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kithtaehyung · 2 years

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SOLmates (teaser) (m) | OT7

title: SOLmates (teaser) pairing: ot7 x reader(f) rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ; soulmates au (negative), arranged marriage au, futuristic dystopian summary: “What awaits after Inferno? Ashes.” teaser warnings: lots of intro!, all intro!, jin is a bit of a menace, manhandling, cursing, fingering, scratching, yoongi is rude af, choking, jin wears a chain bc i can’t help myself, warnings to be added as series starts note: so.. this is a project i’ve been working on for awhile now. i don’t normally plan things, but something that started on a whim grew into this entire universe that i ended up having to plan like never before lol. i just wanted to show y’all a small piece of it, and i hope you enjoy! note 2: thank you to @wwilloww, @kookskingdom, and @sugaurora for encouraging me to keep going on this! y’all gave me much more hype than i could ask for and i’m really excited for what’s to come. this is also a rough draft so it will be polished later :D teaser word count: 5.4k 5.5k release date: july 27th, 2022, 7pm est updated: august 3rd, 2022

PROLOGUE

The first time, you feel a spark.

The second, a fire.

But what happens after the third?

What awaits after Inferno?

Ashes.

// LOGDATE: 3021.01.32, 0700

// LOCATION: PLANET EARTH, HOME POD

// SUBJECT: HARDLOCK

No matter how hard or long you sleep, the soft clicks and whirrs of your bedroom’s bootup routine never fail to make you stir.

Face scrunched, your gaze sweeps across the mostly empty space beyond your sheets. Pale blue light spreads over everything like a blanket, and you are quickly reminded of when you ported off-planet for the first time, watching the rush of a million blue streaks encompass your peripherals.

Why that memory flits about your mind, you haven’t the faintest clue. That was ages ago.

“AE-AI, what’s today,” you grumble, knowing your Homepanion will register your drowsy, garbled speech.

And, like always, her calm voice drifts over your head.

[Today is Saturday, January 32nd, 3021.]

[Reminder: you have one meeting today.]

[Atmosphere Aura Temperature: Suboptimal.]

A meeting? You may be exhausted as all hell, but you know it’s definitely your day off. Reaching to swipe your phone off your nightstand, you check the screen to see if something slipped into your schedule last second, dropping it with a thud when nothing appears.

The ghost of a kiss accompanies the soft touch of rough fingers between your shoulder blades. “Isn’t it Saturday,” a sleep-leadened voice asks, and you hum in response, settling into your bedfellow’s embrace when they tug you backwards. “We never have meetings on Saturdays.”

“I know.”

The lithe forearm around your torso starts to slide downward, and a small knot in your belly tightens when fingers wander across your bare pelvis. “Jin,” you whisper, hushed and breathy, “Let me figure this out first.”

“Just cancel,” the man’s coarse suggestion matches the tone of his voice before he lazily bites your ear. “There, I solved it.”

You don’t hide your groan, but you do close a hand over Jin’s wrist just as he slips a lone finger between your folds. “Thirty seconds,” you sigh in compromise. Because you absolutely want the same thing he does.

The random notification is just throwing you off.

If this meeting has nothing to do with work, it better be a good one; it’s stealing hours of your rare, precious rest time. Lately, none of your squad had been gifted with any, which is exactly why you and Jin made the most of last night.

“Fine. Not like AE-AI’s gonna care,” he relents, albeit petulantly.

[I do not.]

As Jin fires off an insult to your intelligent and apparently saucy assistant, you laugh and wrap his arm back around your stomach. “What’s the meeting for, AE-AI?”

[The meeting has no title or subject, but the location is as follows: Phode Industries, Floor 112, Room 34-B.]

“Damn him,” you mutter, the absence of anything important in a meeting drop being the mark of your Guardian. “AE-AI, call the meeting organizer, please.”

[Calling: Kim Namjoon.]

You turn, observing shut, tired eyes under wavy black locks. “Looks like it’s gonna be more than thirty seconds.”

Without moving a muscle, he teases, “I’m heartbroken.”

“You’ll get over it.”

“Say hi to Joon for me.”

“I’m going to be saying a lot more than that.”

As the rings echo throughout your spacious bedroom, frustration is the sole energy source that thrusts your legs out of heated blankets and your feet onto cold floors. To combat the chill, you swipe a large shirt from the foot of your bed.

“Hey, that’s mine!”

Jin’s scent hugs you like a second layer as you shrug. When you walk away, your arms stretch high above your head, knowing his stare will drift straight down to your ass.

And as planned, the next thing you hear is a groan.

“Damn. Fucking keep it.”

You’re almost to your bathroom when your annoyance finally answers the call.

“Oh, good. You’re up.”

“Namjoon, what the hell is this?” Warm lights bloom when you enter the spacious area and, with one eye squinted, you scratch your head while reaching for your toothbrush. “You better have a brilliant reason for this meeting or else I’m not stepping foot out of this pod.”

“It’s not that I have a brilliant reason. It’s that we have no choice.”

You pause, the toothpaste glob missing the bristles of your brush. “And that means what, exactly?”

There is a bout of silence in the speakers. In your buildup of anger, you rest your hands on the counter, both tools still resting in your curled fingers. “Namjoon,” you repeat, drawing out his name.

“What else do you think we wouldn’t have a choice in, kid?”

Ugh. You should’ve just stayed in your bed with Jin. It’s too damn early for your Guardian’s mind games. “Is it Ngoya wanting to reup his implants again? I know we have to keep that relationship pretty solid but it’s one more day. Just don’t walk outside for twenty four more hours! It shouldn’t be that hard.”

“No, it’s not that—”

While you’re successfully coating your toothbrush with paste, you fire off another guess, “Oh, never mind, I know. It’s that damn Spark Suppressor asking for business again. Why did I have to be chatty and tell him my—”

“Not that, either. Listen to me? Please?”

Nonchalant is too stiff of a word to describe the way you’re brushing your teeth, slightly slouched and observing your eyes in the expansive mirror.

Eyes that hadn’t been out of a shield in days.

A gruff exhale crackles the sound system in your ceiling before Namjoon speaks again, and you stand there speechless, toothbrush hanging limp in between your lips.

“You’ve been summoned. It’s damn Hardlock, kid. I’m sorry.”

Fuck.

You’ve shaped your life how you wanted it to be, despite all of the adaptations that society has gone through and thrown at you.

Every single one except Hardlock, apparently.

The Arranged Marriage Pact that cannot be refused.

// LOGDATE: 3021.01.32, 0800

// LOCATION: GLISA STATION, EALIONA DISTRICT

// SUBJECT: WHEN YOU STARTED BELIEVING

Adjusting your eyeshield, you sigh as you step into a hovertrain with a group of other passengers.

Suppressor gloves forgotten at home, you were quick to shove bare hands in jacket pockets, rushing to the back of the compartment to isolate yourself. On the way, you accidentally brush someone’s arm, apologizing but not stopping in your haste.

Even if you’re fully clothed, you still have a moment of panic when you make contact with someone. It’s the norm to have that instilled in your nature.

Will it happen?

Or not?

Well, you don’t know what it feels like, but according to your relatives’ experiences, it’s a situation you don’t want to encounter. Ever.

An automated announcement blares right before the doors close, and you don’t hear a word spoken on the train as you sit, backpack taking up most of the seat.

With your stop five long minutes away, you have some time to think.

How did it get to be this way? Who the hell is choosing you of all people? People in your line of work never get chosen for Hardlock because of the risk factor.

Maybe they know how lucrative your job really is and they just want the money. You can’t blame them in that case.

Rolling other careers around in your mind, you can’t think of another one with higher pay than a Salvager. The only one that comes close is someone in Namjoon’s position: a Guardian that protects a Salvager’s livelihood. You don’t know what you would do without him.

It’s a miracle that a Spark didn’t happen when you accidentally saw his eyes in that one wanderhouse, when you entered a room you didn’t know he was occupying.

He was simply reading a book—one of the old ones that required hands to read—which he promptly dropped at your entrance.

You remember both staring at each other for a good while, shocked to death and then relieved. Relieved to see another pair of true irises in organic colors and hues.

If he ended up being a SOLmate, that would’ve been the end of a relationship. It was even company policy: you would’ve had to make arrangements to part before acquiring a new Guardian within hours.

You heard the stories. Broken friendships, crumbled company deals, crushed empires.

Because nothing could overcome the initial Spark—much less an Inferno.

Which is why you are going to keep your hands hidden in your jacket at all times. You can’t risk touching another human and possibly igniting.

Don’t connect your bare eyes.

Don’t connect your bare skin.

The two ways a Spark can be initiated.

You don’t know what the hell birthed the curse of SOLmates, but you’ve learned how society has adapted. The rise of quarantining and social avoidance became the norm, with entire civilizations working remotely and citizens avoiding the Outside altogether.

At first, you didn’t believe in SOLmates. You thought it was just a ploy carried out by the Heado Council to keep commoners in their pods while they went about their shady ways.

It wasn’t until your cousin suddenly appeared in your Tele-Port with a barren look in their eyes, hunched over and refusing to speak to you until three days later. You remember having to force food and water down their slimming throat, along with sleep medicine to fight their insomnia.

When they finally spoke, voice gravelly and dusty, you understood.

“If you ever ignite,” they started, unblinking and haunted, “Never meet them again.”

“What are you saying?”

“Promise me.”

“Hey, snap out of it. What are you talking about?”

They finally lifted their eyes, and you fought the urge to lurch forward seeing the specks of sharp grey swirling around obsidian—volcanic ash in their depths. “You will want to. But fight it. Don’t let there be a third time. Lock yourself away if you have to.” With each pointed plea, their body thrummed, their words as jittery as their shoulders until you rushed over to hold them.

“You have to relax,” you whispered, but your cousin fought against your arms, their voice suddenly shrill and desperate in your ear,

“Never see them again! You can’t! Anything is better than this!”

“Hey, wait—”

An elbow connected with your stomach, forcing your grip loose. Frantic, your visitor wrenched themselves from your form and tore their way through your living room, hair whizzing and flailing.

You called out for them, but your plea fell on deaf ears. Right as they scampered onto the transportation disk, they slammed trembling fingers onto the console as if they didn’t care where the hell they were sent.

“Wait!”

The yell dispersed throughout your empty room, rebounding off the furniture and dark grey walls. Feeling the weight of the loud silence that followed, your arms slowly fell back to your sides, and you wondered if you would ever see your cousin again.

You still haven’t seen them since.

[Now arriving at: Phode District]

The hovertrain warbles to a stop. Cracking your neck, you make your way out of the compartment, almost going to adjust your backpack straps until you realize you can’t unpocket your fingers.

Shit. You’re going to have to swallow your pride and admit to Namjoon that you don’t have gloves.

He’s going to notice anyways; you won’t be able to take out the docu-discs you have stashed without showing your bare skin. With a thought, you blink three times to bring up the HUD on your eyeshield and ring him.

His answer is instant.

“Hey, where are you?”

Peering up at the obnoxiously tall glass building, you watch heavy raindrops splash your helmet before you groan,

“I’m here.”

// LOGDATE: 3021.01.32, 0810

// LOCATION: PHODE INDUSTRIES

// SUBJECT: THE MEETING

Thank whatever deities people come up with nowadays that Namjoon has a spare pair.

After you rushed out an excuse on top of your mistake, your Guardian only sighed and told you to just get your ass to the room. He claimed that he brought extra gear because he had business two districts over, but you didn’t put it past him to be paranoid.

Gliding across the almost barren floor of the lobby, you hear faint announcements about keeping suppressor gear on at all times while on the premises.

Shit. You have to make it to the elevators before you’re questioned by a roboguard.

But your worries are for naught, for the short trip to the glass tubes goes smoothly. It’s possible that you escape suspicion while in regular civilian garb instead of your Salvager suit.

You understand completely; the suits are pretty damn noticeable with their reactive energy displays.

After a low humming ascent, you’re now on the 112th floor, wandering around and sneaking glances into every room not shielded by Darkglass. Peering through the clear walls, you watch as helmeted business people go about their days. Some are negotiating trade deals by the looks of the tablets they are cradling, and some are simply staring out of the building windows and watching the rain.

People do that a lot. Ever since it’s been next to taboo to show bare skin in the Outside.

What you would give to feel rain again.

There aren’t many rooms that have the glass activated, but you do pass one that apparently has a commotion going on inside.

You faintly remember learning about Darkglass. How it shrouds both sight and sound when flipped from clear to black. If something is pressed against the material, there’s a subtle vibration that can be seen.

Just like now, as you walk by a room in the middle of the hall. When you turn to regard the slight waves, you make out the faint outline of a handprint.

Weird. Maybe someone resting against the wall out of sheer boredom.

It would make sense. You would absolutely hate being chained down to a place of business like this.

Being a Salvager means you aren’t attached to a building, or a cubicle, or even a central hub. Your job resides wherever the missions take you—wherever some rich asshole ends up needing you to go—whether that be into a local penthouse or the next planet over.

And you love it. The experiences you get to have, the places you get to see—all of it has been remarkable despite the gritty truth.

It’s not an honorable occupation. Not that honorable is a common word thrown around nowadays. But it’s one that many a wealthy person will shovel out liquid cash and ONIcoin for, so you’re able to live a lavish lifestyle.

Your hands are practically drowning in your pockets.

Are you going to have to give up that life because of Hardlock?

Surely, the family that chose you knows what you are. Your file omits a staggering amount of detail, but your base information is clearly defined next to your known SOLmate count, age, and ancestry.

You finally see a floating LED rectangle that reads 34-B, and the room’s Darkglass is deactivated. Glancing inside, you see Namjoon’s tall, cloaked form standing a safe distance away from what you assume are the mother and father of your chosen partner. While the woman occupies the lone chair at the end of a conference table, her husband simply rests gloves on her sagging shoulders.

They seem… Lost.

There wasn’t much time for you to run through their files, but Jin skimmed through while you got ready earlier.

“Yah, why are there so many redacted sections?”

“Nothing new,” you threw over your shoulder while slipping on pants. “Happens with a lot of older generations. Elders and their privacy.”

You could picture Jin’s eyes scanning his HUD back and forth within his sleek eyeshield, legs spread on your traditional sofa. “Jung Family… Blastia District… Shit.”

“What?”

“Heado Council puppets.”

“Fuck.”

After removing his shield, Jin ruffles his hair and smoothes it back down. “You sure you can’t pull out?”

“It’s Hardlock, Jin. Non-negotiable.”

“Isn’t that incredibly unethical?”

“Severely, but what do they care?”

“I have a bad feeling about this.”

You shrugged, faking confidence and hiding the tremble in your bones. “Relax. I don’t have to like the person. Just gotta marry them on paper and tell them I won’t be around.”

Run. You can just run, right? Run away, portcast to the farthest, most decent planet you can think of and live off your dirty pension? It sounds so much better than walking into that room.

But Namjoon turns and notices you through the wall, and he’s only one long stride away from opening the door.

“Come in!” You can hear the forced smile behind his shiniest blue helmet—one he saves for special occasions—but he whispers his next words, “We may have gotten a little lucky.”

“What? What do you mean?” As you stand in the thin doorway, you drink in his response.

“The dude isn’t even here.”

“Fantastic,” you drawl, sparing a quick side eye at the parents under the cover of your shield. Maybe he portcasted to the farthest, most decent pla—

“It doesn’t mean the contract is void, but it does give us some time to adjust. Here,” Namjoon steps to the side to allow you entrance, and you clench your fists in humid pockets when you enter the room.

You have no clue what your Guardian means by that, but you decide to dismiss it when you finally notice something about the reticent couple at the table.

They’re wearing Navim Shields.

Even you choked seeing the price of those.

This family doesn’t need a drop of your money.

So why the fuck are you here?

// LOGDATE: 3021.01.32, 0900

// LOCATION: HOMEPOD

// SUBJECT: STRESS RELIEF

“Did I hear you right? The guy didn’t even show?”

“Why are you still here, Jin?”

The slide and click of your door shutting behind you means that you’re finally cut off from the Outside, temporarily severed from responsibilities and new expectations and anxieties. No matter how often you left your home for missions, entering the Outside always caused your shoulders to tense until you set foot back in your entryway.

And even though you will never admit it, seeing Jin’s sweatpants-clad form greeting you is already enough to ease your mind this time.

You shuck your backpack off in an unceremonious dump, sighing as you proceed to remove your eyeshield.

Fuck.

The moment after removing protection is always a bit disorienting. Your corneas have to adjust to true colors after being suppressed by the shield technology, and it doesn’t help that depth perception changes dramatically. Jin is a lot closer than you think as you lower your eyeshield, and you flinch when he backs you up into your door.

With one large, capable hand next to your head, he flashes a tiny smirk at your rain-soaked form. “You act like you don’t like it,” he whispers before leaning forward to mesh his lips with yours.

You melt into his lazy kiss before grunting, meekly pushing his bare chest away and feeling the metal of his chain. “Jin,” you sigh, feeling a twinge of want when he swoops in again and pushes you flush against the door.

This effectively shuts you up, throwing your need into overdrive as you give in and start tearing your clothes from your limbs.

The gravelly chuckle that slides between your mouths sends heat between your legs. “Looks like I get you to myself for a bit longer.”

You scoff as your damp jacket hits the ground with a plop. “We aren’t exclusive,” you hiss before grabbing his hair and tugging him into another sloppy kiss, chilled skin welcoming the warmth of his.

His wonderful, enticing, tender skin.

You don’t know what or who decided that Jin isn’t one of your SOLmates, but you still feel like you owe them everything.

Because if he was, you would have only crossed paths with him three times max in your life.

And you don’t think you could have lived with that circumstance.

Your hands fly to your pants next, but your focus is cut off by the hot mouth latching onto your throat. “We aren’t,” he agrees after a suck, “But I don’t see anyone else here. Do you?”

Jin uses one hand to unhook your bra while the other slots between your thighs, grinding into your clothed cunt before giving it a firm swat.

Fuck, he knows what you need. After the absolute waste of a morning, you’re ready to do whatever the hell he wants.

But your drenched pants are your worst enemy at the moment. “Help me,” you bite out as you shove him away, frustrated that something so small is the thing that sets you off.

It wasn’t the fact that you were a Hardlock match, nor the fact that your partner ghosted the meeting and you had to awkwardly stand there with his parents only to slink back home through the rain.

No. Just your pants keeping you away from your fuck buddy’s leaking dick.

Jin stumbles back with a laugh before coming back to your aid, his fingers looping into your nemesis and pulling them and your underwear down your legs with ease. “Sweetheart is extra bossy today, isn’t she?”

“Just hurry up,” you grunt, going for another shove and stilling when a hand flashes up to block your arm.

His eyes are lust-blown and determined as he stares you down, grip on your skin and tone just as hard, “Push me again and see what happens, sweetheart.”

“Call me that one more time and see what happens, bitch,” you counter, eyes squeezing shut and stomach fluttering when Jin attacks with his mouth.

Your hands are all over each other as he practically throws you back into the front door. While his are roughly palming your breasts and gripping the back of your wet neck, yours are scratching stress lines into his hair and raking through his shoulders. Desire seeps from your cunt, the entrance hot between your cold thighs.

Everything is almost a replica of last night. Except this time, Jin still has his pants on.

“Take those off,” you breathe out, water droplets falling from your head, “Just fuck me.”

“Let me prep you.”

You moan when he rolls his pelvis into yours, ready to be just as split apart as you were a mere twelve hours ago. Desperate, you shake your head. “Don’t need it,” you lie, “I can take it.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Shit. Okay.”

After Jin loses his sweatpants, he doesn’t even stand back up fully before you’re clutching his cock, sliding your cold fingers along his shaft once before reaching to cup his balls. Hearing his breathy groans causes more slick to build in your center, and you lean forward to swirl a tongue over one of his nipples.

“Fuck, baby.” You feel a hand grip the back of your head before it’s tugged back. “Come here.”

Saliva rims your mouth from your sloppy work, but Jin doesn’t care as he smashes his lips back into yours, tongue on a mission to close your airway. A commanding hand grabs one of your legs to widen your stance, which is the reason for your shock when you’re suddenly spun around.

Years of reflex and combat training save your face from butting the doorframe, but you still grunt, smirking when you feel hands roughly tug your hips.

As Jin’s deep voice slides onto your bare back, your cunt flutters while your mouth widens.

“You can take it, right? Prove it. Sweetheart.”

For the rest of the night, he makes you forget.

Your shit job.

The shit Hardlock.

And whatever other bullshit you have to be prepared for come morning.

CHAPTER I

Just because it happens once, doesn’t mean it can’t happen again.

There have been countless records of people with more than one SOLmate, which spurned humanity to escape and flee into the stars. Voyagers are synonymous with cowards, hermits comparable to corpses in coffins—the inevitable has been proven and yet everyone still runs from the truth.

However, there are people that run towards it. People that forego any armor or suppressor clothes or eyeshields. Those are the ones that suffer the quickest, all because they yearn for that feeling of ignition. The Great Flare. The Eruption. The Inferno.

It’s a high.

But everything ends just the same.

Ashes.

Ashes walk with no purpose, no soul, no life. What were once vibrant, intentional humans are now husks of a being, nothing but dust with wisps of memory.

And when left alone too long?

Their veins protrude and shine like lava; their eyes burn like dying stars. Light shoots from their mouths in a bright beam, angry and orange and devastating, as if a furious sun is fighting for escape. Skin hardens. Splinters. Breaks.

And the only instinct that remains is to ravage everything around them until they are effectively stopped.

// LOGDATE: 3021.02.01, 0600

// LOCATION: HEADQUARTERS, BRIEFING ROOM

// SUBJECT: NEW GUY

“Took you long enough.”

“Fuck off, Min.” You dump your boots on the nearest surface, which so happens to be a glowing console with multiple buttons and levers.

The man situated behind it jolts his arms up at the bang, stuttering out as his helmet reflects the lights in front of him, “Hey, you might—”

“It’s fine,” you snap, getting a snort out of the drowsy man at your back.

“Damn. Did you two not fuck at all or something? Why’re you so pissy?”

Jin is the one that answers for you, voice taut and raspy from the little amount of sleep you both got last night. “Watch it.”

“Cute.”

Both of you groan a less-than-hearty “Shut up” before parting ways, taking your seats around the circular planning station occupying most of the room.

Well, Jin takes residence next to a chuckling cohort and you settle on the other side of the table, holograms of mission details and discovered Ashes that need to be salvaged hovering over its dark surface.

One of them looks like your cousin, but you blink and the illusion is dashed.

The person only looks like her.

It pains you all the same.

Once you realize how many are filing through, you click your tongue. “Fuck, again? I thought this many Ashes was a rare thing…”

Yoongi—the one that unceremoniously greeted you and someone you cannot stand—pipes up immediately, “Apparently not. But at least they’re all around the same area this time.”

“I can see that,” you drawl. “But didn’t this just happen? I’ve never seen this many after we just salvaged a big group.”

Something feels odd about the reports flying in. Normally, a day would consist of checking into Headquarters to pinpoint Ashes, and flying out on hovercrafts or portcasting to whatever planet you needed to for a quick salvage. Once you were done with the jobs, you would either rendezvous with another unit that needed backup or simply go home and hate your life because of how fucked up your job really is.

But right now, observing how many Ashes are pinging off a small planet in the same solar system, you’re wondering if this is going to be another Longnight.

You just came back from one. That’s exactly why you and Jin…

Shifting your helmet to face him, you can already see that he’s looking your way. Fuck, how you want him to whisk you back to your Homepod and make you forget your name and occupation a fourth time. It looks like he wants to do the same.

A voice rumbles across the table as the most quiet salvager decides to offer input, “It’s strange, isn’t it? How we haven’t gotten new recruits for months until now?”

“I dunno, Taehyung.” You tilt your head back to the displays smoothly cycling in front of your shielded eyes. “Could be the reason why we’re getting more recruits. We’re gonna start needing backup if this keeps continuing.”

A helmet lowers as the man folds clothed arms. Seemingly to himself, he mutters, “I feel like they started recruiting before all of this, though.”

“There’s another thing you should know about,” Jimin—the one with the least amount of salvage experience—chimes in, voice strained as if you might not like what he’s about to say.

“Don’t be shy,” you bite. “Out with it.”

“Well… Speaking of recruits, we have a new—”

The obsidian doors of the circular space hum low as they slide open, and every helmet in the room snaps toward the newcomer’s easy strides.

On instinct, you size them up under their salvager suit: masculine body type, strong shoulders but lean lower frame, slight tilt of their head indicating low level of interest or attitude, minor slump in posture. Seems a bit too laid-back for your tastes, but you keep the bulk of your opinions until you’ve seen someone in action anyways.

“New guy,” Jimin finally finishes his statement, his tone changing from timidness to piqued curiosity. “Hello.”

The stranger simply shifts their helmet Jimin’s way without a word.

Mm. You might end up liking them.

