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amyrlin-of-starlight · 3 years

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Rain was beautiful. Rain was fast. Rain was gone. Rain was never coming back.

If you asked someone- anyone, really, maybe even a random person you caught a glimpse of in Kohl’s with Christmas tree ornaments at half the price or a cable-knit sweater with a V-neck that you could tell was meant to show off the crevice of a cleavage, and grabbed them by the arm, asked them the question you always hoped that they would answer differently- about Rain Wood, a look would wash over their face. The gaze that their eyes emanated would soften, melt with sympathy, and their lips would part without a word for a moment, and then they would say Rain was... Rain was a nice girl. Rain was a pretty girl. Rain was a missing girl. And then maybe they would notice the slope of my nose, the color of my eyes, the shape of my lips, and realize that Rain Wood was not just a missing girl to me, not just a nice girl, not just a pretty girl. That she was a girl who left something-someone-behind with the slope of her nose, the color of her eyes, and the shape of her lips to always remind her of someone who was never coming home. Her Christmas stocking, red and white, was getting dusty and smelled like old wood from so many years trapped in the attic, and there were unopened gifts hidden in the closet underneath the hems of winter coats and tucked behind the worn boots my father wore to trudge through the snow or the mittens tossed aside, flung from frozen fingers, and her favorite cereal was still in the cupboard, having expired three years ago, but my mother would have never let anyone eat it anyway.

That cereal was Rain’s.

Rain was a girl with fiery red hair that she twisted into messily done braids with wisps of her tresses curling around her ears that seemed to be caught on fire underneath the gleam of the sun, and Rain was a girl with bright, green eyes that resembled the leaves of a walnut tree in the summer. I had those bright, green, walnut tree-esque eyes too but they never looked as good on me as they did Rain. Rain had eyes that twinkled, that glimmered, and that sparkled. Maybe my eyes did that too but then Rain was gone and my eyes became dull, unpolished, and murky. Rain was a girl with a boisterous laugh, one that giggled, one that made you laugh too. Rain was a girl who sang country songs in the passenger seat of our mother’s car, her bare feet propped up on the dashboard, her chipped, baby blue nail polish seeming to look beautiful on her delicate toenails, and her voice had a southern drawl to it when she sang that my mother never understood, the origin unknown and a mystery.

Rain was perfect.

And Rain was gone.

Rain was.

The word “is” just never accompanied her name anymore.

Because.

Rain was gone.

It was Christmas Eve when she disappeared, when she went from Rain Is to Rain Was, and she was with me, her fingers clad with gloves wrapped around the laces of her ice skates with blades that glinted underneath the rays of the sun and clinked together as she walked, her footsteps crunching in the white, glittering snow, and she was smiling at me, telling me how beautiful everything looked in winter. She was oblivious. I was smiling, agreeing with her. I was oblivious.

I had my own pair of ice skates and I was holding them by the heels, rubbing the leathery material in between my cold fingers, and sticking out my tongue to feel the cool droplet of a snowflake falling on my tongue. I dropped my ice skates onto the snow, flurries emanating from around the blades and the sides of the shoe, and the tip of one of the laces had buried into the snow, as if it were hiding, as if it knew. I was peeling off my boots, tossing them in random directions, and I heard the humph of a man grunting behind me as my boot whacked against his shin. I heard Rain apologizing to him, I heard Rain telling him that I was just excited, I heard Rain wishing him a Merry Christmas.

I heard him ask her if she knew which direction our local Wal-Mart was.

I heard him ask her if she would mind showing him on his map in his car.

I heard her say yes.

I never heard Rain say anything after that.

I waited for her to come back, my ice skates tied tightly around my feet, and the tips of my fingers beginning to develop what felt like frostbite, and I even stepped out onto the ice alone, a small little pond with snowflakes collecting on the glass-like surface, scratched with the treads of past ice skates, and I waited. I waited for her to show him which way the local Wal-Mart was on his map in his car. I waited for her to come running back, smiling and laughing, joking about out-of-towners, and then for her to yank down the zipper of her boots that almost reached her knee and lace her ice skates.

I waited for the blades of her ice skates to graze the ice of the pond with mine. And then, after the sun had begun to dip behind the forest of pine trees behind me, I got off of the solid pond and walked on the blades of my ice skates to the parking lot of the park, wobbling and grabbing onto bird baths and light-posts when I could, and I searched for a car with a man and Rain hunched over a map, her finger tracing the roads and gliding over the rivers, and his furrowed brow, confused. He had to be really confused if he still did not know the way. But there was no car, there was no map, there was no confused, out-of-towner with a furrowed brow.

And there was no Rain.

I nearly tripped on the pavement of the parking lot as I searched for her, stepping in brown slush with the blades of my ice skates, and I called out her name. There was no Rain. I asked a woman with her children who wore matching knit hats if she saw a teenage girl with an older man, and she said no. She asked me if I was lost, and I said no. My sister, Rain, was lost, I told her. I told her about the man who wanted directions to the local Wal-Mart and how my sister was going to help him. She had just gotten her learner’s permit that year. The woman’s faced drained and wrinkled with something that looked a lot like fear as she asked if I knew the man, if he was a friend. She told me to play with her children with the matching knit hats when I told her no. He was a stranger.

And Rain was gone.

Red and blue lights flickered and gleamed off of the dark pavement of the park parking lot after the woman brought her cell phone out of her purse and pressed her thumb down on three numbers. She said that there was a missing minor, and I remembered thinking that I didn’t know what that meant. Rain, not minor, was missing, and she was just lost. She was trying to help an out-of-towner find our local Wal-Mart. I remembered a man dressed in navy blue with badges decorating his chest and a walkie-talkie strapped to his shoulder crouching down in front of me, asking me about Rain, about the man she was trying to help. He held out a pair of ice skates he found in the parking lot. He asked me if they were hers. I said yes. I said that she was going to be upset that she lost her ice skates. He smiled a smile that did not reach his eyes and took out a notepad with a leather cover and a pen, clicking the top, and asked me if I knew my parents’ phone number. I did. I told him. He told him that they would try really hard to find Rain, my sister, and I just nodded.

I was oblivious.

I was in the dark.

I was unaware of the Amber Alert. I was unaware of the search parties composed of neighbors, of church-goers, of people I never met, that combed the forests. I was unaware of the reason for my mother’s hysterical tears. I was unaware of what the term foul play meant. I was unaware when they asked for my sister’s hairbrush, placing it in a plastic bag that zipped. I thought they were going to brush her hair. I was unaware that my sister’s face was on the news. I was unaware that people were already buying candles for the vigil. I was unaware of the missing posters that were being plastered over my hometown.

And I was unaware that somewhere, my sister, Rain was gone.

I always thought she would come back.

Until I heard a man who said he was an FBI agent in a blazer with a stripped red and green tie telling my mom that Rain was presumed dead, and how loudly my mother sobbed in the living room as she tried to take down the Christmas tree ornaments. Foul play, presumed dead, predators, they all felt like they were words too big for our living room to handle. My mother said that Rain was alive. My father said my mother’s name. My mother shouted and I heard something crashing. It was the Christmas tree. And then she ran for her computer and brought the document for Rain’s missing person’s poster and kept clicking the PRINT button over and over again, her breath coming out in gasps and her eyes trickling teardrops onto the keyboard.

I asked the FBI agent as he left if Rain was coming home.

His face softened.

His head tilted.

And his lips said the words, no. Rain probably would not come home.

When I was thirteen, just after May and the flowers began to grow in the flower beds that were pushed against the exterior bricks of houses in the Cul-De-Sac neighborhoods, and Rain has been gone for four years and her black and white pictures that store owners let my mother tape to their windows had been torn down and crumpled, tossed thoughtlessly into trashcans because she was gone- totally gone, completely gone, utterly gone, with nothing even to bury because she was totally, completely, and utterly gone- the police called us and told us that they had a man in custody. His name was Jerrod F. Norris and he had mean eyes that were murky blue and perfectly straight teeth and dark stubble adorning his cheeks in his mug shot photograph. He looked normal and terrifying at once. I thought about my sister seeing those mean, murky blue eyes, staring into them before she slipped away, and I thought about her heart fluttering. She said your heart flutters, jumps, when you look at a certain boy. I thought about her heart fluttering and jumping as he took away. I tried to turn off of the television as his face illuminated the pixels and my fingers were fumbling, unable to press the buttons of the remote control, and then I just threw it against the screen. It cracked and went black. My parents weren’t even mad. My mother actually thanked me as she choked on her tears. My father curled his fingers around the edge of the couch cushions.

They say he admitted to taking her, to seeing her that Christmas Eve in front of the frozen pond with the laces of her ice skates pressing into the folds of her fingers, and to lying about the directions of our local Wal-Mart. He lived only five miles away. He had receipt for duct tape and a curling iron from our Wal-Mart an hour before he said he took Rain away from me. I didn’t want to know why he had bought a curling iron but they said he was single and he had short hair. He said he took her away, covered her mouth, and taped her hands and feet together and drove. He took her to the woods, he said.

He molested her, he said. He murdered her, he said. He left her there, he said.

And when they asked for him to draw a map to find her, he said he could not.

Because he did not leave her in just one spot.

I remembered how my mother screamed, wept, when the detectives told her about the interview, about his confession, about what he said he had done to her little girl. She was on the ground, clutching a pillow to her chest, and her face was red and wet. The detective looked uncomfortable, distraught, and a little alarmed. I was too. I thought women only shouted in the movies but my mother was shouting, not even words but sounds, and my father was crying too, and kept saying, “Oh, my little girl. Oh, my little girl.” The detective tried to say that there wasn’t a body, or body parts, yet, but it didn’t matter.

Someone had said that they took our Rain away from us, kept her silent, hurt her, slayed her, and tore her apart, left her in the woods all alone on Christmas Eve, with her little sister waiting for her, teetering on the silver blades of her ice skates in the parking lot as she looked for her, calling out her name.

Rain was gone.

Rain was nowhere.

Rain was everywhere.

The day I met Franklin was Christmas Eve, but December 24th stopped feeling like Christmas Eve nine years ago when Rain went from “is” to “was” in that single moment in front of the frozen pond, the blades of her ice skates clinking together and her footsteps coinciding with his crunching on the thick snow. I was there, in front of the pond that was crisscrossed with the scratches and grazes of the blades of ice skates and dusted with a light layer of snowflakes. It looked like that day nine years ago; when I last saw her, Rain, when I last saw her smile. I brought my ice skates but they were too small now, fit for a nine year girl with a sister who was alive- gloriously alive and so in love with life, not an eighteen year old girl without a sister who was dead. I didn’t want to skate until she was found. Eventually, I just thought that I would never skate again.

But now I was back- because a couple of hunters stumbled upon a bone in the woods during the hunting season, and the DNA tests proved that it belonged to Rain, that it was Rain’s bone. It was a leg, they said. It looked broken, they said, maybe before she died or after. They thought she was dead when it happened, when her leg stopped being a part of her, but I was not sure if they were just trying to spare us the awful thoughts we were already thinking.

And now I was going to skate again.

But my skates were too small.

And Rain was gone.

“You will need bigger ice skates than that.” I heard his voice before I saw him and I flinched as I heard his playful, light voice bouncing against the barren trees and the glimmering snow-topped grounds as he walked, his large footsteps crunching and breaking the smooth, pristine assemblage of snowflakes on the ground. My footprints were barely visible- I had been standing there so long. He wore a thick, black parka that swished as he walked and held a black pair of hockey skates underneath his arm and the tips of his ears and nose were red from the cold. His breath came out in clouds as he grinned at me. I thought about Jerrod F. Norris and his grin I am sure he showed my sister before he took her away.

I backed away from him without even realizing as he stepped toward the pond-crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch-and he looked at me for a moment, as if he were puzzled, and titled his head to the side.

He dropped his ice skates onto the snow, the little flurries of white snowflakes drifting through the air as they plopped reminding me of my own ice skates and how I just dropped them that day.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice sounding that kind of breathless that came from the cold, and he still smiled at me. “I was not meaning to insult your foot size or anything. They just look kind of small.”

He shrugged and then lifted a gloved hand to wave at me, friendly, as if I were standing feet away from him. “I am Franklin, by the way. I practice here on Wednesdays. I am going to try out for the hockey team next semester but I doubt it will happen because I suck, horribly. I accidentally did a split a few weeks ago. Only time will tell if I am still able to have children.”

