunjin glanced at the clock dreamily, feeling very resemblant of Britney Spears in her Baby One More Time music video. Only nine minutes until he could get home and prepare a half-assed meal, then ditch his after school study groups for some time with friends, as he always did when his parents weren’t able to monitor him. It was always a paradise when they were gone―no fighting, no classes until ten o’clock at night, no demands to turn his music down when it wasn’t even turned up halfway on his phone. He much preferred his grandmother. She was wise, sweet, gentle, and always prepared him hot chocolate and biscuits in the winter. Although now that he thought of his grandmother, he couldn’t help but cast his mind back to the flower shop and how you had served him. An internal groan erupted in him at the thought. He didn’t care that it was you who served him, he had no clue who you were, though the knowledge that you had some sort of leverage over him bugged him greatly. You knew he wasn’t all parties, unsafe drinking and scoffs, you knew he was a sucker for tulips and accompanied his grandmother to a warm little florist. The bell rung right as his eyes rolled subconsciously. He could only hope that your interaction at the flower shop wouldn’t synchronise with his visits to the store.

Hyunjin glared at the cracked screen of his phone, furrowing his eyebrows at the text message from the girl in the year below him. If it hadn’t been for the persistence of the girl, he would’ve completely discarded her name from his memory. Son Bongcha, the way she squeaked it vivaciously was an earache and a half. The boy didn’t really know when Bongcha started her quest to ‘win his heart’ or whatever the fuck she was trying to do, he tended to not take much notice of her in hopes of getting her to realise that he was far from being interested. Though it seemingly never worked. Everyday, or everyday she could find him, she’d have another sickly giggle and batting eyelashes prepared in advance. At this point, his friends ridiculed him relentlessly for it―just as they planned to do now. Hyunjin felt the phone being snatched from his grip suddenly, causing him to swiftly look up and meet the sight of Jisung sprinting in the opposite direction as his other friends followed behind. The tall boy groaned at the thought of their teasing, “Ji, give it back.”

“Why, so you can be harassed by…”

“Bongcha!” The boys mimicked her voice in unison as the huddled against one another in the distance. Hyunjin rolled his eyes with an amused half-smirk. He initially felt bad for mocking the girl, but the memory of her desperate flirting seemed to rid of the guilt―he still vividly recalls the time she caused a scene in the hallway, loudly demanding he admit their relationship (which didn’t exist) to the rest of the school. That all happened when he was in his third and final year of junior high school, aged fifteen while she was only fourteen―Chan would’ve been in his final year of senior high school at that point. The thought felt odd; Hyunjin had only met Chan through Minho last year, the idea of the eldest being in school felt… wrong. His attention fell back to his laughing friends as they read over Bongcha’s irritating messages. Changbin rolled his eyes before taking a swig of his beer, “I don’t get why you haven’t blocked her number yet.”

Minho laughed, “who else will be a loyal booty call?”

Hyunjin sighed heavily, “not all of us rely on booty calls, Minho,” the older held his hands up in surrender as the others cheered Hyunjin on, “besides, a blocked number doesn’t stop her from approaching me at school.”

After the words left his plump lips, Felix came running up to him and tugged on his arm before whining, “oppa! Why haven’t you texted me back?” The group laughed at his impression of the girl, the alcohol pumping through their blood seemingly hyped them up and amplified the humour of the situation. Jisung tossed the cracked phone back to Hyunjin.

“Chan and Minho have no other way to experience her cringiness, don’t delete her number,” Hyunjin took the younger’s advice. No one would know about how they flamed the girl, and it felt like a good form of redemption for the way she had humiliated him in junior high school. It took months for those dating rumours to die down―although Hyunjin still isn’t one-hundred percent sure people knew the truth of the situation. Then again, the truth of a rumour always turned out to be the version people wanted to believe, no matter how much evidence proved otherwise.

Thursday, 7:38am.

Hyunjin’s feet slapped against the pavement gently as he strolled to the bus stop. He never usually took the bus to school, at least not since the first year of junior high when his parents last went on a holiday―some sort of romantic getaway bull shit, just as they were this time. Although he was used to the sound of honking horns and road rage from his short-tempered mother, even if short lived, he much preferred the journey from the bus. The walk was always comforting even in the depths of winter and swells of summer, and there was something about sitting on a bus with two other people that was oddly comforting to the boy. Perhaps he was just odd―no, if he was odd then no one would understand him fully, yet there were people who did, friends no less. A sigh escaped his lips as the bus stop entered his sight, as well as your figure sitting on the furthest end of the bench. He didn’t see you here every morning, likely because he took much more time to dawdle here than you did, though you were there on mornings where the bus was inexcusably late or you had woken up on the wrong side of bed far too late. It seemed like one of those mornings. As Hyunjin drew closer he could make out the dark circles under your dull eyes, the messy strands of hair that carelessly fell in your face, eyes half-shut as you looked ahead in a trance. He wondered how long it took you to get here each morning, perhaps you rarely ran into each other at the stop because you lived closer than he did, or perhaps you just had a more sensible understanding of time and its value. The thought seemingly left his mind not long after it entered. He hadn’t a reason to care for how you got to the bus stop, nor did he take much notice of you when you did happen to cross paths―except for at the florist. The dark-haired boy was close to forgetting that incident when it resurface with the sight of you. Sighing softly, he leaned against the poll of the bus stop sign and gazed in the direction the bus would usually come from.

You picked at the mini pajeon on your food tray, only slightly listening to the conversation of your surrounding three friends. You could make out the sound of disgust made by Seungmin as Jeongin appeared to eat a chunk of rice whole, “Jeongin, you need to chew,” his nasally voice sounded diagonally to you. There was no need to look at the first year to know his response, you could practically hear the over exaggerated eye roll he often did at one of Seungmin’s critiques. Although they bickered a fair bit and tormented each other to no end, you knew it was out of non-blood related brotherly love. Yuqi chuckled from your left, nudging you gently to engage in a conversation outside of the two bickering boys.

“How’s the noisy house going?” She smiled playfully before popping a piece of nori seaweed in her mouth. You mimicked Jeongin’s eye roll on a smaller scale.

“Awful. Still staying awake until four or five in the morning after bashing my head against a wall,” Yuqi laughed at your dramatic words. Her elbow rested on the table as she shrugged her shoulders slightly.

“I don’t understand why you don’t just say something to him about it. You’re not even neighbours and it keeps you up!” You sighed gently, knowing she was right. Of course the confrontation would be more beneficial, but it would also be your worst nightmare. You never wished to interact with Hwang Hyunjin. Besides, you knew complaining about his behaviour would only gain a scoff and door slamming in your face, perhaps a friendly “go fuck yourself”.

“I just don’t want to complain about something when I know it won’t change.”

Saturday, 1:43am.

The buzz about Hyunjin’s potential party while he had the house to himself morphed into a nightmarish reality at ten o’clock, Friday night. He threw ‘everyone is invited’ type of parties, which only served as a way for desperate girls to throw themselves at him and blame it on alcohol the next day when he inevitably rejects him. You could remember Yuqi saying she would go, only because her boyfriend didn’t want to get wasted without someone reliable by his side―although you were pretty sure Yuqi just wanted to hear him drunkenly ramble about how she was the love of his life or some crap. Jeongin had been begged to go by one of Hyunjin’s friends, Felix. You hadn’t a clue how they met but Jeongin said he was a good guy, even when Hyunjin was near him―in all honesty, you’d never spoken to Felix in your entire life, you just knew that he and Han Jisung had gotten more detentions in one semester than you’d gotten in your entire time at school. Seungmin detested the idea of parties, way too many “loud and sweaty barbarians in one cramped space” as he once said, and you were in a similar boat. You didn’t know anyone at the party who wouldn’t be dragged away by someone giggly and drunk to leave you standing awkwardly, and you didn’t want to be in the same cramped house as Hyunjin―let alone his own house. You didn’t really want to think about the fact you could almost feel the vibrations of the bass from across the road, two houses down, though it was almost impossible when it was the main cause of your splitting headache. You sighed before grabbing your phone from the nightstand beside you, squinting at the brightness of the screen in your dark room. Yuqi’s simple text message, signifying her ending the night, appeared on your screen in the form of a blinding notification: xuxi is pissed off his face and telling me to never leave him, i’m really dating an overgrown child huh. A small chuckle escaped your lips at the thought of the six foot teenager babbling about loving Yuqi―you couldn’t blame him, Yuqi was practically perfection personified. Love and alcohol can make a person do crazy things, admit all their secrets and give everything away. Yukhei was just lucky Yuqi was willing to make the same sacrifices for him, regardless of his sobriety at the time.

The clock on your phone displayed the early time of 2:46pm, eliciting a disapproving groan and eye rub from your tired form. You supposed it was catch-up for all the mornings you’d woken up with four hours of sleep. A satisfying crack sounded as you arched your back and stretched your arms, pulling the covers from your pyjama-clad body to make your way to the window. The weather was far more bright today, blue skies and fluffy marshmallows speckled around against the cool colour, though you could still feel the frosty nip of the air as you opened the window. You were met with a gust of wind and voices, indistinguishable but strong. Your eyes cast downwards towards the road right outside your house, immediately spotting seven boys in the area―you could easily tell who they were. You noticed Jeongin first, watching from the gutter as he laughed from beside another boy you hadn’t seen before. The dimpled boy, evidently older, had slightly curly brown hair atop his head and a cheerful grin on his pale face. In the road was Jisung and Felix, both in your year and far too loud for your liking―though Jeongin had defended them numerous times saying they were ‘funny and wholesome dudes’. Then you spotted Lee Minho with his head turned sideways and his back to you. A graduated boy with a permanent smirk and never-ending collection of flirtatious comments, that was the best way to describe Lee Minho―based off everything you’d heard about him, at least. He oozed sleaziness, though his smile in that moment seemed so genuine and pure as he laughed at the younger boys in the road. Seo Changbin sat nearby the elder male, his feet resting on the tar road as he sat on a skateboard identical to the one Jisung had almost fallen from moments ago. The most you knew about him was that he had a permanent glare, unwanted opinions to share all the time, and bangs that would seem annoyingly ticklish on your eyes. Directly across from you, supporting his outstretched body on his elbows, was the boy you had been running into far too often for your liking. There was a cigarette twiddling between his long fingers, though you could tell it was unlit and seemed to be staying that way. His gaze drifted, tired of absentmindedly looking up the street, to look straight ahead of him. He cocked his head at you almost teasingly, a small smirk playing on his lips as he maintained your gaze. Nothing was different about his appearance: same dark eyes, same dark messy hair, although slightly longer at the ends now. You pushed yourself away from the ledge of the window to avoid the shivering breeze and invasive gaze of a certain Hwang.

Monday, 12:54pm.

Yukhei leaned his head on Yuqi’s shoulder as he shovelled rice into his mouth, the minor display of affection earning a disgusted look from Seungmin. As they did every year, Yukhei and Yuqi marked this as their week of public affection in the lead up to their anniversary. It baffled your mind to think about how the pair had been together since the second year of junior high, four years on Sunday. You could never imagine yourself tolerating anyone in a romantic sense for that long―then again, you’d never had any romantic relationship in the first place. The idea of shy smiles and reddening cheeks made you sick nowadays, even though it was an ideal you once yearned for. The sound of Jeongin forcefully sitting down broke the concentrated gaze you had on your own food tray, glancing up at him momentarily to smile. Your eyes lingered for a second―the boy was positively beaming, braces and dimples on full display as he grinned enthusiastically. Seungmin studied the younger male beside him, “did you ingest the sun?”

Jeongin rolled his eyes, though his smile remained, “no, I just had a good weekend and got a good mark on my chemistry report.”

Yuqi smile supportively at the young boy, “good job, Innie!” He usually hated that nickname, but he seemed okay with Yuqi using it occasionally―she was like an older sister to him, even if they hadn’t known each other for decades.

“I take it Hyunjin threw a good party.”

“Yeah, we hung out the next day too,” the comment garnered a teasing “don’t go replacing us” from Yuqi, though you couldn’t really focus on that. The only thought on your mind was the heavy eye contact you held with Hyunjin, while he had that stupid shit-eating smirk on his face. One incident at the florist couldn’t undo the cockiness that he exuded at all times. You hated self-righteousness―Hwang Hyunjin just so happened to be the walking form of such an undesirable trait.

Saturday, 5:46pm.

Your hands nimbly wrapped the bouquet of pale pink azalea flowers, they were the perfect decision in your eyes. They expressed fragility, gratitude and passion, all of which Yukhei harboured towards his long-time girlfriend Kim Yuqi. There was a goofy, dazed smile on his face as he undoubtedly allowed his mind to travel along a road structured by thoughts of her. You shook your head lightly, tying the bouquet with a delicate white ribbon before handing him the bouquet, to which he slid over the adequate amount of money and left with a thank you and a smile. You sighed as the door slammed shut behind him, squeaking slightly on its hinges―you had to remind your mum to get some WD-40 to fix that up. Glancing at the clock, you mentally praised the swift movement of time as you relished in the fact you only had fourteen minutes left. You allowed your head to roll forwards, stretching your cramping neck before rolling it all the way back, fixating your gaze on the white ceiling of the store. The bell sounded from the door causing you to return your gaze to looking straight ahead as your neck pushed your head back upwards. The familiar back of Hyunjin greeted you as he sifted through the display vases, clearly in look of a certain type of flower. You heard him curse under his breath before awkwardly turning to make his way to the counter―you could see that the feeling of wanting to avoid the other was mutual. He cleared his throat slightly before speaking with a soft voice, a tone that shocked you as it came from the typically rebellious boy, “uh―do you happen to have any yellow roses left? Maybe in the back or something?” You watched him fiddle with the ring on his right index finger before you quietly made your way to the storage room in search of the sunny roses; a symbol of joy, friendship, of get well. To his luck, there was a fresh display vase of the yellow petals waiting to replace the last one.