Standing from your seat, you approach and stop some distance away. “First day?”

A nod.

“Last name?”

“Jeon.”

Stunned at how soft their voice is, you pause before asking, “How was training, Jeon?”

A shrug.

You huff through your nose in amusement, knowing that the training regimen is a bitch and a half. “Well, the real shit is nothing like it, so take a seat.” You start to stride back to your desk as a few laughs punctuate your statement. Because it’s true. “Especially since this mission might be a bit different.”

You go over the briefing while circling through the holo displays, assigning everyone their pseudonyms and roles and targets. After a quick meeting, you check for understanding. “Group One first. Jin, Tae, Park: review.”

Jin’s the first to speak as he slides fingers across the table, the motion transferring files into his eyeshield. “Callisto. Armory. A-142 and A-211.”

A light voice cuts in right after as Jimin follows suit. “Elara. Retriever. C-002.”

“Europa. Surveyor. B-299,” Taehyung sounds with disinterest, arms still crossed and back still slumped into his chair.

“Good. Group Two.” Since you’re part of this one, you start. “Metis. Armory. A-327 and A-410.”

The newcomer waits for Yoongi to review. When the guy is silent, they fill the gap. “Ganymede. Surveyor. C—”

“Shouldn’t we check this dude’s stats before assigning him?”

All of you shift focus to the lean frame at the back of the room. Miffed about everything that’s happening, you snip, “There’s no time for that, Min. We’re running low on our window as is, and training prepares recruits for all roles.”

“New kid,” Yoongi asks, his words launching straight over your boiling head. “What are you good at?”

Jeon doesn’t respond for a beat, instead swerving his helmet to you for some kind of approval. When you tilt your head as a sign to answer, he stutters out, “I, um. Armory.”

“Huh. Took me two seconds.”

Slamming the planning station, your frustration almost fogs the inside of your head gear, “I don’t have time for your insubordination, Min. Either get this out during planning or save it and shove it up your shitty asshole.”

“Jin, seriously, tap that a little harder next time, yeah?”

A ruckus starts on that side of the table before you get two steps out, with Yoongi’s dark material in Jin’s fiery grip. Jimin tries to separate them while reminding them about the mission, and Taehyung stays burning his gaze into the black glass in front of him.

You already know that the new guy is a bit spooked from the commotion, judging by the stiffness of his shoulders that you caught before joining in the fray. He doesn’t know how common this really is—the snippy attitudes, the pre-mission tension, the pent-up anger. Eventually, he’ll get used to it if he stays.

But fucking hell, it always has to be Yoongi getting you so riled up every time. If the two of you didn’t work so well together, you would have requested his transfer to the Venus or Pluto Units expeditiously.

Frankly, you would send him straight to Mercury if you had that power. They always have problems happening there.

But you’ll settle for a firm grip of his collar for now, shoving Jin aside as you take your place in front of your verbal sparring partner. “Don’t fuck with me today, Min.”

“I’ll settle for fucking you never, thanks.”

“What’s with you? Nervous? Is our little kitty boy scared of the rain?”

You can’t see his face, but you know that statement received an eyeroll, which you’re happy about. Releasing him with a shove, you make your way to the doors, not looking at any of the hovercraft pilots at their consoles or the new kid still glued to his seat. “Jeon, take Armory. We’ll switch roles but keep our same targets. I’ll figure something out before we portcast and fly out.”

“Okay.”

“And Yoongi?”

The figure across the planning station straightens, as do Jin and Jimin beside him.

Childishly, you gloat,

“Never is right. You couldn’t get this pussy even if you begged.”

// LOGDATE: 3021.02.01, 0800

// LOCATION: PLANET VALGA, HOVERCRAFT STATION

// SUBJECT: ANOTHER LONGNIGHT

end of teaser.

A/N: if you managed to make it here, hello! i know this is vastly different than what i usually write, but i am having so much fun with this universe already and it’s super refreshing. let me know what you think/what you liked, if anything! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ ⇥ masterlist

#omg i hope y'all enjoy!#bts #bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts reactions #bts angst #bts smut #seokjin smut #ot7 x reader #ot7 smut #ot7 angst #bangtanbathhouse #btshoneyhive #bangtanarmynet #*latest #ryenwrites #*scheduled #since i'll be exploring rn!#updated with section i had on another draft on 220803 omg

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handelplayssims · 1 year

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Oh great. Now it’s thunderstorming in Newcrest. Just great. Anyway, Supriya’s taking care of her needs and heading off to bed from that late night out, Pierce’s wish is to gain charisma, so off to his bedroom mirror he goes and Evie...-shrug- She’s scared from being outside and in the thunder so I sent her to her bed to cower for a bit and then just had her read a book. Thunderstorms give a scared moodlet that’ll stay as long as the storm is going on. Sims are just naturally nervous about these storms. I would more just be tense. What if the power goes out?! Evie was sleepy while during reading so she also headed to bed. It’s just us and Pierce again.

His next whims are to cloudgaze with his sleeping mother and the other is to gain 10 new online followers from social media. ...he would be a social media teen wouldn’t he? It was as simple as updating his social media status.

Hmm. I kinda want to hang with the boys somewhere. He has a boyfriend named Harrison and is friends with Orange Bailey-Moon but doesn’t know the traits of either. So we should hang! And I know the place!

Celebrity home!

The Bailey-Moon’s won the lottery once so I got them a house renovation. And made a level addition because they had not just one child, but TWO! Octavia wants her large household. And perhaps I should adjust the walls on that addition, it looks a bit off from this angle. Or perhaps it’s the roof. ANYWAY, let’s hang!

Hilariously, both my vampire Harrison and Orange have been found out to have the Outgoing trait. Just immensly friendly people. After nabbing a bite to eat from the fridge, the boys are having a basketball challenge.

Finally, there was one thing I wanted to do…

Sorry bro. Just don’t have the same passion as I did once before bro. As in, I personally am not really feeling this couple. It also sent Pierce into an immediate mood swing of feeling incredibly embarassed. It’s time to retreat and go somewhere else. Somewhere with a good jogging path. The Oasis Spring’s park will do!

This is another pull from the gallery as I very much got what the devs were going for with the park, I just wanted a more fleshed out version of it.

Anyway, we’re specially jogging because that helps with emotional control, what our mother dearest advised doing! So let us jog around this incredibly hot weather! We are stinky from this workout so let’s head back home. Brant Hecking decided to drop by with a gift so I set Pierce to invite him after a bath. He also makes someone good to ask about advice and encouragement after the whole break-up thing.

And then there’s just managing Supriya’s and Evie’s needs while they are scared thanks to the rainstorm. Which, annoying. Pretty annoying. Supriya’s first whim was to solve hard problems, which, I think builds logic. Mostly I’m just trying my hardest to get her out of that scared moodlet. Of which, my immediate thought is meditation and calming stuff so, I purchased a meditation stool and tried to find a place in this very cramped home for her to take some time to meditate. Evie is also doing something similar by trying to calm down and relax with Lazerwolf, who just loves being a lap dog. Thankfully, that actually worked for Evie! And the meditation did for Supriya. Now she’s listening to the retro tunes while Evie is working on dog training Lazerwolf to play fetch.

Oh! The listening to the tunes actually got Supriya into an emotionally mindful state! That’s something added in with Snowy Escape. It means you could freely choose what emotion you can put yourself into. I however, find that boring. I make it random! And we got a very good one, which is bold! I think that, plus whole emotionally mindful thing sounds like I could have a good justification for purchasing the Storm Chaser reward trait for Supriya. Storms mean nothing to her now! Or at least she won’t be scared.

And on Pierce tired, sad, having cleaned up the household, Evie back to being scared and Supriya being the only one feeling good, we head to bed! Oh but, thanks to being scared as she went to bed, Evie woke up with a nightmare! Of being eaten by a sentient murphey bed. Truly terrifying. As even non-sentient, they are dangers. Though just as I had her go to the restroom and take a bath, the storm ended and she was happy. Because she was thinking about how fun those toddler days she had was. A very strong minor buff, that. Back to bed and back to sleep! For now it’s time for-

Neighborhood Watch!

Curtis Koenig in the Koenig household left his job as a Stand Up Star in the Comedian career.

Imane Mounib in the Mounbib household has died. Imane got a little too angry and exploded.

#sims 4 #liveblogging #delgato family #supriya delgato #pierce delgato #evie delgato #orange bailey moon #harrison stuart

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lubdubsworld · 3 years

Text

物の哀れ ( ‘the sadness of things’.)

Alpha Jungkook x Omega Oc!

Genre : Angst , Hurt/ Comfort.

Chapter 1 ⋆ Chapter 2 ⋆ Chapter 3 Chapter 4 ⋆ Chapter 5 ⋆

Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Summary : Nine months after her marriage ends, Kim Heejin is a reclusive artist, who works out of a renovated warehouse in Busan, her days and nights spent with canvas and paint. Its exactly what she’s ever wanted, to be left alone. And yet, that nagging feeling of incompletion keeps her on her toes. And perhaps, it is that longing for something substantial, something real that pushes her to give her flawed but lovable ex-husband another chance.

Chapter 9

“I… No. Just… please tell him I’ll be down…I’ll come down to the lobby to meet him.” I said quickly, panicking at the idea of having him here. I’d barely been here a day but this was still my space. And if I had him here then his scent would just seep into every nook and corner.

The room would smell like him then… And what would I do after he left?

God, what was I even thinking? Head swimming, I crawled to the edge of the bed and breathed shakily.

It felt surreal, climbing out of the bed and moving to the vanity . I stared at myself in the mirror as I grabbed the makeup bag I kept with me all the time. Wide eyes and parted lips, creamy gold skin turning lily white because of how the blood had just drained after that phone call.

I looked petrified .

Jungkook… I thought numbly. Jungkook’s waiting downstairs and I’m going to see him.

What is he thinking.... What is he feeling... why is he even here?

You’re not responsible for his emotions, Taehyung’s soothing voice in my head helped a bit but not a whole lot. What about my emotions, I though desperately, grabbing the tube of gloss and slowly uncapping it. I ran the end of it over my lips and felt my fingers tremble because I didn’t know why I felt this need …to look beautiful.

I didn’t need to, I though miserably. Everyone knew omegas were beautiful. Beta supermodels were beautiful yes but they couldn’t hold a candle to me, at least for someone like Jungkook. He was an alpha, his brain was built to find me attractive. I had evolutionary genetics on my side, which mean that if I ever actually wanted to seduce Jungkook , he wouldn’t really stand a chance .

But I didn’t want that.

I had had enough of that. Enough of seeing handsome, rich alphas being reluctantly attracted to me. They made it obvious too. Most of the hate mail I got stemmed from angry wives or girlfriends accusing me of seducing their men , even though I’d never so much as laid my eyes on them. It was so unfair.

I didn’t enjoy watching them lose their minds at the sight and scent of me, because i knew that deep down, they thought that all omegas were scum.

Manipulative, sex driven , greedy and selfish . Those were the labels I got plastered with , on the media and on the streets.

And Jungkook wasn’t different, I reminded myself firmly, pulling away from the mirror and grabbing the loose powder and dusting down some of it on the apple of my cheeks and down the length of my nose.

He didn’t think any different than the others. Jungkook’s views on omegas were just as archaic and bigoted as everyone else’s .

He just didn’t act on them .

Sighing, I dropped the lipgloss back in the back and brushed my hair off my face. On a whim , I pulled off the hair tie holding the thick strands together, letting the wavy tresses fall over my shoulder. I hadn’t cut my hair in a long time and it felt to my hips now. My stylist was adamant that it added to my aesthetic.

A primal siren, she had said staring at me in awe, like something eternal and beautifully dangerous. We’re lucky you seem incapable of hate, Heejin ...because I think you could bring grown men to their knees with that body and that face.

I felt nauseous at the thought of it.

Walking to the elevator felt like walking the plank and I had stop a couple of times, just to breathe deeply. I had to be smart about this. I was in therapy. Taehyung had taught me how to handle situations like this and while my heart was pounding too hard and my brain was too scrambled to use any of his therapy techniques, I still had some of my cognitive abilities intact.

He came here, i thought desperately.

He came looking for you and that means he isn’t nervous or worried or overthinking this because he doesn’t have feelings for you. If you want to come out of this unscathed, you need to get your head on straight. You need to pretend that you didn’t just have a minor mental breakdown at the thought of him dating someone else.

I took a deep breath, exhaling sharply before stepping into the elevator. The ride down to the lobby was barely a few seconds and when I stepped out, I realized the place was way too crowded for such an exclusive Hotel. And then I remembered that people were here for the Art Festival. I glanced at the reception desk, covertly, noting a conspicuous lack of Jeon Jungkook. The lady behind the desk held her hand up when she spotted me .

“Ms. Kim? Mr. Jeon just went to get you a drink...He’s over by the breakfast counter over there.” She pointed out the dining space where people were walking about getting breakfast and I swallowed, feeling hot and cold as I cautiously stepped into the crowd, trying to find a that familiar head of thick dark hair.

I felt the apprehension build as I tugged on my bottom lip between my teeth, trying to reign in the chaos in my mind but it was impossible, everything too loud and too messy. I looked around and then, it hit me.

His scent.

I felt my lips part in surprise, and it felt like someone had turned the volume down , noises fading into a dull hum at the back of my mind as I stared at him. He hadn’t spotted me yet and I took a second to just....look.

He looked incredible.

There was really no other word for it. Incredibly handsome, Incredibly beautiful and so incredibly perfect as the late morning sun lit up the room, picking out the shine on his white silk shirt. I breathed in deep, my mindeasily picking out the musky pine scent of him and I stepped closer, moving straight towards him and I caught the exact moment my scent his senses.

He jerked a bit, nostrils flaring and eyes going wide before he turned, lips parted and gaze a bit unfocused as he looked around.

When he caught sight of me, he just blinked.

I smiled weakly, body going limp with relief because.... because this was Jungkook. Not some monster I had to run from. This was Jungkook....even at his worst he had been better than some of the other people I’d met in life.

I looked down at the drink in his hand and smiled a bit as he made his way over.

“ This isn’t the same as buying me a coffee.” I said shakily as he finally stepped upto me.

His eyes danced with warmth.

“What makes you think I can afford one? Besides, aren’t you the hotshot artist? Shouldn’t you be the one buying me stuff?” He said softly.

“Just saw you on the front cover of a magazine. We both know you’re far from destitute..” Even through the smile, I felt the tug of emotion as I stared at him, felt the difference in him like night and day, the light and joy and ...contentment that seemed to radiate off him .

He smiled and held the drink out to me gently.

“ Heejin-ah.” He whispered.

And somehow it was the sound of his voice, wrapping around the syllables of my name that finally did it.

I felt the tears brim over, my lips parting in choked laughter as I stepped close and wrapped both my arms around him, burying my face in his neck and breathing him in. I felt him hold me, infinitely gentle and I exhaled sharply.

“I didn’t miss you, at all.” I said shakily. He laughed lightly.

“I missed you , too.” He stroked the back of my head gently and I sighed, fingers curling on the silk of his shirt. The fabric felt like liquid in my fingers and I played with it for a second, intensely aware that people were starting to stare. That this embrace had gone on for longer than social norms dictated but I couldn’t bring myself to care, letting my chin rest against his shoulder blades.

And it was almost frightening.....how easy it was to pretend we weren’t broken at all.

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

“She was so small when I last held her... I can’t believe she’s running around.” I said, awed, listening to Jungkook tell me about how Mina liked to climb everywhere. He laughed, shaking his head.

"She’s growing bigger everyday. I can barely keep up.” Jungkook smiled, holding a hand out for me to step over the wooden slats that lined the tiny archway that led to the door to his building. I hesitated before lightly gripping his hand in mine, the gesture somehow feeling more intimate that it was.

“You’re not staying at the Firenze?” I asked curiously, resisting the urge to reach for his hand again when he let go.

it was such a ridiculous thing but I’d never held hands with him. And It felt ridiculously nice, to slot my fingers with his, feel them in between mine. His palm against mine, calloused but somehow so comforting.

I’d forgotten how warm he was.

Don’t. Don’t fall down this rabbit hole again, Heejin. We talked about this. He doesn’t think of you that way. He doesn’t. And neither should you. its unfair to him. He doesn’t deserve that.

“No... As you can see my apartment is barely ten minutes away and Soeun has her exams so its easier for her to watch over Mina here at the apartment.

“Soeun?” I asked curiously.

“Park Soeun? She’s a University student who lives with me. She’s doing a correspondence course in fashion . So she’s home all the time and she helps out with Mina. And she speaks Italian so that’s a huge plus... ” He smiled. “ you’ll like her. She’s a good kid.”

Don’t make that face. Don’t fucking make that face, Heejin.

I struggled to keep my face straight , like I wasn’t feeling the weight of a dozen bricks at the base of my stomach.

“A roommate...then..?” I asked quietly and he shrugged.

“Something like that. But mostly she helps take care of Mina when I’m out on an assignment.” He smiled and led me past two flight of stairs up to the studio apartment.

I wrapped my arms around myself as he stopped in front of a wrought iron grill, gripping one end and sliding it open with ease. And then he rang the small bell n the side. I shuffled back and forth on my foot, heart racing.

The door opened and I blinked because of how young the girl who opened the door was. A second later she was beaming, moving forward and wrapping both her arms around me.

“Unnie!” She squealed, hugging me so close that I almost choked. Completely thrown I could only gape at Jungkook who was laughing .

“Oh, I forgot to mention..she’s a bit of a fan. “ He teased lightly and I smiled awkwardly, watching as she pulled back to stare at me, her gaze trained on my face unblinkingly.

“Whoa...” She reached out and lightly touched my cheek with her forefinger making me jump. She flinched as well, flushing red.

“Shit..sorry...I just... I’ve never... I’ve never met an omega before.” She said softly. “ You’re absolutely breathtaking.”

I felt my heart pound, steeping back instinctively, an overwhelming urge to hide , anxiety pooling in my stomach as she continued to stare at me. I hated the attention and I wrapped my arms around myself.

“Soeun, enough. Don’t make it weird.” Jungkook said sternly, voice hard and the girl immediately flushed, bowing apologetically.

“Sorry...I.. sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable ... You’re pretty.” She said again before turning to Jungkook.

“I have to get some stuff for my exhibit, Jungkook oppa... Mina’s asleep. i’ll be staying over at Vince’s place for the night though. Is that okay?”

“Sure..have fun.” Jungkook smiled, “ Vince is her boyfriend.” He explained and Soeun nodded happily.

“Italian men are absolutely amazing unnie...you should try some.” She winked and I laughed despite myself.

“I just might...” I said with a grin, watching as she walked over to slip on a pair of sneakers from the small shoe closet near the door. She waved enthusiastically all but bouncing away and I blinked at him , shaking my head.

“I feel a hundred years old right now.” I said softly, still stunned by the girl’s exorbitant energy. Jungkook laughed at that

“She definitely has that effect on people... Come on, I’ll show you around.” He held his hand out and I smiled , taking his fingers mine and letting him tug me further into the studio apartment.

I looked around, taking in the full blown prints of Mina and Jungkook , caught in adorable poses in front of different tourist spots in Florence. I saw how much she looked like Jungkook now, and how openly affectionate they looked together, the love evident even in the still photos.

And then my eyes fell on a familiar painting , my stomach lurching.

“You... “ i turned to him in a rush and he was staring at me with a small smile.

“I had to bring that. It pretty much saved me, that painting.” He said casually, stepping close and running his fingers all over the print.

“When you told me this is how Sooah saw me...” He traced the picture carefully before glancing at me,” it made me realize that Sooah didn’t just want a baby.....she wanted a baby with me. She saw me as a father. As someone who could raise and nurture a tiny human and that... that’s amazing isn’t it?” He sighed, staring at me.

He looked beautiful, I thought with an ache deep inside me. The most beautiful man I’d ever seen in my life and it seemed almost too good to be true. That he was here, at reach. So close. I wondered if this was it. This had to be a sign. A sign that we’d come full circle. That it was over. That we could finally break free from all that we’d been through, and look back at Jungkook’s past with fondness instead of pain.

And perhaps, just perhaps I could reach out and touch him with something more than just the love you have for a friend. . Perhaps I could reach out and touch him, without feeling guilt and foreboding.

I exhaled shakily stepping up and running my fingers over the canvas. It was nothing fancy... Just a painting a painting of Jungkook holding Mina up by her waist, high over his head, staring up into her face with all the love and adoration in the world, The child in the painting doesn’t look exactly like Mina, of course, but I’d had no idea , seeing as Sooah had commissioned the painting when she was pregnant. But Jungkook.... Jungkook looked exactly like he did now : Happy and at peace.

“You’re alright, then?” I asked quietly , a wealth of meaning behind the words and he smiled , nodding gently.

“I’m fine…” He whispered , “ And I’m so glad I can tell you that, like this. Thank you for coming , Heejin-ah . I know you owe me nothing but.. I wanted to show you that… it wasn’t all bad you know. What we went through… Something good did come out of it.” He whispered.

I choked out a sob.

“I lied.” I whispered. “ I did miss you. Even when I knew I shouldn’t.”

Jungkook’s gaze softened.

“I have a lot to be sorry for. But I don’t want to remind you of those things. I just want you to know that… I understand what you went through…those six months. I understand that it was difficult and painful and i… I’m grateful that you didn’t give up on me. And I’m grateful that you stayed in my life. Because I know I didn’t deserve that.”

“You deserve to be loved Jungkook.” I said quietly. “ Its not wrong to move on. You deserve to… find happiness again.”

He stared at me, his gaze soft and gentle.

“I can almost believe it, when you say it that way.” He laughed. “ And… you know… I’m not sure if its love. But there’s someone I’ve been…. Well, I can sort of see myself with her. .” He grinned a little, smile boyish as he ran his fingers through his hair. He glanced at me and I felt my heart skip a beat.

Wait… was he going to?....

“ I met her at Taehyung’s practice, a year ago. Her name is Lee Hyorin.” Jungkook looked at me, doe eyes shining with excitement.

And just like that the world ended.

Or so it felt.

It was like being dipped in icy cold water, the shock of it rendering me speechless, lips parted and breath catching in lungs.

Blood rushed through my ears, so fast that I felt lightheaded, my legs nearly giving out. White noise filled my skull, pain lancing sharp through my heart like a thousand paper cuts, and I couldn’t really breathe. It took a few seconds…. For my heart to catch up with what my mind had just processed. And when it finally did, the pain was so excruciating, I had to clench my fists, nails digging into the flesh of my palm to ground myself.

“She’s an alpha…and she lost her husband around the same time Sooah passed..” Jungkook gave me a soft smile. “ She’s actually a curator at one of the museums here. She’s the one who made all the arrangements for me to move here to Florence. ”

“Wow… That’s…” devastating,. “ That’s good news. Jungkook.. I.. How long…” My voice cracked, and I had to swallow. “ How long have you guys been dating?”

“About three months now. We’re taking it very slow, because we aren’t really ready. She has a son too. He’s three years old. Mina loves him so that’s a plus.” He laughed.

My lungs constricted, breathing difficult and my head swam because ….. what. Realization set in so quickly, I was left reeling. I was in love with this bastard, I thought miserably. So in love with him that it felt like he was shredding my heart into ribbons. Every word of his mouth felt like a sharp deep stab, straight through the center of my heart and the pulsing, beating organ was on the verge of giving out.

“She’s going to be there at the dinner tonight at the Festival. She’s one of the organizers by the way. She’s kind of the reason I got in, I think.” He laughed , looking abashed and what a load of bull that was. Jungkook was successful and well known. Superbly talented at his chosen field. She was lucky to have him.

How can she have him when I’m the one who fixed him? How is that fucking fair?

“She really understands the things I’ve been going through, the past few months and because we both still attend therapy with Taehyung, we’re able to talk about a lot of stuff. Stuff I can’t share with others…” Jungkook was saying and I tuned him out, not wanting to hear another word.

I swallowed, choking on bile. I could feel sweat gathering on my scalp, my skin clammy and damp , the air between us shifting into something poisonous and filled with so much dismay, it was a miracle he hadn’t picked up on it.

Couldn’t he sense how distressed I was? Couldn’t he see how his words were hurting? Couldn’t he fucking see that I couldn’t live without him? Why on earth couldn’t he see me the way he apparently saw every other woman on the damn planet…..

Because he’s a shitty Alpha, I thought miserably, willing myself not to burst into tears. He was a shitty excuse for an alpha back then and he’s the same now.

A low, distressed cry began somewhere behind him and he jumped.

“Oh, shit she’s up… come on, Heejin.” He said with a bright smile, turning around and rushing down a small hallway and I willed myself to breathe in deeply, reminding myself that this wasn’t the end of the world. I could get through this. Besides, it was Mina.

Beautiful, perfect Mina who had been there for me. She would see me and she would give me that sweet gummy smile of hers, does eyes twinkling and I would get through this. Because her smile was what was important. Her smile and her joy and her happiness.