You talk a lot, I thought to myself as I stared at him, almost in bewilderment, as if somewhere during his rushed, awkward words. I wondered if Jerrod F. Norris spoke a lot, if on the way to his car that he chewed her ear about his job, about the imaginary family he pretended he was visiting, about whether or not he thought his hockey abilities were proficient or not.

“I was just leaving,” I told him, gripping the laces of my ice skates tightly.

They were too small.

And Rain was gone.

“You don’t have to. I mean, the pond is pretty big. And I promise I would not intentionally injure you and if I do, I will apologize profusely.”

“That is quite alright.” I wanted to leave. I felt suffocated by his words that felt as if they should have been friendly; but to me, they felt double edged, they felt like a façade.

They felt as if they were concealing twisted and malevolent objectives that took place underneath the shelter of the pine trees in the snowy woods.

He stared at me for a moment. “Um, okay, then. Merry Christmas.”

I felt something strange in that moment as I heard him say that. I felt a twinge of something that pinched the nerves in my chests and in my eyes, and I felt my lips beginning to quiver. It barely felt like Christmas, not the Merry Christmas he was wishing me. He was wishing me something that was wrapped with golden paper and a dark, green bow and curled ribbon and peppermint candy canes hooked around the pine-scented branches of a Christmas tree. He wasn’t wishing me the Christmas I had of remembering the posters plastered on the storefront windows and the news talking about my sister so distantly and the fading image of her smile beaming at me.

“I do not really celebrate Christmas… er, Franklin.”

“Oh, you are Jewish? Sorry. Happy belated Hanukah, then.”

I shook my head. “I am not Jewish.” I felt my finger along the sharp blade of my ice skates, catching a glimpse of my reflection in the rectangular blade. I looked horrible. I looked broken.

“I am just... I really miss someone. She, uh… she is dead. Or at least, that is what they say, but I do not know even though they found her- or a piece of her- in the woods but I just…” I felt a burning tear glide down my frozen cheek. “I just do not really celebrate Christmas anymore.”

He blinked. He looked sad. His grin was gone. “You are Aer Wood.”

I nodded. “I am.” My voice was choked.

“I am really, really sorry.”

“Thanks, but that does not really matter. People think it does matter but it does not. The one person I want to be sorry is the one person who took her away. But he is not sorry. He says he is but he is not because a month after he stole Rain from me, he stole someone else and then he stole someone else. They caught him because he was trying to hide her. A little fragment of her, anyway. A hunter saw him, saw what he had. He actually shot him in the knee.”

“I heard.”

I swallowed, pressing my index finger deeper into the blade of my right ice skate. “He said he wanted to stop him because he has three daughters at home. He said good men do not bury pieces of little girls so he shot him.”

I looked up at the sky. It was gray and bleak, as if it were mourning too. “She was fourteen. Rain was older than that. She was seventeen. People acted as if it was worse that a fourteen year was murdered than a seventeen year old. It is horrible no matter. It does not matter how old you are.” I choked on my words. “She was supposed to rest in peace, not in pieces.”

“I am sorry.”

“You already said that.”

“I feel like I need to say it again.” He cleared his throat, and then unstrapped the Velcro from his gloves and ripped them off, dropped them onto the ground beside his large and bulky hockey skates, and tore off his beanie hat. He ran a hand through his black hair that matched his olive, Hispanic skin tone. “What was she like? Rain, I mean.”

I turned to look at him, away from the gray and bleak sky that felt so ominous, so looming, and so sad that I felt my heartstrings beginning to burst just looking at it. I almost felt glad that it was a bright and sunny day that she was taken. That when she was pressed on the ground that she had a warm, blue sky to look toward. “Rain was beautiful. Rain was fast.”

Rain was.

“Did she like the color blue?”

“No. She thought it was too generic. Everyone’s favorite is blue, she said. She loved purple.”

“The color of royalty.”

“That’s what she said.” I almost felt like smiling. I think Franklin noticed.

“Did she eat apples?”

“She loved apples, especially the green ones.”

“Granny Smiths.”

“They’re so sour, she loved it.” Then I did smile. Then he definitely did notice. “She liked the faces a really, really sour one made her make, how it would purse her lips and wrinkle her nose. But I think she just exaggerated it to make me laugh.”

“Did she read books?”

“She loved reading, sometimes she would read me to sleep.”

“Did she put marshmallows in her hot chocolate?”

“Yeah, but never the ones from those packages with the ones already in them. She hated those. They weren’t real marshmallows she said. Dehydrated memories of a marshmallow, she called them.”

He kept asking me questions like that, about her, about Rain. Which Muppet was her favorite, if she liked spicy food, if she wore socks when she slept, if she was an early bird or a night owl. I never would have admitted it to him as he asked various enquiries about the kind of person Rain was, asking me to imitate her laugh, and if her smile was kind of crooked like mine, but it felt almost okay to talk about her. My mother never could without crying, without swallowing back tears she had cried so many times before, and my father got angry when she was mentioned. I think if he remembered her then he remembered him and his mean, murky blue eyes so he tried never to think about her.

It felt almost okay to talk about Rain and not about the fact that she was gone, not that she was not whole, not that she was alone and afraid on Christmas Eve but that she liked Granny Smith apples, that her favorite Muppet was Beaker, that she slept barefoot. That Rain was not just a name on a list of short lives that were stolen by a man with mean, murky blue eyes. That Rain had more than just her last moments.

“I could come back tomorrow,” Franklin offered as the sun slipped away into the pine trees of the distant woods my sister supposedly was buried in and he picked up the hockey skates he never touched. He dusted the snowflakes from them. “I could ask you if she liked extra butter on her popcorn or diet drinks instead of regular ones.”

“No and no,” I replied.

I thought his face fell for a moment. I was confused. I replayed my last sentence in my mind. And then I felt my eyes instinctively widen and my mouth drop, my head shaking from side to side. “No, that is not what I meant! I meant that she, um, did not like extra butter on her popcorn or diet drinks. Not that you should not come back tomorrow but it is Christmas tomorrow so you will probably be busy and I might be too. My mother does try to pretend that Christmas is a normal holiday. She is not very good at it, but she tries.”

He smiled at me. “I could come here to practice around noon tomorrow. And if you are here then ... well, you will be here. We will probably exchange a word or two or something and ... ”

“I thought you only practiced on Wednesdays.”

“Well, I do suck so maybe adding Thursday practices to my day planner would be a good idea.”

I smiled down at the glimmering snowflakes beneath me. They looked like sparkling, fragile pieces of crystal accumulating on the ground. “Yeah,” I murmured, softly. “Maybe it would be.”

He grinned at me.

I felt the flutter my sister told me I would feel when I looked at a certain boy.

Rain was gone.

Rain was not whole.

Rain was not coming back.

But I think Rain was proud.

I think Rain is proud.

@fluffybunsss @thegreatsaiyaman3 @keenu-loves-to-talk-talkytalky @thelastdream @the-living-typo @quoted-text @nerdyfuntheorist @obsessedwithparkjimin @user-with-a-name @carmen-riddle @tookoool @kritiwritesss

#fiction #thegreatsaiyaman3 #fluffy bunny #Aer-o-bitch #you are loved #tw death mention #tw #tw death #tw molestation #tw murder #tw serial killers

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victoria-daydreams · 4 years

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Of Vices and Virtues

AN: This story is being crossposted from my Fanfiction account. I figured I might as well post it up here, there’s not enough black!oc X-Men fanfictions to be honest. If anyone wants to be added to the taglist for this story let me know.

Summary: Claudia Walker created the perfect facade she had a simple life, a simple job. There was nothing remarkable about her. Until two men offer her the chance to do something with her powers to stop a war looming on the horizon. In a fight between good and evil, loyalties strain and relationships grow. The world's changing for better and worse, and Claudia is right in the middle of it.

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men just the OCs in the story.

Trigger warnings: none I can think of

Word Count: 4.3k

Chapter One: The Queen of Hearts

The music started up, with the sultry tango beats of "Whatever Lola Wants" by Sarah Vaughn. Her colorful voice lit like a spark in the air, and with it, the seductive lyrics of the song. The air seemed to crackle as I spun away from my dance partner, but a strong hand ripped me back into his grasp. With glittering eyes I pressed myself against him, his hand tenderly slipping over my back. We side-stepped as the singer continued to croon the audience with her hypnotic lyrics.

"Whatever Lola wants, Lola gets,"

"And silly man, Lola wants you," I sung to the man, who was completely entranced.

He stopped dancing to trace along my curvy figure slowly, extracting a long breath from my lips. He rejoined my hands smoothing his over my fingers. I crossed my left foot seductively in front of the right, while cocking my head mischievously to side. He smiled and placed his right hand dangerously low on my back. Before he could change direction again, I elevated my right foot, kicking it behind me, and situated behind his right leg, coquettishly hooking around his toned calf. I smirked, savoring the attention I was getting from my dance partner and the men who were watching me dance.

The man copied me by kicking his right leg between the middle of my two. He was daring, and he pressed my chest into his.

"I always get what I aim for. And your heart and soul is what I came for,"

The song finished up and I pulled away from him, creating space between us, "You may go now, I've had my fun," I instructed, trailing my index finger up over the man's tie.

He nodded and shuffled off of the dance floor. I made my way off of the dance floor, to order another drink. It was Saturday night, and the nightlife was at its height. I took my seat on the bar stool, signaling for the bartender to pour me another drink. I grabbed my clutch that was hiding underneath the chair and opened it, pulling out a compact mirror.

I looked at my reflection, my eyes were a brilliant almond shape, with dark brown irises that held knowledge and wisdom beyond my years. My lashes were long, dark, and thick. My lips were red with lipstick, but full and perfect. My wide nose curved in a delicate slope and I could clearly see my defined cheekbones. I combed my fingers through my hair making sure that every hair was in place and checking that my makeup hadn't smudged. I snapped my mirror shut and placed back it back into my purse, a sigh escaping me.

I had always known I was different since I was a child. I always felt out of place. I never blamed my parents for that. They loved me and they always did what they thought was the best for me. Well, at least what was good for them I suppose.

It was at the age of eighteen when I left my home, leaving my past in Pennsylvania far behind me. My memories from there were unpleasant, to say the least, and I needed to leave. To start a new life elsewhere, in central New York. Money was never a problem, I had a decent paying job as a psychologist's assistant at a private practice and a well furnished apartment. But I still found myself drinking away my sorrows. At this point in my life, I had to every reason to be happy, but I knew deep down I wasn't. There was always that loneliness, biting at my insides.

Someone cleared their throat next to my ear, something I wasn't all to fond of.

I glanced at them, raising an eyebrow, "Something I can do for you, stranger?" I asked, barely masking my annoyance.

He smiled, and I made a note to admire it. He was pretty handsome it, but he was overly cocky, I could tell by the way he made himself comfortable next to me, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the bar, and getting way too into my personal space. Not to mention he was easily in his mid-forties. I had just turned twenty-two

“Fucking creep, I thought.

"Michael, my name is Michael, Mike for short. You can help me by maybe letting me buy you a drink,"

I raised an eyebrow at this, he moved pretty fast. He must do this all the time to women he thought were drunk. Too bad for him, it took me more than a couple of drinks to have lost my common sense. Pushing my shoulder length, curled black hair out of my face. I faced him to reply as two other men approached, I didn't want any trouble, but the audacity of the man made my blood boil.

"And what do you expect in return for this drink?"

He smiled and leaned in closer to me, placing a hand on my thigh.

"The bastard thought he was in, didn't he?" I thought.

"Well, maybe just a friend," he smirked.

I rolled my eyes and smiled lightly at him, leaning in until our lips barely touched.

"With you? I'd rather watch the grass grow," I replied dryly, eying him up and down, as if he was something I'd find on the bottom of my shoe. "My mama didn't raise me to accept drinks from men I barely know, and my daddy taught me how to break a hand in seven different places, so remove it or I'll do it for you, Mike," I punctuated my sentence by grasping his middle finger in my fist and slowly bending it back, until I heard the pop that let me knew I dislocated it. "Next time I'll break it," I threatened.

"You bitch-" He began, but was interrupted mid-word by me.

"Run along, before I make you gouge out your eyes with a butter knife," I commanded boredly, putting effort into making my words go through the older man's head. The man walked away dutifully and I smirked. "There's a good boy," I cooed, turning away from him and took a sip of my vodka martini.

I heard a chuckle of laughter behind me, causing me to turn around again and examine the new arrivals behind me. The two men who I saw previously were now directly behind me, they appeared to be in their early thirties or late twenties. Despite being slightly tipsy, I couldn't help but gape a little when I properly looked at the two men.