“How many were you hoping for?” Your voice sounded as you reappeared from the nearby room. His head shot up towards you as he fixed his gaze on the roses.

“Just a dozen, grandma only likes receiving flowers in groups of twelve,” he mumbled the second part more to himself than you, though you still made out the words. With a silent nod, you plucked twelve of the roses from the glass vase, wrapping them delicately in the pink craft paper before handing them to the tall boy.

“I hope she gets better soon,” you offered as he took the bouquet. His hand was outstretched towards you to offer the necessary payment, though you shook your head in refusal. Hyunjin studied you for a second before shoving the money back in his pocket, only to turn and leave without even thanking you. A scoff passed your lips as he left the store. You didn’t expect much from him, but certainly he would have the common decency to thank someone for saving them thirty-six dollars―three dollars for each stem, though you didn’t particularly agree with the price. Regardless of the cost, Hyunjin should’ve thanked you for saving his money so he could spend it on more cigarettes that he wouldn’t smoke, or whatever the fuck he spends his cash on.

Wednesday, 12:33pm.

Hyunjin had essentially gone M.I.A after the flower shop incident, though you were certain it wasn’t related to your involvement. You chalked it up to taking care of his grandmother, or at least being by her side while she was sick, though other people didn’t seem to think the same―then again, other people didn’t know about the health of his grandmother. The only reason you knew was because Hyunjin wasn’t as quiet as he had hoped when he spoke to himself, you were never meant to know. You poked at your rice with your chopsticks in an attempt to rid the vague memory from your mind. Your eyes glanced around your surroundings, noticing how pathetically lonely you looked. From what you knew, Yuqi was studying in the library, Seungmin was at some student council meeting, and Jeongin was always late to lunch: “I have a full hour until lunch ends, why can’t I be twenty minutes late?” That always earned an eye roll from Seungmin, a boy who highly valued punctuality and reliability. In your opinion, he could go a little overboard with his withering patience, but you supposed there was nothing he could really do about it. Especially when Jeongin tested it every other day.

A carton of strawberry milk was slammed on the table in front of you, though not with enough force to break the carton and allow the milk to spill everywhere. Your head rose, as did your gaze, in order to figure out which of your friends had decided to interrupt your pondering. Instead, Hyunjin stood with a hand in his trouser pocket and the other by his side, backpack slung over his shoulders as he looked at you with a blank expression. He gazed at you for a moment, breaking the contact to walk in the direction of his friends’ lunch table, somehow ignoring the gaze of every fucking person in the lunch hall. Your cheeks flushed in embarrassment as you reached out to take hold of the milk, unsure as to how he knew to go for strawberry rather than chocolate or banana. There was a small sticky note, pale yellow, stuck to one side of the carton with messy handwriting scrawled on its surface. You dropped your chopsticks to peel the note off and decipher the words ‘now we’re even’, right above much smaller writing. You squinted involuntarily as your eyes traced the lines, struggling to make out the simple ‘thank you’ he’d, probably shamefully, written. A small smile graced your features before you opened the carton; you didn’t think about the fact people had watched the whole thing, not in that moment at least.

“What was that all about?” Changbin questioned as the younger sat down at the table.

“I owed her something,” he explained with a small shrug.

Jisung scoffed in disbelief, “yeah, because you’re so giving, Jinnie,” the words earned a glare from the taller boy, but it went unnoticed by Jisung as he happily munched on his food.

“Doesn’t matter, no one’s gonna see it that way regardless,” Felix commented absentmindedly before swiftly transitioning to another topic. Hyunjin drifted his eyes towards you, watching as you sipped from the milk carton and nodded slightly in acknowledgement as Jeongin approached your table. He furrowed his eyebrows, how had he never noticed you around Jeongin before? You placed the carton down momentarily before glancing around the lunch hall, eyes landing on the Hwang boy who was already staring into you. Though you didn’t react the way most people would—no flushed cheeks or shy smile, just a blank expression as you internally questioned why he was blatantly staring at you. The feeling it gave him was strange. It almost felt like you treated him like a human being, not a reputation or status to ogle at. He smirked slightly at you, causing you to turn away with an unimpressed expression. You were an enigma in the cafeteria; he knew so little about you, yet knew exactly how you felt about him with a few facial expressions.

Thursday, 7:36am.

People seemed to have a fucking field day with your little — very little — interaction with Hyunjin in the cafeteria. Numerous people, majority of which gossiping girls you’d never cared for interact with, questioned you about your ‘relationship’ with Hyunjin. It made you agitated beyond belief, almost in a way that was unjustified. No, actually, it was most definitely justified. If you had a dollar for every time someone approached you to ask whether you two were dating, how you knew him, why he gave you milk, why you’d never spoken before, or anything that could get even a little bit of information — which would inevitably be the victim of manipulation and embellishment as it passed through the school — you’d no longer need to be working for your parents in that dingy old florist. You groaned slightly at the thought of the store. You knew you’d inevitably return whenever your parents told you to, until you got another and higher-paying job, and that would mean possible interactions with Hyunjin—with or without his smiling grandmother. Perhaps it was that thought that, unbeknownst to you, summoned the boy to your vicinity. School shoes slapped against the concrete pavement, smoothly approaching the bus stop. You could feel the sharp sensation of someone’s prominent gaze fixated on you, yet you waited until the approaching person had halted their movements to glance at them. You had intended to keep a blank expression on your face, though couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling back into your head at the sight of his smug face. Hyunjin towered over your seated form with a faint smirk dancing on his lips. His smugness was likely prompted by your eye roll, or the fact he bought you a fresh carton of flavoured milk—not that it meant anything, he was repaying you after all. Hands in pockets and backpack slung over his shoulder casually, the consistent styling of the consistently careless Hyunjin. You diverted your gaze elsewhere, refocusing on the road ahead of you. His eyes were still trained on you, you could sense it. There was no watch on your wrist, nor did you know how to tell the time based on the sun’s position in the sky, but you could estimate at least two minutes passed before Hyunjin opened his snarky mouth.

“Tutor me.”

An exasperated sigh passes your lips, your gaze shifting up toward the cloudless blue sky, “what do you need tutoring for? Your grades are fine.”

A noise escaped his mouth at your words, a mix between a scoff and a chuckle, “no, not school,” you didn’t like the tone he used in that phrase—as if you were a pure moron for even entertaining the idea of school tutoring. He continued shortly, breaking your irritated thoughts, “flowers.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you turned your head to look at him, evident puzzlement tracing your features. He shrugged his shoulders slightly, diverting his gaze momentarily to the pavement beneath him. You appreciated his shift in tone as he spoke, a softer and calmer, almost soothing, sound.

“Teach me about flowers.”

And so you started working every Saturday, dedicating two hours of your shift to teaching Hyunjin the meaning of flowers that caught his eye, sometimes helping him decently wrap a bouquet of flowers. It was odd how you saw the gentler, less cocky side of him when in the quaint store, yet couldn’t even glance at him on the grounds of school without copping a greasy smirk—you liked to assume they were directed at someone stood behind you.

Saturday, 1:06pm.

The hand of the clock ticked silently with each movement, mixing with the bustling volume of passing cars and pedestrians. Although your gaze was fixated on the time-telling contraption, you didn’t absorb the numbers the hands pointed to, completely zoned out as your mind drifted to other thoughts. There were few of significance, but there were many roaming your head. They were distracting enough to stop you from recognising and acknowledging the sound of the bell above the door. Unbeknownst to you in your distracted state, Hyunjin shuffled into the store with a black hoodie pulled over his unkempt hair, a carton of strawberry milk contained in his right hand. The sound of the carton being roughly placed on the wooden countertop was enough to break your trance, giving you a sense of déjà vu as you shifted your gaze to meet Hyunjin’s, “what’s got you in a trance?”

You sighed as you fiddled with the sealed carton, “the three hours of sleep I got because of your party last night—so nothing new.”

“Oh, ha ha, very funny—”

“It wasn’t a joke.”

“—For your information, that was just a get together with the guys. The party’s actually tonight,” you rolled your eyes. You didn’t care what he wanted to call it, it was still way too loud, “you should come.”

A scoff passed your lips at his suggestion, “I’ll pass, I’d rather not go deaf from how excruciatingly loud you play the music,” he shrugged nonchalantly before snatching the flavoured milk from you, taking a small swig of his own while his eyes darted over the fresh flowers.

“What do coral roses mean?”

“Friendship, modesty, and sympathy,” you mumbled in boredom.

“Perfect!” He exclaimed, waltzing over to the display of coral roses to pluck one up. As he reapproached the counter, he shoved the flower in your face, “if you value our friendship, you’ll have great sympathy for me and make my party enjoyable by being there.”

You watched him in bewilderment. Part of you was confused as to why he wanted you at his party so desperately, while another questioned whether he really just called you friends. You didn’t want to dwell on it too much—Hyunjin was friends with lots of people, you weren’t significant to have that title. At the same time, you couldn’t help but question the meaning of his words. Had Hyunjin ever outright called anyone his friend, other than the group of boys he seemed to be physically attached to? The taller boy watched you in amusement as your cheeks tinted a soft pink colour, deciding to take your silence as a yes.

“Great, it starts at nine.”

Saturday, 9:35pm.

You absolutely did not want to venture to Hyunjin’s house, regardless of the situation. The fact it was for one of his ‘raging parties’ was no better. Nine o’clock had passed thirty minutes ago and the party was well on its way - you could already hear faint retching if you strained your ears enough - and yet you remained in the warmth of your bedroom. If Hyunjin hadn’t directly asked you to come then you wouldn’t be sitting in your room, dressed for a party. If that little shit hadn’t made out like your presence was vital to the party, you wouldn’t have to ponder intently over reasons to bail. You cursed Hyunjin under your breath as you threw on a pair of shoes—he insinuated that he was expecting you, and now you felt like you were obligated to go.

As soon as you opened the front door, a tsunami of regret washed over you, along with the stench of sweat and alcohol. You had taken one step inside and already felt overheated, overwhelmed, over it. You’d caught sight of some familiar faces — most of Hyunjin’s friend group surrounded some curly-haired guy, Jeongin was chatting with Felix near the group, Hyunjin was nowhere in sight. You weren’t sure whether that was a good or bad thing—on the one hand, Hyunjin was someone you knew. Jeongin was wrapped up in a conversation with Felix, and you didn’t know the freckled boy well enough to insert yourself into that conversation. But at the same time, Hyunjin was probably half-past wasted right now with an amplified ego — if that was even possible — and even more unbearable cockiness. A sigh passed your lips as you began to push your way past the sweaty bodies—why was everyone so fucking sweaty?—to escape to a less crowded area. Truthfully, you had no clue where you were going. Of course you didn’t, this was a house you’d never had the desire to enter. Gosh, why did you even come? It wasn’t too late to turn back around, walk out that door and return to your semi-quiet bedroom—only semi-quiet due to the deafening volume of an infamous Hwang party, even from houses away. That would be the better option in this moment, partial deafness seemed better to deal with than complete deafness.

“Y/N!”

You take it back. Complete deafness was far better, especially in this moment. Perhaps if you kept walking he’d think it wasn’t you and give up, right? No, of course not. You’d never be that lucky. You’d made it ten more steps before the boy grabbed your wrist and spun you around, beaming at you with his childlike grin. You loved Jeongin, who didn’t? But all you wanted was to go home, this party was a mistake and you already knew it. A small smile graced your face, “hey, Innie.”

Jeongin was one of those people who were always happy, always smiling and living their days without any problems or bothers. He was persistent, persuasive and currently dragging you towards the group of people he previously stood near. You didn’t want to go over there, but if you refused Jeongin would look at you with a tiny hint of sadness in his eyes and you’d feel a tonne of guilt land on your shoulders—he didn’t mean to guilt trip people so easily, he was just one of those people that never deserved to be sad. Thankfully, Jeongin knew better than to throw you into a sea of strangers and expect you to survive, opting to drag you over to Felix, who snacked on a plate of colourful macaroons. You’d never spoken to Felix — the most you knew about him was that he was Australian, Hyunjin’s friend and had freckles — but you had a gut feeling he wasn’t as bad as his association with the delinquents would suggest. The boy smiled brightly at the two of you, seeming to emit rays of sunshine through the toothy grin; he seemed sweet and friendly. You should really just trust Jeongin’s judgement at this point, he always managed to construct more accurate judgement on an individual’s character than others, “hi, Y/N!” Felix was very bright and cheerful, it came across in his sober voice—at least you assumed he was sober, he didn’t reek of toxic alcohol like most of the party goers. You smiled slightly in response, waving in what you deemed an awkward fashion. Jeongin easily continued his previous conversation with Felix, one you tuned out for the most part as you instead focused on the suffocating and humid atmosphere, until Felix suddenly bid goodbye to the younger, disappearing into the mass of people. The remaining boy contentedly munched on a pastel pink macaroon, eyes sparkling and widening slightly under the hazy lights of the room.

“Jeongin, do you know where I can get some fresh air?”

The boy nodded swiftly, directing you to walk up the stairs, down the hallway and onto the balcony, away from the vomiting and skinny dipping teens. You nodded with a soft thank you before happily following his directions — if you couldn’t leave this wretched atmosphere, for no reason other than your own fabricated obligation to be here, then you might as well get as far away from it without leaving the property.