The sobbing had slowed down to small hiccups and I stepped past the threshold cautiously, watching as Jungkook bent over the large crib, carefully lifting her out and into his arms. She looked breathtaking, an absolutely gorgeous little girl . I stared, mesmerized as I stepped closer. My arms ached, and my chest tightened. Lips wobbling, I exhaled sharply, moving to reach for her.

She turned to glance at me and just as my fingers brushed her cheek, she recoiled.

Hard.

A loud wail tore through her tiny body and I felt my eyes go wide. Her casual little cry had turned into a sobbing , loud wail and I could smell the distress in her , the fear and distrust as she curled away from me. Jungkook looked stunned as well, instinctively drawing her close and embracing her, moving away from me because….

Because I was the reason, she was distressed.

My skin went ice cold at the revelation and I stumbled back, stunned.

“I… I’m sorry.” I choked out, confused and disoriented. Jungkook looked stricken, gently rocking her back and forth and she clung to him, gripping his shirt and I bit my lips, moving further back and I glanced at him, my heart shattering.

“She’s …She’s still sleepy… She doesn’t do well with strangers…” He said softly, looking upset, “ Maybe you could…wait outside…”

Stranger…. Was that what I was?

“I… I’ll go. I’ll just go.” I turned on my heel, rushing out of the door and struggling to breathe in air, my heart clenching so hard I was sure I was going to pass out. I felt my knees give out when I reached the couch, dropping down and drawing my knees up , wrapping my arms around my legs . I didn’t know how long I sat there, fighting sobs and choking on air…and when I finally came to myself, the sobs from the room had died out.

“She’s fallen asleep again.” Jungkook’s voice cut through the silence and I couldn’t bring myself to look up. I felt him move closer, felt his scent hit me as he stepped right up to me, kneeling on the floor in front of me.

I looked up at him, lips wobbling as I took in his handsome face. A face that was so deeply carved into my heart and my soul, I couldn’t imagine living without it. Without him. The tears came then, helpless and endless and so painful.

He pressed in closer, cupping my face in his palms, thumb brushing the tears that spilled over so relentlessly.

“Heejin…” He whispered and I let my fingers curl around his wrist as his thumb kept brushing the curve of my cheeks. I took a deep , shaky breath .

“She doesn’t remember me…. “ I whispered, “ She doesn’t recognize me at all…She hates me……” I choked out , despair filling every last crevice of my insides, gut twisting as I remembered how Mina had twisted away from me, how her scent had soured in distress at the sight of me, at the touch of my fingers.

And I wondered if it was different with this other woman..Hyorin, wasn’t it? Did Mina climb into her arms with ease? Did she curl into her chest and sleep? The way she used to with me, when she was a month old and missing the warmth of a mother.. ….

All those nights spent in that tiny nursery, lying on the cold unforgiving floor, watching the rise and fall of Mina’s chest through the dark room…telling myself it was worth it… it was worth being touched against my will, worth being treated like filth by a man driven mad with grief and anger….all because of this baby…this tiny little baby who had needed me….

And now…she didn’t even know who I was…..worse…she was repulsed by the very sight of me… I couldn’t cope.

“Look at me…” Jungkook rasped, voice raw and cracking. “she doesn’t hate you, Heejin… she just … you feel new to her… different…”

I shook my head, unable to think about anything beyond the sheer devastation that filled me, the way his daughter had pulled away and run, had refused to come anywhere near me. I realized with lancing pain that I’d wanted to see her, way more than I’d wanted to see Jungkook .

Because she was the reason I’d hung on for so long in that marriage which had been the biggest fucking mistake of my life…. the only reason I’d stuck around . Mina …Having her in my arms, her scent against my face, that had been the only genuine happiness I’d experienced in a marriage filled with sheer , unending misery.

“I… she… Why doesn’t she remember? “ I breathed, sagging into his arms, tears soaking his shoulders and his palm ran up and down my back.

“Because she was a baby. Heejin…. I left when she was a baby…”

“Why did you?” I snapped. “ Did it hurt you so much? The thought of living under the same sky as me ? Why you did you go?” I demanded.

Jungkook pulled back, hands coming up to grip my shoulder, holding me at arms length.

“Look at me.” He whispered. “ I had to … You know I had to go….I was hurting you. I was… I was draining you of life. Destroying you… “

Jungkook’s words reminded me of who he was. Of who I was… Of who I was to him.

I choked out, sobbing.

“I hate you. You treated me like scum. Like a crutch….. Like some sort of tool to get better and you just left… you…”

You found someone better. You broke me down and now you’ve gone and found someone better….because I was never good enough for you… I was never someone you could love….

“I had to let you go. I had to end that relationship because it was tainted with so much grief and anger and selfishness and greed. I knew that anything I did afterwards would be tainted by my actions… I… I had to make amends, Heejin. And do you think for a second, that it wasn’t the hardest thing I ever did? That walking out on you wasn’t one of the most devastating things I’ve ever experienced? But I did it for us… for this…”

I stared at him.

“And what is this?” I asked brokenly.

“This is me, being able to touch you like this.” Jungkook pressed a palm to my cheek, “ And not feeling guilt or sadness or grief or loss. I did it so we could have this…this… This thing where I can look at you and hold you and see that you’re healing. That you’re doing better… That you’re living the life you want…. That you’re happy. This is me standing here , in front of you and smiling because I’m happy too. Happy that you’re here. ” He exhaled, “ I’m happy that despite all the hurt we’ve been through for and because of each other, I can look at you now and tell you, honestly, that I’m glad to see you.”

What a joke.. What a fucking joke.

I smiled shakily.

“Well… “ I said softly, my stomach churning because I was done. Done with him and mostly with myself. “ Isn’t that absolutely wonderful.”

His gaze softened and he smiled.

“I want us to be friends, Heejinah. Even though we don’t see or talk to each other, I think of you often. And when Mina’s old enough to understand , I’ll tell her all about you… I want you in our lives. You’re a friend. ”

I stared at him , feeling the words echo in my skull . It left an acrid taste on my senses, the way he put me into this neat little box, friend. So ….insignificant. Everyone had hundreds of friends. There was nothing even remotely special about being someone’s friend.

Friend just meant replaceable and forgettable. And just like Mina didn’t remember me…. Someday Jungkook wouldn’t either. The knowledge filled my veins spreading all over my body and leaving a fierce, heavy ache in my chest.

It was my fault, I thought despondently. My fault because I had been an idiot.

Jungkook was the sane one here , I thought miserably. These nine months, while I’d been dwelling on him and worrying for him…he had done the healthy thing , by moving on with someone he could actually envision a future with….

What had I done, these past nine months? Dreamt up a fantasy world where somehow we found our way back to each other and built a life together… It seemed so foolish now, in the light of Jungkook’s words and his confession….

Jungkook had done all of this, not for me…but for himself. For his daughter whom he loved and for his wife , whose memory he wanted to honor. And perhaps it was my own delusion that made me think that I’d played some stellar role in his healing…. Maybe if I hadn’t been there, he would have gotten better just the same…. Maybe I hadn’t been a tool …as much as a hindrance …to his healing.

I shook my head, bitterness coating my tongue.

“I should get going.” I whispered , voice shaking.

This is it, I told myself. This is the last time you look at him with that heaviness in your heart. You deserve better. You deserve… a lot of things. And just because people don’t give it to you doesn’t mean you have to settle for less……

“So soon? Hyorin will be back in a couple of hours… I could show you some of my work, and we could get lunch ….”

I shook my head quickly. I didn’t want to meet her in his home. Didn’t want to see him being domestic and affectionate and …normal with her when all I’d ever seen was Jungkook in his anger and grief, either yelling abuses or gripping me with a lust that was tainted with violence and rage. I stared at his hands, the ones I’d liked holding….

How did I forget? That those were the same hands that had held me down and done things that should, rightfully have landed him in prison?

I shook my head, to clear the images out of my head. Looking at him now, Jungkook looked eager, happy and healed. And I realized that he’d just pushed all of his own actions out of his mind. Forgotten all about it. And that was fair. He probably didn’t even remember any of it. He had been drunk out of his mind, lost in his head and surely, forgetting must’ve been easy… A relief.

I didn’t begrudge him that.

But…

I hadn’t been drunk. I’d been stone cold sober under him on that bed and so, maybe forgetting didn’t come that easily for me. And I was glad that Jungkook could move on and be happy but….

But I couldn’t stay here and pretend that it was the same for me. I wasn’t happy or healed, I thought miserably. And maybe , maybe the sight of him moving on was a sign that I had to stop thinking that healing meant going back to him and his daughter.

“Heejin… What’s wrong? Is it because of Mina.. she’s just not used to…” He began but I quickly pressed a palm to his chest, smiling.

“Strangers.” I said softly. “ I know. That’s not it… You know I have to introduce my exhibit at dinner tonight. I don’t know what the itinerary is or what I’m supposed to say…. None of it.. I need to meet my agent and prep myself a bit. Its alright…I’ll see you tonight.” I said softly.

“I’m sorry… I can’t walk you back because Mina-“

“Of course. Don’t worry about it…. I’ll just…”

The doorbell rang, startling me.

“Jungkook!” A strong voice called out and I went still.

“Hyorin?” Jungkook’s face lit up and I felt my stomach churn. God, the universe really was against me wasn’t it? Sighing in defeat, I wrapped my arms around myself, sitting back down on the couch and waiting.

Behind me , I could hear hushed whispers, soft laughter and shuffling feet. My mouth went dry.

“Ms. Kim….”

I turned around, greeted by the sight of a tall, strapping young woman, pretty by any standards. She was dressed in a pant suit , her hair long and straight, hitting the top of her shoulders. She looked smart… Important.

“Ms. Lee… Its nice to meet you.”

She held her hand out and I shook it gently. Jungkook smiled at her fondly and his phone rang from somewhere inside the studio.

“Hang on that’s probably Soeun…” He smiled at me and moved away and I watched him leave before shifting my gaze to Hyorin, who was staring down at me with a small smile.

“Are you here in Italy by yourself? Or with one of your many …uh… patrons ?” She smirked.

I blinked.

“Patrons?” I asked softly. “ Excuse me?”

“Jungkook and I’ve been following all the stories about you, back in Korea. You get around quite a lot… don’t you? Every alpha within a 100 mile radius wants a piece of the lovely Kim Heejin… And honestly, could anyone blame them? You look exquisite.”

I stared at her, stunned. The implication was so obvious that I would be an idiot not to realize what she was hinting at. So this was the woman , Jungkook chose? Yet another prejudiced bigot?

I laughed a bit, feeling my heart sink.

“I’m not seeing anyone. If that’s what you’re asking.” I said quietly.

Hyorin smirked at that.

“Of course you aren’t… We all know that isn’t really something your kind does… monogamy, right?”

“Do you have a problem with me Hyorin ssi?” I asked roughly and she laughed.

“Oh come on.. we’re all adults, here. And Heejin, you agreed to be a part of this festival, knowing full well, that’s what we think . Its because deep down you know I’m right….. Omegas can’t stay with one alpha. They need sex to survive and they are usually open to it with anyone. Not that I’m blaming you or judging you for it. It’s just how you’re built.”

I smiled wide, ignoring the urge to claw at her face. .

“Well, you’ve definitely got me all figured out haven’t you? “ I shook my head, glancing at Jungkook who was making his way over.

“What are you talking about?” He asked curiously and I smiled, glancing at her.

“ Hyorin ssi was just telling me how my sub gender makes it impossible for me to not go around whoring with every alpha I see…….” I glanced at him and Jungkook straightened, looking stunned, “ Well, I hope you two enjoy your beautiful monogamous relationship with each other something an omega like me can only fantasize about…. Right Jungkook?” I smiled and he looked completely lost.

“Wait…What? Hyorin what did you say?” He demanded and she was glaring at me now.

“Please don’t take it personally, I was only talking about omegas in general. “ Hyorin frowned, before bowing and moving away to stalk off in the direction of the bedrooms and I watched her, feeling dirty and terrible.

“Heejin, ignore her.. she’s just old fashioned and-“

“Is that what you’re going to call it?” I snapped and Jungkook froze.

“Heejin…”

I shook my head in disbelief.

“I’m not upset about what she said. I’m upset that she feels comfortable enough, spouting that bullshit to me , in your house. Makes me wonder what else she’s told you about omegas, and how much of it you probably agreed with.”

Jungkook stared at me , lips parted.

“I… I don’t feel that way. You know that.” He said stiltedly.

“Do I? All I know is that she knows about me, about who I am and apparently, she can call me a slut…. In front of you, without worrying about it upsetting you. And that tells me you’re as much of a bigot as she is.”

“Heejin… You know that’s not it. We all grow up being fed certain things and –“

“But you did grow up right?” I snapped. “ you grew up and you can think and act for yourself. As can she. Once you’re an adult, you don’t have a single fucking excuse for being racist or homophobic or bigoted because being an adult means having the ability to unlearn the toxic things you’ve been taught and relearn how to be a decent fucking human.”

I shook my head as he stared at me.

“And you know what…please just… just don’t call me or consider me as a friend.” I laughed. “ Because I don’t think I can consider you one. Not anymore. You can’t…...You can’t just love certain parts of me and be disgusted by others you know? I don’t need a friend who can care about me and love me and help me as long as he can forget that I’m an omega….. I need a friend who can love every jagged, broken , part of me. Who can call out people who talk bullshit at me , who can look someone in the eye and tell them they’re wrong when they’re calling me names and that’s not who you are……. You’re not it.” I snapped.

Jungkook looked stricken, reaching out to hold me and I stepped away, annoyed.

“I’m sorry, Heejin, you’re right … I’ll talk to her… I’ll…” He began but I shook my head.

“Whatever. Just don’t call me a friend. We can’t be friends. Let’s just be what we always were , yeah? A big fucking mistake that never should have happened.”

I stormed out of the door, shaking.

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

“What do you mean, there are no flights available for today?” I snapped. “Tell them money isn’t an issue. I need to get out of this place right now.”

Minho looked incredibly stricken, hair messy from how often he’d run his fingers through.

“ We just arrived seven hours ago, Hee. Of course there’s no flight yet…. We can stay another day…attend the dinner and-“

“No.” I snapped. “ Absolutely not. I’m not here because they find my art good or worth putting up. I’m here because they know the alphas around here will want to pay more , to pour in more cash for a chance with me.” I held the embossed booklet up, waving it in his face.

“Heejin…” He protested but I shook my head.

“ Did you see the cost to get into my pane ?. Extra ….for alphas? And yet…apparently they had to pre book it and its filled? You think any of the lecherous bastards who paid money to see me , gives a shit about my art? And apparently, there’s a meet and greet, for alphas only if they purchase seven or more paintings worth over 10000 Euros. Do you think, that’s what I’m worth?”

Minho looked down at his shoes, ashamed.

“I .. I’m sorry, Hee. You’re right. Its offensive . And an insult to your art and talent. We shouldn’t have come here, you’re right. And I regret it… But just… give me a few hours, yeah? I’ll find a way to get us out of here….”

I exhaled sharply, exhaustion weighing heavy on my head. I felt like I’d taken a pounding, physically and mentally and I wondered how a day that had started so well, could go so wrong, so fast…

Shaking my head, I trudged wearily to the elevator, knocking on the buttons before sagging against the wall, letting my eyes flutter shut.

Jungkook was dating.

Jungkook was dating. His girlfriend thought I was a slut and here I was about to prove her right.

I wanted to slit someone’s throat.

Sighing, I watched the door slide open, grabbing my keys out of my bag, and moving to the suite. I opened the door before making a beeline for the bed. I collapsed on the soft duvet, groaning. I was torn between wanting to call Taehyung to yell at him about Jungkook and calling Minho to demand an update on the flights.

I was spared the dilemma when the phone in the room rang. Groaning, I moved to swat at the phone, turning on the speaker.

“Ms. Kim? There’s a Mr. Jeon here to see you?”

I blinked, feeling disbelief swell inside me. Did he not get the hint?

Annoyed, I sat up.

“Send him up.” I said, in no mood to go all the way down to see him.

“Up?” She sounded surprised, “ To your room?”

“Yes. To my room. Is that a fucking problem?” I growled, annoyed.

“Not at all Ms. Kim. He’ll be right up.”

I got out of bed, shrugging off my jacket and taking off my dress as well. It was a little damp because I’d sweated through the fabric. I grabbed one of my oversized t shirts , slipping it on and moving to open the door before retreating back to the inner room. Feeling annoyed, I walked up to the vanity and grabbed the hair brush, running the bristles through my locks. I heard his footsteps outside and stiffened.

“If you’re here to defend your shitty girlfriend, you can just leave Jungkook. I swear to God, I’ve had enough of this.” I shouted. He didn’t reply and my hackles rose.

“Listen, I’m sorry if I said something harsh-“ I froze when I reached the doorway, staring at the man in front of me. He had a large , almost humongous bouquet of wild orchids and roses in his hand and I stared at his face.

This was definitely not Jungkook.

“Umm… hi.” The man bowed awkwardly, his gaze going straight to my legs, where my t shirt ended, just a couple of inches past my waist. I felt the blood rush to my face.

“Who are you…Get out !!!” I shouted, horrified, diving for my jacket and holding it up against my bare thighs. The man held both his hands up, eyes wide..

“I’m sorry… I… you said I could come up to your room….” He protested and I scowled, confused.

“What? “ I stared, stunned… “ Who…what?”

“I’m Wonwoo. Jeon Wonwoo. I’m uh….one of the sponsors for this festival. And a fan. Huge fan.” He was staring at me beseechingly and I felt my head begin to throb.

The sheer relentlessness of this day…..

“I… Mr. Jeon…” So weird, God, “ There’s been a misunderstanding. I’m not…. I thought you were someone else.”

“Jungkook yes…your ex husband, right? You were married to him for six months after he lost his wife….. He’s also one of the artists exhibiting their work here.” He nodded quickly, running long fingers through thick glossy hair, lips parting in a hesitant smile and I stared at him.

“How do you know all that? ” I demanded, heart pounding. He immediately held his hands up again.

“I’m sorry… I sound like a stalker, shit. But Trust me I’m not. I just am a huge fan.. I looked up some stuff about you….before.” He shuffled a bit awkwardly, finally looking up at me.

I tried to catch his scent. No scent to speak of. A beta then. Relaxing just a bit, I swallowed. At least I wasn’t in any immediate danger. But still, I had no intention of letting him see me in nothing but a t shirt. Embarrassed, I gripped the jacket tighter.

“Why are you here?” I demanded angrily, taking in his appearance. He didn’t look like a hoodlum or someone dangerous. He was good looking, dressed in a white t shirt and black Jacket over plain black slacks. His shoes looked expensive and I didn’t miss the shiny Rolex on his wrist either,.

“Well, for one thing I own the Hotel.” He chuckled and that made my stomach turn. “And also like I said, I’m one of the main sponsors for the Festival itself.”

“Right.” I was too disoriented to process this, head throbbing. “Of course. Is there a reason why you wanted to see me?”

“I was downstairs…just now… I couldn’t help but overhear you with your agent. You wanted to leave as soon as possible. To pull out of the event and I’m just here to try and change your mind, Ms. Kim.” He smiled earnestly and I realized he was really quite young.

I sighed.

“Could you… Could you wait outside? I want to put some clothes on before we talk any further.” I said tiredly and he bowed quickly.

“Uh… These…I’ll just leave these here.” He placed the large bunch of flowers on the table before quickly leaving the room and I swore, racing to the suitcase in the corner. I quickly grabbed a pair of jeans, slipping them on hastily and zipping myself up before glancing at the mirror again. This would have to do.

I moved to the door and opened it, finding him right there, looking lost.

“I… come in, please.” I said hesitantly and he bowed again, moving in and waiting for me to close the door and take a seat on the couch, before sinking into an arm chair across from me.

“Did you see the itinerary? It doesn’t get more sexualized than this.” I waved the booklet and he flushed.

“I understand you’re upset about … certain things. I’m sorry that you feel objectified , in the festival. It wasn’t the intention I had when I first told Hyorin and the others that I wanted them to invite you. But , I’ve been busy the past month, and I didn’t go over the complete agenda. If I did, I definitely would have made sure that you were treated with just as much respect as the others. Unfortunately, there’s not much I can do now, but I’ve had a word with all of the panelists and also the hosts. We won’t entertain any question or comments of a sexual nature and if anyone tries to insinuate anything , I’ll have them removed from the panel myself. “ He said firmly.

“I’m only here because you told me you would exhibit my mother’s works too.” I said sharply and he bowed.

“ Your mother’s works are just as exquisite and I’ve arranged for them to be displayed right at the center of the arena, with a running slide show of her childhood , her art technique and the great love she had for her daughter.” He said firmly.

I could only stare. He sounded incredibly sincere and there was no mistaking the earnestness in his tone.

“I’m….” I bit my lips, “ Listen, Mr. Jeon, I’m flattered but honestly, I never wanted to be here. I… there was … something else that made me want to come and well, that turned out to be a huge mistake. To be honest, I’m not sure if I have it in me to suffer through days of people treating me like I’m some kind of sex crazed bimbo.” I shook my head.

“how about this.? You let me be your date for tonight and you let me display your work, today at the dinner itself. I’ll be right by your side. And then, I’ll have my private jet on standby and we can fly back to Korea. You deserve the spotlight, Heejin and I want people to see how good you are at what you do. I don’t care if I lose money over this… As long as you’re comfortable. ”

I gawked at him, stunned.

“Private Jet?” I choked out. “ Okay, now I’m genuinely concerned.”

He laughed.

“I’m a Hotelier, and I have properties all over the world and I like to inspect them personally most of the time. Its more practical to have a private jet than to try and align my schedules with everyone else.” He smiled.

“Right. Convenient.” I shook my head. “ I’m no stranger to excessive wealth, Mr. Jeon and trust me, it’s always left a sour taste in my mouth.”

“I don’t flaunt my wealth, Ms. Kim. These clothes? Got them on the streets of Florence. I drive a Mazda. Wealth has no meaning to me. People do. People like you, who bring beauty into the world with their craft. You’ve made my world beautiful and I just want to repay , in some way.” He smiled, “ Also, You’re very beautiful.” He added and then immediately looked away. “ I’m sorry. That was… dumb . I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable.”

Endeared against my own wishes, I found myself fighting a small smile.

“Just tonight’s dinner?” I asked quietly.

“Just the dinner party.” He assured me quickly.

“Alright. But I’m not getting into any private Jet. My agent will book me tickets and I’ll find my way back to Korea.”

“As you wish. I’ll pick you up at seven. What color is your dress?” He asked casually and I blinked.

“Uh… Wine red? I guess? Why?”

He grinned, looking boyishly handsome.

“I’ll see you at seven, Ms. Kim.”

He bowed, before pausing by the bouquet. He grabbed a couple of flowers, holding them up for me to see.

“Daffodils and Lilacs.” He grinned, “ To finding something new to love. And to new beginnings.”

Wow.

Subtle.

I shook my head, momentarily forgetting all about Jungkook as I grinned all the way back to the bedroom.

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

“I told you… coming with me will earn you major points.” Wonwoo smirked as he pulled me in by my waist , holding my dress up for me as I stared at the sleek black limousine at the Hotel entrance. I watched as he held my wrist gently, latching a string of sterling silver and red rubies around the delicate curve of it.

“This is too lavish…I don’t want this…Who are you?” I demanded, flushing because of the way the flashes went off in every direction, reporters scrambling when they caught sight of him. He was clearly popular, if the number of photos being clicked were any indication. I regretted everything.

Wonwoo pressed a kiss to my wrists, right near the bracelet and gently placed my palm on the curve of his elbow, leading me over to the car and I watched the chauffeur open the door for us.

“ Someone who can get anyone here fired. Be careful , sweetheart.” I watched in mute horror as he bent low, picking up the hem of my skirt so I wouldn’t trip, while climbing into the limousine. The reporters began whispering excitedly and more flashes went off . My face completely red, I hastened to climb in.

“These people look at you like you’re some kind of King.” I stared out of the tinted windows seeing the sheer multitude of people and Wonwoo chuckled.

“ That’s because I am. At least for tonight. And that’s why I’m the perfect guy to protect you Heejin. They’re all terrified of me.” He winked.

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

Jungkook found me, fifteen minutes into the event. I hung by the large archway, near an alcove, sipping champagne and nibbling on some hors d’oeuvre as people threw glances at me. I noticed the conspicuous lack of a date on his arm and straightened, sighing and bracing myself for more unpleasantness as he picked his way through the crowd, eyes trained on me.

“Can we talk?” He said, the minute he was at hearing distance and I exhaled.

“No.” I said casually and he made a noise of impatience.

“Fucking, hell Heejin..just…” He swore again, looking upset. “ Why are you doing this to me? What do you want from me huh?”

I stared at him in disbelief.

“What do I want from you? Oh, fuck off Jungkook. I want nothing from you.” I snapped, turning on my heel, ready to leave but his hand shot out, gripping me right above my elbow, fingers curling in hard.