The taller of the two had his thick and muscled arms crossing themselves in front of his broad chest. Clad in a short navy trench coat over a pair of long, black pants and a black turtleneck, his perfectly slicked back hair was the ultimate factor that completed the dangerous, rugged look he was probably going for. He looked like a mafia member, or something.

His icy blue eyes were fixed onto my wandering brown eyes unflinchingly, as a dark brow rose to mock me, to tell me that he had seen me appraising his impressive form. I raised my eyebrow and smirked saucily before I turned my gaze away from the taller man and shifted it to the other one, now standing in front of me.

Unlike Mr. Mafia Man and his dark attire, this man was significantly more professional looking. With his sharp pressed grey blazer jacket, a white button up shirt worn inside, the matching dark grey pants and his polished shoes, this guy pretty much screamed 'successful businessman'. He, along with the other man had sharp masculine features – sharp nose, strong, angular jaw line, and the clearest blue eyes I have ever seen. His eyes were so blue they resembled crystals, and were framed by his dark brows. His short, dark hair was tousled casually.

"Your quite clever," the shorter man complimented, with a thick British accent.

"So I've been told, but I've done nothing tonight that would warrant such a compliment," I replied, looking at the man as I lifted my glass to my lips, taking another sip of my martini.

"I think you have, actually. The song, 'Whatever Lola Wants', it fits you," the man remarked.

I raised an eyebrow in confusion, although I had an inkling to know where this was going, "How so?" I asked curiously, tilting my head slightly.

"Has anyone told you that you have an excellent mutation?" the shorter man asked abruptly, a small smile on his face.

"Mutation? You call every woman you meet a mutant?" I snorted, widening my eyes and let out a chuckle that matched my expression, disbelief. "Wow! This must be the night, where the worst pick-up lines are thrown at me," I drawled, before taking another sip of my drink. "I'm sorry to tell you this, but I am just me. I am normal," I laughed, and the taller man just huffed annoyed.

The shorter man smiled at me, then I noticed that his fingers were pressed onto his temple and he was still looking at me. I frowned at the slight nudge in my head. It didn't hurt, but it was very irritating. I focused on strengthening my shield against the nudges. I felt the nudge grow stronger, it was attacking my shield before it finally gave up and left.

The man looked mildly surprised and my mouth turned into a small frown. I really didn't know why he was surprised. Unless.

Mutant.

I glared angrily at him, "I don't know who the hell you are, but stay out of my head!" I snarled. "You have no right!"

I always thought I was alone, that quickly changed only a couple years ago, but ever since that encounter...well I'm uneasy around other mutants, my own mutation was something I kept to myself, only select people in my family knew about it even.

He put his hands up in surrender, "You're right, my apologies. But how? No one has ever been able to feel me before. Are you a telepath?" he asked, studying me with curiosity shining through his eyes.

"No, I'm just highly aware of myself and those around me," I answered with a slight growl, slamming my glass down on the counter nearly breaking it. "You have your tricks, I have mine," I added, glaring at him.

"My name is Charles Xavier," the man introduced in an irritatingly friendly tone. "And this," he said, gesturing to the other man, "Is Erik Lehnsherr. We're like you. We're different. And we need your help. We are-"

"Is there a private place where we could talk?" Erik interjected hastily in a strong German accent, looking mad and broody, as he looked from one side to the next.

I didn't particularly want to know what, if anything at all, they were to offer. I sat there in silent for a few seconds, first looking at Charles, then at Erik, then back at Charles. If this was a game, it certainly wasn't funny in the least.

"Why should I even try to talk to you two? The first thing Mr. Xavier says to me is that I have a mutation and then he follows that up by trying to intrude my thoughts," I argued. "It has been a long and trying night gentlemen, and I'm over it. So, I'm going to try and scavenge what little fun I can find," I concluded, flashing them a faux smile just as a saxophone moaned through the opening of "I Put a Spell on You" by Screamin' Jay Hawkins.

"What do you know, my favorite song," I added grinning, and shook my head beginning to walk away from the two men, only to be stopped by Erik gripping my arm tightly. I leveled him with an icy stare, "Let go of me right now, or I will make you feel pain that you thought was unimaginable," my voice low and threatening.

"Erik..." Charles called warningly.

Erik loosened his grip, freeing my arm slightly, but he made it clear I wasn't going anywhere, "We know you know exactly what you are, and we know what you're capable of. Stop playing coy with us," Erik stated coldly.

"Two strange white men walk into a bar, approach a black woman and accuses her of being a mutant. Forgive me, but you expect me not to find that a bit suspicious," I sassed, before yanking my arm completely out of his grip. I spotted a booth occupied by two men and I walked towards the two men, I gently grasped their chins and looked them in the eyes. "Due to your undying love for me, you two are going to give up your seats," I demanded, manipulating their desires so they reflected my own wishes.

"Of course," one man said eagerly, sliding out of his seat.

"Your wish is my command," the other man stated, getting out of his seat as well.

"Hmm, I know," I smiled, lightly laughing. "Now leave me be," I commanded, shooing them away and the two men nodded their heads and kissed the back of my hands before their departure.

I looked over to Erik and Charles, to see Erik roll his eyes in annoyance and huff before he whispered something to Charles, whose expression was unreadable. Charles and Erik sat in the seat across from me, Erik sat a stiff as a board while Charles seemed relaxed.

I interlocked my fingers together, "Ah, now that is how a gentlemen should behave. I think you should learn from them, Mr. Lehnsherr," I suggested my lips curving into a smirk.

Erik scowled at me, "You never told us your name," he remarked irritated.

"You never asked, Mr. Lehnsherr. Maybe if Mr. Xavier, greeted me properly, you would know," I countered, looking between the two men. "Although, something tells me that you two already know," I added, arching my brow and leaning forward.

"Miss...Claudia Walker, am I right?" Charles asked.

I quickly glanced at Erik and it seemed like he had one eye concentrated on me whilst the other was focused at the crowd in the club.

I focused back on Charles, "You would be correct," I replied, lapsing back into an easy lean. "How exactly did you two find me?" I asked curiously.

"Well, I was in Cerebro-" Charles began.

"Cerebro?" I interjected, scrunching my eyebrows together in confusion.

"It's a machine that helps me locate people like us," Charles explained, he was way too excited to answer my question. He was almost bubbling with excitement. "I was surprised to find you. Your signature was so strong, powerful, which intrigued me. I quickly got your coordinates and here we are," Charles finished happily.

"You certainly didn't make it easy," Erik mentioned, in a slight annoyed tone.

"Hardly, you two are here now aren't you?" I questioned, my tone was playful and I could tell that it was grating Erik's nerves.

"Really? So my eyes weren't playing tricks on me yesterday?" he questioned, as he leaned forward slightly.

"Depends on what you saw," I quipped, a small smile beginning to show.

"I saw you start that brawl. The way your hand curled and your eyes narrowed, you made that skinny man kick the fat, bald one in his groin," Erik remarked, his own mouth curving as he smirked. "You nearly got us entangled in that predicament," he added, looking at me with his piercing eyes.

Not looking away I smiled dangerously, "Yeah that was me," I admitted with a shrug. "I had an inkling that was someone was following me yesterday, I just didn't know it was you two. Whoops," I commented, my voice dripping with sarcasm and shrugged my shoulders again.

"Well, speaking of powers, you know my power. And we would very much like to know all about yours, Miss Walker," Charles started.

"Please, call me Claudia," I started. "I'll demonstrate my powers, but Mr. Grumpy over there has to show me his first," I proposed, flicking my chin out, motioning towards Erik.

Erik's eyes met were now fully focused on me again and I returned his stare.

Charles smiled and leaned forward, his elbows on the table, "Erik has the ability to manipulate metal,"

I narrowed my eyes at Erik and he glared at me in return. He would be very powerful, even with the tiniest bit of metal he would be able to kill someone with the flick of his hand.

"What's that old phrase again?" I asked aloud, tilting my head up as if I was pondering the question. "Oh, that's right. Seeing is believing," I finished, looking back at Erik, raising my eyebrow in challenge.

Erik raised his eyebrows as well, before focusing his eyes on the cutlery in front of him. Nothing happened for a while before they started shaking and eventually they lifted off the table. My eyebrows raised as I stared at the floating knives and forks.

"Do you believe now?" Erik asked, and I could see a ghost of a smirk.

"Well, I'll be damned," I gasped smirking, as I watched the utensils gracefully land back on the table.

"There you go," Erik said. "We showed you ours, now show us yours,"

I sat up in my seat and reached a hand across the table and turned it palm up, "Mr. Xavier, would you be so kind to give me your hand?" I asked.

"Call me Charles, please," Charles replied, sliding his own hand into mine without a moment's hesitation, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Erik grimace.

"You’re too trusting by half, Charles," Erik commented, shaking his head.

I closed my fingers gently around Charles', and slowly a broad, blissful smile stretched across his face as I channeled sensations of contentment into him.

"An empath," he breathed. "My, that's...mmm, that's lovely," Charles laughed, I smirked as I slid my hand back across the table, and Charles took a moment to compose himself.

"Want to see something else?" I asked grinning.

"Yes, please!" Charles exclaimed, grinning back excitedly.

I focused my gaze on one of the knives on table, and narrowed my eyes in concentration. A purple aura surrounded the knife as it raised itself off of the table and floated in mid-air and I maneuvered it to have the blade facing Erik as Charles watched, fascinated at the display I was putting on.

"Remarkable," Charles breathed.

"You’re telekinetic," Erik stated boredly, snatching the knife out of the air by the handle.

"I am," I replied, looking at Erik. "Now, you two are going to tell me why I've been performing tricks like I'm in some circus show," I demanded, glancing between the two men in front of me.

Charles laughed, "You have amazing gifts, a mutation, an ability. Erik and I are recruiting people to help us and in the process you get to learn how to control your powers,"

"Recruiting?" I asked confused, looking at them suspiciously. "For what?"

"That is what we're here to talk to you about," Charles said, sensing the sudden guarded tone in my voice. His eyes held mine in an intense stare. "A war is upon us, Claudia,"

"Yes, I know. The one between the Soviets and America, everyone knows that," I stated, now leaning back into my seat. My mind was reeling at where the conversation was going. Charles nodded firmly. "But what has that got to do with mutants? Or me, more specifically?"

"One of the agents at the CIA discovered a plot, the spark that lit the fire for the nuclear war," This time, it was Erik that had spoken. His soft yet gruff voice flooded into my ears with its tough resonance. "She had gone undercover to see one of the American Colonel's getting pressured into installing missiles into Turkey. That was the first step to angering the Soviets, and they are planning to retaliate. From what she had described, it had been a mutant who was threatening the Colonel,"

"A mutant?" I questioned. "But why?"

"We have no idea as of yet," Charles offered, leaning back into his seat as well.

It was obvious to me that Charles was troubled by the fact that a fellow mutant would want to start a war between two powerful nations.

"Well, do you know who the mastermind is behind all of this?" I asked again, raising an eyebrow.

"Sebastian Shaw," Erik spat, the venom clear in his words. A frown was etched deep into his forehead and his eyes were glaring at the coffee table, as though willing it to break under the hatred burning in his cold blue orbs.

By the way I could sense the hatred coming from Erik's emotions, he was an enemy. A big one.

"So that's why you're recruiting people? Like me?" I asked.

"We're planning to stop Shaw before he could escalate this conflict any further. He has got his own army of mutants to help him," Charles replied. "We need ours," Charles finished.

I ran my hand down my face, closing my eyes and breathed out deeply. This was not how I planned my night going, these two men walk up to me, telling me how they are like me and need my help to prevent World War III. This was a lot for me to take in, in such a short period of time. I mentally made two lists, negative and positive. Positive points: Learn to hone my powers, meet other people like me and this was probably the only chance for me to fit in and have something. Negative points: This could be a trap and if it wasn't a trap my powers could probably kill someone else.

"Give this a chance," Charles' voice urged gently, breaking me out of my thoughts.

I opened my eyes and staring at the two men, Charles and Erik staring back at me. Charles looked at me patiently and Erik looked like as though he had just proven something to Charles.

I pushed a strand of hair behind my ear and took a deep breath, "While this sounds very dire and adventurous, I can't," I answered shaking my head. "Why should I come? I have a perfectly good life right now, with a decent paying job. I don't want to be involved in any war,"

"What?" Erik started, raising an eyebrow. "You don't just charm your way out of everything?" Erik asked mockingly.