The moonlight glistened against the chlorine water, music pumping through the building and teenagers yelling to hear each other. Oddly enough, it was peaceful. Even with the splashing, drunken giggles and what you think is people having a sloppy makeout session, the atmosphere felt calming — the visuals of party goers vomiting and skinny dipping didn’t assist in building that atmosphere, but you supposed there was nothing you could do about it. At least, not until a hand tapped your shoulder, breaking you from your trance of observing people on the grass. You turned your head, met with the sight of Hyunjin with his hands in his pockets. He gestured for you to follow him and, for some reason, you did, leaving your spot on the second floor balcony.

It was quieter on the roof, somehow, despite the worrisome journey. You were thankful for your shoe choice, anything too uncomfortable or without proper grip would’ve had you tumbling to the ground below—that would’ve been embarrassing, painful, and potentially lethal if you landed on the concrete. The stars glimmered against the dark night sky, seemingly closer than most other nights. Hyunjin hadn’t spoken to you at all, even during the difficult climb to your current spot. You weren’t entirely sure why he’d escaped his own party, or why he’d taken you with him, but you weren’t mad about it. The silence was nice, and you were certain that opening his mouth would dismantle the tranquillity. If he was as wasted as most of his other friends — specifically Jisung — then he’d certainly come out with some horny bull shit. You weren’t in the mood for that, not now, not ever. The music softened in the background and a loud voice ordered everyone out of the house with a short “party’s over”. It seemed sudden, but you supposed it had been going on for a while. And Hyunjin had disappeared. What time was it?

“Can I ask you something?” Ah, shit, he actually wanted to talk. You mumbled a word of confirmation, waiting for Hyunjin to come out with something you could answer with sarcasm or an eye roll, “what do you think of me? Honestly,” you weren’t expecting that one. You could feel Hyunjin train his eyes on you with intent, curiosity, perhaps hopefulness. What were you supposed to say? Was he hoping for something other than the typical ‘bad boy’ description? You couldn’t provide.

“I think you’re… confident,” uncertainty laced your tone, “and curious. I think there’s more to you than meets the eye, but I don’t think many people see that part of you. And- I don’t think you want them to,” you turned your gaze to him. His eyes seemed to be glazed over, his mind in a distant land of existential thoughts or offence at how you perceived him. His brown orbs shifted to his lap while his lips stumbled over words, seeking a way to carry on the conversation—or end it, you supposed.

“I…” he trailed off hesitantly. This was a side to Hyunjin you’d never seen. Sure, you’d seen his confidence and cockiness at school, his laidback humour at parties and the admiration his eyes held whenever he was among flowers, but you’d never seen him look so confused. Lost, rather. He seemed anxious, on edge and scared. He didn’t want to confront the words forming on his tongue, didn’t want to break down his walls for someone who saw him every Saturday and taught him about flowers. He couldn’t help it, though, the words seemed to slip out without permission, “I feel like no one truly knows me.”

Hyunjin’s words hung heavily in the air as a hush fell over the neighbourhood, “I just―” he paused slightly as his breath hitched, raising his gaze from his lap to the starry night. His eyes were glossy, the stars twinkling against the water forming around his orbs. His walls were breaking, “I just wish I could go somewhere no one knew me,” as the sentence progressed, his voice shook. It was getting harder to keep it all in. For once, he decided to let it all go. Allowing his walls to crumble, the dams in his eyes broke too, tears glistening on his smooth cheeks as he choked up a sob. You watched him with pity, subconsciously moving to wrap your arms around him in a comforting hug. He sobbed into your chest, “I just want people to know who I really am.”

All your perceptions were based on falsehoods, fabricated rumours and retellings of old stories. He used his tough exterior to hide his crumbling contents, any traits that could be taken as weakness or fragility. As the boy ― because that’s what he truly was: just a boy ― cried under the stars, only one thought could cross your once racing mind. Hwang Hyunjin’s very existence was a lie. Hyunjin’s pained sobs were reduced to soft sniffles after what felt like a long time, though tears still soaked his cheeks. You couldn’t tell how long it had been since everything still looked the same, almost like time didn’t move. A shaky breath passed Hyunjin’s lips, his head raising from your shoulder.

“You know, I always thought you were really interesting. And pretty.”

“Hyunjin, you don’t mean that,” you dismissed. Your head shook slightly in disagreement, you didn’t want Hyunjin to tell you that you meant something.

A humourless laugh echoed in the night, “yeah, I really do.”

Hyunjin looked at you with intent. How did the night get to this point? There was a part of you that wished you stayed home, just so you didn’t have to feel these butterflies in your stomach. He must’ve been drunk―was he drunk? Were you drunk? Memories of the night had slipped through your fingers like warm brittle sand. The night sky danced on his cheeks, reflecting against the salty water his eyes had unleashed previously. His eyes stayed on your face, flickering from your eyes to the lower part of your face momentarily. Then, he was leaning forwards, closer and closer. Closer until his lips were pressed against yours in a piteous kiss. His hand moved from his side to touch your arm, just above your elbow, as if he was making sure you didn’t slip away from him. It was like he wanted you there, but you couldn’t believe that. Salty tears stained your lips in the midst of pitiful desperation, until Hyunjin pulled away to rest his forehead against yours. His breathing was sharp as he choked out a whisper, “I’m sorry. I just don’t want to feel alone anymore, even if it’s only for a moment.”

You could’ve sighed in disappointment, but you stopped yourself. That’s all you’d ever be to Hyunjin: temporary. A last resort, even. You didn’t mind―no, you didn’t want to mind. As the moonlight danced along your skin in hues of blue and grey, the epiphany of falling for Hyunjin sank in. Damn it, you really fucking minded.

Tuesday, 7:57am.

You’d made a point to avoid Hyunjin since the incident at the party ― or, rather, after the party. Every time you glanced his way in the hallways, he was already staring at you with enough intensity to make you shift uncomfortably. He’d tried to approach you during break yesterday, but you bolted with the excuse of needing to use the bathroom before he could open his mouth. You left a disheartened and anxious Hyunjin behind, as well as a confused Jeongin and querying Seungmin. A sigh passed your lips at the thought; you’d probably have to face him on Saturday, regardless of whether you did or didn’t want to. Hyunjin was persistent, after all.

But he was also a liar. It became most obvious when you were approaching the classroom with your locker hurriedly, attempting to sort your belongings out before morning roll call began. Glancing absentmindedly down the hallway, you halted in your tracks with a double-take as you processed what you’d seen. Hyunjin, the boy who claimed to find you pretty and interesting, leaning against a wall as he sucked face with Son Bongcha. She was in the year below and had an annoying voice, that’s all you knew about her―she also had an iron grip on his wrists, but you didn’t see that. You glanced away dejectedly, rushing away to save yourself from further embarrassment. What did you expect? Hyunjin said he just didn’t want to feel alone, you didn’t actually mean anything to him. How could you be foolish enough to let yourself fall for him? He played you, in more ways than one. He acted like he cared, claimed he was different, and kissed you as if he was actually attracted to you―and you made the mistake of kissing back the same way.

Hyunjin fought against the grip of Bongcha, shoving her away with a mix of disgust and anger across his features, “what the fuck is wrong with you?” He hollered. Her eyes held innocence, satisfaction, delusion. The girl’s face faltered with confusion, her mouth opening to spit an excuse in that unbearable squeaky tone. Hyunjin didn’t want to hear it, even if he’d questioned her, “stay the fuck away from me.” With one last seething glare, Hyunjin stormed away from the younger girl. He was just thankful no one was around to see it and spread rumours about what they saw, the last thing he needed was a school full of people convinced he was with Bongcha―at least, that’s what he was telling himself to stay calm.

Nothing was out of place at lunch. Everyone sat in their regular seats, having the same conversations and engaging in the usual banter with their friends―your friends were no different. Jeongin was encouraging Seungmin to meet his other friends, namely Felix, while Yuqi smiled softly at their trivial bickering. Things were different for you, though. They were bad. You had too many thoughts racing through your mind, as they were in a sprinting race with no determined finish line. This day sucked, but things could only get worse with your luck. A throat cleared behind you, “Y/N?” You turned around lifelessly, meeting the gaze of Hyunjin while the rest of your table―and the surrounding tables―watched the scene unfold silently. It was none of their business, they knew that, but no one cared, “can I speak with you? Alone?” With a slight nod, you stood from your seat and followed him into the hallway.

“I was just wondering if we could do the tutoring on Thursday instead of Saturday? I’m busy this weekend and we don’t have after-school studying on Thursdays,” he rubbed at his neck awkwardly.

“Yeah, fine.”

A relieved smile graced his lips, quickly falling at the memory of the other thing he wanted to talk about, “and―uh, about the party… I didn’t mean―”

“Forget it, Hyunjin. I know what you meant,” you tried to suppress the stinging bitterness that leaked through your tone, you didn’t want Hyunjin to know your true feelings on the situation. It would’ve worked if you were as good at lying as he was, but you weren’t going to say that. Hyunjin understood why you felt the way you did ― or, how he assumed you felt. After all, he brushed you off like you meant nothing to him. Just something to fill the void of isolation growing in his heart; the kiss meant nothing. Gosh, he was such a liar. It was an opinion the two of you unknowingly shared―for different reasons, of course.

Thursday, 7:25pm.

An awkward two hours had passed inside the florist. Hyunjin had sensed something was different about you, chalking it up to his careless actions on the weekend. He’d been beating himself up about it since he did it, and he knew you didn’t want to talk about it, but he felt as if he owed you an explanation. One you hadn’t made up by yourself, based on his poor choice of words after it happened. Your delicate hands fiddled with the stems of three white flowers while Hyunjin formulated the right words to say. He didn’t want to mess it up again.

“Y/N, about Saturday ni―”

“God, Hyunjin, just forget about it!” The boy was startled into silence by your outburst, “I know you didn’t mean it, I know it was a mistake!” Frustration and betrayal laced your tone, your cheeks reddening slightly as your face flushed in annoyance.

“I wasn’t―”

“I won’t tell her, okay? But stop lying to me,” Hyunjin’s eyebrows furrowed with perplexity. He couldn’t figure out what you were talking about; he wanted you to listen to him.

“‘Her’? What are you talking about? I’m not lying about anything,” a pit formed in his stomach as anxiety pooled his chest.

“Bongcha,” the name was barely decipherable due to how quietly you spoke it, as if saying it any louder would summon her on the spot. Hyunjin’s face fell, for fuck’s sake, “stop acting like you genuinely care, it’s obvious you don’t.”

Silence settled into the air before a sigh escaped your lips. The flowers slipped from your fingertips as you moved away from the table, “I have to go.”

“Y/N!” Hyunjin spoke desperately, thankful no one was in the shop to see your dispute or his despair.

“Just… don’t talk to me anymore. Please,” with one last sorrowful look, you turned on your heel and exited the store, the sound of the little bell ringing throughout the now empty store. Hyunjin watched you leave, hopeless. How did he fuck it up this badly in such a short amount of time? He hung his head low, eyes glancing towards the flowers you’d dropped moments before.

White chrysanthemums; the truth.

Such a bitter irony, if only you’d stayed to hear it from him. Hyunjin couldn’t help but scoff.

Wednesday, 10:21pm.

Life ― at least, almost two weeks of it ― had been hell for Hyunjin, to put it dramatically, since your confrontation at the flower shop. Every time the two of you met eyes at school you’d quickly divert your gaze, rushing away before Hyunjin could even process what was happening. He never ran after you, partly because he knew you wouldn’t listen to him and partly to avoid other people seeing the interaction. People struggled to mind their own business, he supposed it was human nature for many. Bongcha had made the wise decision of finally listening to Hyunjin and staying the fuck away from him; it was too late, you’d already seen enough to misunderstand his relationship with the younger. He hadn’t understood how he became so attached to you without noticing. That fateful night, when he stumbled over his words after molding his tear-stained lips with yours, he finally realised it was an attachment he feared. When moonlight shone on his salty tears and stars flickered at him with lost hope, the words simmered in the air with a false certainty. He couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol pumping through his blood, he was completely sober that night. No, it was his own fault. It was his slip up, his fabrication that came out sounding more truthful than it was. You weren’t just temporary, a spur of the moment decision he’d never talk about. You meant so much more, that kiss meant so much more. Would you ever see it that way? Hyunjin doubted it. When you told him how you saw him, as per his request, you were slightly inaccurate in your description. Now, your perception had changed, there was no doubt in his mind it had. You saw him as a liar, didn’t you? He could accept and admit that, but not for the wrong reasons. When it came to you, he’d only lied twice: the night of the party and the morning of the party, when he called you his friend. You were so much more than that.

The following afternoon, the universe delivered Hyunjin the perfect opportunity to explain himself to you—even if just partially. He stopped in his tracks as he saw you walking home from school, he assumed you missed the bus or something. With the encouraging words of his friends from the night before echoing in his mind, Hyunjin jogged in your direction, “Y/N!”

Your footsteps sped up, unsuccessfully attempting to keep distance from the long-legged boy, “leave me alone, Hyunjin.”

His hand grabbed at your wrist, “no! Not until you listen to me.”

You sighed exasperatedly, “what do you want?” Your exhausted voice made Hyunjin falter slightly, but he couldn’t miss this opportunity.

“I’m not with Bongcha, I never was, okay? I wouldn’t waste someone like you for someone like her!”

“How am I supposed to believe that?”

So you did see him that way: a liar. He couldn’t blame you, and he didn’t know how to prove you wrong. Why didn’t he think about that? A tugging motion made him snap out of his trance, your wrist leaving his clutches as you turn away and speed walk home.

Thursday, 9:52pm.