“Fuck.. listen. I don’t know what she said to you. I .. I’m sorry if she offended you…. Alright? She’s an alpha… I can’t change the way she thinks…”

“I didn’t ask you to. I merely said that if you associate yourself with people who think I’m scum, I won’t let you into my life. Because I respect myself too much for that.” I said firmly.

“She doesn’t think you’re scum, Heejin come on. She just has some misconceptions about certain things.”

“God, Jungkook…just stop. Alright? Stop. Because I’m not asking you do anything. I’m leaving on a flight tomorrow morning and you’ll never see me again. That’s all there is to it.”

He froze at that, fingers curling harder around my arm and it hurt, the skin turning red. Stupid fucker, never knew his own strength.

“Ow, Jungkook let go.” I whispered, and he did, albeit reluctantly.

I rubbed at the bruised skin, furious. I watched as the redness healed over, the pain fading to a throb and then into a pleasant heat and I hated it. Hated that being an omega meant that Jungkook’s rough touch turned to pleasure on my skin.

“What do you mean you’re leaving tomorrow? The Festival is for two weeks.”

I sighed.

“I didn’t come here for the festival. I came here to see you. To see if you were as hung up on me as I was on you…but apparently not.” I snapped.

Jungkook went perfectly still at that.

“What the fuck does that mean?” He said softly and I laughed, shaking my head.

“Wow. You really never even considered it huh? Us? Together.?” It wasn’t funny at all, but I could only laugh. Probably because I’d been so sure.. So certain that there was something there.

He opened his mouth to answer but I felt a warm solidness behind me, an arm wrapping around my waist and a second later, Wonwoo was there pressing up against me.

“Jungkook-ssi… Such a pleasure to meet you.” He held his hand out, and Jungkook frowned, his eyes trained on where wonwoo’s fingers curled around my waist.

“Get your hands off her.” He said shortly and Wonwoo blinked, pulling away from me and stepping back .

“What the-? No. Fuck you.” I snapped, glaring at Jungkook before grabbing Wonwoo’s hand and bringing it back around me. “Don’t you fucking dare take your hands off.” I held my finger up at his face and Wonwoo looked momentarily stunned.

“Really, Heejin? You’re doing this?” Jungkook glared at me. “ We need to talk.”

“So talk.” I snapped. “ Tell me why you think a bigoted bitch is the best you can do in terms of dating. Tell me why she’s the only one who can ‘ understand’ “ I made air quotes, shaking my head, “ You think you and your shitty have monopoly on grief Jungkook? I’ve lost people too. Just because I haven’t screwed other people over because of it, doesn’t make my grief invalid….yeah.”

Ringing silence followed and I regretted everything.

“Fuck.” I whispered, shaking my head. “ I .. Shit. I need to get out of here.”

I pulled away from Wonwoo, moving out of the huge ballroom and Jungkook was right behind me, of course he was.

“Heejin…fuck. Wait. You’re right. I didn’t mean to imply that you didn’t understand me. Of course you did. Its why you stuck around… I know that. And you’re right, she had no business talking about you like that. I’ll have a word with her… But…”

I sped up, wanting to get away but he grabbed me again, tugging me closer out of the hall way and into a darkened alcove and I flinched when he pushed me up against the wall, caging me in, as he pressed in closer.

“What did you mean by that?” He demanded, hands coming up to grip my waist, curling gently and my chest heaved at the touch of him, the enclosed space making his scent turn potent, strong and impossible to avoid. My nostril flared as I breathed him in, familiar and yet so foreign, comforting and yet so fucking dangerous.

“By what?” I snapped and his hands moved up, shaping the curves of my body , thumb grazing the tip of my breast and making me jump, before moving up, gripping my face, gently. He pressed his thumb into my lower lip, rubbing back and forth, face impossibly close and I swallowed, throat sandpaper dry.

“About us? Together….” He breathed and I exhaled shakily.

“You know what I meant.” I whispered. “ If you don’t then I can’t explain it.” I whispered and he swore, head dropping against mine, forehead resting against mine, and lips less than a hairsbreadth away.

We’ve never kissed, I thought suddenly. I licked my lips, turning my face away but his fingers gripped my chin at once, yanking me around to stare at him again.

“Look at me, baby. Tell me… You thought about us together?” He whispered .

I breathed shakily.

“Of course I did…. “ I snapped.

“Then clearly therapy isn’t working for you.” He snapped right back and I flinched.

“What-“

Jungkook pulled away staring at me.

“ Do you even remember all the shit I did to you?” He asked quietly. My stomach dropped.

“Jungkook.”

“I broke your ribs.” He said calmly. I swallowed.

“That.. That was an accident. You didn’t mean to.” I protested. “ And we’re past all that… I don’t… I don’t blame you for it.” I said, which was honest enough.

“And what about the nights I got drunk, Heejin….” He said softly and my skin went cold.

“That… That was just… It was just an outlet for your grief… “ I looked away and he scoffed.

“You’re calling it an outlet for grief. I believe the world calls it rape.”

I felt my entire body shiver at the word , moving up to wrap my arms around his neck, trying to pull him close but he was stiff as a board.

“ Don’t” I snapped. “ Don’t …. Its over…it’s in the past.”

“It was still me. I was the one who did it and I can’t… I can’t pretend it didn’t happen.”

I pulled away to glare at him.

“So , what? You won’t give us a chance because of something I’ve already forgiven you for?”

“Yes.” He said shortly. “ Because you may have forgiven me, but I haven’t forgiven myself.”

I felt my body sag in disbelief.

“Jungkook that’s-“

“You deserve better. You always have. I’m not… I don’t deserve someone like you Heejin. You’re kind and breathtaking and I’m just… a broken mess of a man who’s barely getting by.”

“Oh, right… So broken.” I scoffed. “ You’re on the front page of magazines, you have a successful career and a beautiful girlfriend,,,,forgive me if I’m not breaking my heart over your failures.”

Jungkook exhaled shakily before looking up at me.

“ You wanna know the truth about me, Heejin-ah?” He swallowed. “ I just got out of rehab last week.”

I went still.

“What?” I was sure I’d misheard.

“I… I came here and about a month or so in…I started drinking again…” He glanced away and my heart turned over inside me.

“Jungkook, what?” I demanded, horrified.

“I got drunk and got into an argument with a cop. I hit him. They found out I was a single father and-“ He shook his head, “ I got arrested for disorderly conduct , Public intoxication and assault.”

I stared at him in disbelief, unable to keep the disappointment out of my tone.

“ Arrested for assault... Jungkook why?” I breathed and he flushed.

“I know…. It was stupid.. I… I was stupid.” He said softly. “Soeun isn’t a baby sitter. She’s a social worker. She’s here to keep an eye on me because they want to make sure I’m not a threat to Mina. If I slip up, they’ll deport me back home and then the state will likely take her away from me. Soeun likes me….so she agreed to lie to you ……And as for the girlfriend…” He laughed, shaking his head, “ Hyorin broke up with me after I got arrested. We’re not… We’re not dating. She was only there to get some prints for the panel tomorrow.” He finished shakily.

I stared at him.

“Why?” I demanded . “ Why would you lie to me… Jungkook ….”

“Because I didn’t want you to think I was a screw up.” He said shakily. “ I know I’m supposed to be getting better and I have but… But sometimes I just…I miss…. I miss home. “ He shuddered. “ And you.” He looked up at me. “ I miss you a lot, Heejin and it hurts and I feel like the only way I can forget about you…about us together is if I drink. And I’m sorry. I know I don’t have the right to miss you, not after everything I put you through but I… it’s how I feel. ” He glanced away, trembling a little.

I wrapped my arms around myself, stepping away, feeling myself go cold.

We stayed quiet for a few seconds, both of us staring at the floor lost in our own thoughts. I felt drained. Miserably so. Like someone had sucked all the strength out of me. I realized how badly I had wanted Jungkook to be okay. To heal and be himself again. And I’d spent the last nine months, fully convinced that he was. That he was doing what he loved, bonding with his daughter building a life for himself.

But apparently, he was also spiraling back into addiction as well.

It was like we were back in that apartment, both of us miserable but desperate to be something we clearly were not : Okay.

“Does Taehyung know?” I asked finally and Jungkook hesitated before nodding.

“He was at my court hearing three weeks ago. He’s the reason I haven’t already lost her.” Jungkook whispered.

“What did he say?”

“He thinks I should come back to Korea.” Jungkook said quietly. “ He wants me to start therapy again with him. Every week. “

I nodded.

“Fair enough. And what do you think?”

“I think I will. My probation ends in three days. I’ll… I’ll start making arrangements afterwards. I’ll probably be back in a few weeks time. ”

I stared at him, finally seeing the things I hadn’t noticed this morning. The shadows beneath his eyes, the worry lines on his brow. I wondered if he would have ever told me the truth, if not for this little confrontation between us.

Silence descended again and I bit my lips, a million thoughts running through my head. I felt the pull of his scent through it all, an instinctive urge to reach out and touch and draw him close and I wondered if this was it. That for the rest of our lives we would just be drawn to each other, reluctant and hurt but unable to stay away.

“You’re leaving tomorrow then?” He asked quietly breaking through the fog in my head.

“Well obviously not.” I snapped. “ I’m not leaving you. I’ll tell Minho, we’ll be staying here for a few weeks. Do you actually have a possible job back home? If you don’t I can ask my agent to find one for you….”

Jungkook was staring at me like I’d grown an extra head.

“ What?” I asked roughly.

He swallowed.

“No.. I .. I don’t have a job there.”

“We’ll get you one. And my apartment is big enough so you can stay with me till we find you a place of your own. And I think it’ll actually be good for you, because there’s a Fine Art photographer, pretty well know guy who stays just a few blocks away and e can probably- “

“You haven’t really changed have you?” Jungkook cut me off in the middle of my rambling .

I flushed, looking away.

“What do you mean?”

“Back when we were married… it was just like this.. I’d fuck up and do something awful and you’d just take it all in stride, get ready to help me out of it….”

“I don’t know what you mean…” I said quickly, “ Let’s go back to the party we’ll talk later-“

He grabbed both my arms, pulling me back to face him when I tried to get past him and I yelped, staring up at him in surprise.

“What?” I demanded. “ What is it now?”

“How do you do this thing, Heejin ?” He asked roughly. “ How do you just get ready to clean up every fucking mess I make like it doesn’t hurt you? Like I don’t hurt you?”

“What are you talking about?” I tried to wriggle out of his hold but he tugged me closer.

“How do you just…” He shook his head, “ accept me so unconditionally? Like… Its like no matter what I do, you’re just willing to look past it and I don’t fucking understand Heejin… why do you put up with me, damn it?”

I stared right at him. Caught his gaze and held it, refusing to look away.

“You know why.” I whispered, licking my lips, throat dry, “ And if you don’t…. I’m not going to tell you.”

His eyes widened , lips parting and he exhaled sharply, before letting me go and stepping away.

He looked away, shaking a little and I sighed.

“Let’s just get this night over with, yeah?” I said quietly. “ and then we’ll talk.”

He didn’t reply, merely standing aside and motioning for me to leave first.

I shook my head, moving to grip his arm instead.

“Together.” I said firmly. “ We’ll get this night over with, together.”

Author’s Note : i love these two. i’ve never wanted two people to be together so much.

@taeshuworld .@girlinthemikrokosmos @xius-exos @sugainfireslex @yunkichiee@kpopstudybee @ephyraaaa @peachoney9795 @ggukkieland @veronawrites @blr1004 @tinyhoagiepartylover @btsis7okay @squishyjk @itsdingdong @emmmui @honeeybunneey @yeonkiminnie @just-me-and-myselfs @delicate-snow-flake @kpop-lore @beautifulvirgobutterfly @sumzysworld @btsmylife21 @teresaisla .@melrosaeparker @taestannie @dchimminie @ meraki–life @somewhereinthestates @mawwnsterr @kookiesbreaky @chimchoom

@namjooningelsewhere @itsdingdong @ungodlyjoon @caratarmy131

@ladyartemesia @hardggukk @iliveforjin @loveemariee

@unicornbabylover @dchimminie @nope2214 @landl7xoxo

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#bts smut #bts smut fic #bts fics #bts fanfic #friends to lovers bts au #jungkook abo #jungkook smut

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imaginethebeautifulworld · 4 years

Note

Hello! I hope you are having a good day/night. May I ask for axis and allies plus spain, romano and prussia speaking to their s/o in their native language? Thank you very much! -Humble Anon💕

A very good morning/afternoon/evening to you as well, lovely!

When I began brainstorming these, I kept approaching this ask with the thought in mind that the S/O's first language is not the same as that of the Nation's, and aren't quite completely fluent as of yet. It made it a little bit easier for me to write, and offered me just a little more leeway to daydream. ^_^;

America:

Alfred really only does so when he's super tired, stumbling into the kitchen with bedhead to grab his first five cups of coffee, half-flopping on you as he greets you with a kiss to the cheek- ruined by his yawn- accent stronger than normal as he rumbles out a good morning, asks how you slept. He rambles lightly about his weird-ass dreams, making you smile just from his annunciations. At some point, he remembers to start translating, swapping over to the dialect you're most familiar with mid-sentence.

Canada:

Oddly enough, Matthew plays Language Tag more frequently than Al, but more often than not, it's usually an unrefined Franglish that has always irritated Francis and Arthur. (He enjoys this fact, just a little.) Around you, however, it really only flares up in moments where he's just so overwhelmed and in awe, taken aback by how much he's in love with you. Most of his petnames for you are in English, but those moments where you're both spending a lazy evening in bed, he'll happily shower you with all kinds of cheesey compliments in French, teasingly poking your nose every time you try to get him to translate.

China:

Yao has a habit of slipping back to Chinese on a whim, honestly oblivious to the fact most of the time. You've noticed it gets significantly worse whenever he's stressed, and you've learnt some very colourful nicknames for the Others over the years because of it. Despite his seemingly incessant need to pace while venting, you always manage to coax him into your arms, steadily working your fingers across his back, easy out the knots that had been plaguing him. Meetings always brought him stress, but after a good rant and a few moments of your grounding touch, he's sighing away all remaining agitation, slowly bringing himself back to you and apologising for the slip.

England:

One of Arthur's greater strengths comes in linguistics. While he would much rather prefer a courtship with an English speaker, he's not going to deny himself happiness just because of a silly little language barrier. He generally tries to keep everything on common ground, but his nicknames for you, and some of his more scandalising compliments, are murmurred in English. He always keeps it quiet, an intimacy reserved only for you. There's many a "dearest" and "darling" when first waking up in the morning, a languid greeting for the coming day. (Also, he swears mostly in English, so be careful if you decide to borrow any of his vocabulary.)

France:

Francis never hesitates to prattle in French; it's second nature to him. Sometimes, he'll hop between both yours and his preferred dialects several times in a single sentence. You know it's just part of who he is, and while it can be annoying some days, it is helping you improve your own fluency. There are also moments when he makes you weak, his expression uncharacteristically sincere, hands carefully clasping your own. He hums out a soft phrase, one you still haven't fully translated, leaning closer to caress your jaw, thumb brushing against your cheek, any number of praises passing his lips.

Germany:

Ludvig, since Day One, has tried his best to make sure you're comfortable around him, and part of that is him keeping firmly to the language you are most familiar with. When coming across words he may not be entirely familiar with, or saying a more complicated phrase, his accent may sometimes come out a bit thicker than would be normal. The only time he really slips into German is when he's on the phone with folks from his government. You don't mean to eavesdrop on the latter, but you do enjoy how much deeper his voice tends to get when he's being "professional." Secretly though, you have to admit his voice when he sleeptalks is your favourite of them all.

Japan:

Kiku constantly, and often unnecessarily, goes out of his way to make sure that you're comfortable, and despite your arguing against it, one of his ways of trying to do so is to only stick the language you both share. Frankly, you love hearing him speak Japanese, even though you really only hear it when he's at the store, and sometimes to the servers during date night. You love how gentle his voice is, his accent adding almost a sweetness to his words. Lately, you've been debating how to tell him that you'd like to hear it more, but for now you savour the little pieces you've collected over the past few months.

Prussia:

You learnt some time ago that Gilbert quietly speaking in German actually helped you fall asleep significantly easier. For that reason, he primarily only does so while either headed to bed, or whenever you're spending an afternoon together in the library. He'll sometimes read to you, but mostly he tends to ramble. You only understand a handful of the things he's saying and assume that he's regaling you with tales of days long past. In reality, he's running through his checklist for car parts he wants to fix, complaining about something stupid Roderich did back in 1648, and most often- when you're on the cusp of sleep, breathing deep and relaxed, his hand resting on your back- he's listing off every single thing he's come to love about you, not as afraid of his vulnerability when you're hardly conscious enough to hear it.

Romano:

Lovino spent too long relearning Italian to ever abandon it, even for your sake. He casually weaves it into regular conversation, the endearments, greetings, exclamations, and nicknames fluidly blending into the ordinary. He figured out quite a while ago that you actually enjoyed his "slip ups," so he's especially generous on date nights, about half of the words he's saying falling around you in his unique dialect. He once told you that you should be grateful, that he was blessing you with "the most beautiful language in the world." And begrudgingly, lost in his smile and the way the candlelight makes his eyes spark, you have to agree.

Russia:

Over time, one of your favourite pastimes with Ivan has becoming hunkering down on a settee by the fireplace, where he'll work on his knitting. The best part of these moments, especially on particularly frigid mornings where you've no obligations, is that Ivan will start to sing to himself, always pieces in Russian. Sometimes they're lullabies he's picked up from the royal families over the years, sometimes they're peasant rhymes he's known since childhood, and on some rare occasions, he'll sing something from an opera he fell in love with back in 1872. He'll often pepper in a few casual words here and there, always with a lightness to it, but you're absolutely addicted to how full his voice sounds when he sings.

Spain:

Antonio is actually the worst of the bunch. He can and will ramble in Spanish, a lot, so much so that some of it has permanently rooted itself into your own vocabulary, some of your replies slipping out without pause these days. He tends to catch onto his slip-ups quickly at least, quickly sliding back into your shared venacular with a quick apology. Still, you'll often hear him singing in Spanish, greeting the plants in Spanish, talking to the cats in Spanish. He's particullarly bad at losing himself whenever he's invested in a football match, or if you happen to catch him irritated about politics. Tonio has taught you quite a few colourful curses over the years, smattered with some day-to-day phrases you've both come to recite by default.

Veneziano:

Feliciano is surprisingly good at sticking to the language you feel most comfortable with, though he's notorious at mucking up the number of syllables in certain words. You have a strong suspicion he does this intentionally, this elongation solely designed to annoy you, especially as he always seems slightly bemused each time he does it. Regardless of how annoying he can be in your language, you do love eavesdropping on his conversations with his brothers, chattering away in Italian, his words and hands moving far too quickly for you to even hope to follow along. There's something so soothing in listening to him speak, even if he is producing 500 words per minute.

Thanks for the ask, Anon! I hope you enjoyed~

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soft-glitch · 3 years

Text

A Tale of Peaks And Void

Chapter 1: Ominous onset

Word count: about 1200 words

Summary: High up in the mountains, on the verge of an old village lives Shadow, a reclusive woodcutter who wants nothing but calm and loneliness. But as a mysterious curse starts crawling across fields and forests, his fate intertwines with a kind-hearted shepherd's in a quest to save everything they hold dear.

- - - - -

The door creaked. It always creaked of course, usually more loudly first thing in the morning when the sun barely reached the cabin to warm its solitary silhouette.

It was like a ritual to Shadow. The door would creak as it opened and he would adjust it with care, before taking a good look at the endless forest covering the landscape. Breathe in the intangible sharpness of the fog clinging to the mountain flanks. Then get back indoors and take a moment to brew some coffee and fix himself some bread and jam.

The mornings were often harsh in the mountains. A cold, misty air would seep from the dew-covered grass, made worse by facetious winds dancing along the reliefs. Shadow was used to this, his thick wool jacket a sufficient help to withstand a day of work in the forest. He did not fear the blazing sun of summers nor the fierce snow of winters.

Something was off that day, though. The hedgehog felt it right away: a subtle hint of wrongness brought to him by the breeze, like a tainted promise of bad days to come. His quills stiffened slightly as he frowned, his intuition warning him of a vague menace from faraway.

Still, he closed the door to get breakfast. The woodcutter was pragmatic: ominous feelings or not, he needed some food to get on with his day. As the coffee pot heated on the old iron stove, the mobian's thoughts wandered. To the young bear who ordered reserves for the upcoming winter. To the old baker who would always give him a smile, tired but genuine. To his forever friend Rouge, and her eternal will to make him move closer to the rest of the village.

He shook his head and focused on preparing toasts. The bat's efforts were fruitless, obviously: the woodcutter was not one to meddle with others. His life was one of loneliness and contemplation, no matter how much his friend would complain, and it was a fate he accepted long ago. The villagers were sympathetic to him and he appreciated it, but he carefully kept his distance.

The fire gently roaring in the stove reflected in the golden bracelets he always kept on his arms and legs.

It's for their own good.

- - - - -

A branch creaked. They always creaked of course, it was a common occurrence in the woods with all sorts of critters wandering the wilderness. But Shadow was akin to a hunter, senses sharp enough to pick up the faintest hints after countless days spent in nature. He knew such a branch would not break under the lean step of a small animal.

After a glance at the tree he was working on to make sure it would not fall unprompted, he turned with a small smile. Leaning against his largest axe, he faced the tall bat nonchalantly walking to him.

"Nice to see you, Rouge." The lady grinned in return, taking a moment to look at her friend up and down. At the dawn of his thirties, the hedgehog had an inexplicably charming aura despite his abrupt demeanour —and the bits of leaves and bark constantly stuck on his shirt. To her eyes, he wasted his days living like some grumpy hermit.

"Hello honey. Figured I would find you around here rather than at your house. – Of course. The cold days are coming fast, the villagers need their wood and it requires time to dry beforehand."

The bat nodded as she glanced at his payload, a cart already half-full of chopped trunks and branches. "Have you considered taking a moment for yourself lately?" she asked, rolling her eyes at the sardonic huff in response. "Surely an ale with someone would not kill you, and I'm quite sure it would delight your neighbours. – We're not neighbours." Shadow growled as he picked his axe again. "The village needs me and I need the village. It is as simple as bees and flowers living thanks to each other. Nothing less, nothing more."

Rouge sighed at the blunt statement. Her friend was not mean-spirited, he was charitable and kind even. But his solitary nature only got worse as time passed, and not for a good reason.

“Ah well.” she sighed. “I see today is not the day I will bring you out of your shelter.” Shadow simply shrugged at the words, giving a powerful but precise strike at the tree in front of him.

“Anyway,” the bat continued as she sat on a large stump, “this is not why I came to see you. I need your help.” The woodcutter stopped his axe in-air, glancing at her curiously. Rouge was the oldest friend he had —not that he had many— and he could hear the concern in her voice as clearly as a nightingale song.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, taking a step towards the bat. “More than wrong.” she replied. “A farmer came to me because his crops are getting sick. A strange illness I never heard of, that turns plants dark and brittle like they were made of ash. – This does sound worrying.” Shadow nodded. He could not remember ever seeing such an ailment.

“It's the third case in a week.” she added with a sombre stare. “All different crops from different villages. They tried various remedies but the fields simply die. It's a slow illness but nothing seems to stop it. The other healers never saw it either, nor do their books mention it.” Now this was much more troublesome. If left unchecked, such a plague could starve families and compromise next year's reserves. Shadow gritted his teeth, the uneasy feeling from earlier growing more vivid.

“Do you know where to look for a solution? – I do not.” Rouge said with a shrug. “But maybe the wise cat knows something about it, or might have a clue to a cure." The hedgehog groaned at this. He could not stand the old one. No one questioned their unexplained powers and wisdom, not even Shadow, but they were always cryptic in their answers and painfully slow to provide. Plus their house was almost two days from the hedgehog's cabin.

"And you want me to go ask them." Shadow stated, defeat already peeking through his voice. "You know the things of nature better than anyone in this village besides me. And while I can fly, you're fast on your feet." she said with a gesture to his carefully maintained shoes. "What will you do in the meantime?" he asked, looking in the direction the village lied. "Study some samples, map where the disease has spread.” Rouge joined hands in a concerned gesture. ”As a healer I can't just leave like that, especially without an apprentice to replace me. We don’t even know if the sickness can spread to mobians. – Fine. I will go tomorrow by dawn," Shadow accepted reluctantly, "just let me finish my work for today. Plague or not, mobians need fire to live on."

With a chuckle, Rouge sat up and deployed her purple wings. "I know that well, do not worry. Come see me before you leave, and oh! If you see good mushrooms, please bring them along!" she exclaimed. "Ingredients for a remedy?" Shadow asked with curiosity. "Well yes, that too, but mostly to perfect my signature stew!" she laughed before soaring through the sparse foliage, leaving the woodcutter alone with his thoughts.