I looked at Erik pointedly and glared, "No, actually. Having everything handed to you, makes life quite boring," I retorted.

"We've already spoken to your boss about it," Charles chimed in. "He's willing to grant you an indefinite period of leave from work. Or at least until the whole thing is over," he explained.

"He agreed?" I balked, thinking back to the measly, overweight doctor who had many a times refused to grant me my annual break, unless I used my powers on him.

Charles smiled, "The words 'government' and 'CIA' can be very convincing in situations such as these,"

"He must think me to be some criminal or spy now," I muttered more to myself, before scowling up at the two when I realized what they had done. "You guys move fast. What if I didn't want to join your little team?"

"You'll get your job back," Charles shrugged his shoulders. "Your boss wouldn't even remember meeting anyone by the names of Charles Xavier or Erik Lehnsherr," He tapped his fingers against his temple with a proud smile.

"How convenient, but even if I agree to join you, my life will never be the same. I will be ostracized even more than I already am," I reasoned.

"You don't think the public will accept you?" Charles questioned.

"Charles, please tell me that you’re not this naive?" I asked back. "I don't know how you folks do it across the sea. But Charles, look at me, I am a black woman in America, I'm barely accepted now and I live in the northern part of America. Why would they accept me? Black people are being murdered for the color of their skin since this country was founded. People in the past have been killed for being different. Just look what happened with the Jews and Hitler," I pointed out.

I could feel Erik's mind radiating with anger. I frowned and when I looked up and saw Erik's face. He looked like he stuck in between an inner battle with himself.

"I think humans will accept us sooner or later," Charles stated optimistically.

"Perhaps, that remains to be seen. They don't even accept humans with a different skin color," I countered. Momentarily, a silence fell over us before I spoke up and broke it. "Just to be clear, this isn't some sort of a trap? You two aren't trying to experiment on me?" I asked in a serious tone. "And the CIA and African-Americans do not have the best history, so promise me that they won't try to assassinate me and label me as some black radical," I added.

Charles looked slightly amused, but shook his head, "No, we won't hurt you and the CIA won't hurt you, I promise," Charles reassured, and I nodded then stood up.

I was probably going to regret this.

"I'll...help you guys," I began.

"Thank you, Claudia," Charles interjected gently.

"But, let's be clear that doesn't mean I trust you. We've only just met," I explained, glancing at the two of them.

"Completely understandable, Claudia," Charles replied, nodding his head.

"One more condition, if you want my help," I stated, and Erik scoffed and I glared at him.

"This should be interesting," Erik drawled.

I looked back at Charles, "You have to promise me, if I occasionally let my mental shield down, you will not look inside my mind," I demanded.

Charles looked quite stunned, "Of course. But can I ask, how can you block me out? You're not a telepath,"

My gaze hardened again, "I once knew someone who was,"

Chapter Two: Division X

#x-men fanfiction #black fanfiction #x-men fanfic #charles xavier fanfiction #charles xavier x oc #black!oc #magneto x oc #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr fanfiction #erik lehnsherr x oc #erik lehnsherr x reader #charles xavier x reader #black!reader #x men fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic

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sevlgi · 4 years

Text

believe

requested: no

group: blackpink

pairing: jisoo x fem!reader

genre: fluff

contents: guardian angel!jisoo, near death instances, unlucky reader. [22/33].

warnings: none

synopsis: You’ve never believed in guardian angels, but that just might change when you’re saved from certain death 3 times in one week.

a/n: idk if I’ve ever seen anyone do a similar au... tell me if you have! also i’m actually hella proud of this one lmao

word count: 1.8k

Do guardian angels exist?

Well, that’s a subjective question, and there really isn’t a yes or no answer... But if yours does, they’re doing the shittiest job of the century.

The amount of times you’ve been hurt in the past, both physically and emotionally, is stupidly high. You’ve always had an aptitude for getting injured, stories of broken bones and gashes making up basically half of your entire life. Your friends and family pride themselves on having a fully loaded arsenal of embarrassing tales, practically making it a rite of passage to visit the hospital with you. And don’t even mention the heartbreaks- those just seem to follow you wherever you go.

When you move to a different city for what must be the 10th time, you vow that it’s going to be different, no matter how obvious it is that it won’t. You vow that there aren’t going to be any incidents that land you in the hospital, nor any relationships that just end in chaos.

Suffice to say, all of that goes haywire on your first day in town.

Without a car to drive you to work or any friends to hitchhike off of, you take the subway, line #224 to Solace Building. There just so happens to be a new girl group song you’re obsessed with, blasting on the highest possible volume in your earbuds, when you’re shoved from the back right into the subway tracks. “Fu-”

Time slows down as you start to fall, the dusty railways coming too close to your face for comfort before a warm hand wraps around yours, the socket of your arm straining to carry your entire weight as you’re jerked back sharply.

You collide with a warm body, soft curves lessening the impact and delicate, impossibly strong hands steadying you on either side of your waist. By all logic, you should’ve knocked your savior over, should be sprawled on the ground right now with dirty palms and a heat-flushed face. “Are you okay?”

When you step back sharply, you’re met with the sight of the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen in your life. Her heart-shaped smile and delicate features are framed with cascading brown hair, and she has ethereally flawless porcelain skin. She’s the kind of beautiful that makes the plainest outfit look designer, that could make you believe sea glass to be pure diamond. “Uh. Y-yeah. I’m good.”

“I’m glad,” she chuckles, smiling even wider and tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. Maybe she doesn’t realize the effect she has on you, humming as she dusts something invisible off your bag. “You should be more careful, Y/N, wouldn’t want someone as pretty as you being killed by a train.”

If it was anyone else, the words would sound creepy, especially with the added factor of the girl knowing your name. “How-- how do you know who I am?”

She juts her lips at the card hanging off your bag, your name written in big, bold letters. “Nametag. Y/N Y/L/N, employee in Solace Building?”

To hide the heat in your cheeks, you look to the floor and stutter out, “Well. Since you know my name, uh, isn’t it fitting that I know yours?”

It’s not nearly as smooth as you’d like it to be-- usually, the natural flirt in you would’ve made an appearance-- but the petite brunette extends a hand, tipped with gentle pink nails. “Jisoo. Kim Jisoo, if that’s helpful at all.”

Your next words are interrupted by your train arriving; when Jisoo doesn’t follow you on, you turn to look at her with your eyebrow quirked. “Are you...?”

“Not my train,” she smiles, shaking her head, even though it’s the only one arriving for hours where she stands. “Good to meet you, Y/N. Stay out of trouble!”

It’s an odd way to end a first meeting, but you don’t think much of it as you grab the nearest seat and pull out your phone to search her up. K-I-M J-I-S-O-O, you type, eyes scanning the screen fervently as the train starts.

Plenty of people show up-- after all, Kim Jisoo is not a rare name-- but none of the dozens of profiles you click through are the beautiful girl who saved your life. It’s too late when you look back out the window towards the station, the only thing you see becoming brick wall.

The next time you almost die, you’re just walking to the coffee shop across from your apartment.

The activity should be safe, considering that not many people in the area own cars. At first, you think you are safe, crossing the silent street with no problem and receiving your usual order just fine; you’re on your way back to your lonely little apartment when you hear the screeching of car tires on the road.

“Watch out!” someone screams, but you’re frozen in the middle of the crosswalk. You forget how there wasn’t a single car in the street when you were crossing as you stare at the grill coming close. The car doesn’t stop or slow down, and you scrunch your eyes shut with your arms raised up, just waiting for the impact.

It never comes. When you hesitantly open your eyes again, you find a familiar figure standing in front of you, the force of her hand having knocked your coffee onto your blouse. The car bumper is pressing into her bare leg, which is miraculously clean of a scratch or bruise, but she doesn’t seem to notice as she turns to grin at you.

“Sorry, I ruined your coffee,” Jisoo frowns, her hand coming up to almost touch the steaming stain on your chest. You stare at her mutely, following obediently when she grabs your wrist and pulls you back to the coffee shop. “Can I buy you another one?” she offers, plucking a napkin off a street-side table.

“Kim Jisoo?” you say disbelievingly, not even feeling it as she dabs the coffee away. “You again?”

“Me again,” she confirms, pulling some more napkins out of her purse with a smile on her face. “I hope you’re not disappointed; after all, I just saved you from dying. Again.”

“No, that’s not...” Taking a deep breath, you smile too, wrapping your fingers around her hand to gently brush her off. “It’s okay. I’m glad to see you, actually-- I searched for your profile to thank you, but I couldn’t find anything.”

Jisoo shrugs, opening the door to the coffee shop for you. “Oh, I’m not really on social media. If you wanted my number, you could’ve just asked.”

You laugh lightly, tossing the crushed cup in your hand into the trash. Of course it’s odd that she isn’t on social media in the 21st century-- with her face, you’d expect Jisoo to be a major influencer. “Then I’ll ask for it. Later.”

“Of course. Order what you want, I owe you one after all that,” she offers, plucking a couple loose 20 dollar bills out of her purse.

Once again, you’re faced with another weird habit of hers, but you order anyway and thank her after she pays. Before you can say anything else, though, she gets a text and frowns at her phone. “Oh, sorry, I have to go. Catch you next time?”

“Sure,” you answer, forgetting to tell her that she still forgot to give you her number. You stand dumbly on the sidewalk and watch her go, taking a deep breath and looking both ways before you set off towards your apartment for the second time that day.

Maybe next time?

The third, and hopefully last time, is the absolute weirdest of all.

You seem to have a thing for being knocked into ditches-- this time, a group of teenagers barrels into you while you’re walking by the side of the only river in your entire city. You open your mouth to tell them off, but before you can, an especially hard shove from an stocky little boy pushes you right into the water.

Luckily, the fall isn’t high, so you don’t hit the water with much force, but the boats cruising along and the recently terrible weather stir the current strong enough to pull you right under. In the icy water, you feel your fingers let go of the phone in your hand, your lungs slowly being crushed by the pressure of your surroundings.

It’s hard to tell how much time passes while you’re in the water. From what your doctors have told you, trauma is difficult to remember clearly for a while, but you vaguely feel hands linking in front of your chest and forearms bracing under your armpits to drag you out of the water.

The heat of the summer sun warms the stone under your back and you can hear whispers sounding around you as you flop onto the floor. Hands push hard on your breastbone, once, twice-

After maybe 30 pushes, fingers pinch your nose, and soft lips meet yours. It feels more like a kiss than CPR, no air really being blown into your mouth, but nonetheless, you feel water leaving your lungs, and you open your eyes in shock, coughing out loud.

To your (somewhat) shock, it’s the same girl hovering over you. Jisoo’s skirt is wet at her knees where she kneels beside you, her hands still hovering over your chest. She must’ve been the one giving CPR, then. Sitting up, you hack violently until most of the water’s out of your lungs, the other girl waving away all of the spectators. “How’re you feeling?” she asks, once you’re alone on the sidewalk.

Your hands move faster than your brain, pulling her forward by the nape of her neck until you kiss again, something about her tasting familiar in a way you can’t quite place. “Who are you?” you breathe once you’ve pulled away, searching her warm eyes for an answer.

She smiles again, handing you your miraculously dry phone instead of answering. It should be waterlogged and dead, but nothing seems to make sense when concered with Kim Jisoo. “How about you take me for dinner or something before asking the serious questions? Soup should be good to warm you up.”

Hand clasping in hers, you’re pulled to your feet with strength that doesn’t match her petite stature. You barely remember that you look like an almost-drowned rat, your lips purple with cold and your hair stringy with icy water. “Sure. Soup. But you need to answer me first.”

She exhales, hitching her bag higher up on her arm. “I’d say I’m your guardian angel, but you wouldn’t believe that, would you?”

“I wouldn’t,” you answer, eyes narrowing as you follow her down the street. “But maybe you can convince me. Over soup.”

218 notes · View notes

lunarthedragon · 4 years

Text

Blind!Jaskier Idea

I don’t think I’m going to write a proper fic about this but the idea just had to come out. If anyone feels inspired and wants to write it? Please be my guest!!! Otherwise, hope you enjoy my excited rambling.

So, Jaskier is born blind. His eyes are still blue, but they’re clouded and blank. His parents, being wealthy nobles, want to fix this and go in search of a mage, paying anything they can to find a fix for this.

Unfortunately, this is destiny’s will and no magic can fix the baby’s eyes.

Though, one mage, a bit eccentric, and very creative, offers a spell that will permanently enhance little Jaskier’s other senses. His parents accept, because it might be the best they can do, and the spell is cast.