Rain pattered against the glass pane of your window. Your eyes followed stray raindrops as they cascaded down the surface, dripping away and out of your sight. The vibrating of your phone rippled across the table, the sound causing your eyes to snap towards the device in a mix of curiosity and annoyance. Lifting your head from the desk, the screen glared at you brightly, causing you to squint to become accustomed to the brightness. There were six messages from Jeongin, an Instagram notification and reminder to take out the trash at 6:00pm. It was now 9:52pm, you needed to mark that reminder as complete. Your finger swiped the messages from Jeongin, opening the conversation and being met with five screenshots. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

| innie ☼ : these are messages between hyunjin and bongcha, please don’t misunderstand their relationship

| why couldn’t hyunjin send these himself?

| innie ☼ : you blocked his number

| innie ☼ : please, y/n, just give him a chance

Your stomach did flips as you read through the messages. Some were from last month, some from last week, some from the day they kissed, but they all conveyed the same message. Hyunjin wasn’t attracted to her, not in the same way she was attracted to him. There was a screenshot of an argument they had on Thursday, after you confronted him at the florist. With furrowed eyebrows, you processed the revelation. He didn’t kiss her? Your expression fell. Gosh, you’d really fucked it up, hadn’t you? He wanted no part in that kiss, and what right did you have to be jealous anyway? You were meant to be friends, after all. His temporary. Even if that title hurt, you still had to take back the words you said, fix whatever relationship you had left with the boy. It was raining outside, of course it was, but you didn’t care. You pattered down the stairs, unlocked the front door as quietly as possible before running out into the rain, fully intending to run over to Hyunjin’s house. There was no need. The boy sat on the curb outside your house, black strands of hair and black attire a void in the dim streetlight. At the sound of the door closing, he turned to see the cause. He was soaking wet, probably cold, and had a lit cigarette hanging from his lips. Black strands of hair were splayed against his face, dripping with rainwater as he continued to be pelted by the droplets. His head turned away from yours, returning his gaze to the moonlight; you two were making an awful habit of meeting under the moonlight. Parting your lips, you prepare to spout heartfelt apologies, even if you don’t completely forgive the words he spoke to you.

“Were you going to come looking for me?” His words escaped before yours could.

“Y-Yeah, I wanted to apologise,” Hyunjin clicked his tongue in disapproval, producing a ‘tch’ sound.

“What for? You don’t owe me shit,” the cigarette found home in his lips, breathing in the toxins with desire.

“For making assumptions about you and Bongcha. I owe you that.”

The cigarette drops against the dark road, soon being grinded into the surface under the sole of Hyunjin’s scuffed sneaker.

“It’s fine, I would’ve made the same assumption,” the boy stood up, his legs straightening with a satisfying crack. How long had he been sitting there? “Are we back to being friends?”

You nodded hesitantly, “yeah. Friends.”

Hyunjin had made it abundantly clear that he didn’t want you in the same way you wanted him, on more than one occasion now. He could sense the unease in your voice, as if you were hoping for him to say something more or re-title you as something other than a friend. There was nothing more that he wanted, but he didn’t deserve it. You were too good for him, far too good for him. He was a liar, a delinquent, a bad influence. All he could ever do is hurt you. Even if it pained him to hide it, some things had to be left unsaid.

“Can we—talk about the party?”

The boy looked away from you momentarily, rethinking his decision. It’s for the best, “no. I don’t want to talk about it.”

His tone was icy, brushing you off as if that night meant nothing, “Hyunjin, you bugged me to talk about that for days.”

“Yeah, well it doesn’t matter anymore,” he was exasperated. He didn’t want to talk about it anymore, it would mean revealing his true feelings or making you feel worse. All Hyunjin wanted was to keep you safe and happy; getting wrapped up in him would be your downfall, he just knew it.

“I need to know why you did it.”

“Drop it, Y/N.”

It was a warning you didn’t listen to, “please, Hyunjin.”

“I said, drop it.”

“Why did you do it?” You hadn’t intended for your voice to be so loud, you didn’t mean to shout, your walls broke down involuntarily. The world blurred around you, salty tears forming in your eyes as you thought back to the night, “why did you kiss me when you clearly didn’t feel that way about me? I don’t want to be something to temporarily fix your loneliness.”

Hyunjin kept his eyes down guiltily. He didn’t want to say anything, but your words kept pressing him to speak up. Your voice was echoing around him, cutting through the night sky and tugging at his ears. The sobs that formed in your chest were bubbling out; the rain was mixing with your tears. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t escape what happened. He didn’t want to say anything, but he could feel it slipping out.

“Why would you do that, Hyunjin? I—”

“Because I love you!” The shout rang through the cold air like a lone gunshot, “I love you and it scares me!”

A poignant silence settled around you, the words sinking into your chest and pumping your heart to beat faster. A slip of the tongue and here you were. Days of sadness, anxiety and insecurity, all over Hyunjin’s unknown fear of his feelings. Could that be worth it? “Hyunjin—”

In swift motions, the boy paced towards you to grab your face in his hands. Tilting your head upwards, his lips collided with yours in a show of passion, with every emotion Hyunjin could muster. Thumbs rested gently on your cheeks, laying against the few escaped tears and fallen raindrops, as his lips moved against yours. As the rain pelted your skin, running through your already soaked hair and tickling your exposed skin, words didn’t need to be spoken. When those lips moved against yours, you finally saw the hidden emotions Hwang Hyunjin was so afraid of.

#stray kids #stray kids scenarios #stray kids angst #stray kids fluff #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #hyunjin scenario #hyunjin scenarios #bad boy au #kpop #high school au #florist au #i don't know how to tag #hwang hyunjin scenario #hwang hyunjin scenarios #angst #fluff #skz

959 notes · View notes

thewinedarksea · 5 years ago

Text

thief/assassin au pt 4

ft. (the mention of) handcuffs and a river. also liel’s flip-floppy emotions. mildly suggestive.

(part 1, part 2, part 3, part 3.5)

Sirens drifted through the air, faint from distance. There were at least five blocks between them and Liel but she walked faster nonetheless, gait casual as she strolled down the chill city streets.

A cold wind skittered after her, slicing through her thin shirt; she’d been counting on a getaway car to provide warmth, so she was clad only in a pair of leggings and a top made for attraction and not practicality, her toes frozen inside the thin leather of her boots. Another gust of wind and she curved her shoulders inwards, tightening her grip around the hot chocolate cup in her hands. Warmth bled through the cheap cardboard and into her fingers, a mild protection against the temperature. It was the only thing keeping her going.

Well. That, and the promise of getting revenge on Johann’s worthless hide ten times over. Liel was thinking a lifetime subscription to some truly awful porn mailing lists, maybe a stint in a minimum security prison depending on how long it took for her to get back to her hotel. Half a million in diamonds, ripe for the taking, and she’d had to abandon them all. Idiot kid. She didn’t know what street corner Emory had picked him off of, but he could damn well put him back.

She stepped off the street and onto a bridge, blending with the horde of pedestrians making their way across. And there, propped up against the railing, her long black coat whipping in the wind, stood Celine.

Despite the cold and the bustle of people flowing past her she looked unbothered, eyes on the river’s banks, just one of the many citizens taking a break from her everyday life to admire the view.

The sight of her sent a confusing tangle of emotions rushing through Liel: fear, always and ever-present, because she hadn’t survived ten odd years as a criminal without a healthy dose of being able to recognize a predator when she saw one, and wanting, too, sharp and immediate as a knife to the gut. More than both of those though was the annoyance, a matchstick flare that promised to ignite.

Liel should walk away. She should go back to her hotel, drink a staggering amount of wine, and sink into the suite’s luxurious tub until the water washed away all the frustrations and disappointments of the afternoon. She should. But Liel had just had two weeks of planning go up in smoke thanks to a jumpy kid and an early guard patrol, and all that irritation was just begging for an outlet. Celine would do nicely.

She tossed her cup into a nearby trash can and wandered over, propping herself up on the railing, so close her arm brushed Celine’s sleeve. The river below was a chaotic swirl of dark water, shiny bits of aluminum and old coffee cups caught tumbling in its hold. On its banks the sidewalks teemed with life, awash with shoppers catching up on last minute holiday gifts.

“I was going to complain about the cold, but I find I’m plenty warm just by being around you.”

Celine didn’t so much as glance at her, her eyes fixed on one of the cafes lining the waterway. Liel squinted, trying to make out what she was looking at, but saw nothing besides some red striped umbrellas and a few customers enjoying a meal in the freezing cold. Masochists.

“Because you’re from hell,” Liel elaborated. “Like a demon. Hellfire. It’s very amusing.”

A faint smirk touched Celine’s lips, but that was the extent of her reaction. No teasing, no clever remarks. Not even an acknowledgement that the last time they’d seen each other Celine had had her hands around Liel’s neck, before they’d shifted to other, less mentionable places.

The annoyance flared brighter the longer she ignored her. Liel wanted to draw a reaction, to claw some control from her perfect grip. Crack it, like she had the night of the party, Celine’s mouth on hers, gasping and half-breathless, teeth and tongue and sweet words that had spilled like a river from her lips.

Liel smiled up at her, batting her eyelashes in the way that normally made people fall all over themselves to give her what she wanted.

“What’s a girl have to do to get some attention around here?”

“Try coming back when I’m not working.”

Okay, see, that was just rude. Liel had been working every time they’d crossed paths, but that hadn’t stopped Celine from fucking her over or just fucking her, period. It was called a double standard, and Liel had no intention of letting it get in her way.

“Ooh, are you on a job?” She slid closer, pressing their sides flush together, and made a production of following Celine’s gaze back to the cafe. It didn’t take long for her to hone in on the trio sitting off to one side, their clothes worth far more than the cafe’s old facade warranted. The woman on the left was definitely packing a gun.

“A hundred dollars says it’s the one in pink.” A shot in the dark, but it landed, Celine’s expression going even more carefully still. Liel pressed the advantage. “I could make some phone calls. I’m sure the police would be very interested in knowing someone hired an assassin to go after Miss Dior and Co. over there.”

“And I could snap your neck right now and throw your body over the edge.” Celine’s voice was as cool and dangerous as ice. “But you wouldn’t make me do that, would you pet?”

The fear came back with a vengeance, her annoyance snuffed out beneath the douse of ice water sliding down her spine. It might have been a mistake antagonizing the girl who killed people for a living. A small, small mistake.

“That does sound unpleasant,” Liel said as lightly as she could manage. “My neck is much prettier when it’s in one piece. Tell you what, I’ll just come back when you’re not working.”

Celine’s hand lashed out, gloved fingers wrapping around Liel’s wrist as she moved to step away.

“Oh no,” she said softly. “You said you wanted attention.”

She was watching Liel now, cafe abandoned for more interesting prey. Her eyes slid over Liel’s body, noting the lack of a coat, the goosebumps littering the bare skin of her arms. Despite the chill Liel felt herself heat up, all too aware that the last time Celine had seen her it had been without a stitch of clothing. From the smug slant of her mouth she remembered it, too.

“Poor thing. You’re shivering.” She tugged Liel in front of her, her head against her shoulder. Celine was unfairly warm despite the weather, warmth bleeding from her in far more pleasant ways than the hot chocolate had managed. Damage control, Liel reassured herself as she snuggled closer, allowing herself to melt into the heat. She had to protect her pretty neck, after all.

“And here I thought we were getting along so much better,” Celine murmured. Her breath ghosted against Liel’s ear, lips brushing skin with every word. “Threats don’t suit you.”

“Everything suits me,” Liel informed the sky because, honestly, she didn’t have much more to lose. It stared back, a pale, dispassionate gray that put her in mind of a blade. “Also, I’m angry at you.”

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Celine’s voice echoed in her ear as she wrapped an arm around Liel’s middle, drawing her ever closer. “Why so upset, sweetling? I thought our evening together went very well.”

“You tied me to a bed.” Liel’s legs struggled to hold up beneath the assault of Celine’s pet names, the scent of her rose perfume curling around her, light as a kiss.

“I did,” Celine agreed. “But I seem to recall that you begged me to do it. Quite prettily, too.”

Liel flushed all the way down, cheeks burning red. Memories stirred, flickers of Celine’s mouth on her neck, between her legs, biting at the skin of her thighs. She’d worn the bruises she left for a week, and the memory of them a hell of a lot longer.

“You didn’t untie me,” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. One of the hotel staff had found her and boy had that been a particularly humiliating conversation to have. She’d been lucky the maid had proven sympathetic to her tale of a prank gone wrong. Luckier still that Celine hadn’t been cruel enough to call the police.

She could sense Celine’s smirk where it rested against the side of her head. “Consider it your punishment.”

“For what?”

“You stole a drive from me when we first met.”

“That was three months ago!”

A few heads turned in their direction at Liel’s cry, glancing away when they saw the two of them entwined. Liel made an effort to squirm out of Celine’s grip, swearing at the lack of give. Pettiness was her deal. It looked way cuter on her.

With an exasperated noise Celine crowded her forward against the rail, bending Liel over until Celine’s chin rested on the top of her head, her body pinned between metal and flesh with no easy method of escape.

“Stay still,” Celine chided. Her grip tightened until Liel subsided, slumping back against her. “That job cost me a lot of money, to say nothing of what it did to my reputation. You’re lucky all I did was tie you up.”

And threaten to kill her, and actually try to kill her. The list went on.

“Can’t imagine how great your reputation is going to be if you get yourself caught throwing me off a bridge,” Liel muttered.

“Believe me, there are far more interesting things I would rather to do to you.”

That sounded promising. Interesting typically required alive, which was a step up from a watery grave. Liel wriggled even further back, pressing herself into Celine until any distance between them was eaten up.

“Elaborate on that?” she asked, sweet as she could manage.

Across the river Celine’s target stood. Her pink dress, terribly impractical for the weather, swirled around her legs as the wind blew again, a bright streak against the dull pavement. At the motion Celine straightened, stepping away from Liel as quickly as she’d grabbed her.