His guts were full of knots as he resumed his labour. His very nature made him sensitive to the whims of fate and magical threats, and right now his whole body buzzed as if to warn him of... something.

Maybe it was a good idea to seek Big the Wise.

#fanfic #sonic the hedgehog #sth #shadow the hedgehog #rouge the bat #my art

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guessimwritingficsagain · 3 years

Text

To been seen, part Four (Frankie Morales x Reader)

Summary : You get a text. You freak out.

Author’s note : I am very very soft for Frankie.

Also, I have a few days off and I thought I have been really self-indulgent so : the cheese gift really happened to me (best birthday ever, he got me a Mont d'Or because he knew I had planned on eating one with my best friend to celebrate), the Edward Scissorchands movie thing really happened to me, and the "date" with the grandma too. In France, the Opera is often showed in movie theaters. When I was a teenager, I thought it was quite the event, though. So I got invited. Next thing we saw together with that guy was the movie Black Swan and I made sure someone was tagged along.

The holidays came and went in a blur of laughter, hot chocolate was big sweaters. You were happy. And Jessie was happy too. January came, and went, too. Everything was slow. So you watched the movie you’d bought, and a bunch of others too.

February was over before you knew it, and when March warmed up the air, you found yourself, one morning, looking at the screen of your phone like the message would disappear if you blinked. You turned your eyes to the cupboard that contained the empty box of chocolate that sat there, hidden from the sniggering remarks of Linda, and looked back at the screen. The text message was still there. You put the phone down, abruptly, fingers tingling and burning and went to get a glass of water. Your eyes landed on the bottle of wine, still unopened, and you almost spilled your drink. You went back to your phone in a hurry, opened the chat you shared with your friends and sent

Who the fuck gave Francisco fucking Morales my phone number ?????

You waited, breathing hard, hoping anyone would answer. Nothing came, not right away. Phone on the table again, you slumped on the couch, nervous breakdown on its way. You couldn’t do it, there was no way you could do that, you couldn’t, that would kill you, you wouldn’t survive this.

Time floated for a while, up until your phone vibrated and you jumped. You’d been so caught up in your thoughts you hadn’t noticed everyone had answer, Anna, Jessie and Linda with a simple « not me » but James …

James had sent a

Go get some

And an eggplant emoji.

James, then.

Okay.

You were fine. You could answer a text. You knew the drill, by now. You knew how to pretend you were not freaking out every time Frankie did something unexpected and kind, like that time he offered you chocolate and a bottle of wine for Christmas. You had coping mechanisms, now, to hide the fact you had a doctorate in yearning.

You’d replayed the Christmas Scene so many times in your head you sometimes thought you made it up, but the reminders were there, in your flat.

You’re replaying it now.

You’re getting out of your car, with ten minutes to spare before work starts. It’s almost six. You spot Frankie’s truck on the parking lot and you’re a bit surprised but mostly delighted, even more so when you see the man himself jogging towards you. It takes you a minute to see he’s holding presents. By the time he gets to you, you’re confused. He smiles a breathy hello before handing you what he’s got in his hands. You stare at the neatly wrapped packages for a bit, like the dumbass you are, unable to put two and two together. Maybe it’s for Clara ?

It must be for Clara.

You take them. Say thank you. And Frankie answers :

« Open them. »

Your braincells must have left the building like God in Supernatural, gone off to do the Macarena dance somewhere very far away because all you can answer is what and you know you sound like a dumbass and you feel like one too.

The lack of reaction is getting to Frankie, you can tell, because he’s rubbing the back of his neck and you feel bad that he’s embarrassed so you say :

« You got me presents ? »

Well, except you don’t really say it. More squeal it. Or shriek it. You’re not sure. It feels like a repeat of that moment a boy you’d liked but never made a move on offered you fucking cheese on your birthday and was all embarrassed about it and you didn’t know what to do or say because his birthday had been a few days before yours and you didn’t get him anything.

You add, for good measure, because why the hell not :

« But I didn’t get you anything. »

Like maybe he’s going to take them back, or maybe the moment is going to rewind except you don’t want it to rewind because Frankie has gifts for you, just for you.

Maybe he got something for Jessie and Anna, too ? You wonder. And Linda. You know he goes there to buy books. Maybe he showed up and got her some stuff. Not books, you hope. Stupid to buy books to a bookseller.

All of this goes through your mind and in the meanwhile Frankie’s waiting and when you finally put your bag down on the hood of your car to carefully open the first present, your body finally moving, you don’t miss the sigh of relief that escapes Frankie. It’s a box of chocolate, a fancy one at that. You recognize the brand. You hold it for a while, before you set it down with your bag and say thank you in a voice that’s way too small. You open the second one, then. Wine. White wine. Wine that you actually love. Your favorite. You wonder how he knows that.

You’re holding the bottle the way he’s holding his breath : tight. You lift your eyes to meet his and you can tell he’s embarrassed and a bit blushing. He rearranges the cap on his head and announces :

« Merry Christmas. »

You say it back, smile so big your cheeks hurt because Frankie got you presents for Christmas. You put the bottle with the rest of your stuff and then, on a whim, you throw yourself at him for a hug. He closes his arms around you, and one hand comes up right between your shoulder-blades, his thumb just here, sitting on the back of your neck, skin against skin and maybe you’re dead and in heaven right now.

You stay like this way too long and at some point you mumble against his shoulder that you really didn’t get him anything.

« It’s fine », he answers as he lets go, hands squeezing your side briefly.

You get into work late.

And now, you got a text. You opened it, read it again.

Maybe you could do this. Maybe you could take it to the next level. After all, you’d became closer to the boys over the last two months. Santi could have sent you that text, right ? That text didn’t have the word date in it. Maybe you were friends now. Frankie’d gotten you Christmas presents, after all.

So you read the words again, and before you could talk yourself out of it, you sent a yeah, sure, I’m in !

Your eyes went over his message once again, just to make sure the words would be burnt into your brain.

Hey, it’s Frankie. I know Friday’s your day off this week. I got two tickets to that new Marvel movie and one with your name on it. You in ?

You could spend two hours in a dark room with Francisco Morales right next to you. No problem. None at all.

———

He’d picked a screening that ended around seven. Your mind supplied just in time for dinner, and you kicked the two remaining braincells you had. You’d decided to drive there separately and were now sitting next to each other, you explaining the Marvel timeline and him listening intently. You were a nerd, but, him, not as much. You didn’t try to think too hard about the fact that he was doing this for you, because he was not as much into comics or movies as you were.

The whole thing was pleasant and relaxed.

This was not a date, you reminded yourself.

You got dinner after that, dissecting the movie as you ate - nothing fancy, but it was nice. The conversation shifted, at some point.

« Yeah, I get what you mean : movies are not the place to make a move. Especially when there’s a hot guy on the screen. I mean, what chance do you get when you’re watching a movie and Oscar Isaac is right there ? » Frankie laughed.

You nodded, getting another sip of your drink, and, as an afterthought, added :

« You know, Santi kinda looks like Oscar Isaac … »

Frankie grunted :

« Never, ever, tell him that. »

You promised you wouldn’t. After that, the two of you told each other stories about your worst dates, and you remembered :

« You know, when I was younger, before I met James, I hung out with a bunch of guys. I was like, fourteen, and they were sort of … beginning to understand I was a girl, you know. There was this guy, a good friend of mine, who actually told this other guy we weren’t going to see a movie. I remember, it was a special screening of Edward Scissorshands. So, my other friend never showed up and the guy told me he couldn’t make it. »

« Let me guess, the other guy told you later he thought you weren’t going ? »

You laughed.

« Yeah, basically. And then this guy I went to see the movie with invited me to a really fancy thing. It was a Wednesday afternoon, I remember. We got lunch. I didn’t pay for anything because he’d invited to come along with him and his grandma. Let me tell you : after that, I made sure to always have someone with us when he invited me somewhere. »

Frankie’s laugh was something you’d never grew tired of, you knew that.

———

Months went on, like that, with you and Frankie hanging out to see movies, and everybody showing up for Benny’s fight when you could (Jessie and you had to keep James updated, those nights, because he’d gone back to Washington after new year’s eve but wanted to know everything). Jessie had started dating a guy, at some point, and you didn’t find him that great but Will hated him.

« When are you gonna make a move ? » You asked, one evening as you were sipping beers with him at his place.

« When she doesn’t have a boyfriend dull as dishwater » He answered without missing a beat.

You knew this was the moment, then. You had two options : say nothing and let things be, or say something and get those idiots together. You thought hard, about the phrasing of your next sentence, and settled with :

« For you, she’d dump him. »

Will froze at that, just for a second, and quipped back :

« I’ll make a move when you make a move on ‘Fish. »

So that conversation was happening. You’d hoped none of the guys had noticed but obviously, at least one of them had. And you knew, by now, that his ex-wife had left him, had left Maria too. You knew he was available. You sputtered a bit and Will, kind Will, let it be. You enjoyed a nice evening with him, not once wondering why he sought you out, because Will and you didn’t hang out.

The answer came a few days later, with a simple text from Frankie.

Come over please

———

« I need you to take care of Maria », Frankie said as he opened the door. He looked really tired, like he hadn’t slept in days.

Please, he added, begging but you didn’t quite understand what he was begging for.

You complied, never stopping to think that this was the first time you saw Maria, never stopping to think about what might be possibly happening, even as Frankie went to his room, muttering apologies. It hit you when you put the girl to bed, and you remembered Frankie and the way he’d been looking at you that day, when he’d asked if they could throw a birthday party for their late friend’s daughter.

It was around that time, last year.

You walked hesitantly towards Frankie’s bedroom and stared at the white paint in it for a while. You were nervous, and actually turned around to smoke a cigarette outside, the air a bit too chilly for you, but cold enough to wake you up and give you the strength to walk to Frankie’s bedroom and knock.

So you did it.

He didn’t answer, but, feeling bold - or rather, feeling like you needed to do it - you opened the door anyway. The room was almost dark, the moonlight giving you an idea that Frankie was curled up, on his side. You put a hand on his shoulder. He put his on top of yours. You chose - you chose - to take it at a silent invitation, lifted the covers, and got, fully dressed, right next to him. Because friends do that.

———

When you woke up, he was staring at you. While your brain tried to make sense of the situation, you asked, voice heavy with sleep :

« What time is it ? »

Seven, Frankie answered. Maria’s gonna wake up soon, he added. You were too tired to say anything else, because when you’d laid down next to him you’d felt like your heart had been about to burst so you’d just listened to him, his breath steadying as he’d got to sleep. You’d finally got to sleep too, but it was too damn early for you.

Later, you’d blame what happened on your foggy brain : you snuggled closer, and Frankie let you. Then, it hit you. At that moment, right next to him, it hit you : you were not friends with him. You were pretending to be, but you were not and never would.

You couldn’t.

You wanted to wake up everyday like that, to Frankie telling you it’s seven, Maria’s gonna be awake soon. You wanted everything and friends just wouldn’t cut it.

Two things happened at once, then : you were realizing how much you liked - loved - Frankie when he gently took one of your forearm and brought it to his lips. All of the feelings hit home just as he was kissing the soft skin on your wrist and you froze.

He saw it and let go immediately, muttering apologies, while you were still processing what you felt about him. When you reached to grab him, to tell him how good that was and how wanted him to do it again, it was already too late.

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales #triple frontier #Pedro Pascal x reader

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meggannn · 3 years

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shepard/garrus?

oh boy, sorry for the late response! I always end up posting these things and then going to read/take a nap/play a game or something. anyway writing this up took two hours, i hope it is even slightly interesting to read. cut because this is looooooong

What made you ship it?

I think I was interested in this ship before I even played ME. I was just like “I know Shepard is a character and an alien named Garrus is a character, and people draw porn of them together.” because I think it’s reasonable to say it’s one of, if not the most, popular ship in the fandom, or at least in ME’s tumblr fandom? and the way people talked about it, I knew their tropes were #banter, #battle couple, #partnerships, and... and as we’ve learned from royai, I am a bit weak to those tropes (assuming I like both of the characters). the way people talked about them also from a “best friends” angle—which is sort of forced in-game in a way that seems strange to me now—was also a plus in its favor at the time. (if they get together, I do see their friendship/companionship, in whatever form, in some ways integral to their romance—unless you’re playing full far-right renegade who’s like a xenophobe and hate-fucking Garrus, I guess?—but Bioware also kind of shoehorned Garrus into that best-friend role and that’s a topic for another day.)

What are your favorite things about the ship?

(my friend will hit me if I say “partnerships” again) I’m gonna talk about the way I play my Shepard now, because so much is dependent on the unique Shepard. for Lydia’s journey over the series, I see a large part of her journey as basically a study of her (often self-inflicted) loneliness. and she never entirely breaks her habits of self-isolation, but the events of the series force her to be vulnerable in a way she would prefer not to be in front of a crew, or, y’know, ever. Garrus becomes an integral part of that story to help her break her out of these bad habits (all of the crew does, particularly also Ashley for my Shep), but to my eyes, the story of “Shepard and Garrus’s relationship” is also one of mutual respect, burden-sharing, and sanity and morality checks.

I don’t think of their “mentor” relationship in ME1 very often mostly because I don’t think it was done particularly well, but for all its faults, I do like how naturally the jump from “subordinate” in ME1 to “ally” in ME2 felt; once you meet Garrus on Omega you feel more on the same footing as two friends greeting each other because you’ve both recently been through trauma and the sight of a friendly face in a station full of hostiles is so unexpectedly welcome that it lets them both hope things will be okay for a minute. starting from that moment, Garrus becomes one of the few people who can see “under” her mask, I guess: partly because he’s one of the few combatants from the SR-1 who knows Shepard well and sees who she is both on the field and onboard the SR-2, with the ability to compare both to the times of “before you died”; partly because he has trauma response training and recognizes it in others even if he doesn’t in himself; partly because his loyal personality makes him sensitive to wonder how she’s dealing with being resurrected; and also partly because they’ve both gone through similar things. namely, getting your squad killed and blaming yourself for it, and it possibly being your fault (BioWare is inconsistent on what Shepard’s role was on Akuze, but in ME1 she has the chance to reply that she was responsible for getting them out safely, and failed).

necessity forces Shepard to adapt to things like being effectively forced to work for terrorists; being isolated from her support system; being resurrected and feeling like a stranger in her own body; later, getting decommissioned for making an incredibly difficult call to save the galaxy; watching your homeworld burn; being forced into a political role negotiating high stakes you don’t know how to play; being told you’re the spearhead of a galactic war; doing all of this without a full crew complement; the list goes on. those are all, on their own, incredibly isolating, traumatic experiences, and my Shepard’s not emotionally sane at the best of times. (emotionally stable, perhaps, only in the most literal of terms, at least on the surface. she’s like a rock when shit hits the fan. emotionally sane, no, for that reason and more.)

the tables have turned, and Garrus ends up becoming a large part of helping her regain agency in most if not all of those things: in ME2 he was a former crew member she trusted, and he was eager to work for her and be distracted from his failures on Omega. over in the battery, he is himself recovering from a major injury (like Shepard) and going through the aftermath of a bloodbath he feels responsible for (like Shepard), working on a crew that holds him at arm’s length, that he also... arguably... didn’t have much choice in joining (like Shepard—I’m assuming he wasn’t held hostage and joined voluntarily after waking up, but lbr this is unconfirmed). their reasons are different and varied, but they don’t realize until much later that they have found each other at the most opportune time, providing a sense of stability for each other, and also, frankly, sanity and morality checks.

in ME3, he steps into this role more fully because he’s become more disciplined, is doing work firmly in his wheelhouse, and paired up against Shepard struggling with their positions somewhat reversed from ME1: him more confident and her now completely out of her element, floundering with her place on a galactic scale. without Garrus—and Chakwas, and Joker, and Tali, and later the loyalty of the entire SR-2—the story of ME would be a tragedy, and it would end shortly in ME2; it’d be the story of how my Shepard slowly went insane being forced to fight boogeymen under a terrorist banner. Garrus isn’t, like, the keeper of her sanity, but their ability to check each other, and see themselves in the eyes of each other, provides stability and occasionally a bit of a wake-up call to both of them. when they’re both vulnerable, they both feel most seen, and most understood, by an alien that listens.

one angle of this ship that highly interests me at the moment, along with the above, is that while it’s not illegal for them to be together, it’s still... a really bad fucking idea lmao. (I could make the argument that it’s a bad idea for Shepard to be in any relationship with their crew but I think there are a few ships—Garrus, Tali, any Alliance crew at all—that realistically would be huge political clusterfucks.) so overcoming personal insecurity and fear of the unknown to acknowledge interest in each other, and the desire to become an item, getting roadblocked by a reality wake-up call with the fact that 1) she’s his boss, 2) Garrus comes from a society where station matters, like, sort of a lot and it even determines your job and how much legal power you have, 3) the potential political blowback (which would be ENORMOUS because lbr the hierarchy may not care about what turians do in off-hours but they WOULD care about the superior/subordinate thing, the human thing, the fact that they’re doing this while a war is going on. basically one of their best agents is on the Normandy to negotiate their interests and they’re basically at the whims of their relationship the whole time)... it’s a lot! all of that sort of makes it tragic, but I’m curious to see how they’d overcome it.

anyway, all of that is where I’m coming from when I think or write about this ship, but there’s a lot more I’m not mentioning here. there are a lot of juxtapositions that in my head that I’ve either added or extrapolated from canon that also interest me about this pairing. Garrus is a former cop, as is his father; Lydia is a poor kid who used to be in a gang out of necessity. Garrus is a turian with often traditionalist thinking; Shepard is a human who has much less sociopolitical power than him, even if she is his superior on the Normandy. both of them are roughly as old as the First Contact War, when their people were at each other’s throats not thirty years ago. Garrus idolizes Spectrehood while Lydia hates it, feeling it was forced on her. they can’t eat the same food. and yet despite all of that, and the fact that they need translators to communicate, they manage to understand each other when a lot of the world around them doesn’t.

god this is not even the full list of it. anyway I could go on but I’ll stop there lol.

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

oh jesus, so much. I’m a grouchy and picky shipper, be warned.

pining can always make my ships more interesting, and imo it’s a consistent part of any ship of Shepard’s, considering it’s wildly inappropriate and unprofessional for her to be fucking any subordinate, so I think more consideration could be given to shakarian in the “we shouldn’t be having a thing and oh also you’re an alien and I’m kind of scared of both your government and your body” angle! I hope to explore that a bit with a fic I’m writing (if I ever finish it, god).

I hate the flavor of fandom!shakarian where Shepard romanced Kaidan in ME1 then felt “betrayed” when he’s confused and hurt on Horizon, so she gets with Garrus as like... revenge? idk. and then Garrus usually develops this bias against Kaidan as a sort of author mouthpiece (which is inconsistent with his characterization cause Garrus is nothing but pleased to have Kaidan back on the SR-2 in ME3!) and takes up the anti-Kaidan crusade cause K ~questioned the commander~ (since when does Garrus fall over himself defending a superior from criticism?) like, idk. I think Garrus can be sensitive to the fact that that reuniting must’ve been painful for Shepard, but also be aware that it was also really painful for Kaidan because all of Kaidan’s complicated feelings about Shepard’s resurrection were, realistically, things Garrus should’ve felt too! this trope is very popular but just feels like manufactured drama for drama’s sake, idk, I’m also not big on love triangles so. I would much rather people just rescue Ashley on Virmire and avoid the whole thing rather than have previously-romanced Kaidan around in ME3 for the sole purpose of forcing him to watch Shepard/Garrus being happy together tbh.

I think full goody-goody paragon Shepard is too preachy to make a good partner for Garrus and full shoot-anyone-in-my-way renegade Shepard encourages and emboldens his worst tendencies (and Castis Vakarian is right to disapprove of them). most people end up playing some combination of both, or if they do settle in one camp or the other, usually there is some sense of realism where Shepard doesn’t play nice/naive or play mean all the time, so it’s rare I see either of those kinds of extreme Shepards depicted, but in general if there is a Shepard that is so far in one direction it seems illogical to me that they ever stay together.

I think wanting a mShep romance for Garrus is a pretty welcome idea in fandom, but adding onto that, I think Garrus should’ve been romanceable in ME3 for players who changed their minds on other romances or want to play slow-burn romances! we had it for Kaidan—and should’ve had it for Ash—so (pounds fist on desk) Garrus too imo!

I hate the canon get-together because Shepard walking into the battery and asking “do you want to fuck” feels very tailored to the players who want to romance Garrus, not to who Commander Shepard is, imo. it lacked all of the subtlety and depth of some other romances—until the scene of Garrus coming to her cabin with a wine bottle, at least, cause I do like that scene, but anyway, I dislike the actual get-together.

just in general, I’m a stick in the mud, so my favorite iteration of this ship is where Shepard is resolutely professional, and the challenge of it becomes him getting her to open up, not the other way around. like, I think on some level every iteration of Shepard is a bit of a lunatic/eccentric, because you have to be to do the things they do, but I like to see their flirting with less of her calling him “big guy” (not sure where that came from, is that in canon? I must’ve missed it, but personally I don’t like it) and more of Garrus making wisecracks in the canteen while he’s talking to Joker, but he’s looking at her out of the corner of his eyes and he really said his joke with the aim of making her laugh, and as she’s reading her datapad she hears him, and even when she wants to chuckle she stops himself and just smirks cause she doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of a laugh, but he sees her lips twitch and feels his heart flutter. that. I want more of that.

oh lastly, I hate “Shepard takes Vakarian clan markings” in any iteration. there is no canon relation to turians being poc—in fact I’d argue they have sociopolitical privilege real-world bipoc do not—but the concept of social face markings, face tattoos, etc., is rooted in non-white cultures and with the fact that 1) turians had a literal civil war over the territories those markings represent, 2) we don’t even know if marriage is how markings are shared or if non-turians are ever invited to wear them in the first place, 3) most of the art of this trend, lbr, is of mostly white Shepards in wedding dresses and blue face paint... all that combined just makes me frown and scroll faster every time I see it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bipoc Shepard with Vakarian face markings in fic/art, and that to me is very telling (not because they should have them, but because bipoc fans who make bipoc Shepards usually recognize when a racially-coded trope is uhhhhh not so great to appropriate for someone not of that group).

#megan does memes #marisjellyfish #shakarian

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elfboyeros · 3 years

Text

How May I Serve You?

Note: So, let me explain! This is taking place in the time between seasons 7 & 8 that like year or whatever. Zane has been doing missions and stuff alone, for a while, and Pixal (because she has been Samurai X) has been popping in and out of his system. Zane is just stressed, worried, and depressed for a large list of reasons and Pixal (were she may be a bit out character) {I write them normally a bit out character regardless} is trying to make him a little relaxed. There is a thing at the end that takes place in like modern show time, got it, good! Anyway, let’s go!

@parachutingkitten

It was now turning to dusk; the titanium ninja had arrived at an abandoned building far away from the likes of Ninjago City. Dawning his semi-new human skin, as his brothers liked to call it, he approached the broken cobblestone path leading to the broken wooden doors of the building. A crumbling building, covered in dead plants, large openings in different areas, and graffiti-stained bricks.

He sighed looking upon the building, “what a shame.” He heard a slight giggle, a feminine giggle, letting eyes fall to the path to the entrance.

She stood there, sliver hair, pure white skins, purple colored assistance uniform, with the one sleeve and half skirt. With a blue film covering her body, with an almost static texture. Marking that she was really there with him, only a hologram. She smirked, bowing, her right arm place behind her back and her left against her chest, her hand over her heart.

“How may I serve you,” she questioned, looking at him through her lashes, “Zane.”

He rolled his eyes, watching her stand up straight, still smirking, “you know that is not necessary, Pixal,” he remarked, his tone one of both annoyance and tiredness, “don’t say it again.”

“I am one theatrics,” she joked, placing her hands behind her back, “and I won’t if it pleases you.”

Zane exhaled, turned leaving walking into the abandoned street, “where are you going,” Pixal exclaimed.

“Away from you,” he said loud enough were his voice bounced off the old buildings.

She let out a loud laugh, following him while matching his quick pace, “that's not a good idea.”

“and why not?!”

Pixal appeared in front of him and unbelieve close at that, making the tall man step back quickly as to not walk through her. He would never walk through her.

“You can’t get rid of me for one,” she stated, “as if you wanted to.”

Zane folded his arms to his chest, “plus you are meeting Kai in that broken-down building,” Pixal added.

Zane sighed walking toward that building, entering the time, with his hologram paramour following close behind him, even looking around as he stood against one of the partial walls with closed eyes, trying to rest.

He could feel her when she settled beside him, or the sensation of her there. She had not actually been beside him in a long while. Although the hologram stuff wasn’t normal, Pixal would do it every once a while, when he truly wanted to talk to someone. She would do it late at night as he sat in bed. Let him vent to the wall and cry against himself as she, either, sat in the window seat or at the end of his bed.