And it works far better than anyone could ever imagine.

Jaskier’s hearing rivals that of a bat, his scent like a hounds, taste like a snake’s, and, if he focuses really hard, he can FEEL changes in the air.

At first he screams as a baby, the new senses like torture, but he is young and adaptable and soon he becomes used to it and grows up extra sensitive to the world around him.

He learns how to ignore stimuli that hurt and how to focus until he can taste a fresh-baked pie in the air one town over. He wears silks and soft clothing, anything scratchy too painful on his skin, and wears perfumes that gently ease his scent.

And he falls in love with the sweet, sweet sound of music and cannot get enough of it! Learns how to play many, many instruments through touch and sound alone because a lute isn’t enough to sate how the music makes his sensitive ears feel. Give him a drum. Give him a piano. Give him a harp. Give him a flute. The list goes on and on, but lute is definitely a favorite.

His journey takes him on a very similar one as canon (I’m basing it off Netflix btw) and he meets Geralt, can tell he is different by his scent, and that he doesn’t comment on his singing in Posada.

He follows Geralt like usual and it takes the Witcher a far longer time than he’d like to admit to realize the bard is blind.

(”There’s no such thing as devils.”

“Right, well, whatever it is I can hear it’s heartbeat just around that rock, behind the two rows of bushes, and 40 degrees up.”

“...How...?”

Jaskier proceeds to push his low-hanging bangs out of the way and wave his hand in front of his sightless eyes.)

Jaskier spots things before even Geralt does. Things that can be helpful. Things that aren’t at all. He knows when an attack is coming... but that doesn’t mean he knows how to dodge or fight back. He’s still pretty useless in that regard. And just because he can smell a kikimora from a mile away doesn’t mean he knows how to track it across the land in between.

Still, he turns out to be far more helpful in everyday endeavors than Geralt expected.

And Jaskier has the easiest time reading Geralt’s emotions.

Witchers have feelings, everything does, it is a reaction of the brain when presented with particular stimuli that will hopefully lead to a longer, happier life. It is survival. Witchers, however, learn how not to EXPRESS their feelings. Namely through facial features.

But Jaskier can’t see facial features. He listens to people’s hearts. Their breathing. The shift of their muscles. Readjusting feet on the ground. Smell of particularly powerful emotions on the air.

Geralt can’t hide those. He’s an open book to Jaskier. Even his fainter scents are loud and clear to Jaskier.

(Jaskier is also incredibly talented at telling when people are lying, thanks to these things.)

Geralt and Jaskier also, as they become closer through the years, use Jaskier’s blindness to their advantage in other ways.

Jaskier is 100% down with making people feel bad for him so he can get things. He’ll milk the fact he can’t see, pretend he’s constantly struggling, hold Geralt so he can “lead” him where he needs to go, and even when the Witcher is around people are still more willing to lessen the price of rooms or food or get Geralt paid more for his contracts.

Geralt, at first, hadn’t been sure about it, but then Jaskier began claiming Roach was emotional support for him to the stablehands, which ended up getting the horse even more spoiled than before.

Geralt changed his tune after that.

And Jaskier will joke about being blind. He’s comfortable with it. Think this kind of attitude.

(Geralt, without Cat, dead of night: Careful. It’s gotten dark out. Can’t see a thing.

Jaskier: Oh no. What a nightmare.

Geralt: ...Sorry...)

Jaskier is GREAT with memorization, too! He’s educated and a singer, but he can’t write or read and braille hasn’t been invented, so he has to memorize EVERYTHING. It’s great for studies, for working on songs, and for winning arguments!

He’ll memorize the shapes of things, too, for later. Memorize the layout of a room for if he feels like not paying too close attention. Memorize the shapes of people’s faces when they allow him to touch and feel and understand.

It takes a while for him to convince Geralt to let him feel his face, but eventually the Witcher relents. Jaskier is soft and gentle and reverent when he feels out Geralt’s features, marveling at his beauty, coming through his hair that he knows is “white” only because people have told him so.

(Edit: I did not realize this was not, actually, a thing, but instead imagine Jaskier pretending it is, because he totally would. “Oh, you sound so beautiful, may I map out your face? It is a common thing for those like myself to request.” “Sounds legit.”)

And that’s the only thing... He doesn’t know what colors are. And the only time he cares to look good is when he’s performing since it’s a pain to correct his hair when he can’t actually see it, or feel through his clothes for the doublet and trousers that have a veeeeeery particular threading on the sleeves and pant legs that tell him they are the same color because the person that sold them told him so.

So, usually, he still looks great because he’s Jaskier, but when he’s relaxing or in the wild his clothes don’t match and his hair is tussled and messy. (until Geralt begins fixing it, since Jaskier WILL take the time to comb out his white, long hair, make it perfect, and feel out how it should look while not doing it for himself.

“You deserve nice things, Geralt! I can’t even see my hair and nobody’s around, so who cares?”

“Hmm...” and he continues to fix the bard’s hair until he’s nearly purring.)

He still wants to know about colors, though, but no one can define them to him the way he needs.

Until Geralt, who realizes if a color is to be described to the bard, it has to be done using the other senses.

At first, all he can manage is “Red feels... hot. Yellow is... happy.” but Jaskier is still pleased by it and keeps asking, sightless eyes sparkling with excitement And Geralt vows to try a bit harder.

It’s the most he ever talks, explaining the part of the world that his bard can never experience, loving the way Jaskier leans towards him, even more than when he’s talking about a hunt, and memorizes every word.

It’s the most Geralt ever smiles, too, but Jaskier can’t see that.

#jaskier #geralt #geraskier #the witcher #the witcher netflix #geralt of rivia #blind!jaskier #blind jaskier #au #idea #free for anyone if they want #if you DO write something tag me? I'd super appreciate it #Or if there's already a fic let a girl know!#enjoy!

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lawslessons · 4 years

Text

Zoro x Luffy - Sweetest Gift of All

Happy Valentine’s Day, my dears! I hope this day has been sweet to you all and I hope you have an amazing time. I decided to be a little self indulgent today with this, so do forgive me for that. But without any further wait, I hope you enjoy! Warnings: None

Synopsis: Chocolate? Zoro found himself looking around town for the perfect chocolate for Luffy to express how much he meant to him. But unable to make his decision soon enough, the swordsman found that sometimes a gift from the heart means more than any material gift.

“This island is kinda strange,” Nami mused as she walked through the colorful street. The roads were lined with red bricks, and pink hearts lingered on the side of the buildings that were there. All of the merchants were singing and smiling, everyone had little boxes of hearts in their hands and were trying to get people to purchase their wares.

“Come here, miss! I have the best deals on chocolates!”

“No! Come here! I have a sale on my chocolate strawberries!” Another merchant said as they tried to capture Nami’s attention. She looked over at the merchants who were howling at her and tilted her head.

“Excuse me, what’s this all for? Why is everything so… lovey?” She asked them. The merchants all looked at one another in surprise and looked over at the women and the rest of the group.

“You don’t know what it is?” One of the merchants asked as he put his boxes of chocolate down on the ground.

“Hmm, no,” Luffy said as he rubbed his chin with a small pout on his face. “What is this all for? Can I have the chocolate?” Luffy asked with a big smile on his face. The merchants all looked aghast at what they were saying.

“It’s about love, can’t you see?” The merchant asked, the merchant pointed towards some of the couples that were there. They were holding hands, kissing cheeks and handing one another these heart shaped boxes filled to the brim with sweet chocolates.

“Love?” Sanji asked, he then looked around, and after a brief pause, he gasped. “Single ladies!” He screeched as he went to run after the women he saw standing alone. Zoro scoffed and looked away from him.

“Stupid cook,” Zoro grumbled. He watched as the rest of the crew bought some chocolate for one another and began to hand it out. Chopper got some for Robin and Nami, Usopp got some for ammo and Sanji bought as much as he could to give to the women he could find.

“Are you going to get chocolate for anyone?” Nami asked the swordsman. Zoro glanced over at Luffy who was buying quite a few boxes of chocolate for himself to eat throughout the day.

“No,” Zoro mumbled as he looked away from his captain. Nami noticed how Zoro looked at their captain and sympathetically sighed at him.

“Why not? You obviously want to,” Nami pointed out to him. Zoro tensed and looked away from the money hungry woman.

“No, no I don’t,” Zoro defended as he started to walk in the opposite direction of where they were all supposed to be going.

“You’re walking the wrong way!” Chopper yelped as he went to run after Zoro to get him back on track. “Zoro! I got some chocolate for you!” Chopper chirped as he handed a small box of the sweets to the swordsman. Zoro looked at his tiny friend in surprise and felt his cheeks pink as he accepted the chocolate from him. He wasn’t expecting to receive a token of friendship like this, he looked down at Chopper and saw how he smiled, that was enough to make his heart melt.

“T-Thanks,” Zoro stammered out as he looked at the elegant and cute box he was holding. He then glanced over at Luffy who was sitting by the stand eating as much chocolate as he possibly could. That was when Zoro decided to make it his mission to get Luffy the best possible chocolate he could, the most too. “I’ll be back later,” Zoro suddenly said before he went to venture off to hopefully find something, or someone to help him accomplish his task. The first merchant he stopped at smiled when he saw the swordsman.

“Ah! Are you looking for chocolate for your sweetheart?” He asked Zoro. Zoro sheepishly looked away and blushed, he didn’t think he could call his captain that, after all, nothing was set in stone.

“I guess you could say that,” Zoro mumbled while the merchant smiled.

“Well, you’re in luck! I have the sweetest chocolate here on the island, here! Try!” The merchant insisted as he shoved a piece of the chocolate in Zoro’s mouth. Zoro ate the candy in surprise and felt his mouth beginning to hurt from how absurdly sweet it was. Zoro cringed as he swallowed it, maybe this was too sweet for the captain.

“Thanks, but I think I’m going to have to pass.” Zoro said with a small bow before he went to try and find another stall. That was when the swordsman heard someone singing in the stall that was closest to him. He glanced over at the stall owner and went over to her and saw her trying to sell her chocolate with her beautiful voice.

“A sweet song for a bitter treat?” the woman winked, she held out a small piece of chocolate for the swordsman to try. Zoro took the chocolate and tasted it. Instantly his cheeks caved in and his lips pursed as he tried to process the bitter chocolate flavor that was in his mouth.

“Bleh!” Zoro cringed as he swallowed the chocolate and tried to get the bitter taste out of his mouth. The woman pouted at Zoro’s reaction but didn’t look upset by it.

“Your love is new, isn’t it? Then bitter chocolate isn’t right for you. I suggest you try that stall over there,” the woman said as she pointed to a stall that was a little ways away from her. “But you better hurry, most of the stalls are beginning to close because the day is almost over,” the woman explained before she went back to singing her operatic song. Zoro tensed and quickly looked around and noticed how the stall wonders were slowly beginning to put their things away and he began to panic. He quickly started to run to try and find the stall owner the women told him about. But he got lost, horribly lost, and he wasn’t able to find them and it was becoming dark, he could see the moon shyly looking out from behind the sunset. Zoro felt his heart stop when the lights turned on in the small market square, yet there was almost no one there. When he turned around and saw only one stall open, he felt like his heart was going to snap in his disappointment. The stall was small and crudely made, and when he approached it, he noticed that there was a child standing there with a few small boxes of chocolate shoved into little heart boxes.

“Do you want to buy some of my chocolate? I made it myself!” The young child smiled as they quickly held up one of the misshapen heart boxes. Zoro looked at the pitiful sight and couldn’t help himself, he had to buy it.

“Yes, I would,” Zoro said before he bought one of the boxes and clutched it close. The crushed box reminded him of his own heart and he couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed carrying it around while everyone else had lavish boxes with beautifully crafted chocolates inside of them. He was nervous that this wouldn’t be enough, was it even worth the effort? Zoro slowly made his way over to the ship - not after asking for directions of course - and went aboard and watched as the crew was celebrating the ludicrous holiday and cheering with one another. Zoro saw the heart shaped pieces of paper everywhere and saw how Robin and Nami danced with Chopper and how Franky was making the lights look like hearts with Usopp. Sanji was cooking in the kitchen and Brook was playing romantic music while Luffy sang with him. Zoro looked at Luffy longingly and saw how he had many boxes of chocolate around him, why would he like this one? It was stupid, pathetic. The swordsman frowned and moved to leave the deck and go find someplace to be alone. Zoro was unaware that his odd attitude and uneasy aura had captured the attention of his captain. Zoro mindlessly found his way to the top of the ship and there he stood staring at his pathetic little box of chocolate while the party unfolded under him.