The frigid rush of air that crept into the space she left set Liel trembling all over again, colder now that she’d found protection and lost it.

“Business calls,” Celine said, composed once more. God Liel hated her. “You have my room key?”

And her bracelet, and half her credit cards. Liel hadn’t taken her gun, though, so honestly she should be heralded as a paragon of self-restraint. She didn’t bring that point up though.

“I’m still cold.” Scared and pissed off, too, but she doubted she would care about that.

Celine’s mouth twisted in amused exasperation, and then she stripped out of her coat, wrapping the garment around Liel’s shoulders like a shawl. The fabric was warm, the scent of her perfume clinging to the silky lining.

“Be a good girl and wait for me in my room.” She leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Liel’s cheek. Her lipstick left behind a mark. “I’ll bring my handcuffs.”

“What if I say no?”

Celine paused in the middle of turning away, an eyebrow raising in mock surprise. “I thought you wanted me to elaborate. Although if you prefer the river, I will have to ask for my key back.”

When Liel made no move to hand it over she smiled, teeth gleaming sharp in the sunlight. “It’s the Royal Suite. Don’t bother with clothes.”

#this is So Old guys #holy shit it has been ages since i touched this stuff. like.#a year or something #two? idk what is time. but also it is almost 2k so! LOnger Stuff as promised #back w/ liel being the world's weakest gay bitch #also fun fact this is actually labeled pt 6 on my drive bc i wrote everything out of order #gtdp writing #gtdp #my writing #mine

13 notes · View notes

ejzah · 5 years ago

Note

This is a story idea way back when the series first began and when Deeks was first introduced. Could you PLEASE write a story about everyone’s reactions when they learn that Jason Wyler is actually undercover Detective Marty Deeks. It’s always annoyed me we never saw everyone’s reactions and I would also love it if we got a formal introduction too please.

A/N: So...a lot of this ended up being from Kensi’s perspective, but I did get most the team’s reactions in to some degree. I hope this is ok.

***

“This guy’s a detective?” Sam repeated, addressing the tiny woman who had introduced herself as Henrietta Lange, instead of Deeks. His tone was definitely insulting. Now mostly over his initial shock of finding out that he wasn’t the only one undercover, Deeks resisted the urge to say something particularly unpleasant and instead smirked at the other man. Agent Sam Hanna from some fancy pants Federal Agency.

“It’s ok, don’t feel bad. I’ve fooled a lot of people before,” he responded, having a feeling it would tick Hanna off even more. He was right; Hanna made a derogatory noise, his expression disgusted, and jerked his thumb in Deeks’ direction.

“I thought LAPD had a dress code. They must really be going down hill if they’re accepting hippies off the street.” Deeks huffed out an unamused laugh. Like he hadn’t heard something similar a hundred times before. He expected a Fed to be cleverer than that honestly.

“I used to be a lawyer too,” he told Hanna who looked appropriately aghast. “And before you ask, my hair was even longer.” Deeks let his gaze flick up to Hanna’s shaved head. He could easily see the man being ex-military. He had that holier-than-thou attitude that came from years of ordering other people around and assuming you were always right.

“Alright, enough chit-chat gentleman,” Ms. Lange decided, stepping between them, her hands folded together. “We have work to do. And Detective Deeks should probably meet the rest of the team as well.”

Deeks followed after them, figuring that he wasn’t going to get anywhere by being too resistant. Besides, he was oddly intrigued by Henrietta Lange. And also a little intimidated and terrified. But he wouldn’t mention that part.

“So tell me, who all is on this team?” he asked as Sam and Ms. Lange lead him to a shiny SUV. “And where exactly are you taking me?”

“The boat shed,” Sam answered shortly, ignoring the first question.

“Ooh, sounds fancy.”

“How about we keep the small talk to a minimum?” Deeks pursed his lips at the suggestion, thinking that Hanna was about to find out just how chatty he could be. He smirked again, biting back a chuckle. If this NCIS place could mess up his op, then he could certainly ruin their day.

***

“Wait, how did LAPD get in on this?” Callen asked and Kensi perked up, wondering what Hetty was telling him. He sounded vaguely annoyed. “Ok, yeah, we’ll be at the boat shed.” Hetty had called Callen about five minutes ago with an update and there’d mostly been silence on his end. She waited impatiently for him to hang up.

“What was that about? Did Hetty get Sam out?” Callen chuckled at her questions, shaking his head as he slipped his phone into his back pocket.

“Yep, Sam’s out. And apparently Wyler got released too.”

“What? But, he attacked Sam,” Kensi said, wondering just what kind of criminal Jason Wyler was that he had strong enough connections to get out of jail after assaulting a federal agent.

“Turns out Wyler is actually some kind of undercover cop. Martin Deeks, Hetty said,” he explained with a frown.

“You’re kidding.” Kensi had known there was something off about Wyler, but a cop?

“Unfortunately I’m not. I’m gonna text Eric and see what he can dig up on this guy now that we have a real name.”

Kensi waited a few minutes and then peered over Callen’s shoulder, trying to read his texts.

“What did he say?”

“‘That makes a lot of sense. I’ve got a whole file on a Detective Marty Deeks. Looks like he’s a good cop, but whoever sets up his backstopping needs to be fired.’,”Callen read off and Kensi rolled her eyes.

“And?”

“He said to send Deeks over when we’re done so he can give him a “real” alias. He’s worried about the guy getting marked.”

“Eric hasn’t even met him yet,” Kensi protested, annoyed.

“You know Eric. He can’t resist the chance to geek.”

About 30 minutes later, Hetty, Sam and Detective Deeks walked in. Hetty led the small group and had the barest hint of a smirk tugging at her lips as Sam walked behind her, his expression stony and impassive.

Deeks stopped in the doorway, glancing around with a vaguely impressed look. He spotted Kensi, one eyebrow rising briefly, and she crossed her arms defensively. If he was surprised to see her there, he didn’t show it. He winked at her, then practically swaggered the rest of the way into the room like he owned the place.

Hetty cleared her throat and gestured to him.

“Everyone, this is LAPD Detective Marty Deeks. Detective, these are Agents Callen and Kensi Blye.” She smiled in a satisfied way and added, “Play nice.” Without another word, she left.

“Deeks,” Callen acknowledged him. “Why don’t you take a seat?” Deeks raised an eyebrow at the clear attempt to control the situation but sauntered over to the table, hooked his foot around a chair and sat down in an insolent manner.

Sam followed the movement, his face remaining impassive, but Kensi thought she saw a hint of animosity. That was unexpected. From what she’d experienced, he usually didn’t let his emotions show unless it was a particularly personal case. Apparently Deeks rubbed everyone the wrong way.

With a little prompting, Deeks explained his plan to get Sam arrested and keep him out of the gym, and effectively out of LAPD’s way.

She was vaguely impressed by his skills and ingenuity, but brushed that thought away. He was pretty good, but not as good as them. Plus, she’d known something was off about him immediately, she’d just been wrong about the root cause. Kensi also silenced the voice that reminded her that he’d been suspicious of her as well.

Deeks helped himself to some coffee, again making himself at home as he smiled cockily and joked, easily guessing their set up at the mission. Kensi resisted the urge to laugh as he teased Sam and Callen. It wasn’t good-natured teasing either, anymore than their comments to him were well-meant.

Clearly he disdained them. Good, she didn’t like him either. He was full of himself, too self-assured, scruffy, unkempt. Blue-eyed and blonde, the voice in her head supplied helpfully.

Shut up, she told it firmly. Callen and Sam were wrong. She did not have a thing for him. He was a mediocre cop who’d obviously gotten in over his head. He glanced her way, that sarcastic, half-flirty smirk in place and she stared back at him, hoping to unnerve him. All she got in return was a smoldering look, his blue eyes daring her to look away first.

Despite herself, she couldn’t help but feel a little bad that they were hijacking Deeks’ case. He’d spent months on it and now they were taking over without any remorse.

“You know, you never answered my question,” Deeks said a while later as she escorted him from the building. “Are there really r-rated photos of Special Agent Kensi Blye floating around somewhere?” Kensi glared at him and said the first thing that popped into her head.

“In your dreams.” It wasn’t particularly brilliant, but Deeks grinned nonetheless and said,

“Gladly.”

“I could take you down right now,” she threatened mildly, but he just kept smiling, clearly not intimidated by her in the slightest. It pissed her off. And intrigued her. Damn him. She would not be attracted to this scruffy, surfer dude.

“I bet you could,” he murmured as they stopped in front of his car. “See you around Agent Blye.” He winked at her again before he slid into his car and drove off.

“I don’t like him,” Sam said coming up behind her with Callen by his side.

“At least he’s on our side,” Callen pointed out. “It would be a lot more annoying if he was actually a criminal. Let’s just hope he stays out of our way for the rest of the case.”

“And once we close the case won’t have to see him ever again.” Kensi said, not sure why she felt a hint of regret at the thought. She was definitely not smitten.

“Thank god,” Sam said. “Cause I think I’d end up shooting him if I had to listen to his rambling for more than a few days.”

***

A/N: Hopefully this is ok. I really played on that fact that none of them got along super well at first.

#ncis la fanfiction #hand-to-hand #marty deeks #kensi blye #sam hanna #g callen #hetty lange #anonymous prompt #ejzah fanfiction

32 notes · View notes

skvaderarts · 4 years ago

Text

Hiraeth Chapter 35: Disquisition

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Thirty-Five: Disquisition

Note: This was such a fun chapter to write. It feels good to be back in the swing of things. Sorry for the extended hiatus. I had a lot going on with my emotions and my computer. Life is just… life, you know? Anyway, thank you so much for all of the support while I was gone! I was worried I wouldn’t have anyone to come back to if I took too much longer! But onto the new chapter! And sorry it was so late! I slept until 7:40pm somehow…

(-~-)

Most of the Ludwig manor was quiet, a serene landscape of lengthy halls, winding stairs, and large windows covered in thick curtains that blocked out most of the ambient light from outside. The only indication that there were people living here was the occasional passing by of a servant going about their daily tasks, and that was exceedingly infrequent by design. But even so, the library was a bastion of contemplation and peace, the only notable sounds being that of the turning of pages and the soft click of boots as the group navigated the vast array of books at their disposal. It was almost as if the room absorbed any and all outside noise to help facilitate a better reading environment. Truthfully, no one would be surprised if that was the case. There was a litany of supernatural energy in this house, more than any of them had an explanation for.

Dante sat at the other end of the long table that spanned the center of the room, flipping through some sort of book that had pictures in it. It seemed to be an encyclopedia of some sort that contained droves of information about demons and just about everything associated with them on a species level. Maybe it was more of a bestiary than anything else, but it was one of the few tomes that the youngest Son of Sparda had been able to locate that was actually in english. Okay, maybe not quite, but it was close.

“So what brought you here in the first place, Vergil? I feel like I'm missing a joke.” He said casually, flipping through the hand-illustrated novel to try and locate what he was looking for. In truth, he didn’t have anything in particular in mind, but he was still doing his best to try and help. Books like these were more Vergil’s jam than his, maybe even Nero’s to an extent. And V was a given. Dante was somewhat sure that his older nephew’s blood was actually ink at this point with how much he liked to read taken into account.

Vergil was flipping through an even larger less approachable book with such nonchalant ease that Dante was almost certain that his older twin was doing so just to make him feel more inferior than he already felt at the moment. When had Vergil learned to read this kind of stuff? Had he picked some of it up as a kid from all the time that he has spent with their father before his untimely disappearance? That seemed to be the most likely answer. Regardless, he was able to read it, and had been up until Dante had asked him that question, seemingly interrupting the flow of his train of thought. He clasped the book gently and laid it flat on the table, looking over out of the corner of his eye at his younger twin. It seemed that Dante was onto something.

Vergil casually gestured towards a bookcase on the other side of the room that was behind a locked metal door. None of them had even noticed the room until now, the other bookcases concealing it relatively well. Bars stretched from floor to ceiling, allowing the books to still be visible, but not accessible. The bookcase on the other side contained about a hundred thick books that seemed to be exceedingly old, and they were each locked inside of individualized cages with only their spines exposed. A chain attached to each book and the bookcase on the other end ensured that you wouldn’t be walking off with one.

“You are, Dante. I came here in search of a book in my youth. I… encountered more than I bargained for.” He said, seemingly almost embarrassed. He broke eye contact and returned to the book, not at all willing to elaborate.

Magnolia snickered slightly, taking a sip from the tray of tea that had been brought to them a short while ago. Normally people were not permitted to eat in the library, but they were all adults and could be trusted to not eat and then rub their hands all over everything without cleaning them off first. There was literally a washroom twenty feet from them, but the dining room was on the other side of the house and down a flight of stairs. No one felt like going that far just to drink a few sips of tea and enjoy a macaroon or an eclair.

“What your twin brother is trying to say is that he absolutely tried to lift a book from our private collection while we were asleep one night, and he was caught. We have his assurances that he would have returned it, but I do believe he was smart enough to realize that he might have been in over his head.” She giggled a bit harder then, covering her hand in a polite attempt to not die laughing at something that only she and Vergil truly understood, given the circumstances and the context. Plus, they were in a library, after all. Best to keep it down. “He got more than he bargained for, indeed.”

Nero was not intrigued by what was going on, peeping over at them from a bookcase a few feet away. He seemed to consider yelling his question over to them before it occurred to him that he was in a library. He flinched, knowing that idea wouldn’t go over well before walking over to them with the book he had been examining and leaning over the table. Something told him that this was a story that might actually keep his interest for a moment, at least better than the book that he was trying to read that he barely understood. He was going to have to ask for an assist on this one. Time to go get V and pick his brain. It wasn’t that he couldn’t read it so much as he didn't understand the knowledge that was being imparted upon him. “Okay, so now you’ve got my attention. What did you do to him, Magnolia? I know it has to be something you did. You're barely holding it together.”