Or that one time where he had run out of the monastery on a whim and made to a cliff, where he just screamed. He did it three times that night. The first: when he got there. The second: Pixal had come out in that hologram form and let him scream at her for a few minutes. He also allowed her to scream. The third was before he left, collapsing to the ground and crying when Pixal hid back into his system.

Although since the events with Acronix and Krux when Zane was left incapacitated and Pixal had disappeared, once she reappeared in Bounty systems, with little explanation, she bounced between the ship's systems and Zane’s. It wasn't until recently she used the hologram form, that she had control of. She would pop up randomly when Zane alone, scared at best and confusing him at worst, because it was after times she had disappeared for a good minute, again with no explanation.

At this point, she was becoming an antagonistic force to Zane then a loving one.

Zane adored the woman and wouldn’t let her go. He respected her, and wish for her to really be there, but there was a sense of secrecy with her now. Mixed with his depression, stress level with the trying to find his Sensei that was lost, and dealing with normal Ninjago shenanigans. A part of him wasn’t pleased with Pixal’s playfulness and it showed.

He felt her hand try to touch his, making him jerk his hand away, “right, no touching,” Pixal muttered, “I’m sorry.”

His only rule with the hologram: no touching. It would reinforce that she wasn’t there, and dispute Pixal wanted to respect his wishes she often forgot about the rule, “the love language of touch,” Pixal remarked with a sighed, “makes something like no touching hard to remember.”

That made his heartbreak more than was ready broken, he would get anything just to touch her, “I know,” Zane sighed.

“That’s new,” she declared, making he look over at her in confusion, “the ring.”

He lifted his left hand to his eye level, leaning back against the brick, “fairly.” he whispered.

A thin black ring place on his left ring finger, only black given his titanium shell, he normally wore, “a ring on the left hand's ring finger, symbolizes marriage,” Pixal mused, “who have you married recently?”

There was ever the hit of jealousy in her voice, it made Zane want to wait on answering, to see if she would become anymore jealous.

“You,” Zane said with a chuckle and a smile, “it is supposed to symbolize my union to you. I saw this as a simple way to symbolize what is between us.”

“We do act like a married union,” Pixal alleged, “don’t we?”

Zane nodded, smiling as he heard her giggle, “I wish you were here,” he expressed, “I yarn for you to be beside me again.”

“As do I,” Pixal cooed softy, watching Zane squat down, his hands covering his face.

“It makes me livid that I didn’t try harder to get you out of my head, sooner.”

“You were busy, it is understandable.”

“And now you keep disappearing for days,” Zane cried, clenching his hands to his chest, “I understand if he other could need your assistance, but the fact that you won’t tell me where you are going, makes me nervous.”

Pixal didn't say anything, “then you come back to me, again with no explanation, almost like nothing happened!”

She once again said nothing as he stood facing her, “tell me where you’re going, when you leave my systems,” Zane insisted, “I know you are going to the Bounty's systems because I have checked, multiple times.”

“I can’t,” she whimpered.

“You can’t or you won’t,” he bellowed.

She said nothing, turning her head away from him

“Tell me where you go,” he demanded in a scream, before grabbing her shoulders.

His eyes widened as his hands fazed through her, right, she’s not really here. She was regaled to like a figment of his imagination, almost as if she weren’t real, to begin with. He stared at her hologamic form tears rolling down his face, staring at her melancholy face on the verge of tears.

Zane had not time to apologize or even speak before she disappeared, as she faded away he heard footsteps approach, “Zane,” Kai said, entering the distressed building, “I heard screaming, you okay.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, whipping his tears before turning to his brother, “I’m fine.”

It had a few good years since that night of the argument that was never resolved. Pixal, very much real, exited the monastery in need of fresh air and a nice view of Zane training, alone. She had thought about that argument a lot recently, for whatever reason, Zane had too. Maybe that’s why his training was slightly more violent.

Pixal descended the small steps to the courtyard as Zane shot ice at one of the training dummies, “that’s a bit violent,” she remarked.

Zane exhaled a breath, “why so violent to the equipment,” Pixal mused.

“I’m thinking,” he replied, not looking at her directly.

“You think most times,” she uttered, “what makes this so different?”

He didn’t want to say it, mostly because he didn’t know how to bring it up. That argument, unresolved in the moment, was irrelevant now. Pixal was here, with him, why bring up that fight. Just open a small wound.

Pixal turned away with her hands behind her back, “I see you wish not to talk,” she assumed, not offended by his coldness, “I will leave you alone.”

Zane knew she wasn’t offended, but that didn’t him feel better about his actions. He straightened himself up, watching her reach the porch, “say it again,” he declared, making her straighten her back and clench her forearms, “just this once.”

It got exactly five-second: Pixal turned on her heels, looking at Zane, her husband, with a smirk. She moved her left arm from her back to her chest, her hand over her heart, he could see her wedding band on her slim finger as it shinned in the sun. She bowed before looking at him through her lashes, before breaking the routine and standing up straight while sticking her hand out to him with an open hand.

“How may I serve you,” she pondered, “Zane~”

#ninjago #pixane #pixal #zane #ninjago pixal #ninjago zane #it's so late #Loved this #your welcome #fanfiction #ninjago fanfiction #angst #fluff #romance

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cotncandyboifics · 3 years

Text

1989 [High School AU]: Chapter 9

AO3 Link

Masterpost

Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 5 ~ Chapter 6 ~ Chapter 7 ~ Chapter 8 ~

Pairings: slight Logince, eventual Prinxiety & Logicality

Word count: 2,043

Story summary: Roman Prince is your stereotypical Jock, with everyone swooning after him. Every day a crowd of people follow him around, only to disperse at his personal whim. In reality, he's lucky to have such good acting skills that help him cover up the disdain he has for his life. He only wishes he could use his skills properly.

Patton Whitelock's always there to lend a helping hand, no matter who you are. If you need a favor or just need someone to talk to, go to him. In reality, he's been taught from a young age that kindness should be held above all else. No one suspects that he took it the wrong way.

Logan Montgomery is the smartest boy in the Senior class. He's stern, and most people are too intimidated to speak to him. In reality, he despises most all of his fellow students. He sticks to his studies and doesn't stray, for fear of being stuck in his father's shadow his whole life.

Virgil Black is the most emo kid in school, let alone 12th grade; everyone knows to leave him be. In reality, he's very fortunate. He has two parents who love him dearly. But everything beyond his life, everything within his mind, is utter chaos and turmoil.

what will happen when they're assigned a biology project together?

General CW: food, swearing, implied s-lf h-rm, non-graphic descriptions of s-lf h-rm scars, graphic and non-graphic descriptions of anxiety attacks and panic attacks, drug abuse, minor character intoxicated on heroin, non-graphic drug overdose description, sickness/description of sickness, blood, non-graphic descriptions of needles, (will be added to as I write more)

Chapter CW: swearing, food/meal mention, (let me know if i missed anything please!)

Author notes: the massive amounts of gay panic. this chapter was fun to write

...

Roman returned to find his room far less lively. The tall nerd and the short puffball have seemingly disappeared! Of course Roman knew they'd likely just gone home, but what fun is life without a little exciting drama?

The only one left was Virgil, who was curled in on himself on Roman's bed, a pillow in his lap and phone in his hands yet again. Roman sighed dramatically, sprawling out beside his darkly dressed counterpart.

"Is this what they meant when they said 'get a room?'" He commented after a long boring silence, waggling his eyebrows when Virgil looked at him with wide eyes.

"Oh shut up," Virgil looked away, slamming his pillow into Roman's face in a fit of deja-vu.

"Oh come on! Look up the word joke in the dictionary, Jack Smellington!" Roman said exasperatedly. Virgil shook out his luminescent hair, which was now out of his hood and proudly on display. Roman couldn't convince himself to look away.

"As much as I appreciate being compared to one of my favorite Disney characters, that was a bit- what?" Virgil looked at him confusedly, and that's what finally got Roman to look away.

"Nothing." He said shortly. He considered apologizing, but he figured that would make him look worse. Virgil just laughed lightly, not awkwardly. Mostly to himself about Roman's dorkiness. Roman felt his face heat up, and hated himself for it.

"Well, I should probably get home..." Virgil flopped back onto Roman's bed, stretching his arms out above his head. his shirt lifted slightly to follow, and Roman caught a glimpse of his navel, as well as some impressively sharp hip bones, and the very gentle start of a V-line. He forced himself to look away that time. Getting caught looking at someone's hair is one thing, but... but that, was something else entirely. Roman was already in dangerous waters, and he knew it.

"Ehem, well, I know you denied me last time," Roman began, flopping down beside Virgil and looking up at his pride flag, "but the offer of a ride is still up for grabs. Unless you'd rather be stuck on the bus at night for half an hour." Roman crossed his arms over his chest, and Virgil sat up to lean over him. He nearly opted to retort and deny the offer more snarkily than last time's failed attempt, but...

Roman's eyes. He'd never been close enough and calm enough simultaneously to really look at them; they were a deep melted milk chocolate brown, and held nearly imperceptible flecks of shining red. Virgil's eyebrows knit together, and he leaned closer to look into Roman's eyes more properly.

He didn't realize what he'd done until he'd started to reach down, almost putting his hand on Roman's cheek, and Roman made a small squealing noise to go with his completely tomatoed face. Virgil gasped slightly louder than he'd meant to and immediately recoiled.

"Shit, sorry, I just..." he considered shutting his ridiculous mouth and trying to move on, but he figured he couldn't leave that one without some kind of excuse. "I just haven't really looked at your eyes before. Not like, really, I mean. They're... nice. I like the little red bits." His voice grew much quieter as he spoke. He was facing away from Roman, and thank god, because if Roman could see his face he'd see peach-colored cheeks and a childish smile. And how very uncharacteristic of Virgil that would be.

"Thanks," Roman finally managed to huff. He stood slowly, trying to gather himself, and walked over to his desk, grabbing his car keys. He jangled them in his fingers, raising his eyebrows and silently asking Virgil if he'd take him up on the ride offer. Virgil, who had barely managed to discipline his face before Roman turned to him, just smiled very slightly and nodded.

Virgil grabbed his backpack, and Roman led the way from his room and out the front door to his ridiculous shiny-red mustang, which happened to have white racer stripes. Virgil thought this was pretty funny, but kept a sarcastic tease to himself for once in his life.

Virgil texted Roman his address from the passenger seat. While the bus ride to Virgil's house from Roman's was about 20-30 minutes, the car ride was less than 10. Roman considered putting on some music, but decided against it, considering what happened the last time they were alone with just music and each other. What the heckity heck is happening here? When I imagine... love... this is what comes to mind. He cringed at himself, surprised and disgusted that he was admitting that. This doesn't feel the same as it does with Logan though... so then, maybe I truly love Logan, and Virgil just inexplicably makes my heart flutter? Of course, the only other possibility is so much worse-

Roman's thoughts were interrupted by Virgil shouting "RED LIGHT!!!" very suddenly, and Roman slammed the breaks.

"Jesus Princey, are you trying to kill me!? Is that why you were so hell-bent on driving me home??" Virgil's voice was mostly panic, but laced with some half-hearted sarcasm. He clearly had more panic and less sarcasm in it than he'd meant to. He was holding onto his seat and the door beside him for dear life, looking at Roman with wide eyes, his chest heaving comically. Roman was too dazed to laugh.

"Shit, I'm sorry," He looked up at the street light, which was in fact red. "I got lost in thought for a minute. I won't let it happen again while I'm responsible for you. My deepest apologies." Roman would have normally faux bowed and reached out for Virgil's hand to kiss his knuckles, but unfortunately Virgil was making him feel... well, bitterly jittery and not very glittery. Or maybe, too glittery. He didn't know anymore; all he knew is he had to leave his thoughts for when he got Virgil and then himself home safe.

"Lost in thought?" Virgil let that little comment slip sooner than he could corral himself, and almost brought his hand to cover his mouth, but far too late. Roman just looked at him anxiously, sighing.

"Yeah. I guess so." Roman wasn't normally this dismissive, and Virgil knew far better at this point than to press.

Before they were even on Virgil's street, he broke their awkward silence with an extremely unexpected "thanks for driving me home, Ro. You didn't have to, and I really appreciate it."

Roman was shaken to the core, partially by Virgil's sincerity and partially by the nickname. "Oh, uh, well, no need to thank me now. I nearly killed you once, and you aren't safe and sound at your destination just yet." He smiled softly over at the taller emo. Virgil just returned the smile.

A few moments later came a quiet "really though." Virgil's capacity for sincerity wasn't very extensive, and if anyone knew that it was Roman. He felt a blush creeping up his neck, and couldn't think of a good response.

Finally Roman turned onto Virgil's street, adhering to the 10 mph speed limit. He cruised to a stop in front of... what was apparently Virgil's house.

It wasn't what Roman was expecting at all. Not that his... notion, that Virgil's house looked something like Gru's house from Despicable Me, was something he thought was realistic. He just hadn't known how else to imagine it. Instead of anything close to dark and sinister, the outer walls were made of some gentle tan planks all stacked horizontally. There was a light turquoise front door with a rounded top, and to its left a large window covered most of the street-facing wall. In the window, Roman could see a round inviting table with a mother, a father and a young boy sharing dinner, all smiling and seemingly caught up in their nightly banter. They were all laughing and seemed so... happy. The house itself seemed to emanate a calm happiness.

"Is this...?" Roman gestured vaguely toward the house with the address Virgil had given him.

"Yep. There's my parents, and my brother. I guess I just missed the start of dinner." Virgil reached down between his ankles to grab his bag.

"Talk about clashing aesthetics." Roman smiled mischievously at Virgil, hoping to lighten the mood without sounding like a complete jerk, at least.

Virgil caught onto this, looking over and offering him a breathy laugh. "I know. It's almost a crime for me to live here."

Roman giggled, and they found themselves stuck looking into each other's eyes once again.

"W-well, I'd better-" Virgil turned and made to open his door, but something possessed Roman to lean over to Virgil and grab his shirt, accidentally pulling him far too close to his face. They both yelped simultaneously at the close proximity, and Virgil leapt back as far as his seat would allow him, grabbing it similarly to how he'd done when Roman had nearly driven through the red light earlier.

Virgil almost said something, but some noise outside stopped him. He turned to seek its source, giving Roman a view past him as well.

"Virgil, honey, is that you?" his mom called from the doorstep. She held Atticus on her hip, and Virgil's dad towered behind them in the doorway. all of them were waving. Virgil waved back deftly, and opened the car door. He turned to Roman once again, who looked as though someone had just stomped on his heart and twisted their foot viciously.

Virgil couldn't bring himself to smile at him, but offered instead something he hoped sounded kind. "See you in class tomorrow. And... thanks again for the ride."

With that, Virgil got out and shut the door behind him, and Roman watched as he reunited with his picture perfect family, unable to move for some god forsaken reason.

"Is that one of your friends from that biology project, Virgil? He's so cute!" Roman could hear Virgil's mom squeal at her approaching son.

"Mom, leave it be, will you? he's-" Virgil's voice was cut off as their front door was shut. Roman eventually managed to take a single deep breath.

He twisted in his seat to face forward again, gripping the steering wheel with whitening knuckles and staring blankly at the mustang logo in the wheel's center. What. Was. That.

...

Roman's ride home was fast. At least, it felt much faster than the ride to Virgil's house. He didn't come close to running any more red lights, and before he knew it he was twisting the keys out of the ignition and then stepping through his front door.

He couldn't shake the daze that was clouding all of his senses. He wasn't intercepted by either of his parents on his route from the front door to his bedroom, so there was nothing to distract him from his... distractedness. He flopped onto his bed, laying on his back the same way he'd done less than half an hour ago when Virgil had almost...

That's when the haziness suddenly sped up, and the fog in Roman's brain rapidly became a hurricane. He was so confused by his own feelings that he had to squeeze his eyes shut to will away a sob. He didn't know what he was doing anymore. He pushed the palms of his hands against his closed eyelids, trying to distract himself with the aching pain and sparkling stars they brought to his eyes.

Meanwhile, Virgil had eaten dinner, thankfully and willingly accepting the pleasant distraction of his family's company. His mom was an excellent cook, and Atticus was extra animated about the stories of his adventures at school that day. He and his best friend had apparently played by the creek during recess, and found a tadpole to poke and prod. Virgil found his brother very endearing when he told his stories.

However, as all things are, his distraction was only temporary. Soon he found himself having finished the washing up after dinner and slowly trudging his way up the stairs to his room. The moment he shut his door behind him, all of the feelings that had been kept down since he'd gotten out of Roman's car crashed into him like a 20 foot wave. He leaned back against the shut door, sinking down to sit on the floor and hold his knees.

Roman and Virgil, clueless of each other, had the exact same thought at the exact same time.

Fuck. Why do I feel this way?

#ts patton #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #ts roman #ts virgil #ts logan #virgil sanders #prinxiety #virgil x roman #patton x logan #logicality #sanders sides #thomas sanders #sanders sides fanfiction #slow burn #high school au

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happyandticklish · 3 years

Text

Remnants of Humanity

Notes: Read through Ender’s Game recently, and holy fuck is that book ever taking over my life. Decided to write something for it because the characters were so great and deserve to have some tk content for them!

Summary: Valentine remembers something from Ender’s past and shows him just how much humanity he still has left.

Ender’s legs dangled off the precipice of the dock, the edges of his toes flirting with the water. It wasn’t the same as Earth, but it was such a close approximation that his chest throbbed with long forgotten memories. He had been here for three years now, slowly cultivating the planet into something livable. Shakespeare had soon grown to be a land quite like any other, with people who fought and laughed and died all the same as they had on Earth. There were a few key differences, of course. Here there was no Peter. Here he wasn’t responsible for the death of an entire species. Here he didn’t have to be a killer.

He had come to the lake on a whim, on the way back from a walk with Valentine. He had explained that he only needed to check up on something back at the base, but they both knew that was bullshit.

In all fairness, it did take her quite a bit of time to finally track him down. By the time she had, he had almost lulled himself into a vague imitation of sleep. Not completely. Never completely. Still, she did manage to startle him when she called out, “So this is where you’ve been going.”

Ender cursed his jump. He hadn’t realized the effect peace would have on him and he wasn’t sure if he liked it. Before, sneaking up on him would have been a laughable concept; now it was a common reality.

“I like it here,” he answered as she sat beside him. Her feet couldn’t reach the water. There had been a time, long ago, when she had towered over him. Not anymore.

“Because it reminds you of Earth?”

Her voice was gentle, familiar. He didn’t answer; he didn’t need to. Valentine often knew his thoughts before he even knew them himself.

Instead, he said, “Do you think I can ever get it back?”

“Get what back?”

“Childhood.” He was fourteen now and already mostly an adult. He hadn’t been a child since he was three. “Getting to be a real person instead of a commander. Playing games and worrying about school, eating an entire cake and then throwing up afterwards. Do you think I could be like them?” He pointed across the lake, to a group of children who laughed and stumbled through the grass, pushing each other out of the way as they raced after some object.

Valentine watched them too and, like he knew she would, shook her head. “No. Childhood is a concept we were never allowed to believe. Once you learn what it’s like to be an adult you can never go back.”

Ender nodded. He had always known that, but it made him feel better to hear the words out of her mouth. He glanced back over the lake and the two fell back into an almost peaceful silence.

Valentine examined him. He had grown so much since that day eight years ago when Graff had first shown up on their doorstep. His arms and legs were gangly and long with corded muscle, and the bulk of his chest was evident underneath his shirt. Even his hair, which back then had been overgrown with soft curls, was now cut back into a neat shave. Technically speaking, he could have grown it out long if he wanted to, but Ender had confessed that he liked having it out of the way; it was a constant that he could always rely on.

Of all the changes, the most apparent was in his face. His eyes were no longer wide with childlike wonder. Now they held all the pain of the universe in them, pain he had caused, pain he had felt, pain he had fought to prevent. There was a profound sadness reflected in it, but it was sadness he had already felt long ago and accepted. Now it lived with him, a reminder of everything he had been forced to become. There were no words she could say that would change that.

She reached out and placed a hand on his knee as well, a simple fragment of human touch to remind him that he was still just that—human. He didn’t move away or even show that he acknowledged her touch, and she took that as a sign of acceptance. She could feel the muscle and bone underneath her fingertips, all the different parts that made up the enigma that was Ender.

She was reminded then of a moment long ago, of a different lake and a different Ender, of her hand on his same knee. It had been so long since then, that she wasn’t sure if he even remembered. It was that memory that prompted her to do what she did next, hoping against everything that it would work this time.

Suddenly and without warning she squeezed her hand right above the bone of his knee. Last time she had done this Ender had caught her. This time he jumped, his leg jerking in her grasp.

His head snapped to look at her, their eyes locking for several, tense seconds. Then he glanced away and coughed, staring at the water. “Oh. Right. I almost forgot I was ticklish.”

Ender Wiggin, the war hero, ticklish. The idea was ridiculous even as she thought it. Who would believe her if she told them? Who would be brave enough to try?

Watching him to make sure it was okay, Valentine squeezed once more. Ender jumped again, seemingly unable to prevent his reactions. A smile slowly, unwillingly crept onto his features. He still wasn’t stopping her.

“I won’t, if you don’t want me to,” she assured him, giving him an out, as well as an oppurtunity he hadn’t been given since he was still living at home; an oppurtunity to be vulnerable once more.

When he didn’t say anything she started to take her hand away, disappointed. The second her hand left his knee, however, he reached out suddenly and grasped her wrist, placing it back where it had been. He wouldn’t meet her eyes and he continued not to speak, but she could read the answers in his face. He needed this; that much was obvious.

He let go of her hand after a moment, after he could see that she had understood his unspoken wishes, and waited for the inevitable. One squeeze. Two. A smile, wobbling. Three. A muffled noise that almost resembled laughter, not that anybody would be so bold to assume so. Four. Then she moved her fingers up slightly, using her thumb and forefinger to dig into the sensitive bundle of nerves contained there.

Ender snorted. They both paused at the noise, shocked by the sound of Ender Wiggin laughing. The sound was stilted and awkward, unaccustomed to being in use, but the potential was there. It was in that moment that Valentine made up her mind to make up for lost time, and dug in with real vigor this time.

Both hands now, both knees, and endless squeezes and pinches that had Ender nearly flying off the dock. All manner of noises escaped him now, chuckles and squeaks and snorts from before, each one adding an extra year onto her life. The sound of his laughter, loud and carefree, quickly became addicting. She discovered that spidering her nails over his kneecaps caused him to giggle, something she had never known before because Ender had never opted to stay still for this long. Even now, his legs shook and jittered underneath her touch, his body’s attempt to save himself from the sensation.

“W-Wahahait!” he cried when she went for his torso, hands colliding with his sides. She knew he didn’t mean it, otherwise he would be stopping her right now. Ender didn’t let anyone do anything to him that he didn’t want. It was almost a reassuring quality about him, something she could always count on. She climbed her fingers up his sides, smiling at the way he crumpled underneath her.

“I can’t believe you’re still this ticklish,” she commented, feeling brave. There was always a moment of hesitation now when she talked with him, where she couldn’t be sure if she was speaking with her brother or to the commander of the IF fleet. There was no question in that moment, however, about who Ender was. “I thought all that soldier training might have made you immune.”

Ender fall back against the dock, a victim to her playful assault. “Wehehe w-weheheren’t trahahained agahahahahainst t-tihihickling!” His legs curled up defensively, but his arms flailed about wildly in the air as he struggled to keep himself from stopping her.

“A shame. Could you imagine if the enemy got ahold of this information?” Valentine teased, poking his stomach relentlessly. Ender squeaked, both hands shooting down before coming back up to cover his face. “You would be doomed for sure.”

“I-I wohohould nehever l-lehet thehem get that clohohose!” Ender insisted, grinning underneath his hands.

“And if they did?” She squeezed his hip, chuckling at his resulting spasm. “What would you do then? What brilliant counter-strategy would you employ, oh great war hero?”

Ender’s hands came down to grab her wrists, the flood of ticklish sensations too much for him to bear. “I-I wohould launch a cohounterattack!”

She furrowed her eyebrows, trying to grab her hands back. “What do you mean—ahaha, Ender, nohoho!”

Valentine squealed as Ender’s hands flew in devious patterns all over her torso, squeezing her hips and sides and vibrating fingers into her ribs. It had been too long to since she too had experienced such a simple thing as tickling, aside from the teasing poke from Peter on occasion. It certainly wasn’t the same as this. She found that she was far more sensitive than she remembered, and instantly collapsed on the ground, weakly batting away his hands.

“W-Wahahait, thihihis ihihihisn’t fahahahair!” she insisted, bursting into giggles as Ender scribbled fingers all over her stomach. “Y-Yohohou weheheren’t suhuhupossed to fight back!”