“Zoro?” A soft voice called, Zoro quickly recognized that voice and hid the box of chocolate behind his back and looked over at his captain.

“Luffy?” Zoro asked, why was he up here? He felt his panic beginning to increase the longer he had to look at the gentle eyes of his captain.

“Why are you here? You should come enjoy the party,” His captain pouted, Zoro stared at Luffy’s lips and how they jutted out in his disappointment. Zoro stifled a sigh and looked out at the sky again, he didn’t have a response he wanted to share with his captain. “Did you get a box for someone?” Luffy then asked as he saw the small glimmer of pink paper from behind Zoro’s back. Zoro tensed and quickly tried to hide it again, his cheeks matched the color of the paper as he looked over at his captain.

“I-it’s stupid,” Zoro stammered, “There’s no point -- “ before he could finish, Luffy grabbed the box from behind Zoro’s back and looked at it with inquisitive eyes. The captain’s brown eyes reminded Zoro of the sweet chocolate he tasted earlier, his heart tightened in his chest and he felt like he was going to be sick if he stared at him any longer.

“Who is it for?” Luffy asked with a childish tilt of his head.

“You,” Zoro blurted out as he stared down at his captain like the love sick fool he was. “They’re for you, it’s not the best box but I did my best to find something for you,” Zoro’s words fell on deaf ears. As Zoro spoke, Luffy opened the box and ate the crudely made chocolate and his eyes widened in surprise at what he was tasting.

“This is good!” Luffy praised with a large smile on his face. Zoro was even more surprised when he saw how his captain was enjoying the sweets he had gotten for him.

“Do you really like them?” Zoro asked, the captain nodded his head as he popped another one of the sweet candies in his mouth. Zoro was stunned with himself that his captain enjoyed what he had gotten. He was worried Luffy wouldn’t have liked it because there wasn’t a lot, but he should’ve known better by now. That smile on his face was enough for the swordsman, it always would be.

“Yeah! I’d like anything from you! Oh! I got you something too,” Luffy admitted before he pulled up and equally beat up box of chocolates and smiled at Zoro. “I hope you like it, I couldn’t seem to find anything good either,” Luffy pouted. Zoro took the box and looked down at it as if it was the most precious treasure he had laid his eyes on. He smiled softly at Luffy and leaned in to kiss his rubbery cheek. Luffy continued to pout, but a blush soon blossomed onto his cheeks. The mini spout of courage surprised the both of them, but neither of them questioned it and just continued to savor each other’s company.

“I love it,” Zoro said as he ate one of the homemade chocolates. “Thank you, captain,” Zoro smiled as he stayed close to his captain and ate chocolate with him and talked about nonsensical things. Zoro felt his heart swell, maybe this sort of holiday wasn’t so bad?

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peaceoutofthepieces · 4 years

Text

Sink Or Swim

tag list: @cleocc @feeling-kinda-so-so @hopelessromanticvirgo @dreamy-slytherin @adora8 @lockerfivethreefive @painfully-oblivious @poeticinemaa @jjustonemorething @saraben00 @wedarkacademia @coolguyssyndrome @hischbabe @suckerforsobbe @tayspots @starmansander @theah0lt @zoenneforever @invisibleme @chibibanane @odi-et-amo85

~^~

Friday, 21:21

Song: Haux - Seaside

Lucas finds it hard to believe that he’s been wandering around the city for two hours. He feels like he should be exhausted—he had been, before he left. But as he follows Jens through unfamiliar streets, he feels wide awake.

There’s finally enough room for them to skate side by side, which means Jens isn’t looking over his shoulder every two seconds and making Lucas worry that he’s going to crash. Instead they glance across at each other every few seconds, Lucas with curiosity and Jens with barely-contained excitement. Lucas has no idea where they're going. For all he knows, Jens is currently leading him to his death.

Still, he gladly follows.

“You remember I’m still on curfew, right?” Lucas reminds him, still, even though he himself is glad to ignore the looming deadline right now.

But Jens simply nods and lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “We’ve still got a bit over an hour left, right?”

Lucas nods.

“Okay, good. Plenty of time.”

“For what? Where are we going?”

Jens huffs a laugh. “Don’t you like surprises?”

“In the dark, in an unfamiliar place, with a strange guy…”

“Hey,” Jens protests, reaching out and giving his shoulder a shove. “I’m not strange.”

“Who may be prone to violence,” Lucas adds.

Jens snorts, and doesn’t argue any further, focusing on the destination ahead—wherever it may be. Lucas doesn’t really mind. He takes the opportunity to appreciate the other’s profile; he catalogues the curve of his lashes, the straight slope of his nose, plump lips and a sharp jaw, and then he tears his gaze away. He shouldn’t feel so excited. He shouldn’t be acting like the air between them is electric, magic, when Jens has been nothing other than friendly and welcoming. He shouldn’t forget the possibility that he’s getting his hopes up for nothing.

But he’s still getting his hopes up.

It’s hard not to, with Jens. Lucas isn’t sure what he expects him to think, when he’s taking him on a tour of his favourite spots in the city and buying him ice cream and shooting him smiles every few seconds. He supposes he’s meant to think that Jens is a good friend. A nice guy. He isn’t supposed to be thinking about how pretty he is or how nice it would be to be more than his friend. He’d gone through this process with Kes already, over a much longer time-period, and he hadn’t managed to knock himself out of it just to come here and have him fall back into the same trap—just with a different boy.

The ‘boy’ part seems to be the recurring problem, but Lucas isn’t too keen on the feelings aspect in general. It’s already caused him more idiotic heartache than it’s worth. He has to stop being crushed every time his expectations are met. He should be learning to control the fury of pain in his chest when he sees the boy he likes with a girl they like. He should not be stoking the flames.

Jens is making it very, very hard.

He rolls to an abrupt stop and catches Lucas by the waist so he does the same, and Lucas’s pulse jumps and then settles into an unsettled rhythm. Jens laughs and releases him much too quickly, leaving Lucas watching him mournfully as he climbs down a few steps to the doorway of a dark building. Lucas raises his brow as Jens leans his weight against the door and shoves, grinning excitedly back at Lucas when it swings open.

He beckons him forward with a tilt of his head. “Come on. This is the main event,” he wiggles his brows.

Lucas picks up his board and takes a few skeptical steps closer. “Is this legal?”

Jens shrugs. “Live a little.”

Lucas takes that as a maybe not.

He trots down the steps and lets Jens lead him inside.

The entryway is nothing more than a square of space, only leaving enough room for the two of them to take three steps through the door before getting to the open space. It’s shrouded in darkness, invisible to Lucas beyond a few vague shapes that are illuminated, Lucas realises, by the gaping hole in the center of the ceiling. It brightens further when Jens flips on a softbox light in the corner, grinning at Lucas as the space finally becomes visible.

The ground drops away about a foot from Lucas into a long slope, which curves up at the opposite side. It twists around the expanse of the room, winding in and out, stretching and gapping. Inside the dugout space there are scattered heights, varying from bumps to slopes with tops level with the ground Lucas currently stands on.

“Jens...what?”

Jens walks slowly over to rejoin him, spreading his arms wide to showcase his discovery. “It’s an indoor skatepark. Well, park probably isn’t the right word, and it isn’t really anything anymore, but it’s cool, right?”

Lucas can do nothing more than nod, having been rendered momentarily mute. There’s nothing particularly special about it, really. An artfully carved out space lit up under a half moon and a sprinkling of stars. Yet there’s something about it—about the hidden quietness of it, the secrecy the rundown walls seem to hold, the forgotten, abandoned tone that entice a sort of intimacy in those lucky enough to still witness it. The truth is that it’s the kind of place Lucas loves, and one he can’t believe Jens found.

More than anything, he’s awed that Jens has thought to share it with him.

“How’d you find this?” he asks, once he’s finally found his voice again, when Jens has returned right to his side.

“My dad took me here once when I was really young, before it shut down because they went out of business. But then a few years ago, it went on fire.” Jens points at the ruined ceiling. “Or someone set it on fire, I guess. But it only seemed to be the roof that was damaged, and they cleared it away so it wouldn’t be as tempting to throw a match in the ruins and do the rest of the place. But they never thought to get a proper lock.”

Lucas huffs, shaking his head. Marveling. At the space, no, but at Jens. His ease, his cool, even when overshadowed by nerves, rocking on his heels as he watches Lucas impatiently.

“Do you like it?” He asks eventually, carefully.

Lucas says, “It’s amazing,” and means you’re amazing. It makes Jens beam all the same.

“So? You wanna give it a try?”

Lucas is stepping on his board before Jens can even finish. “Race you.”

“Hey,” Jens calls after him, protesting, and Lucas laughs as he soars down the ramp. He hears Jens’s board follow, and passes him after he turns halfway up the far curve, catching his high-five as they pass.

It’s thrilling and freeing and achingly good, to be alone with Jens in such a place. To not have to care about anyone else, but move around as he pleases, look at Jens however he likes, laugh as loudly as he wants. He’s been happier the whole evening than he’s been since moving here, but there’s something about this that takes it to a new level. Something anticipatory, something in the making, something waiting. Lucas isn’t sure what it is, but he can imagine it’s only so long before the tension finally breaks. It’s flying closer and closer to a crescendo as they fly over the ramps, and Lucas is filled with elation as he reaches the peak.

He comes back down with a little too much speed, and his heart spasms in panic for a split-second, but there’s no need.

Jens is there to catch him.

He has already abandoned his board a few feet away, and he catches Lucas easily, bodily, arms wrapping around his torso and keeping him on his feet. He’s laughing, right next to Lucas’s ear, letting his joy seep right into Lucas’s skin and blend his own into something even warmer, brighter. Lucas laughs with him, not knowing why, ridiculously giddy, and watches as Jens lays himself out on the floor. He collapses down at the bottom of the half-pipe, letting his body be elevated by the slope and tossing his arm over his eyes, breathing deeply.

Lucas lowers himself next to him and settles with one arm behind his head and the other between them.

“This is a very good apology,” he says, looking through the hole in the ceiling at the moon rather than at Jens.

Jens hums. “This earns me back some brownie points?”

“The ice-cream earned them back. This triples it, or something.”

Jens huffs. Lucas can hear his smile. “Or something.”

They lay in silence for a few moments, getting their breath back and staring at the faint glimpses of stars. Lucas feels calm in the quiet—peaceful in a way he doesn’t usually manage unless he’s alone. Being alone with Jens is possibly even better.

Jens drops his arm and it settles against Lucas’s. Their pinkies overlap. He looks over at Lucas, and Lucas can hardly make him out in the light of the night and the softbox, yet the glow surrounding him is almost ethereal. “I’ve never brought anyone else here before.”

Lucas keeps his breath even. He raises a brow. “No? What about Robbe?”

“No,” Jens shakes his head. “Just you.”

Lucas’s lips want to smile. He lets them. “I’m honored.”

Jens smiles. It’s contrastingly bright and soft.

“How often do you come here?” Lucas asks.

“Not that often.” Jens shrugs, turning back to the stars. “Usually just when I’m really down. If I need to get away, be on my own...I come here. Skating helps, and no one else skates here. I can come here and just be.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to take people to the place you go to be alone.”

“Well,” Jens says, “you’re the first.”

Lucas lets the words settle over him and desperately tries to figure out what they mean. He examines Jens’s profile for answers in the second it takes him to turn his head again, and then he looks for them in his eyes. They’re gentle and open and don’t seem to be hiding anything, but Lucas still doesn’t understand what he’s seeing.

Jens gets up suddenly, first pushing himself up with his hands and then climbing to his feet, walking backwards into the middle of the space and looking up out at the sky. “You know the whole thing flooded, a while back.”

Lucas sits up and watches him.

“It was during one of the really bad storms. Obviously with the roof there was nothing to keep the rain out. And the place is basically a big bowl, sunk and everything. It just filled it right up. Turned it into an indoor swimming pool.”

He looks at Lucas as Lucas gets to his feet. “You saw it?”

“Yeah. I think I’m the only one who did. I didn’t even think, and I was just coming here as normal with my board and everything. The water was so clear too. It didn’t go right up to the top, but it was close.”

“You didn’t strip down and go for a swim?”

Jens laughs, free and melodic, and Lucas walks a little closer as he grows mock serious again. “We should do that right now.”