At that, she gave up and actually laughed, holding her hands over her face in order to try and stifle her laughter. There was no holding it back, but she could at least try to block the sound a little. The eldest Son of Sparda shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment as Magnolia tried to collect herself. It seemed that they were at two different ends of the spectrum in regards to the context of this memory. Now Dante was intrigued as well, waiting to hear the answer elaborated on.

“See, what Vergil forgot to say was that I snuck up on him, caught him, and used a relocation spell to drop him head first from the ceiling! He had no time to even try to react. He just hit the floor like a brick.” She pointed to the ceiling and shook her head, clearing her throat as she attempted to put herself back together. Her hair had fallen into her face, and she battled it out of the way, unwilling to allow it to stay there. “It was easily the most uncoordinated thing I've ever seen him do, and just recalling the totally flabbergasted look on his face is enough to make me choke. He lost a fight to a little fourteen year old girl, and he’s the one who brought a sword.”

Everyone looked over at Vergil in various states of disbelief. Surely Magnolia has to be exaggerating just a little bit? The mental image of the Darkslayer plummeting head first from the easily forty foot ceiling was just too improbable to believe. And the idea that he had been snuck up on? Vergil practically had radar built into his brain, at least from what they could tell. But the look on his face was all that it took to come to the conclusion that she wasn’t telling a tall tale. This had actually happened.

“Pardon my interruption, but did you say the ceiling?” A familiar voice inquired from above them on the balcony. It was V. He and Lucia had approached the edge of the railing, holding books from different ends of the bookcase that they had both been examining. The young summoner seemed more than a little bit amused by this turn of events. How on earth had she managed to drop Vergil from that kind of high head first and not kill him? Were his father’s bones made of titanium?

“Unfortunately, she did. Every word of that exceedingly unpleasant tale is factual. My neck and head still hurt just recalling it.” Vergil said grumpily, attempting to conceal the fact there was actually a part of him that was impressed by her aptitude at such a young age. It was slightly astounding to him that she had even managed to sneak up on him, even if he had been in a dark, unfamiliar space and his sole focus had been on the task at hand. It was a learning experience, to be sure. Never again would he drop his guard like that.” I suppose I am lucky to be able to heal at the rate that I do, as I am certain that I cracked my skull and, at the bare minimum, dislocated a vertebrae in my neck. If I’m being honest, I probably broke it.”

“I was trying to use a compressing spell to hold him in place, but I panicked when I saw Yamato, and the first thing that came to mind was a relocation hex. I tried to eject him from the property, but unfortunately for him my powers were unable to draw from a location that I couldn’t currently see, and I didn’t know how to make him pass through a solid object yet, so he just fell three stories from the ceiling.” Magnolia laughed nervously, clearly horrified by the fact that she “My parents were impressed, nonetheless, and I was rewarded for my “quick thinking” even though I was sure I had just killed another child. Those were high times.” She allowed a wistful smile to spread across her face, the warmth from the distant memory spreading through every extremity she possessed. Yes, that had been a fun occasion.

Lucia chuckled lightly under her breath. The history of Dante’s family was fascinating, if not tumultuous and filled with problems. But it seemed that their frankly ridiculous durability made from some extremely interesting situations at times. She was just glad that they always seemed to recover and no permanent damage was done. She had come to like Vergil during their short time together, and to say she was fond of Dante would be a bit of an understatement. He had always been a wonderful friend to her, and she wanted nothing more than the best for him, perhaps even a bit more.

As if he had sensed her thoughts, V pulled himself away from the scene below for a moment to look over at her, hoping that he had yet to give away his intentions in regards to speaking with her. He just had to get the nerve up to explain what he couldn’t quite put into words, but he had noticed that of the two of them, he was not the only one who seemed to possess this issue. He saw the quiet little moments that she spent thinking, normally looking over at Dante. At times she became flustered around him for no apparent reason, much as he did around ehr. He couldn’t help but wonder if she too was longing for something or someone that she knew she couldn’t have.

He wished her luck in that regard, realizing that this was something that had probably been in the works long before he had come into the picture. Had Dante noticed the way that she looked at him? Had Lucia noticed the way that V looked at her? It was hard to say, and he knew that at some point he would have to simply ask her what it was that she was after. Whatever answer she gave him, he would fully respect and accept, even if it wasn’t the one that he was hoping for. That was what a responsible adult did. But leave it to him to suddenly realize that perhase the only person he had ever felt remotely attracted to was interested in another member of his family. There had to be a certain irony in that. He just hoped that if that was what she wanted, her affections would be returned.

Dante seemed to be the sort that was perpetually single by choice, never indulging in any of the impulses or desires that he might possess. Perhaps he felt that he was protecting those that he cared about by not becoming entangled with them? It was all that he could imagine. Dante was likeable enough and, at least to him, he seemed lonely. It wasn’t so much something that his uncle did as it was just a way that he was. He could see a little bit of himself in him at times in ways that he didn’t expect or wish, hoping to spare everyone that he knew and cared about the majority of the feelings that he kept bottled up and pushed back so deep within himself. But these were things that had been set in stone long before his arrival. He was simply witnessing the aftermath.

But maybe it didn’t have to be that way? After all, something was only set in stone when someone accepted that and didn’t choose to alter it. Even the hardest stone could be chiseled with the right tools. That was the nature of such things. Maybe there was something that he could do…

Griffon cackled slightly from behind him, manifesting and landing on the railing between him and Lucia. The wiley bird shook his head for a moment before looking over at V, then looking down at Vergil from above. “Ya know, I make alotta jokes about Dante having brain damage, but maybe he’s not the only one. Maybe it runs in the family. A fall from a room this high? Yea, that’s gonna bruise your brain a little.”

While the rest of the inhabitants of the lower level of the library giggled, Vergil shot the demonic bird a hard to read look. She seemed to be considering saying something, but decided against it. V could only wonder what his father thought of Griffon and Shadow, considering the history he had with them and the nature of their creation. There had to be some hard feelings on his end, even if there didn’t seem to be any from theirs. Dante had some prior with their previous iterations it seemed, too. But unlike Vergil, he didn’t seem to care much about that. One could only imagine that his experience with them had either been shorter or less tragic than his father’s, and considering how little he knew about that experience aside from what he’d gleaned from Griffon, he knew that he wasn’t in a position to say literally anything about such matters. But he did hope that one day he would be able to make some sort of peace between them.

Just as was about to turn and head back over towards the balcony with the book that he had been holding, he looked over and noticed that Lucia wasn’t where she had been a moment earlier. Intrigued, he walked down several rows until he located her. She was leafing through some sort of book, a curious look on her face. She seemed to be having some sort of eureka moment, and he had no intention of interrupting, but he had to know if he could be of assistance.

“You seem preoccupied. Is something the matter?” He asked quietly, wanting to make his presence known, but having no desire to destroy her train of thought. She looked up, seemingly slightly startled, but making no physical indication of this knowin. It seemed that she had simply been so deep in thought that she hadn’t been able to sense his presence when he had approached.

“... Have you… is there a card sorting section in this library?” She asked, glancing between him and the book in her hand. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she looked almost concerned, and that in of itself was somewhat startling to him. He stepped back and turned to face the railing with her close behind him before taking the opportunity to turn towards the desk near the entrance. V gestured towards it before watching as she nodded politely and headed down towards it. Wondering what was going on, he took a moment to gently place the book back where it belonged before heading down to meet her, noticing that she was flipping through the cards on the table.

By the time he reached her, it became apparent that she had not located what she had been looking for. Her somewhat hurried and slightly alarmed minor threw him off as he contemplated if he should ask. She clearly noticed this, shaking her head slowly. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Forgive me. I found something troubling in this book, and it makes reference to a certain section “X” in this library that contains a book with the requisite information in it. But I don’t know where that section is, and I don’t see it anywhere in this guide.”

“That’s because no one goes in there, darling. Those texts are dangerous.”

Everyone in the room turned around, clearly alarmed by the presence of another individual that they had not noticed. Standing before them was a tall woman in a trailing black and silver dress with a gray hooded shawl over her head. Her face was exposed a moment later when she lowered the hood, revealing her to look very much like Magnolia and Luta. She was soaking wet, and none of them could find any indication that she particularly cared. A certain darkness almost seemed to radiate from her, making them all uneasy in different ways, specially Magnolia and Vergil, the pair seemingly recognizing her but alarmed by the state that she was in. Was something wrong with her aside from what was obvious to them? Because that was the only thing they could place.

Looking over at the two of them, the woman nodded for a moment before turning towards the stairs. She didn’t have to say that she would return. They could just feel it. And before long she vanished up the stairs, more than likely to change into something less saturated. V and Lucia both looked over Magnolia, clearly desiring an explanation as to who this absurdly unnerving woman was. Nero seemed to concur, slowly making his way over to the table and sitting down. He suddenly didn’t want to read anymore.

So… Who the hell is that?” He asked, his voice little more than a faint whisper. He didn’t seem scared so much as he was concerned, wanting to know if they were in any sort of danger. He had no idea what anyone in the Ludwig family was capable of, or if they were all on the same side. There had to be at least one outlier, didn't there?

Vergil and Magnolia shared a glance between one another as she nodded in response to her longtime friend’s unspoken question. Vergil almost seemed to pale slightly before leaning quietly on his elbow, thinking. But before any of them could inquire as to what was going on, Magnolia spoke. His voice was slightly shaky as she spoke.

“Section X is forbidden. It contains dark texts that you dare not view without the requisite knowledge. But if you must view them, that might be facilitated. And luckily for you, the only person with a key to it has just returned. Though she has changed significantly since I saw her last… ”

Making himself known for the first time in the better part of an hour, Sirrus came from behind a nearby bookcase and walked over to them before speaking quietly. He looked as though he had just seen a ghost, his normally pale complexion drained of all evidence that it had once contained blood or melanin. Magnolia’s youngest sister. Aluta. My father’s ex wife.”

(-~-)

I literally stopped to order macarons when I wrote the part about them and the eclairs. Something about it just triggered my sugar tooth. I’ve literally never eaten a macaroon in my entire life. But they are just so pretty! So anyway…

I hope you all had a great week! See you all in the comments, and on Wednesday with a new chapter! Gosh, it feels so great to say that again! I’ve missed you all! Things are about to get very interesting, and I can’t wait for you to be able to read them. I haven’t been this excited about the start of an arc since the flashback sequence!

#Hiraeth #My Post Devil May Cry 5 AU #V #Vitale #Devil May Cry 5 #DMC5 #DMCV #DMC #Vergil #Dante #Nero #Lucia #Nico #Magnolia #My OC

1 note · View note

kleenairaus · 8 months ago

Text

The Best Guide to Air Conditioning Repair and Maintenance in South East Queensland

Understanding the Importance of Regular Maintenance

Common Air Conditioning Problems

Lack of Airflow: If insufficient air comes across the evaporator, your vehicle’s air conditioning system might suffer from a dirty cabin air filter or a faulty blower motor.

Odd Sounds: Coarse, intermittent, grinding, gurgling or grinding noises are usually indicators of mechanical problems.

Wacky cooling: If your AC is working but can’t maintain the set temperature, it could be a thermostat problem or a freon leak.

The Significance of Professional Repair Services

DIY Maintenance Tips

For those jobs, you do need professional maintenance, but you might want to try these yourself:

Replace or Clean Air Filters: A dirty filter chokes off airflow and revenues. Replace/clean every 1 to 3 months (depending on use frequency).

Check Outdoor Units: Keep the area clear of debris and vegetation; ensure adequate airflow.

C Check Insulation: Verify that the insulation around refrigerant lines is still intact so the heat loss by conduction isn’t increased.

When to Call for Professional Help

Doing it yourself when your air conditioner stops working is NOT a good idea—either of these sounds like a problem you would want a professional to take care of.

Air Conditioner Repair Gold Coast: If your AC doesn’t work or blows cold air most of the time. Give us a call to do all the troubleshooting and corrective actions to get this determined.

Refrigerant leaks: These require certified technicians with expensive or rare skill sets, which can sometimes be hazardous to the environment and your safety.

Electrical Problems: As dealing with your air conditioning electricals can be dangerous, such problems should be solved only by a licensed electrician.

The Benefits of Regular Maintenance

Investing in regular maintenance for your Air Conditioning System offers several advantages:

Cost reduction: If adequately appropriately handled, it will be more efficient at work. So, the expenditures on electricity bills would consequently fall.

Extending your life: With maintenance, your air conditioner lives longer, saving you money on a replacement that would have been needed too soon.

Cleaner Indoor Air: Replace a dirty filter and coil to reduce indoor allergens and air pollutants, and start breathing clean, healthy air!

Conclusion

0 notes

anxresi · 5 years ago

Text

Chloe’s Last Straw

Synopsis:

Chloe is guilty of many things in her life. But not this. Never this. So when her mother says something unforgivable to a person she'd usually consider an enemy, it's up to her to put things right. Grab your popcorn folks, and get ready for a roasting. Written for Blackout Tuesday.

..............................

Caline Bustier sighed in exasperation, wondering how her once promising career as an educator had stuck her with this… the most ill-disciplined, out-of-control bunch of students she’d ever had to guide since her formative years as a kindergarten coordinator.

But even those young rapscallions had some level of respect for their elders, whereas the current batch of alleged ‘maturer’ teens…

They couldn’t even raise their heads for role-call in the morning.