“Always expect the unexpected,” he reminded her, a smirk playing at his lips that spoke of his victory, and she quickly dissolved into laughter and squirming once more.

It was nearing late evening by the time the two finally backed off of each other; though Ender had eventually let her go, she had turned it quickly back on him and the night had become a series of quick pokes and teasing jabs. They lay side-by-side on the dock afterwards, watching as the sky glittered with the approach of stars. Night on Shakespeare had been strange at first, as the star patterns here were completely different from Earth. Ender had created his own constellations for them in his mind. He never wrote them down or told anyone, leaving them as one of the few leftover things he kept for himself.

“Thank you,” he said after a beat of silence. “I think I needed that more than I knew.”

He felt a hand on his shoulder and glanced over to see Valentine smiling at him. “Anytime. It’s nice to see you laugh after…”

She didn’t finish, but the rest of the sentence was implied. After everything that happened to you. Ender was grateful too. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift off to sleep in the presence of another person for the first time in almost three years.

#enders games #ender's game #ender wiggin #valentine wiggin #tickling #fanfic #fanfiction #tickle fic

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hermannsthumb · 4 years

Note

"newt isn’t sleazy and is also too busy wrestling with the ethics of hitting on his hot TA if the guy is 5 months older than him to even notice" pleeeease write this

Anonymous asked: "When I Kissed the Teacher" AU ft professor newt and his hot 5-month-older TA hermann

and coincidentally, this older one

Anonymous asked: i just rewatched mamma mia 2 and was wondering if i could request a "when i kissed the teacher" newmann fic?? love your writing!!!!!!

Ask And Ye Shall Receive. sorry ive been MIA 😔 concept from this post I made earlier this month. idk what class newt teaches that hermann would be qualified to TA for but just like, decide for yourselves

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

Newt’s never been a list-making kind of guy, or--for that matter--even really a planning ahead kind of guy, but certain circumstances have thrown his life more out of wack than usual lately, and he kind of needs the stability the like of things like lists offer. Desperate times and everything. Or, at the very least, Newt is desperate.

So Newt plans, and plots, and deliberates, and he even agonizes a little, but most of all, he makes a list.

On one half of the page, he writes pros. On the other, he writes cons. On top, he writes--what else?--Hermann.

The problem started in late August. Newt knew for months he was going to be assigned a teaching assistant come that semester--it was him, after all, who’d suggested it to the dean in the first place--but the Hermann Gottlieb of extensive, impressive, overachieving CV and overly-former cover letter was a far cry from Hermann Gottlieb in the flesh. Newt expected a dork, frankly. Someone too socially awkward to feel brave enough to thank someone for holding a door open for him. He expected a PhD student so eager to please he’d cater to Newt’s every whim, whether it was grading horrendous freshman lab reports or fetching him a sandwich from the commissary between class sections.

They met for the first time at the campus coffee shop. Hermann was dressed in an oversized pair of slacks, a threadbare green sweatervest, and honest-to-God saddle shoes; the buttons of his Oxford were done up all the way, from the collar to the cuffs, and an ornate cane was settled against his thigh. His haircut was tragic. “Dr. Geiszler,” he said, all clipped and English, and held his hand out to Newt. “Hermann Gottlieb. It is a great pleasure to meet you. I’m an admirer of your work.”

"Sup,” Newt said, and tried to bump their fists together.

Newt knew he was in deep shit then. It wasn’t just because Hermann was gorgeous (which he was, in a sort of weird, frumpy, ripped-outta-1945 way), or that the scowl he proceeded to level Newt with made his soul wither and his heart race a little bit too fast, but both of those things in conjunction with a big one: Newt was, and is, so fucking love-starved. It’s an unfortunate byproduct of being made a professor when he was as young as he was and completing a PhD before he completed puberty. His early twenties should’ve been spent dyeing his hair terrible colors and adding to his already impressive tattoo collection and having questionable hookups with other young twentysomethings; unfortunately, the only young twentysomethings Newt ever seems to come across are his students, and he has a very strict code of ethics. Not to mention it wasn’t like he was getting any action before that as a weird, gangly teenager with peers several years his senior. He was bound to latch onto the first genius hottie who crossed his path who wasn’t trying to flirt their way into bumping that B- to a B+. And better yet, Hermann is five whole months his senior!

The shit only got deeper when the semester started. No, Hermann was not the sort to fetch Newt sandwiches, or coffee, or Aspirin from his office, nor was he the sort to handle the dreaded lab reports (at least not unless Newt handled them with him), and he definitely wasn’t eager to please. Newt, anyway. If anything the opposite was true: he seemed to actively derive enjoyment from undermining Newt at every turn.

“Wrong,” he’d mutter during class if Newt screwed something up in a lecture, or “No, Geiszler, you’re doing it wrong again,” or “How in the blazes did you get three bloody PhDs when you can’t even do simple addition?” and snatch Newt’s dry erase marker away to scrawl his own answers on the whiteboard. It was less like having a TA and more like having...well, a bitchy, annoying co-teacher. Or, God help Newt, a colleague. And boy, did he wave those five months over Newt’s head like a fucking flag. Newt was immature; inexperienced; clearly not as serious about his studies--his completed studies--as Hermann. Meanwhile Newt’s class (bright young twenty somethings, taller than Newt, cooler than Newt, with more friends than Newt) would giggle and snicker, and Hermann would look smug.

It drove Newt fucking batty.

It also made him, like, super turned on.

The two can co-exist. Apparently. Hermann Gottlieb is already helping Newt discover new and existing concepts; what a fucking excellent TA he is. Someone give that man a raise.

So Newt draws up a list, and he writes Pros, and he writes Cons, and he writes Hermann. The pros are regrettably easy to come up with, because Hermann is Hermann, and (bitchiness and undermining of Newt aside) it’s unfair how many he has. Hot. Stupid sexy accent. Stupidly smart. This is crossed out and replaced with so smart he makes me feel stupid (in a good way), because it seems like an important distinction. Glasses on chain. Mysterious. (In a tall, dark, and handsome way. Sort of. Average height--which is tall to Newt, pale, and handsome. He still scowls more than he talks, which makes him feel mysterious. In a Bronte sort of way. Newt can picture Hermann drawing a billowing cloak around his shoulders and stalking some desolate moor in the moonlight, though in this case maybe’s more of a puffy parka than a cloak.) In tiniest font of all is makes me laugh, because Hermann does, goddamn it, with his snide asides and cutting remarks and sarcasm, often not even directed at Newt when it’s just the two of them alone in Newt’s office at night.

The placement of “is my TA” on the chart is acting as a particular annoyance to Newt, entirely on account of the fact that he can think of several pros and cons for that as well, and he’s not sure whether to nestle it between dark eyelashes and once called me a moron in front of my class and I got a hard-on or beneath sweaters smell like sweat and mothballs, has annoying tic of clearing throat when lost in thought, and the dick wins 86% of our arguments. Sexy forbidden fling. Abuse of power. Is older than me so it's not as weird as it could be? I’m his boss. The school’s paying Hermann though, not Newt, and it’s not like he’s going to scurry off to the dean and demand Hermann’s funding slashed if Hermann turns him down (which he’d most likely do). But it still feels like a breach of ethics.

On the other hand, Hermann is exactly the sort of guy he’d try to pick up at a bar if he still did things like that. (Tenure, rather than giving Newt breathing space to kick back and relax a little, has only increased his obsession with his work, and now when he gets a Friday night free to himself he mostly switches crap on the TV and falls asleep with his cat on the couch.) It’s about the experience, the impossible task of seducing someone who--by all accounts--is too straight-laced and tight-buttoned to indulge in something that debase. They were always the best in bed. Tension, Newt knows, has to snap at some point.

He’d like to wrap Hermann’s personal piano wire around his thumb and bang away at the keys until it snaps, too. Ethics, Newt thinks (folding up the list and stuffing it out of sight), his ass.

Newt sacrifices a Friday night with his cat and Unsolved Mysteries in favor of working on a solution to his Hermann Problem. Swamped with work, he tells Hermann over the phone, it fucking sucks, dude, I could really use your help in my office, and Hermann grumbles, and snaps that Newt should learn to be better prepared for his own damn classes, but declares he’ll be on campus in half an hour and that Newt will be ordering him takeaway for dinner as an apology.

The door swings open at half past five. Hermann is bundled in that heavy parka and scarf (which, even for a Boston November, still looks a little too warm), and his hair is damp. “Is it raining?” Newt says, perhaps stupidly, because there’s not a single droplet of water anywhere else on Hermann’s body.

Hermann makes a face at him and pushes the door shut with his cane. “No,” he says, tersely.

“Then why...” Newt touches his own hair.

“I was taking a bloody bath,” Hermann snaps. “I don’t work on Fridays, as you well know, Newton.”

The use of his full first name stings Newt oddly even as the notion of Hermann luxuriating in a bathtub excites him. “That’s Dr. Geiszler,” Newt snaps back, because goddamn it, he’s Hermann’s boss, he deserves respect, and then mentally adds a small, depressing tally to the Cons half of the board. Ethics, ethics.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, Dr. Geiszler,” Hermann says. He throws his scarf and coat viciously at the small couch in the corner of Newt’s office, then takes his usual seat across from Newt. “Well? Where are those papers it’s so crucial we grade?”

Hermann in a bathtub, Newt thinks. Hermann naked. Papers, Newt thinks. “Papers,” Newt says, and he shoves a stack at Hermann with twice as much force as he means to, causing several to flutter to the ground. “We need...to grade them,” he says. Hermann naked, in a bathtub, maybe some candles lit around him, some nice music on, daydreaming about that wretched professor he works for. Damn it. “I have a pen,” he says. “To grade.”

“What on earth are you saying?” Hermann says. “Be quiet. I can’t concentrate with your abominable prattling on.” Then he mumbles something that sounds like incessant, rips the top paper off the stack, and begins to slash at it in red ink. He doesn’t bother gathering the two from the ground.

Why did Newt invite him here, again?

Oh, right. He pushes his glasses up his nose and feigns casualness, pulling out another paper for himself to grade. “A bath,” he says. “Just to, uh, relax? Or...?”

Hermann narrows his eyes. “Or?”

Newt shrugs. “It’s Friday. Were you getting ready for a date or something?”

This time, Hermann’s mouth twists down into a frown. Almost suspicious. “Why do you care?” he says.

“I don’t,” Newt says quickly. “Just making small talk.” God, he could picture some stud of a computer science PhD candidate winning Hermann over with techno babble--or maybe one of his fellow students, ugh, maybe they made a study group together that meets Friday nights, and Hermann was getting all gussied up, goddamn handsome astrophysics grad students--

“I was relaxing,” Hermann says. “You must be aware at this point you cause me a great deal of stress, Dr. Geiszler, on a daily basis.”

“Oh,” Newt says.

He gives up on the small talk after that. Hermann’s promised takeout arrives--a small carton of pad thai--as does Newt’s--a large carton of the spiciest thing they had on the menu--and they eat in silence. They have about three-quarters of the papers to go when Hermann suddenly sits back in his seat with a groan and rubs at his eyes under his granny glasses. “Bugger,” he says. “I can’t fathom this one for the life of me. I’m too tired.”

“It’s getting kinda late,” Newt agrees. “Maybe we should--”

“It’s not that,” Hermann says. “I had a glass of wine earlier, and--oh, it doesn’t matter. Your students need to learn how to write in a way that’s actually bloody legible--it’s like chicken scratch.”

Newt hops up and leans over his shoulder, squinting down at the page. Hermann’s hair smells nice, like something floral, and his skin has a small hint of what could almost be cologne. Why is Hermann wearing cologne? “Okay, let me see it,” Newt says, struggling to keep from getting lightheaded at the close proximity to Hermann. “I’m used to that kind of shit.”

“No,” Hermann says, drawing the paper close to his chest. “I am perfectly capable of managing it on my own.”

“Dude,” Newt says, “let me look at it, seriously. Hermann--”

He manages to tug it away from him. The handwriting is pretty bad, but the math seems to be worse. “Didn’t they do the readings?” Newt mutters under his breath. “That’s not even the right equation for the diameter. I gave them a cheat sheet, man.” They’re junior year engineering students--they should know this shit.

“I know what the equation is,” Hermann snaps. “I can grade it on my own. Give it back.”

“I didn’t say you didn’t know,” Newt says, “I said this kid--”

“It’s the radius squared--”

“Hermann, dude,” Newt says, “I know you’re--”

And that’s when Hermann grabs him by his skinny tie and kisses him, hard.

They stare at each other afterwards. Hermann’s eyes are as wide as saucers; his mouth is hanging open. Newt’s tie slips from his fingers, which then fall limp to his lap. “Holy shit,” Newt squeaks.

Hermann is gone with a swish of his parka and a loud clack of his cane. And with a stack of papers Newt still has to somehow get through. Figures.

Their next few classes together are subdued. Hermann doesn’t interject any of his biting commentary or corrections, or even offer critiques of Newt’s lack of professionalism (when in the past his skinny jeans were such an easy target), and when the period is over, he practically sprints from the classroom before he and Newt can be alone together for even a second. It’s fine by Newt. Whatever. Maybe Hermann can get over it over Thanksgiving break, and Newt can try to get over the memory of Hermann’s strong fingers tugging him down, Hermann’s floral shampoo, Hermann’s chapped, wide lips against his, the little grunt of shock Hermann made as he did it, like he couldn’t believe his own audacity...

It’s not likely.

It’s December, the last week before finals, and Newt’s in his office bundled up in a sweatshirt (because the heat never seems to fucking work in here), revising a draft of an exam, and dreading the thought of trudging home in the snow, when there’s suddenly a knock at his door. Anticipating some overeager freshman here outside of office hours, he doesn’t look up as he says “Come in.”

A familiar clearing of a throat.

Newt shoots straight up to his feet. He knocks a mug of coffee to the floor in the process. “Hermann,” he says. “Uh. Hi. What--what are you doing here?”

Hermann shuts the door behind him, then takes a careful step forward. He’s back in his big dumb coat and big long scarf. “I thought I ought to tell you myself first,” he says, primly. “I’ve submitted a request to the dean to be reassigned to another professor next semester. Our research interests are far more in line, and I don’t imagine our personalities shall clash as much.”

“Oh,” Newt says, pretending his heart isn't sinking in his chest like a hunk of lead. Was he that bad of a kisser? He feels like he deserves a second shot at it--he wasn’t ready last time, you know, he bets he’d really wow Hermann if he had a fair heads up. “Are.. are those the only reasons why?”

“No,” Hermann admits. “They’re not.”

He crosses the room, and corners Newt against his desk before Newt even realizes what’s happening. “They’re not,” he says again, then adds in a murmur (lifting one hand to brush his fingers against Newt’s hair), “Dr. Geiszler.”

Neither of them talk much, after that.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #thxstral

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jjk-biased · 4 years

Text

kim taehyung x reader

genre: angst, hanahaki disease au

words: 1.8k words of bigger sad than belle vie. enjoy!

warnings: mentions of sickness, a few hinting at blood, character death

synopsis: taehyung has always been your red carnation, your one true love but he never viewed you the same way.

a/n: *this fic is part of the special prompts for my milestone event. had fun writing this one (yes i’m happier when i write angsts lmfao) hope you guys enjoy!! was listening to how can i love the heartbreak, you’re the one i love by akmu while writing!!

masterlist | events masterlist

Ever since, Taehyung never understood why people value flowers so much. They were simply budding pinks and yellows, violets and whites, and other plethora of colors that sprouted from the soils. They were meaningless tokens that were impermanent, that would soon wither, and would soon return back to the soils from which they came from.

While he wasn’t onboard with the masses’ opinion on these flowers, he really didn’t exactly hate it. Often would he receive a bouquet in his locker from one of those girls that deemed themselves his fans. He wouldn’t mind receiving such, but he’d never really see himself wasting as much money as the girls did for a measly flower with a lifespan shorter than his friend’s height.

You, on the other hand, were much more knowledgeable on botany. You were a natural and would be able to identify flowers, their meanings, and even their significance.

You and him were nothing alike, yet you found solace in each others’ presence. Taehyung stuck with you and only you, finding comfort in the fact that you weren’t like the girls in your school - that you weren’t a girl who’d fling herself at him.

Your fate was sealed as his best friend.

As much as you loved your flowers, you always voiced the opposite. Taehyung never understood why you’d go on and on about how much you hated carnations when you did in fact love such once you received one from him. He never got to ask why you’d act like they were the bane of your existence when you two hang out in school.

He never understood you as much as he never understood flowers.

You hated them. Every speck of vibrance, every bundle of red, every petal that made one a whole.

You hated flowers.

They were too romanticized, too overpriced, too overhyped. People associated so much meaning to something so impermanent. Heck, people themselves grow too attached to these easily-withering measly things.

You hated them so much. How each took its time to grow in beauty, how each carried a specific symbol, how each added a little bit more of color to the room.

You hated how much they reminded you of him.

Every blossom you’d see on the road would always lead your mind back to Taehyung. He was like a song that would always be on repeat- always in the back of your mind. You didn’t want him in your head yet he was annoyingly unforgettable.

You hated how much flowers symbolized you and your growing love for your best friend.

Strikingly similar to that of a growing bud, the florescence of your feelings for said best friend alarmed you greatly. While it did take its painstakingly long time to develop, somehow you didn’t even notice it, your feelings towards Kim Taehyung blossomed into love.

Love. Fucking love. Why love of all things?

Why your best friend?

The idiot was an airhead at heart who took things too lightly. Kim Taehyung was always indifferent to everything that occurred in life. So why him? The Kim Taehyung who never knew what flowers meant. The Kim Taehyung who always received bouquets and baskets of expensive reds. The Kim Taehyung who only confided in with you.

Why him?

Why did it have to be the airhead you grew up with? Why did it have to be with the sole being that knew you did in fact love carnations?

You didn’t know.

But one thing was clear.

You hated flowers so much.

“I don’t get why you try to deny your love for them, sunflower,” Taehyung snorted as you two gazed at yet another basket given to him. This time it was roses- I love you.

“I don’t love them. I hate them,” You grumbled, yet ever so gentle when you handled the abomination on Taehyung’s desk.

Taehyung only hummed to disagree, observing the way you handled the expensive bunch given to him by some seniors he didn’t bother to know. He spotted a small bouquet of carnations beside the rose basket.

Carnations. Didn’t you like them the most?

“Sunflower, look! Aren’t these your favorite?” He grinned, the smile on his face seeming more coy than it looks.

“Don’t call me that and carnations? I hate them the most,” Your eyes twitched as you reached for the bundle.

Taehyung noted the way you’ve become much more gentle as you held the bouquet. He chuckled. You seemed like a tsundere even if it’s towards flowers.

“What do they mean?”

“A lot of things, mostly connected to love. Fascination. Admiration. Rejection. Innocence,” You listed all that came to mind.

All except one - they remind me of you.

For someone who claimed to hate carnations so much, you sure have a lot of knowledge about it. Taehyung didn’t point it out though, he kept that thought to himself.

Yet again, as you two look over the gifts that Taehyung’s fans gave him, you are reminded of your predicament. Your fate was sealed as his best friend. Really, can you blame anyone?

You never acted on your small crush for Taehyung because you were too scared to do something; that if you took it a step further, the bond you two had would disappear, break, and wilt.

Once again, you are reminded of flowers. Maybe everything in your life was like flowers. Your best friend were carnations, your love was a rose, your friendship was lilies. While all did bring beauty to your life, they were still impermanent. Soon they will wither and die. Soon they will leave you.

You hated flowers so much. And that hatred grew the day Kim Taehyung asked you for advice.

“What should I buy if I wanted to court someone?”

That phrase was on repeat in your head like a broken record. Over and over again, all you could hear was him consulting you on what to give someone he liked. Someone he liked that definitely wasn’t you.

Ironically enough, you blurted out carnations - red carnations for admiration and white carnations for pure love. It was an answer given on a whim because you were too shocked to comprehend that Taehyung is pursuing someone else.

You hated flowers but you hated yourself so much more. You shouldn’t have given him that answer because soon, he’ll gift whoever this lucky person was with carnations - your favorite flower.

It hurt so much to think that your carnation liked someone else.

It hurt so much that flowers began to bloom in your lungs.

Hanahaki, they said. A phenomenon in which a victim of unrequited love vomits petals and flowers from a blooming plant in their lungs. Soon said flowers would fill your lungs, ensuring an impending death.

How cruel life was. Your fate was sealed as his best friend. Only his best friend.

Despite the inevitable death promised by the damn disease, you told no one. Not even your carnation, the love of your life, and your best friend. God.. If Taehyung found out, you were sure you’d rather choose death than his rejection. So instead, you silently wished he would notice your turmoil. That he would miraculously choose you over his current fling.

You guess it never happened. Never had, never will.

The red-painted petals that covered your bathroom weren’t recognizable at first. You’d only cough out reds and whites and pinks and yellows, but you haven’t been able to discern which exact flower bloomed in your lungs.

That is until one day, when Taehyung relayed that he had been successful in his romantic pursuits. You blanched just as he finished his story. You can feel it coming out of you. So you rushed to the nearest bathroom and vomited out the damn bunch of petals.

Except it wasn’t a petal. It was a whole flower.

A yellow carnation. Disappointment. Rejection. “I don’t like you”

How ironic. The flowers that grew inside of you were your favorite. Another reminder that you’d never be able to experience being on the receiving end of Taehyung’s affections.

You hated flowers so much.

Since then, you began to distance from your best friend. As much as your love for him grew, said love was killing you. Sad to say, Taehyung never really noticed.

From a single flower vomit to ten to… you stopped counting. Red-smeared yellows covered your bathroom floor. You stopped caring about the mess. After all, since your fate had been sealed as Taehyung’s best friend, your life would soon wither. He wouldn’t notice anyway.

He never did.

Taehyung never got to hear from you again since the day he shared his success with his crush. It hurt, knowing that he lost his best friend in the process of pursuing the one he thought he loved. Three weeks, yes it took him three weeks, later, he decided to finally get his best friend back.

But he was too late.

He literally lost his best friend.

The day he visited you was the day you had your worst fit. You couldn’t breathe, you knew it was time. This is it. This is how everything will end. Another bunch of yellow carnation was coughed out. You couldn’t stop the tears. It hurt so much.

It hurt so much.

I’m sorry, Taehyung. I never got to say that I-

There he stood at the door of your bathroom, speechless to see that you’ve been suffering. Clumsy steps as he hurried towards you, he discarded everything in his hand to cradle your head on his lap.

You couldn’t make out what he was saying. Too hurt to comprehend anything but the burning sensation in your lungs. He couldn’t exactly give out straight sentences either, he was choked up to see you were dying.

You died that night, among the red-painted yellow carnations, on the lap of your best friend who never loved you back.

Taehyung was miserable. He never even got to say what he found out from his three weeks of lamenting. He finally figured out why that fling of his didn’t matter, why he was so much hung up on your sudden avoidance.

He finally realized that he liked you.

But as he cradled your unconscious, blood-covered, body, it was already too late.

His sunflower was slowly withering in front of him but he never noticed until it was too late.

Kim Taehyung was your carnation, your red and white, and while you thought he saw you as a measly yellow bud of carnations, you thought wrong.

The flower that Taehyung coughed out that night was enough proof.

Sunflower.

A sunflower covered with blood but still a sunflower nonetheless.