Lucas freezes in his steps, jaw dropping just slightly, but Jens is still smiling. Then he propels his arms in mock swimming motions, zigzagging towards Lucas as he does, and Lucas laughs and bats his arms down when he reaches him. Jens grins, and keeps walking, only stopping when he’s right in front of Lucas, where he seems to freeze up.

Lucas hears his breath catch, and his eyes flicker between Lucas’s, and Lucas has only a moment to think he’s even prettier up close.

Then Jens’s body shifts as if he intends to step away, and Lucas locks his hands around his neck and pulls him down into a kiss.

He doesn’t give himself any time to doubt, to talk himself out of it, and neither does Jens. He responds instantly with a sigh, hands flying up to hold Lucas’s face as he kisses back, lips firm and insistent and yet soft. Chapped and careful and needy as he presses against Lucas and melts.

Lucas lets out something more embarrassing than a sigh—a groan or a moan of utter relief. His body, his skin and his veins and his blood are all alight, his heart pumping fire as Jens steals the breath from his lungs and Lucas kisses him with everything he has. It’s easy. To find a rhythm with their lips and to part them at Jens’s request, to grip at the back of his neck and tug at his hair and urge more out of him, to feel pleasure shoot down his spine and happiness swarm his stomach with an unknown intensity.

He has never, in his life, felt anything like that.

Even though he has kissed softer lips, and thread his hands through longer hair, and had gentler hands on his cheeks, he has never, in his life, experienced anything as good as this. He has never wanted, ached for anything more, and he has certainly never imagined he’d be lucky enough to get what he wants.

But Jens kisses him, and breathes, and then kisses him again, and shows no signs of stopping.

Lucas could happily live on this, forever. He doesn’t need anything else. He can’t even bring himself, at any moment, to wish for air.

It has never felt easier to breathe.

Jens finally breaks away to pant, chest heaving against Lucas’s and shaking with a laugh as Lucas raises up to kiss his cheek, pressing his nose to the same spot and breathing him in before he’s able to meet his gaze. Jens looks back in complete and utter awe, then leans down to kiss him again.

It’s impossible, and disgusting, just teeth against teeth because they’re smiling too wide, unable to hold themselves at bay, and still they try, giggling against each other’s mouths. It becomes easier when Jens slides his hands over the slope of Lucas’s shoulders, skimming down his ribcage to settle at his waist. Lucas’s breath hitches, and Jens kisses him quiet, and Lucas’s heart shudders and simmers, the flames quieting down to a low heat.

Jens’s hands move to his back, the dip of his spine, and pull him closer. Lucas goes easily, pressing up onto his toes to bring them chest to chest, and the kiss gentles and deepens, lips wrapping around lips and tongues gliding over the swollen skin.

Lucas is glad, at least, that he already knows how to kiss.

But he’s struck dumb by the fact that this is the first one he’s ever really enjoyed.

Then again by the fact that it’s Jens.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for so long,” Jens mumbles, seconds or minutes or hours later, somewhere in the time Lucas has lost track of.

Lucas doesn’t even think before answering an honest, “Me too.” Quiet and private—a whisper in the dark, a confession witnessed only by the moon and the stars.

Then it hits them, and they break, giggling again, and Lucas tucks his face into Jens’s neck and wraps his arms tightly around his waist. Jens shifts a hand into his hair and presses a kiss to the top of his head, his temple, the tip of his ear, and Lucas basks in the glow, no longer feeling like he’s on fire.

He’s finally been set afloat.

#van der stoffels #vds #wtfock #skam nl #sink or swim #vds season fic #sos clip

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justoneday-namjoonii · 4 years

Text

Don’t Breathe | 4.0

»Genre: hitman!au/bountyhunter!au || stalker!au ||

»Warnings: kidnapping, stalking, obsession, themes of potential Stockholm syndrome, mono-phobia, mature elements, manhandling, breakdowns, yandere (? i think ), he thinks it’s cute when she cries, eventually they fall in love, Disclaimer: I do not condone nor suggest stalking/kidnapping or anything of that nature, this is purely fiction.

»Summary: He doesn’t get shaky hands, he never forgets his gloves and he never leaves a trail. He was paid to get rid of everyone who witnessed the exchange between a gang lord and a politician, they were picked off, one by one. He found out a month later, he missed one. A young writer who attended the event where the exchange took place. He has to kill her. Can he do it?

✤ pt.1 - pt.2 - pt.2.5 - pt.3 - pt. 3.5 - pt. 4.0 - pt. 4.5 - pt. 5.0

A/n: will edit later^^ hope u enjoy💖

taglist: @tangledsparkles @just-another-fangurl21 @impartoftoomanyfandoms @komorebi-unnie @tangledsparkles

The city has always held dark secrets in the shape of hopes and dreams, luring in optimistic ankle-biters, wishing to really become something. And more often than not, it works out. That dreamer gets to live the reality they’ve been waiting for, and it all seems a little too perfect.

“Can I get you anything, sir?”

“One coffee please,” Peeking up from his phone, he acknowledges the petite waitress, “no cream no sugar.”

“Coming right up,”

He’s gone over the folder a thousand times, just making sure he didn’t miss anything. As far as information on you, he’s got all he needs, now it’s a matter of finding out what you were doing in the 24 hours before you vanished. He was able to stop by the police station and talk with the detective on the case. She wasn’t much help, but she did say Suzy had been calling her twice a day, looking for updates. Jin didn’t contact her as often but he’s been waiting for updates from Yoongi instead.

“Excuse me?” He pulled from his thoughts when he sees the woman in front of him, “Hi, I’m Suzy, you’re Min Yoongi, right?” She looks a bit unsure, he figured she’s just waiting for him to respond.

“Yes, sorry,” He stands up and shakes her hand before they both take a seat, “thank you for coming so short notice.”

“Of course, a meeting was canceled this morning so I had the time,” Sitting her purse in her lap, she tries to look relaxed but the way her brows furrow, he knows she’s worried, “I hope I can help in some way,”

“How long have you known her?” He opens up a little notepad and takes out a pen.

“Six, Almost seven years now. She was an intern for a while, she’s been writing for us for all that time. Recently, I wanted her to start dabbling in field assignments as a reporter, she wasn’t too keen on the idea but she agreed.”

She glances at the notepad as he quickly jots down little notes. “What was the assignment?”

“A press conference with a lot of the controversy regarding the parties who attended. Quite a few people who attended from some news stations and outlets like that started dying off. She doesn’t really do politics, but I asked her to write an article on it because she was there. On the morning of publication, she didn’t show up to work. The publication was at 8 so I had to look for it so we could publish it. She had been working on it for weeks but it was missing from the writer's archive, it looked like it was deleted. The physical copy was gone and her computer was too. That’s when I went to her house and she was gone...”

The deep furrow in Yoongi’s eyes has her swallowing the lump in her throat.

“She went missing the day the article was supposed to be published? Am I the first person you’ve told this to?” She nods.

“Why didn’t you tell the police about this? If she went missing the exact same day the article was to be published, that information changes the case. Knowing that others who attended this conference have died, there’s a chance she was being targeted because she was there as well.”

“I- I don’t know, I just didn’t think about it, I never would have thought she’d be targeted for posting a harmless article.”

“I’m going to assume she was being targeted because of the article, it makes the most sense. Someone at that conference didn’t want this to get out and they knew she was writing the article somehow.”

If her heart could sink any lower, it’d be in her feet. She should have never had you write that article, maybe you’d still be here if she had just listened to you. “What does this mean?”

“This city is filled with crooked people in power, there’s a chance that one of them were behind this,” He closes up the notepad and takes one sip of coffee, “I’ll do a little digging and see what I can find.” He pulls his jacket on and tucks a few dollars under his cup.

“Wait,” She stops him, “what can I do to help? I feel like this is my fault, if anything bad happened to her-”

“Don’t blame yourself for this, it could have happened to anyone. Secondly, if you could give me sources on everyone one at the conference; reporters, cameramen, moderators, anyone. Someone had to have witnessed something, and I need to talk to them.”

“Okay, I’ll work on that today.”

Police, detectives, forensic scientist, all the necessary individuals required to pursue a missing person case passed through the station, on their own assignments. One of the detectives on the officers on the case, Jaemin, slips into his office to take a call.

“Hello? Mr. Lee, I’m sorry I could get to you early,”

“That’s fine, I just had a quick question. That missing persons case, you all are getting ready to drop it right? I heard there was investigation still going on,”

“Yes, unfortunately, we have an outside source working on the case and I hear he’s good. But don’t worry, Minho, I can shake him.”

“I hope so, one little reporter shouldn’t have made a big case,” He sighs, annoyed at the thought, “she’s dead, the client got what he asked for. I want this case to close as soon as possible.”

“I hear you, I’ll make sure it happens,”

“Good.”

He hangs up the phone and glances at the man across from him, waiting for the hefty check owed for his handwork on his last job. With a deep sigh, Minho picks up a pen and writes the check quickly and tucks it in an envelope before handing it to him.

“Everything okay, boss?” Jimin takes the envelope with a peachy smile.

“Kim’s last case is causing some problems- Not an error on his part of course, the target was reported missing and an investigation is happening. It was a multiple target case but there was one target that’s just fucking it all up,”

Jimin makes a thoughtful face. “A female? Young?”

“Yes, why do you ask?” Minho crooks a brows.

“He doesn’t seem like the type but I don’t know, where’s the body?”

“He doesn’t disclose that type of information, I respect his decision to do that,” Minho sighs, looking through files of other guild members to match them with clients, “I can’t imagine it’s a pretty process,”

“Well, maybe-” He pauses, finding the thought a bit humorous, “Maybe she’s not dead, y’know, just a theory,” He purses his lips, “but maybe not, his record is so clean, I doubt he’d leave a witness to tell the tale of whatever he does to them. I don’t blame him,”

“He told me that she’s dead, there’s no doubt about that.”

“Well, if he won’t disclose the body, how can you be sure? And you said he killed the other targets and there’s evidence of that, why is she the only one gone missing?” Jimin makes a nonchalant observation and Minho starts to really think about it, could Taehyung be hiding something? That’s not like him, he’s one of his best. He’s never had to doubt Taehyung, every assignment he’s been given, he’s completed without flaw. He can’t believe Taehyung would do anything to put the organization in jeopardy, he won’t believe it.

“Jimin, can you do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

The smell of blueberry pancakes tantalizes your senses, your eyes sleepily follow his movements from the fridge to the stove every few minutes. He’s making late breakfast because he said he was in the mood for some brunch. You finally get a glimpse at the tall stack of pancakes next to the griddle and you sigh, it looks so good.

A few days have gone by, and the sleeping arrangements have been different. Some nights, he’ll tell you you can sleep in the spare room and others he’ll have you sleep with him, it’s not entirely unpleasant when you’re with him. He makes you answer questions and tell him about your hopes, dreams, fears, and everything in between. Generally, he's been more lenient with you, not chaining you up so often, letting you roam around a little bit to get some exercise. Lately, he's felt more like your companion than your captor. You’re beginning to see parts of him that are so human. And you’re starting to believe that he’s not lying to you, he’s genuinely trying to protect you. It’s hard to believe that that’s where you’re head is.

He has music on, playing soft study-like songs that make you feel calm. You tried to keep from grinning, like you’d try to contain a cough in a quiet classroom. He sways to the rhythm gently, tapping his foot and flipping the fluffy breakfast treats. How he hums to the song absentmindedly, it reminds you of how Jin used to hum while studying or doing anything really. Taehyung’s voice is really nice, it’s smooth and comforting

“Y/n, come taste,” He turns and holds a fork up with a piece of pancake on it, beckoning you to come to have a bite. You go to him of course, happy to sample what you’ve been smelling for the past thirty minutes. When you come to stand by his side, eye-level with his shoulder, you wait for him to put a piece on a fork for you.

“Say ah,” He holds the fork to your mouth and as silly as you know you might look, you don’t care, you just wanna eat. Your mouth opens and your eyes go wide when it finally meets your taste-buds, “good?”

You nod, it’s as good as it smells. You wonder why you haven’t tried to cook like this for yourself before. Work seemed to consume you, you can admit that. Sometimes, a coffee would suffice as your breakfast. And at night, a drink and a burger with fries from the restaurant down the corner would satisfy you. But cooking, making something for yourself, it hasn’t happened in a while. You used to do it a lot when you first moved when you and Jin were spending a lot of time together. It’s different being by yourself, it’s sometimes easier to over-treat yourself with fast food or quick little meals from local places. Seldom do you get to enjoy a homemade meal made just for you. He’s smiling down at the two plates he’s making when you look up from your daze and for some reason, you feel shy but a little, happy?