“Max! Stop playing with that flying toy this second ! Mylene, Ivan… you can kiss each other during recess! Return to your desks now ! Nathanael! Put down those pencils and listen to me! Lila, I know you said you suffer from ADHD, but until I see a doctor’s note, I expect you to respond immediately when I call your name! Honestly, it’s like trying to herd cats! And where on Earth are…”

“I’m here! I’m here!!” As if in answer to her request, Adrien Agreste bustled in just then, out-of-breath and apparently with a ready-made excuse to explain his absence. “Dawn fashion shoot… then piano recital… early morning practice… stop me falling behind. A-Apologies Miss Bustier… you know how it is with my father…”

“Hmm, yes… I’m afraid I do .” The frowning teacher gave an understanding nod, for Gabriel Agreste’s huge expectations for his son often led to constant late arrivals for his son. “I would say ‘try not to let it happen again’, but something tells me it’s out of my hands. Oh well, at least you haven’t missed any actual lesson time this week. Go and sit down, please. Now I wonder where…”

“ Argh ! S-Sorry Miss! Mom got sick… and usually she handles the morning deliveries… so I had to take a quick detour on my way here… and…” bang

At least, that’s the sound effect there would’ve been, if a stumbling Marinette Dupain-Cheng hadn’t been caught by Adrien on her inevitable descent to the floor. Right place, right time.

Still didn’t stop her blushing like a stoplight though.

“A-Adrien!! Gulp. H-Hi. ” The blunette gave a passable impression of a fish out of water.

“Hey there! F-Funny the places we run into each other, isn’t it?” Adrien seemed equally struck for what he wanted to say.

“ Ahem !” That was the sound of an impatient teacher, who obviously had no romance in her soul and was eager to restart the headcount. “If you two are quite finished with your impromptu act, you can save it for the talent show next month. Take your respective seats so we can get on. Wait…”

Glancing at Adrien And Marinette’s chairs had revealed something unprecedented in the recent history of this hallowed halls of education. In fact, so unbelievable was it, Miss Bustier had to rub her eyes twice just to make sure what she saw wasn’t just another product of her espresso-infused imagination.

For it would appear as though young Agreste and Dupain-Cheng, by some measure the most tardy pupils Caline Bustier had ever known, were not among the last ones to arrive that incredible day.

No, that dubious honor belonged to none other than the students the aforementioned pair shared a desk with, namely Nino Lahiffe and Alya Cesaire.

W-What the… the panicking teacher’s look of astonishment was completely forgivable, as both Marinette and Adrien made good their escape. I’ve never known anything like this to happen before. It’s most unlike them. I just hope they’re okay. Maybe, if they’re not here soon, I should ask the headmaster if…

Miss Bustier’s short soliloquy was interrupted by an unpleasant shrieking noise as a familiar pair strode in. The high-pitched noise made the hairs on her neck stand on end and shattered the formerly serene atmosphere of the classroom once and for all.

“ Dahling . You know I wouldn’t go back to New York without saying goodbye to my precious Coraline, don’t you sweetheart? I might be away for quite a while this time, even past Christmas, but you understand, right? If I’m not there to personally introduce my new range of spangly negligees to the world at Fashion Week, my competitors might steal my thunder! I might even be bumped off the front page of Vogue! And you remember what I’ve told you every day, since the blessed occasion you were born, whenever that was…”

“Yes, mother. ‘If you’re not somebody, then you’re nobody.’ I get it. But do you ‘get’: my name isn’t ‘Coraline’, it’s Chloe . Coraline is that so-called kids movie we saw years ago, the one that was so scary I nearly wet… you know what, n-never mind.”

The loud screech of Audrey Bourgeois’s voice was almost enough to give poor Miss Bustier a migraine, as if the prospect of trying to teach her disruptive daughter good manners wasn’t difficult enough. Why did this have to be the one day I forgot to bring my aspirin to class with me? Tell me, what did I do to deserve this? Did I walk under a ladder yesterday? Did I crack a mirror, or step on a gypsy’s foot by mistake? Please, if I am cursed for whatever reason, let me know how I can fix it. For the love of…

“Mrs Bourgeois! What an unple… u-unexpected pleasure!” The rapidly unraveling teacher put on her fakest, friendliest face to welcome the surprise guest. “How are you? When was the last time we met? I seem to recall it was at the salon…”

“What was that? Who is this strange person heckling me, dear?” Audrey pulled down her shades to stare closer, as Chloe whispered in her mom’s ear. “Oh yes, your public school educator. Still with the red hair I see, ugh . Yes, I remember… I told her to dye her roots blonde like me if she wanted a better job than the impossible task of instructing these degenerates. Because as we all know: ‘blondes have more fun’. Isn’t that right, Chlorine?”

Whether Chloe was still sore from Audrey getting her name wrong twice now, or just plain embarrassed by her female parent’s condescending behavior, who knows. She didn’t repeat her mother’s mantra again like last time though, and instead stood there nervously with her hands in her chino pockets, portraying quite an un-Chloe lack of confidence.

“Well anyway, if you simply must know Miss… Bustier, was it?” An uninterested Audrey inquired, proving the rumor true that her daughter’s name was the only one she regularly forgot. “I was just seeing my precious off, before catching the afternoon plane to uptown New York. It’s just wonderful there in the summer, with all the glitterati in attendance for the various functions. You really must try it, darling… oh sorry I forgot: on your meager salary, it might prove to be an impossible dream. Still, we can’t all be as ridiculously wealthy as me and my husband, can we?”

“Y-Yes, I suppose so.” Miss Bustier desperately kept her sentences as short as possible. She didn’t want the dreadful woman to stay there a second longer than absolutely necessary. “W-Well, I don’t want to keep you, if you have things you need to…”

“So, these are the local children you go to school with, dear?” Deciding she was tired with Miss Bustier’s ‘rambling’, a bored Audrey fixed a critical eye over the classroom. “Well, I must say, I’ve seen far better. A poor crop if ever there was one… why your father refused to let you be privately educated is beyond me. I suspect it’s because he wants to boost his election prospects by letting you ‘mingle with the common folk’, but is it really worth it? I hate to think the effect such distasteful surroundings must be having on your delicate young mind.”

Outraged gasps erupted from all around the room, and if Chloe could’ve jumped into a fifty-foot hole never to emerge, she likely would’ve done so with relish. Alas, this was not an option, and so once more the twitching girl was forced to deal with the consequences of her mother’s shameless arrogance and total lack of volume control.

But just as even the usually docile Miss Bustier was about to say something stronger to defend her visibly irritated students, the last two attendees emerged through the door, puffing and panting as they arrived at long last. Also noticeably, covered in what can only be described as black oil stains.

First up was Nino Lahiffe, who paused slightly to catch his breath and adjust his cap. Then came his girlfriend Alya Cesaire just behind, who despite being pretty exhausted herself, began to speak “N-Nino’s dad gave us a lift, but the car broke down. We had to help him fix it…”

Suddenly Audrey Bourgeois, obviously on a roll, glanced behind her with a pronounced sneer. Upon seeing the pair in question, her expression of disapproval grew even more pronounced…

And what she said next was truly shocking. Except, maybe not her.

“Who might these ‘people’ be, then? While I think it’s laudable you’ll let just about anyone into these types of schools Bustier, I hope you realize some individuals can’t be taught. Just look at those hopeless youths, for example. Obviously from a rough neighborhood, probably down to one parent each, deprived of everything to judge by their filthy clothing, and they can’t even be in class on time. Probably wasting their lives on the street listening to ‘wrap’ music, or whatever it’s called. As if this sort even need an education, in their future careers as minimum wage cleaners or drug-dealers. Really dear, you’d be better off kicking them out and investing in school uniforms instead…”

“ That’s enough !!”

Stunned faces all around. Jaws dropping to the floor. A few people on the verge of fainting, at the identity of the person who uttered those two screamed words.

It wasn’t Miss Bustier, who was prepared to declare her response by more physical means (a hard fist to the face of an unrepentant bigoted snob, if you must know).

Not Alya, who looked just about ready to burst into tears, being held by her apoplectic boyfriend in his arms (otherwise, he might’ve formed an unstoppable tag-team with his teacher to kick some serious a**).

The surprise shouter was none other than Chloe Bourgeois, who having finally been pushed to her absolute limit at her mother’s complete lack of respect for anyone besides her own reflection, had finally snapped.

And boy, was it something to behold.

“Mom, as I’m sure anyone who isn’t you would agree, I’ve put up with a lot over the years. The insults. The dirty looks. Long absences. Always getting my name wrong. Never telling me you love me. Raising me to think ‘sacking’ anyone who disagrees with you is permissible behavior. I can tolerate all this and more, but there is one thing where I must draw the line. You want to know what that is?”

“ Must we get into this now, dear? You know I like first pick of the best VIP seats…” There Mrs Bourgeois went again, thinking this was just another conversation where she could brush off her daughter’s genuine concerns.

Well, in this case, she was about to get ‘schooled’ (pun not intended).

“Well, I’m going to tell you anyway. It’s racism Mom, plain and simple, and I won’t stand for it! Whatever problems I might’ve had with Alya and Nino in the past, and believe me there’s been plenty, I’ve never treated them differently due to the color of their skin! How shallow can you get?! And coming from me, this is the biggest of big deals!”

It was as if someone had lit a fuse underneath Audrey’s designer shoes, as the formerly unflappable woman suddenly recoiled in shock. “W-What… well I never ! How could you say such terrible things to me, Chlorophyll? Why, if you weren’t my own flesh and blood, I’d sue you on the spot! I’ll have you know, some of my best workers are blac…”

“Yeah, ‘workers’. You just made my point for me. That’s all they are to you, aren’t they? I’ve seen the way you treat them differently to even our other staff, calling them ‘tanned’ and ‘colored’ right to their faces. They don’t say anything because they don’t want to lose their jobs, and shamefully neither do I because frankly, you scare me sometimes. Well, that ends this second . The instant you behave that way again, I’ll be on you like a ton of bricks. Also, do you wanna know something else?”

“H-Huh?” Audrey’s demeanor had abruptly switched from coolness personified to utter confusion. Being called out so blatantly in front of a bunch of ‘underprivileged ragamuffins’ by her petulant child was not on the itinerary today.

“I’ll spoil it for you again. Father hates your attitude even more than I do! Whenever you finish treating the staff like the dirt under your feet, he goes to each one in turn to apologize personally. As well as give them a few extra euros that month, as if that’ll make up for the abuse they have to suffer. But look who I’m talking to! The woman who thinks Chinese and Japanese people are practically the same! And people wonder where I got such a stupid idea from…”

‘I-I…” For the first time in her life, Mrs Bourgeois was completely lost for words. All she could do was stare dumbly and numbly at her irrepressible daughter, as the young girl finished her extended lecture with a flourish.

“Finally, I suppose I should let you know about the head cook at our hotel. You know, the one who you think makes the best meals around for Daddy and his clients at short notice? Or when you have to entertain people, and she puts on a spread that’ll put any other caterer in the city to shame? That’s Mrs Cesaire, the mother of Alya over there. How do you think she’s going to feel, when she hears you racially insulted her daughter so terribly in front of her entire class? I don’t know, but if I were you I’d check my food for signs of saliva for a while. Also, put your lawyers on stand-by, because I think it may be heading for court. And if you want to know who’s side I’ll be on, here’s a clue…”

At this juncture, Chloe put her mouth to her now trembling mother’s ear to whisper sharply:

“...It won’t be yours!”

That was all it took for Mrs Audrey Bourgeois to collapse on the floor, in such a comatose state that not even the strongest smelling salts around could revive her in the foreseeable future.

...Not that anyone really wanted to do that, of course. Even the school nurse balked at helping someone who’d been so vile to the innocent students there. So, in an unconscious heap on the floor she stayed.

In the end, she missed her flight and the free expensive champagne on offer. Oh dear. How sad. Never mind.

As for Chloe, having said her piece and blithely sauntered over to her seat next to Sabrina afterwards, she was most surprised by the deafening cheer that subsequently erupted, as well as the much better treatment she got for an entire week afterwards by everyone present (even from Marinette).

As unusual as her newfound popularity was though…

She could quite easily get used to it.

If only she could master this whole ‘being nice’ thing.

..............................

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Remember everyone, having White Privilege isn’t just about paying lip service to the concerns of minorities and posting black squares and hashtags one Tuesday to show you care…

It’s about using your advantageous platform all year round to speak up to defend those in need, whoever they are. After all. if activism was just listening to others whilst doing precisely nothing to change the world outside the confines of social media, how are we gonna change the world?

Food for thought. Hope you enjoyed the story, which (I hope) got the point across well enough. Whatever you think, let me know… and thanks for reading! :)

#chloe bourgeois #audrey bourgeois #Nino lahiffe #alya cesaire #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #adrien agreste #Miss Bustier #ladybug #miraculous ladybug #miraculous #blackout tuesday #blackouttuesday

26 notes · View notes

fairiesherefairiesthere · 5 years ago

Text

Fraxus Anastasia au #6

With every chapter, we travel further and further away from Anastasia lmaooo. Anyway mdudes, here’s the ao3-link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23144866/chapters/58558978

Summary: Once Evergreen lays eyes upon a sign adorned with a quaint little symbol of a needle and thread, her gaze clears up and she enthusiastically points at it. "Look Laxus, isn't this exciting?" He frowns. "A clothes shop?" he asks and Evergreen gasps in offense. "Not just a clothes shop you dunce. This is one of the best tailors around!"

"Nice, but I'm pretty sure we can't afford that." He isn't trying to put a damper on her mood, but he's realistic. "We can't, but our glucose father over there can", she says, puts on a friendly smile and waves at Freed who's out of earshot. Unable to hear their previous conversation, he waves back with a smile that's just as gentle and friendly. "Two weeks ago he couldn't afford breakfast and traintickets. There's no way he can shop at one of the best tailors now."

Chapter below the cut!