You were always his sunflower.

permanent taglist: @luvinseokjinnie @97faerie @amoreguk @bbyjoonies @borednia @tanumiki @taescake

#when flowers bloom #kim taehyung x reader #angst #kim taehyung #bts #hanahaki au #taehyung x reader #taehyung imagine #lin's special event #request #taehyung angst #hanahaki disease #bts angst #bts imagine #taehyung x gender neutral reader #male reader #female reader

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evansfm · 3 years

Text

she’d forgotten just how much she LOVED it : the deafening sound of a crowd to her right and a live band to her left . everything fell away the moment the house lights went dark and the stage lit up ; her view of the world was distorted through a camera lens , and her trigger finger was fast on the shutter button . she’d been told before , time and time again , that photography was something ANYONE could do . . . point , shoot , move on to the next . but years of experience taught her it was more than that . to be the best behind a camera , you had to know PEOPLE . . . you had to recognize minute moments of pure , unfiltered human emotion and grab them before they disappeared forever . and evan was the BEST with a camera in hand , something she was still trying to convince herself of .

self - doubt was buried deep when she was in the moment , though , focused on her surroundings . live music was the closest thing humanity had to MAGIC , she thought , the way it could bring strangers together in intimacy . . . the way it could make you feel like you were floating if only for a couple of hours . she did her best to translate that into her photographs , but the artists she worked with always made it EASY . they loved their work as much as the fans in the crowd did , and it was evident in the way she watched every musician she’d had the pleasure of working with pour everything into every performance . saint valentine was no different , no matter how BIG they’d gotten over the past several years .

and they were big . the o2 was the biggest venue evan had ever shot in , and though she’d been the only one backstage , it seemed she wasn’t the only one in the pit , trying to get that coveted money shot of nicky haven at the mic . he was notoriously UNFRIENDLY with cameras , never a fan of being in front of them or having them in his face while performing . it was precisely why evan arrived early that day , camera bag zipped up and tucked away . for the first few hours , she just hung out with the four of them , getting to know them and letting them get to know her . by the time they reconvened in a side room set up with evan’s photo gear , she knew to have nicky’s younger brother –– a roadie that tagged along on all of their tours –– nearby . she knew that their drummer –– with her long , black hair and dazzling smile –– was the only one who could get a laugh out of him . that he was a bit sweet on her . she knew that he looked at his band like family and that he hardly trusted anyone else .

so she cleared the room .

it was like that with all four of them ; she’d spent the morning getting to know them , the afternoon shooting what she now knew to be the cover for their next single , and the evening doing what she knew best . she carved out a space for herself in their lives , if only for the night , and made it so hardly anybody noticed when she lifted the camera to her eyes . backstage , then on stage , then in the crowd . photographing live music like riding a bike , because she never forgot how to do it , and she’d only gotten better as time went on . . . evident in the way they’d CHOSEN her to document their first ever sold out arena .

it was unlike anything she’d ever experienced from a creative point of view . occasionally she’d find herself at shows this big , mostly when she was younger –– beck had always been a big fan of mumford & sons , something evan still quietly carried with her . but back then she was one of thousands , a face in the crowd that kept watch on her brother , rarely so unabashedly joyful . being there on the job , though , was completely different . . . having the means to wander where she pleased , slipping effortlessly through an electric crowd , shooting from the shadows of a stage bigger than she imagined . it reminded her of why she picked up a camera in the first place , pausing magic moments in time and turning them into tangible things to be kept forever .

even more , though , it put her world –– her life in london –– into perspective . moving through concrete halls of the arena as it emptied , making her way backstage , she flipped through some of the raw images she’d gotten in the last couple of hours . her feet felt light , and her stomach was alight with fluttering from excitement . this was what she was BEST at . this was what made her heart feel full . the thought of her desk back at nme , the all-staff meetings and assignments with restrictions or specifications . . . it looked a lot more like what she was SUPPOSED to want . it was logical , working with the safety net of a publication . it felt like a step backwards , a step towards the life she was building in galway , before everything wonderful about manchester happened .

“ admit it , ” evan peeked up from her camera screen –– beaming –– to see all four members of saint valentine as they lingered outside of the packed green room . nicky had his arm flung around his younger brother , and a crooked smile pasted on his lips , “ that was unlike anything you’ve ever seen before , right ? ”

“ consider me minorly impressed , ” evan said , tucking her dslr back into her bag . her hands instinctively cradled the film camera around her neck .

“ more like majorly . ”

“ are all american musicians t’is sure of themselves ? ”

“ no , ” lindsey , their lead guitarist named after fleetwood mac’s very own –– and certainly living up to it –– ruffled his shaggy hair with a towel , “ nicholas here just has a massive ego to compensate for other shortcomings . ”

an unintelligible grumble sounded from the taller boy , lost in the scuffle of nicky trapping him in a headlock and dragging them into the green room . spencer , their bassist , now back in his wire-framed glasses groaned and followed the both of them , uttering weak words of protest . only izzy hung back , beautiful black hair damp from a hard night’s work and finally pulled back into a long ponytail . evan wondered a few times how she managed to keep her vision clear on stage . she flashed a dazzling smile after the three of them , then turned back to evan .

“ dudes , am i right ? ”

evan’s gaze shifted from her to trail after the three of them , jostling each other about as people began to swarm for congratulations . despite the lightness in her chest , there was something small missing . . . an ounce of longing gripping at her stomach –– she missed all four of them .

“ absolutely ridiculous , ” she laughed before her gaze shifted back to izzy , “ you , miss , could out-drum just about ANY of t’e musicians i’ve worked wit’ . absolutely killer . ”

“ don’t flirt with me when i have no chance , connely , ” deep brown eyes sparkled in jest as she added , “ i know kiv o’niell’s got first dibs . ” shared laughter filled the hallway , “ you coming in ? we’d love to have you . ”

“ um , ” evan turned once more , peering into a hectic , happy room . a smile settled on her lips , “ i’ve actually got plans , but tomorrow ! i’ll stick around after tomorrow . ”

izzy studied her for a moment , giving a slow nod and an understanding smile , “ he’s in boston , right ? ”

“ not yet , ” evan sighed , not bothering to ask how she knew . she was sure she’d slipped it into conversation at some point that day , “ toronto . t’ey play boston in a couple days . reckon i can catch him in between press rounds if i time it right . ”

“ well , go on . we’ll see you tomorrow . bring that magical little machine with you , too . ”

“ you got it , ” evan lifted two fingers to her temple in a small salute , not needing to be told twice . her feet were moving before she’d even finished .

maybe it was the confetti fluttering about in her stomach . maybe it was the realization that perhaps nme wasn’t the dream she thought it was . maybe it was the sight of three boys jostling each other around after a good show . her only instinct , her only real thought , was to call kieran . to tell him all about how she’d gotten an infamous trouble maker to open up , how her photographs would be used as cover art for a stand alone single , how nothing quite compared to being in the thick of a live show . . . and how 20,000 people with a band she didn’t truly know couldn’t hold a candle to THE FOUND in berlin . . . let alone the found later in their career . it could’ve been the endorphins , the adrenaline , but evan felt certain in what otherwise seemed like a whim : being confined to a desk wasn’t it for her . she didn’t know what came next . . . leaving nme or locking down her own studio or heading out on tour with another band , but she knew she wanted to tell him . she was happier than she’d been in WEEKS , and the only missing piece was kieran .

even if things hadn’t been picture perfect with them lately . distance was easy when they were just an easy drive away from each other , but with an ocean , a tour , and ever changing time zones working against them things had been . . . more difficult than what they were used to . evan tried to chalk it up to overthinking when she felt a hollowness in her chest after he missed a call . . . or worse , after her mentions flooded with a girl she wanted nothing to do with . she’d been familiar with the nastier side of the internet for a long time , if only because of her proximity to four boys rising to fame , but after she and kieran made it clear to EVERYONE that they were far more than friends , things had only gotten worse . it was easy to ignore before bex . easier to brush away as though it were nothing but a nameless , faceless few who put their opinion where it didn’t belong . but now , with evan in london and kieran ( and bex ) in the states . . . things were BRUTAL . especially as more and more usernames tied to the found’s opening act wandered into her tags or her mentions . she’d kept it to herself , for the most part , knowing that he couldn’t really do anything to change it . . . but it wasn’t like bex , herself , was helping . she couldn’t help the occasional curiosity that came when she couldn’t sleep , only to find a clip from bex’s story , fawning over kieran the way she had shamelessly back in manchester as evan was standing right there .

she learned quickly to monitor her time on social media ; these days she mostly only used it when work required it of her . the last thing she needed was an array of new tagged posts on instagram , all having nothing to do with her and everything to do with her boyfriend . she’d known for some time about the rumors , and since stumbling across them she’d tried her best to tune them out . it did nothing to soothe the things she’d been actively working to unlearn over the last several months . the things her father , who left his entire family for another one , left behind . the things a boy , who she’d thought would be her first love despite his constant need to make her feel inadequate , left behind . kieran walsh was everything those men could never be . . . but it was easy to let the mind run wild when he was thousands of miles away .

even with the recent distance –– with the missed calls and miscommunications –– she still ached with missing him . she still wanted nothing more than to tell him about the night she’d just had , the one he’d been SO SURE would go well . she wanted to tell him that he was right . . . and that maybe she’d leave her desk behind to start something new . so she moved quickly from the empty bowels of the arena to the crowded lobby areas , smiling at but aptly dodging anyone who recognized her by CHANCE , kieran walsh’s girlfriend . she poured out into the parking lot with the rest of them , and only when she was exhaling as she flopped into the driver’s seat of her car did she pull out her phone .

‘ hey , checking in with you babes . are you alright ? do you need me to come over ? ’ isla’s message sat at the top of a mountain of notifications , every single one from her work email address . . . and her personal .

‘ COMMENT REQUESTED ’

evan’s brow furrowed as she typed back to isla : ‘ great actually ???? why ’

but the answer to that question was tucked away in the emails flooding her inboxes . over a dozen emails from over a dozen different publications were reaching out , hoping for her thoughts on an article linked at the very end of each .

she’d been walking a tightrope over the past few weeks , balancing in the breezes that tried to sway her off center . work . distance . arguments . rumors . however all of it was stuff she could handle , for the most part . . . this , though , was like someone took a pair of scissors and snipped the rope as she was standing in the center of it .

‘ ‘I DON’T KISS AND TELL : Bex & The Found’s Kieran Walsh Confirm Rumors are True ’

it was nothing she hadn’t seen before .

" Rumors have circulated all over the internet throughout The Found’s wildly successful North American tour, and for weeks all we’ve gotten were vague answers from Bex and silence from Kieran . This past Saturday , however , it seems the pair –– speculated to be growing intimately closer over the course of tour thanks to Bex’s ever present social media presence –– finally decided to make it known outside of their inner circle . . . those rumors may not have been rumors after all . Summer in Toronto is warm , but these two were hot (and heavy?) outside of Everleigh . . . ”

and then her vision began to blur as a photograph came into view . she blinked , turned up the brightness on her phone , and held it closer as she stared and searched for some sort of flaw in the composition . . . a tell tale sign of photoshop , a detail that proved it only LOOKED like them , but wasn’t . . .

but she found nothing . only bex and kieran swept up in each other’s arms in an intimate looking moment , a moment no one was meant to see . the telephoto lens caught her smile perfectly , beautiful as ever as hooded eyes looked over at kieran . what’s worse was . . . it looked like he was smiling too . wrapped up in each other the first photo , walking away from the club’s exit together in the second .

nausea began to settle in as she stared , unable to read any other part of the article surrounding the photographs . things began to fall into place , one by one . the way she’d picked up the phone –– maybe she truly didn’t remember evan , because maybe evan didn’t exist at all in the states –– , the copious number of videos and photos evan had been tagged in but never got around to seeing , the secret keeping , the missed call . THE MISSED CALL . it was that night . . . when time got away from him and he texted instead of calling . she hadn’t understood then , but she had a hunch now that maybe . . . maybe it was because bex was there , laying on the side of the bed that should’ve been HERS .

her chest began to rise and fall in rapid breaths , every cautionary tale and lived experience flooding her lungs at once . everything from the past few weeks toppled over onto her chest because she’d been RIGHT to worry about bex . she’d been right to feel like the place she left in the boys’ lives was being filled with a girl who had eyes for kieran . she was right to tell kieran to be CAREFUL with that one . . . because it wasn’t insecurity , and it wasn’t being a JEALOUS girlfriend . it was instinct , and her gut feeling was never wrong .

or maybe it had been , when it told her it was SAFE to allow herself to believe that love stories didn’t have to turn into tragedies . . . that not every man would hurt her the way declan had or leave her as her father did –– trading her in for a newer , more expensive model .

but kieran , with his arms wrapped around bex and a smile on his lips , had done BOTH . . . and hadn’t even had the decency to tell her before telling the world .

am i worth so little ? she thought , am i so easily replaced ? so easily unloved ? how could i be so stupid . . . so naive ?

her phone screen was a blur without definition , clear droplets hitting the glass like the beginnings of a slow summer rain . her clothes suddenly felt too tight , frantic breathing ripping at the seams of her shirt . her stomach lurched and turned and somersaulted , unsteady and queasy and . . .

she shoved her door open , slipping out of her car and kneeling just on the other side of it . tucking her hair behind her ears , grasping curls in a ponytail behind her neck , she threw up on the pavement of the parking lot . it brought no relief , though . in fact , her cheeks were still stained with tears . her chest was still heaving with labored breath . her head was still racing . . .

when did it start ? did he put up a front at first or did he immediately find himself in need of a distraction . . . one that was close in proximity and ready and willing . why wouldn’t he just BREAK UP with me ? being dumped would’ve been easier .

was he bored with her ?

was he in need of someone smarter ? someone prettier ? someone more accessible ? someone who knew the life of a musician far more than she could ever understand ?

she stood , wiping her mouth with the back of her hand .

maybe it was a misunderstanding . . . a doctored photo . . .

the parking lot was nearly empty . . . how long had she been like that ? motionless in her car as tears puddled over the article until she had no choice but to move . . .

evan’s lashes fluttered , blinking away tears as they came ; she had no idea when her hands had begun to shake , but they trembled as she pulled up her recent calls . his name sat there near the top of the list . . . maybe if she called , he’d tell her it was a fake . a rumor . a mistake . or maybe bex would pick up again , still wrapped in his bedsheets in the midst of an afternoon off of press . her thumb hovered over his name .

kieran had WATCHED her change for a boy who didn’t love her . he’d seen the aftermath of a broken heart . he’d witnessed the hurt she felt when it came to her father , the anger . and yet there he was , crystal clear in a photograph breaking her heart for the world to see .

kieran , who swore he loved her . who swore she had nothing to worry about . who swore that she was just a jealous girlfriend the first time evan brought up her discomfort with bex . who swore he’d come home to her .

it was worse than declan , because she hadn’t loved him this much .

it was worse than her father , because she’d never really promised to stay .

her thumb tapped the screen and she brought the phone to her ear ; the shrill ring came three times before anyone picked up .

“ evan ? ”

“ mam , ” she huffed , voice cracking as silent , angry tears finally broke into a choked sob , “ can you –– . . . could you –– . . . i t’ink i –– ”

“ evie , my sweet girl , take a breath , ” her voice was sharper now . evan imagined her sitting upright in bed , spine straightened with worry , “ tell me what’s going on . ”

“ he –– . . . kieran –– ”

“ is he OKAY ? ”

“ YES , ” she shook out her free hand , slight frustration creeping in and only fueling the tears , “ yes he’s . . . i mean he looks . . . i t’ink maybe he’s ch-chea– ” she couldn’t even get the word out ; she was going to be sick all over again .

“ oh , evan –– ”

“ could you just –– could you PLEASE come to london ? ”

there was a pause , agonizingly long .

“ i can be t’ere tomorrow . ”

#𝓮𝓿𝓪𝓷 + musing .

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crookswithbooks · 3 years

Text

Pay Attention To Me

Notes: Finally! Sorry this came out so late, I was busy with Christmas plans and other projects and everything just got so behind, but here it is at last. Merry several days late Christmas everyone, and Happy New Year’s Eve!

Day Twelve - Lestat is feeling overlooked so he goes out on the town to find his own entertainment.

The world was covered in twilight. Trees became villains reaching out and the moon illuminated menacing shadows on the pavement. The air smelled of rain, and even then tiny droplets pattered against the ground. Slowly they melted the scattered patches of snow lingering on the rooftops of buildings and covering the cobbled streets. Inside their tiny house, Louis sat curled on the couch, a book held upright in his hands with his eyes roaming the pages absently. He toyed with a wineglass, twisting it between his fingers and occasionally lifting the glass to his lips. Mostly, though, he sat, and Lestat could not take it anymore.

“Louis.” There was no response, not even a tilt of the head as acknowledgment. “Louis? I know you can hear me and this little charade you are keeping up is ridiculous and childish.”

Louis sighed, a long and suffering sound that dragged on Lestat’s ears. “I can hear you fine. As you can see, I am otherwise occupied.” He held up the book in evidence and promptly returned to it.

Lestat watched him from his chair, an old chair he had found in one of the antique stores the modern era was so fond of. It reminded him of the old days when it was just the two of them and Claudia and they were happy. His sharp nails tapped against the wood impatiently, eyes narrowing at Louis’s continued dismissiveness.

Finally he could stand it no longer and stood up, stalking over to the brunet. He kneeled beside him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pressing his mouth to the nape of his neck. If Louis registered the movement he hid it well, not so much as blinking at the action. Lestat opened his mouth, softly suckling the sensitive skin contained there.

“Lestat.”

Lestat grinned against him. “Yes my love?”

“I know what you are doing and I am not in the mood. I would like to continue my reading in peace if you don’t mind.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Lestat replied innocently, gently digging in his teeth. He could feel the shudder run through Louis’s body, though he tried to repress it.

“Lestat,” he breathed and closed his eyes. He did not, Lestat noticed, try and stop him.

Lestat’s teeth dug in just a bit more until he had pierced skin and he could feel the warm sensation of blood coiling against his tongue. He savored the taste, gently sucking the liquid from his neck until finally Louis gasped and reached a hand back, gripping Lestat’s hair and pulling him back.

“That’s enough.”

“I don’t think it is.” Lestat moved to take more but Louis turned at last, dropping his book and grapping Lestat by the front of his jacket, pulling him close.

“I said,” Louis hissed, not breaking eye contact. “That’s enough.”

Lestat smiled deviously in a way that could not fail to provoke and raised an eyebrow. “And what will you do if I don’t?”

Louis considered him for a moment and then, to Lestat’s great disappointment, released his jacket and settled himself on the couch once more, picking back up his book. “I shall leave and then you’ll be alone, something I know you hate far more than boredom.”

Lestat snapped his teeth impatiently, rising to his full height. “You’re dreadfully boring, you know? I do all these nice things for you, build you this house, provide for you, fill our lives with fanciful wonders that most people only dream of, and the only thing I ask is that my lover pay even the slightest attention to me but you cannot do even that.”

Louis marked a page in his book, placing it besides him on the couch and turning a glare on his partner. “You bought this house, Lestat, from a shady man you met in an ad, and the entire thing is falling apart as it is.”

“It’s called an antique,” Lestat sniffed haughtily.

“I provide for myself, thank you very much, unless you mean the little boys you leave littered around the house like some kind of deranged cat, bleeding all over our carpet that I bought. And your fanciful wonders, as you call them, are nothing but meaningless trinkets you forget about the day after. For goodness sake Lestat, there is a boar’s head hanging on our wall!”

“Well excuse me for trying to bring something of the outside world into our home, or else you would never see it!” Lestat began to pace the room and Louis watched him with an expression of reluctant interest. “You spend all day cooped up in here, and I am tired of it! You need to live!”

“I already lived.”

“No,” Lestat corrected. “You were alive. There is a difference, in case you weren’t aware. You spend these centuries sulking like an insolent child and the only thing that excites you now is death. You dream of it, staring longingly at flames and daggers like a fool. Yet you never have the courage to go through with it, because in the end you are a coward. Scared of living, scared of dying. And I, for one, am sick of it.”

Lestat turned around, whirling out the doorway in a huff. Louis watched him for a moment, before picking back up his book and turning a page.

Lestat was enraged.

He found himself in a small town miles away from the house he had stormed out of. He was not entirely sure where he was, merely that it was somewhere where Louis was not which was enough for the time being. He strolled the cobbled streets, watching bundled humans hurry back to their houses for the night.

Lestat couldn’t believe him. He did everything he possibly could for Louis’s sake and still he found himself scorned in the end. He was willing to ignore all of Louis’s little rebellions, all the times he ran away from him, tried to kill him, replaced him with someone new—he was willing to ignore it all because that’s what you did when you loved someone. You forgave them. Unfortunately, it appeared that Louis had not received that message.

He wanted entertainment. The thought came to him seemingly on a whim, but as he examined it further he realized that the desire had been there all along. If Louis was going to continue to be obstinate and ignore him, than he would seek amusement elsewhere.

The scent of blood was heavy in the air. It always was during the wintertime, heat brought quickly to the surface as their frail human bodies fought to keep them alive. Lestat inhaled, his path following the particularly alluring smell of a dashing youth in his twenties with dark hair that curled in the most lovely fashion about his ears. He made sure to keep a decent amount of distance between him and the boy, twisting in and around patrons of the tiny city.

The boy appeared to be rushing somewhere, his steps hurried and anxious. He cast furtive glances to either side as he slipped into a small alleyway, disappearing into the darkness. Lestat narrowed his eyes, a predatory grin glinting on his features. He had always enjoyed the chase, far more than the others had.

He kept close to the wall, tracking the boy’s coattails carefully as they flapped in the hurtling breeze. He heard the murmur of voices and peered around the stairwell he had been clutching at. It was then that he realized that the boy was not alone.

A girl, maybe ten years older than him, smiled lovingly as the boy pulled out a bundle of flowers he had been concealing under his cloak. She had beautiful auburn hair that fell about her shoulders in wind-swept waves. As he watched her examine the flowers and then the boy with a critical eye, he recognized the same cold gestures that Louis often reserved for him, only more calculating than Louis’s bland apathy. She was toying with him. That much was obvious. It made sense, what with the age difference and shady rendezvous in back alleys.

“I picked these especially for you,” the boy explained in excited whispers, clutching her slender fingers in his own, wonderingly. “I thought you might like them. They’re red like your hair.”

Lestat had done much of the same thing once for Louis. A young man with the most beautiful green eyes, black hair slinking down to his chin, much the same as Louis himself, had been left in his bedroom as a gift. Louis had not taken kindly to it, to say the least.

The woman accepted the gift with disdainful eyes, but pressed them close to her heart. “Thank you. I will treasure them. Do you have the rest?”

There was a moment when the boy, so spellbound by the woman was he, did not take notice of her words. The next moment he blinked, snapping himself back into action, and reached inside his cloak again to pull out a bundle of herbs that Lestat recognized as a very rare type of medicine. “O-Of course! Here you are.”

The herbs were regarded with much more care than the flowers had been and she tucked it carefully into her bosom, far beyond the prying eyes of strangers. “Thank you. Father will be ecstatic to have these.”

“And now?” the boy asked anxiously, licking his lips. Lestat felt something inside him surge at the simple action, but he held back for now, desiring to see where this would go first. He had wanted to be entertained after all. “What you promised in return?”

“Of course.” The woman slipped her hands from the grip of the boy, placing them securely on his hips and tugging him closer. She leaned in till they were only inches away, his face flushed with expectation, their combined breath mingling. Silky lips met his and Lestat allowed himself to watch the spectacle for a couple seconds more before springing into action.

Lestat was fast in the way that shadows were fast, there one moment and gone the next. He held the woman tight in his grip, ripped cruelly away from their kiss. He held one arm around her waist, securing her to him, and the other hand tilted her head back firmly, revealing the pale expanse of her neck.

“Olivia!” the boy exclaimed, anger and panic mixing on his features. He turned on Lestat, taking a step forward. “What are you doing, sir?”

“Saving you from what is sure to be a nasty relationship,” Lestat answered, lowering his lips to her trembling skin, his own curls falling over her revealed shoulders. “She is quite the beauty, though, I will agree.”

“Let me go!” the woman cried impetuously, struggling against his hold. “You can’t do this!”

She stilled instantly as his lips were replaced by fangs, pressing sharply into the skin. “Oh but I believe I can.”

Louis was not on the couch when he returned home. Lestat carefully placed both bodies on the sofa, taking a moment to trace a loving stroke down the unconscious boy’s cheek. “Louis? I’ve brought us dinner.”

He frowned at the lack of reply. He swept from the parlor room, searching the house for any sign of his undead lover. When he reached the bedroom finally and there was still no sign of him, he started to think that maybe he had gone out, angry as well after their fight. What he was instead met with was the sudden presence of a body pressed up against his own, their stance quite mirroring that of Lestat’s earlier in the alley. Lestat stiffened, a thrill of pleasure rushing down his spine.

“Hello Louis,” he said pleasantly, casting a glance back at him. “Finally come around, have you?”

“I have finished my book.”

Lestat closed his eyes as Louis peppered his shoulders and neck with gentle kisses. It was then that he remembered that he was mad at the latter and slipped out of his grip, turning around to glare at him with crossed arms. “And just why should I forgive you? You treated me horribly earlier, and now you expect me to come crawling back into your arms?”

“It’s Christmas,” Louis pointed out. His cheeks were flushed, evident of a recent kill, and his eyes sparkled with a lustful desire that always served to weaken Lestat.

“We’re heathens, Louis,” Lestat responded dryly.

Louis merely shrugged. “Okay. Well if you don’t want my company, I suppose I will go find something else to do. There is another book by this esteemed dead writer that I’ve been meaning to get to—”

Louis found himself pinned against the bed in the next instant, the bedframe rattling in protest. “You will be doing no such thing,” Lestat snarled, leaning down to press hungry, envious kisses against his lips. “You will stay here with me and if you’re lucky I might let you go in the morning.”

Louis smiled, the clear winner. There were would be other battles, but the round of that night belonged to him. “That’s what I thought. What about dinner.”

“Fuck dinner.”

“Gladly.”

“Git.”

Later Lestat would remember that he was mad at the other, but for right now he chose to exemplify it in the forming of violent sex, a love language they both understood well.

Neither one of them could be really mad at the situation, in the end.

#interview with a vampire #the vampire chronicles #louis x lestat #fanfiction #iwav #lestat de lioncourt #louis de pointe du lac #twelve days of ficmas #christmas

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