A few days later, Laxus is back on his feet and fit for being dragged around (or so Freed rules). The first thing that happens to him after an awesome breakfast is Evergreen clamping his arm tightly and hauling him through the streets of the town they're in. By the way her eyes are scanning the building it's clear she's searching for something in particular, but because he has no idea what she's looking for, he quietly awaits his fate.

Once Evergreen lays eyes upon a sign adorned with a quaint little symbol of a needle and thread, her gaze clears up and she enthusiastically points at it. "Look Laxus, isn't this exciting?" He frowns. "A clothes shop?" he asks and Evergreen gasps in offense. "Not just a clothes shop you dunce. This is one of the best tailors around!"

Evergreen shrugs. "Freed said that there was something wrong with the bank in the previous town, but he doesn't have the same issue here. I'm not going to question it, I'll run when it's time to run", she explains and Laxus has the feeling that the three of them have definitely done that before. "And who am I to complain?" she asks, twirling around and it's then that Laxus notices her new dress and jacket. It looks good on her and he tells her so. "Flatterer", she grins coyly, "You should try those charms on someone else."

Before he can ask on who he should use his "charms", she enters the tailor's, beckoning him to follow. The inside of the shop is very cosy, materials strewn about in an organised chaos. In the distance he can hear the rattling of a sewing machine and the rustling of fabric, coming together in a cacaphony of noises that isn't unpleasant to the ear. A smell reminiscent of the cosy type of dust (the smell of one's old aunties house) hangs in the shop and the entirety of the shop makes Laxus feel comfortable.

Then Evergreen strides over to an old lady in the back of the room, talking to her while gesturing in his direction. The older dame approaches him after Ever's finished her explanation, giving him a thourough once-over. "We could make something out of this", the old lady croons and after that a few dizzying hours follow.

Under Evergreen's watchful eye, as neither Bickslow nor Freed entered the tailor's with them, he's measured, pattern is formed, fitted, amended and fitted again. Evergreen and the old lady talk about patterns, fabrics, silhouettes and other things Laxus knows jack shit about. The whole ordeal is befitting of a royal he thinks, realising he is one and then coming to the conclusion that he feels unworthy of the treatment. He feels like a streetrat getting dolled up to enter a poodle competition. He isn't supposed to be here, these two will notice soon enough and there's no way that Laxus would ever convince anyone that he was a prince. To be honest, he doesn't know if he believes it himself.

"Are you nervous?" Evergreen asks when the old lady is fetching something in the back, eyes and voice piercing through his worries. At first he entertains the thought to lie to her, to tell her he isn't nervous at all. But something tells him that Evergreen wouldn't take kindly to being deceived and more importantly, that she'd see right through it. "Yes", he admits. "It'll only be so long before I meet my grandfather. We'll meet and then he'll see me for the dirt poor fraud of an orphan I am. The thought of meeting him makes me nauseous."

Evergreen's mouth falls open in a small, surprised 'o' and then her expression softens, a smile gracing her lips. "Silly." is all she says, before turning her attention back to her magazine. It's the bare minimum, but the certainty in her voice does a good job of warding of his worries. It's as though the idea of him not being the crown prince is entirely ridiculous to her, an absolute joke of an idea. She too, is an incredibly smart person and so he thinks he'll make the gamble. He'll trust her judgement. After all, Freed alluded to him that he and Ever used to be close. He hopes he can regain that bond, because he finds himself respecting her.

He wonders if he should tell Evergreen this and bravely ends up trying to. However, the words sound clumsy to his own ears and he winces through it. When he's done awkwardly putting his feelings out there in the cluttered, dusty tailor's shop, Evergreen merely stares at him. "Well that was an experience", she dryly states and Laxus hides his face in his hands. Then she throws her arms around him, giving him a hug. Because of her small stature, she's completely buried into Laxus chest. So understandably he has a bit of a hard time making out her words. "God, you're stupid", she says, words muffled. "You big oaf, I loved you when you were an insecure little thing, I'll learn to love you as this tree of a guy. Don't worry about our friendship being lost, it's still there. We'll continue were we left off and build something stronger."

"I'd like that", he says, voice surprisingly rough as he blinks away tears. In the back of his mind, he can sense the edges of memories. Almost smells the little bits of tangerine stuck underneath fingernails on sunny days, almost feels the past fussing over clothes and almost hears the reluctance in her voice while waking him up. Those moments are long gone though and his mind has seemingly erased them, leaving him chasing fragments and pieces now.

Evergreen retracts from the hug and smooths out the worried wrinkles in his forehead. "Don't dwell on the past too much, live in the present for a bit." Laxus mulls it over before shaking his head. "Aren't we all chasing my past together? You three seem to know my past self better than I do. I think I'm entitled to that knowledge too."

The mixture of sadness and fondness on her face morphs into an expression that Laxus can't quite place, but she tells him not to worry about it. "Well your royal highness, let's reunite you with that past then! And to do that, we'll put you in some nicer clothes because God knows no one will allow you to meet with the tsar otherwise."

Finally, they're done. As they exit the tailor's, Laxus notices that neither of them has the clothes that were made for him. Confused, he asks Evergreen about them and Evergreen giggles. "They aren't finished yet, masterpieces like that take a few days. But no worries, we'll be hitting up more shops today. You won't be returning to the hotel with empty hands."

He cringes at those words. "I don't want anything really, I'd even be more comfortable if you didn't spend a single penny on me." Evergreen shrugs. "Too late for that." Then she glares at him and he winces, wondering what he did wrong. "Laxus, that attitude won't do!" she suddenly yells, attracting the attention of quite a few people in the streets. With hands that are none too careful, she turns him around so he's looking straight into a shop window. "What do you see?" she forcibly demands and he cringes as he takes a proper gander at his mirror image.

"A dirty young man, looks like he hasn't slept in years even though he did, someone who sticks out like a sore thumb, a guy who looks like he scavenges trash cans for food (not a pleasant experience, he recalls) and well, someone who looks like they've got a terrible character. The sort of person who'd bully kids for money, you know?"

The more he talks, the angrier Evergreen looks and so he just stops talking. "Sorry", he mumbles and Evergreen vehemently shakes her head. "No! You don't have to be sorry for a thing! It's hard to shake thoughts like those off." She takes a deep breath before going off again and Laxus wonders if she's had worries like his before.

"Laxus look at yourself again", she commands and so he does. "Straighten your back and put your chin up. I'm going to tell you something and I'll keep saying it until you believe it. You are Laxus Ivanov Dreyar, future tsar of Russia. You have the right to the throne and you have the right to look the part."

That part of the speech doesn't do anything but heighten his anxiety. Unaware of his rising turmoil, Evergreen continues. "But more importantly, you're genuinely a nice person. You're kind, honest and funny. You won't take shit from the most annoying of people, so please don't allow shit from yourself either. You're a good person and you're allowed to be proud of that. You have the right to be proud of just being you. I know you're feeling a lot of pressure to be someone high and mighty, like how you think a royal should act. But rest assured, the person you're travelling to meet knows you and has no such expectations for you. He merely wants his grandson back and he'll recognise you without a doubt. Please be kind to the self you think of as inadequate. You, Laxus, are a person worth of love of both other people and yourself."

She gives him a pat on the shoulder, firm and reassuring. Blinking away stubborn tears he nods. "I'll try to erhm, work on it", he says, because that's all he's got for now. "I'll beat it into your skull", Evergreen gently threatens, holding up a fist. "I look forward to it", he jokes and she shakes her head in amusement. "I'll hold you to it."

They continue their walk through the streets, hopping into shops that seem significantly less expensive than the taylor's and it makes Laxus feel more at ease. Comfortable with the reasonable pricing, he doesn't feel quite as ashamed browsing through items, scanning them with his eyes. "You can try them on, you know", Evergreen says with a light tone, holding a pink dress in front of her own body. "You think this colour suits me?" she asks, involving him more in the process. "Dunno", he says honestly, aware of his own... interesting sense of fashion.

"What do you think would look pretty on me?" Completely out of his depth, Laxus scans the store before pointing at a red dress with a leopard print and a furry neck- and bottomline. It is adorned with a studded purple belt with yellow details. It's colourful, he thinks and the yellow of the belt and the leopard print complement each other, right? Because leopards are yellow and all that.

"I wanted to buy whatever you pointed at to erase your awkwardness about buying things, but there's no way I will even look at that monstrousity for a second longer." Dejected, he pouts a bit. Surely it wasn't that bad?

It's then that he lays eyes on the biggest, clunkiest, warmest-looking jacket he's ever seen in his life. When he rubs the fabric between his fingers, he's ninety percent sure that it's real leather. That stuff lasts ages and honestly, he'd kill for a jacket that'd last him longer than a few weeks. He's had to brace enough winters without jackets because they simply were too worn-out when the cold really started to appear.

When she catches him staring, Evergreen moves over to look at what exactly he's looking at. Laying eyes on the jacket, she lets out a little pleased hum. "You know what? That's actually not terrible, take it." Aware of his lingering hesitation, she rolls her eyes and pulls it off the rack. Holding it in front of his body, she squints her eyes. "This'll fit fine, I'm going to pay for it." Just like that, she moves to the cashregister and before Laxus knows it, he has a bag with a new jacket in it. As they exit the store, Laxus notices that Evergreen has also donned a similar jacket. "It's comfortable!" she defends herself and Laxus shoots her a smug look. "Sure, whatever you say. I won't judge you if you admit to me having a superior sense of fashion."

"Never in a million years", she shoots back and he gives her a firm headpat, messing up her updo. "Sure, sure", he says as she squeaks in indignation. They run into Bickslow and Freed as they round a corner and immediately Evergreen throws her arms around Freed, whining about how she's being bullied. Freed gives her a pat on the back. "To quote a wise woman: With the way you're acting, you deserve to be", he says cheekily and laughs as Evergreen sputters. "You're supposed to take my side", she pouts. "Don't worry, I'm not taking the other guy's side either. I'm a completely neutral force." At that, Bickslow snorts. "Freed, you haven't been neutral, ever."

"Maybe there's some semblance of truth in that", he says before turning his attention to Laxus. "So, how did the shopping trip go?" Clumsily, Laxus retrieves the jacket from the bag and shows it to Bickslow and Freed. Under Freed's scrutinising gaze, he feels the need to explain himself. "It's warm."

"Why don't you put it on then?" Freed asks, "We can't have you being sick again." As Laxus does so, Freed momentarily takes the bag from him. As soon as the bag is deposited in his hands, Freed frowns and looks inside. "You guys really didn't buy anything but a jacket. Where are the casual pants, shoes and shirts? Gloves and a scarf for when it gets colder? A lighter jacket?"

Evergreen winces. "We we're getting there", she retorts and Freed raises one eyebrow. "You've been walking around for six hours." Handing the empty bag back to Laxus, he tells them to go get some food. "I'll handle the rest of it", he sighs, "because I truly do not think you guys will be able to put together a few outfits in the few hours that remain of this day. Go eat and have some fun instead. We'll be leaving this town soon, after all."

At first, Laxus's a bit miffed that Freed is treating him like a child, but then he's halfway through a really good local dish and he thinks it's alright. The stress of prices probably would've prohibited him from actually buying anything and from what he's seen, Freed knows how to dress well. Bickslow also said that they all should try one of the hotsprings the town has to offer. Because he's never been to one before, Laxus is pretty excited to try it. He's having fun, he realises as he watches Bickslow and Evergreen bicker over the shape of a potatoe.

After dinner, they lounge in their hotelrooms for a bit, waiting for Freed to return. When he eventually does, he as a few bags, a suitcase and a box with him. On the box Laxus recognises the same design as the one he saw on the tailor's sign. "She finished it early, because she was very enthusiastic about the project." Setting all the materials on the floor, Freed opens the sturdy leather suitcase.

"This will last you a while", he explains as he neatly folds the clothes and puts them in the suitcase. From what Laxus can see, there's more colour in there than he expected, but he'll trust Freed's judgement. They continue to peacefully exist beside each other until Bickslow throws himself onto the bed with a dramatic sigh.

"I can't take this anymore!" he yells, "it's tubby time!" Freed blinks owlishly, packing up the last clothes as Bickslow rolls off the bed, demanding attention by depositing his head in Freed's lap. "I demand that we visit the hotsprings."

"Do you now? We'll be leaving early in the morning, I think it's better if we go to bed instead." That makes sense, but it does make Laxus deflate a little bit. He had been looking forward to it after all. When he decides to stop moping and looks up, he catches Freed looking at him with an expression that could almost be fondness. "I won't be held accountable for your tiredness tomorrow", Freed says as he gets up from the floor and Evergreen and Bickslow cheer in unison.

They have to walk a little while to get to that specific hot spring, but Laxus doesn't mind. The night has coloured the sky dark, but the skies are clear so a million stars can be spotted. It's breathtaking. He thinks he's never felt more at peace in his whole life.

The sound of heels clacking on the cobblestone catches both his and Freed's attention. He doesn't recognise the woman looking at them, but the shift in Freed's expression tells Laxus that the other man definitely does. "Whatever happens, just play along", he hisses loud enough so Evergreen and Bickslow can hear it too. Unsure of what's happening, Laxus nods.

"Al, my dear boy is that you?" the woman asks, slowly stepping closer. A streetlantern catches her in its glow and Laxus is caught off guard by the smooth green hair that falls oh so daintily over her shoulders, combined with the striking blue of her eyes. This woman is one of wealth, she seems like the epitome of nobility. Freed gives the woman a curtsy and motions behind his back for them to do the same. "Lady mother", he politely greets her back.

#fraxus #Freed Justine #Laxus Dreyar #Evergreen fairy tail #Bickslow #freedxlaxus #raijinshuu #Anastasia au #TheFairyWrites

15 notes · View notes