No, stop it. You’re not supposed to feel happy, don’t allow yourself to sink further into that deceiving head-space. Into the space that makes him the source of humanity, the reminder that you’re alive. Finding yourself looking forward to seeing the light in his eyes, hearing the bass in his voice heavy on your ears. It feels good, you relish in it. Yes, you’re still trying to stay on his good side but these positive feelings, they feel too real.

“Let’s eat somewhere different today,” He gives you your plate with a cup of syrup, a fork, the works. “I think I need a change of scenery,”

You’re not sure where’s he’s planning to have this breakfast when he starts walking upstairs. For a moment, you think he’s going to his room but then he walks to the room where he’s yet to open since you’ve been here. Your stomach turns, you’ve been wondering what was behind this door.

When he opens the door, he waits for you to enter first, a smile ever so present on his face, he’s in such a good mood.

You walk inside and the size of the room alone is huge but you’re more surprised by the canvases propped against the wall. The white sheets spotted with colors and a bit bunched at the edges, it’s an art studio of some sort. Is this what he does when he’s home? There’s one canvas on a tall easel and it looks unfinished so he must’ve worked in here not too long ago.

He takes opens the French doors to the balcony and takes a seat on the floor. You do the same, holding your plate above your lap in the same way he’s holding his. The smell of the paint doesn’t bother you too much because of the fresh air, and the blueberry pancakes outweigh the smell as well. “Thank you for breakfast.” You whisper, now cutting into your three fluffy stacked pancakes, what you more interested in at the moment honestly.

“You’re welcome,” He grins to himself, “other than what I’ve been making, what do you like to eat? I’m getting groceries tomorrow,”

You don’t respond, too busy staring out the window in a daze and eating as if he weren’t there. He calls your name to get you to glance at him, just to make sure you can hear him. “Nothing,” You deadpan, “I’m okay...”

“There has to be something you want.”

“Fine,” You set your fork down, a little annoyed, “um, chocolate chip cookies, the ones with the chunks, and almond milk.” Hoping he’s satisfied with your answer, you finish the last bite of your food and continue to enjoy the view outside.

He takes your plate and sits it in on his so he can take it downstairs, leaving you to the peaceful room by yourself. You’re just now realizing how large his land is. There are other large homes nearby but they’re a fair distance away.

It’s been a while since you felt the sun on your bare skin or the soothing breeze dance past you. You’ve missed this, running in the early hours of the day when the air is just right. The first people you used to see were a handful of dedicated adults jogging, some accompanied by their dogs.

This paint room has a super tall ceiling, makes you feel like you’re in a museum. When you look at some of the paintings on the floor propped against the wall, you smile. It looks like he likes to paint faces, distinct expressions on faces. Then there are flowers, the basic artist subject. There’s a long wooden desk with paintbrushes, pens, pencils, paper, a lot of paint.

He comes back to the room, but his presence is oblivious to you for a little while, until his stumbles over a stray paintbrush and you look back at him.

He straightens up, his big eyes staring you down as he walks over to you. “Do you like to paint?”

“I’ve never really done it before, maybe when I was little but that’s about it,” You watch him open up a case and pick out a few brushes. He opens a few tubes of paint and squeezes a small amount on a pallet, then sets that down in front of you, “is that for me?”

“Mhm,” He nods. Gently taking the canvas that’s covered with a sheet from the easel, he puts it on the floor with some of the others. He opens up the closet to look for a nice-sized blank canvas for you to use. You pick up a brush and absentmindedly brush it against your skin to see how soft it is.

“Here we go,” He adjusts the canvas onto the easel, “come stand here,” He gestures to the little space directly in front of the easel and you oblige, curious.

“You want me to paint something?” You look back at him, a little confused.

“Yeah,” He stands next to you, staring at the blank canvas before looking at you, “only if you want to.”

This is probably the most interesting thing you’ve done since you got here, you figure he’s starting to trust you more. You take a moment to pick a brush, given you have little to no knowledge about this craft, you choose a random one. Not too big, not too small.

He watches you debate over which spot of paint you want to dip the brush in, you decide on blue. A dark blue with a little bit of white. At first, you try to draw a flower, something easy, but it proves to be harder than you anticipated. When you think the brush will make a nice little crescent shape for a petal, it makes an unappealing squiggle. As menial as it seems, its frustrating that it’s not coming out the way you envisioned in your mind. After about five minutes of trying to fix it, your patients get peeled down to its last layer.

“Ugh,” You withdraw your hand and just stare at the canvas, a deep frown on your face, “it’s not coming out right...”

“You have to give it a chance,” He gets up from the bar-stool he was sitting on in front of the desk, “take a step back, and think about something beautiful that little mistake could become.”

Giving up on your small brush, you squeeze a glob of paint on the pallet and exchange the brush for your fingers. He tilts his head when he sees you rub your fingers in the pallet and then drag your hands down the canvas. Coming up behind you, he tries to get a better look at what you're doing. You’ve dipped your hands in different blues and you covered the canvas completely, eyes focused.

Your hand stutters when you see his long fingers mimic the movement that you’d been doing. Being that his size nearly doubles your own, his chest is just centimeters from you. His arms comfortably reach the canvas, as if you weren’t an obstacle.

“What’re you doing...” You sigh, making gentle brushing motions alongside his, “This is my painting.”

“Oh, so you do want to do this?” His fingers stop all movement, “I didn’t think you cared that much, I’m sorry,” He pulls back, ready to wipe his hands but you grab his wrist with your paint-covered hand.

“I’m kidding,” He didn’t seem to mind getting the paint on his skin because he didn’t get upset, “you’ll probably make it look better anyway.”

It’s tearing you up. How this feels nice and how you don’t want him to stop. Just standing here, so close to him, and watching his fingers dance across the canvas, it’s torture. When your hands bump, both of you laugh and it makes a pretty burst of blue.

He dips his hand in the lightest shade on the pallet and presses it on the edges of the canvas before you let your hand fall from the art-work. It takes a minute, but he stops putting on the finishing touches and steps back to look it over.

“Hm,” He grabs two rags from the floor, giving one to you and keeping the other for his hands, “I like it.”

You try to wipe your hands clean but they still have a bluish tent. “What about this does something for you?...”

“I like capturing a moment in time, making my thoughts into something visual and tangible, it’s therapeutic.”

You stare at the painting in an attempt to see something poetic, or anything other than a bunch of blue paints smeared on a canvas. But in your futile attempt, the thought that he might think you’re enjoying this comes to mind, does he think you’re enjoying this? Giving you art supplies to keep your occupied like a little child, you shouldn’t be offended but it does feel a bit patronizing.

“That’s probably why you write, yeah?” He asks, leaning against the stool. “I’ve read all of your articles, you have a beautiful way of expressing yourself through words.”

“It doesn’t always feel that way,” You toss out an honest answer, “I wouldn’t call it therapeutic, but I do enjoy it...”

“I was hoping this room could be an outlet for you, somewhere for you to clear your mind.”

Lately you’ve been falling into theses moments of zoning out and you just feel like you’re losing your mind. But that’s when he comes behind you, wraps his arms around you and you instantly come back. And it goes like this, almost every day. He gets closer, you let him, and you start to feel more like he wants to trust you.

“What does our painting mean to you?” He shuffles you forward, getting you closer to the painting with his arms still secured around you.

“You tell me first,” You counter.

He takes a look, head tilting a bit, “It makes me think of my childhood, it wasn’t a very colorful one. I was taken from my mother as a toddler after the courts deemed her an unfit parent. She was in a bad place, had no business having a kid anyway.” He rests his head atop yours, mentally slipping into his past to reveal it to you.

“I was in foster homes until I was a teenager, went from house to house every few months. The people who'd come and take me home were either trying to get money from the state or looking for another helpless kid to work for them. I didn’t know it then but I wanted stability, I wanted someone that I could depend on but never got it. I ran away when I was a teenager and depended on my self and here I am.” You can hear a smile in his voice, but you’d dare to say it was pain out of pain.

“It’s all blue, blue can mean stability or loyalty, that’s how I see it.” He let’s his hands slide down your arms and back up to your shoulders to give them a squeeze. “Also, we made it together, so that’s special in itself. Now, your turn,”

“Um,” You purse your lips, “it’s nice...” You answer as if you didn’t know any other words, you’ve never been good with speaking anyway. You rather write paragraphs than ramble on.

“It is,” He agrees, “but how does it make you feel?”

“I don’t know,” You frown, pulling his arms off so you can walk off, “it’s just a painting.” It’s cold not having his arms around you but you reason that you need the shock.

You don’t want to start thinking deep, knowing about his past, sympathizing. You need to look like you don’t care. Does he buy it? Probably not, but sometimes he doesn’t like to force you to talk, it puts you in a foul mood and he notices.

“Just when I think you’re about to open up,” He tsks, shaking his head, “you remind me of the situation, and how you want so badly to make this uncomfortable for both of us.” His cheery mood is faded and you know you screwed this up.

You defend yourself nonetheless. “I’m not trying to make this uncomfortable for anyone, I’m already uncomfortable.”

“You’re such a liar,” He turns you to face him and steps in front of you to eliminate the space, “a bad one though.” You look up at him, trying not to let him intimidate you into backing down.

“I’m not lying.” Wow, that’s the best defense you could come up with.

“You are,” He pushes his hand through his hair, a stressed furrow in his dark brows, “I’m glad we ended up with each other, really I am. But when you act like this, I can’t say it doesn’t hurt a little,” He leans down, breathing against the apple of your cheek almost. “because I know it’s not how you really feel.”

Taking his time, he looks your face other, and this is what kills him the most. He gets so close to your face and everything in him wants you to lean in, he waits for the moment that you lean in and eliminate the space between you two.

Ding dong. You’re saved when the doorbell rings and you use this as your chance to slip away from him. He drops his head and sighs, this was bound to happen, he sort of regrets approaching you anyway. When he leaves he closes the door and leaves you wishing he was anyone else. You could hate anyone else right now.

When he checked the cameras on his phone, he was surprised to see that it was non-other than Park Jimin, what does he want? The bell rings for the second time and he rushes to silence it.

“Kim,” The man smiles, and Taehyung takes in his casual attire, meaning he was off today just like him, “I was beginning to think something happened to you,” His eyes intermediately go to Taehyung’s blue-tinted hands, “sorry to drop in unannounced like this.”

Taehyung makes an offended expression almost, he can’t hide his physical reaction to the concern, it seemed fake. “Didn’t have my phone on me, what do you need? It’s my day off,” His tone isn’t rude, but genuinely confused.

“I, uh,” Jimin rakes his mind for the story he’s supposed to tell, “my cuff-links! I left them in the bathroom that night,” His smile looks a bit too plastered, and when Taehyung doesn’t invite him in he let’s out a nervous laugh, “they’re expensive okay, rubies, can I grab’em?”

Taehyung opens the door wider so he can come in. He just hopes you have enough caution to stay hidden until Jimin leaves.

“So,” Oh no, he’s making conversation, “been doing some painting?” Jimin disappears into the small hall where the bathroom is to get his “cuff-links,” or so he says. Assuming Taehyung was hiding someone in the house, that evidence wouldn’t be in the guest bathroom. He has to stay in there a little longer, he hasn’t looked around well enough.

“I was,” He was trying to do a little more than that.

“Found’em,” He opens his hands to show the cuff-links that he planted just now, “Hey, can I get some water?”

“Sure,” Tae goes to the sink to wash his hands and Jimin leans on the large marble island, waiting patiently. Two plates. That’s the first abnormality that he notices. Two place-mats at the table and two sets on dishes in the sink, but it doesn't seem like he’s had any guest, there’s no car in the driveway.

“Y’know, I heard about that missing girl, one of your targets,” Jimin throws it out there, seeing if he’ll take the bait and give a reaction, “I bet that’s stressful.”

“It’ll blow over,” He opens the covert and takes out a glass, “how did you know she was my target?”

Damn, he shouldn’t have said that,

“You know I’m close with Minho, he mentioned it. He said it wasn’t your fault though, the investigators have an outside party helping, that’s why it’s not closing as fast. I have a little question for you,” He grins, “you don’t have to answer but Minho said it was a young girl, a writer, apart of a multiple target case, how did you do it?”

Taehyung sets the glass in front of him. “It doesn’t matter how I did it, as long as it’s done.”

“You’re as stiff as they come, Kim,” Jimin decides to lay off before Taehyung grows anymore suspicious, “I don’t do target eliminations but if I did, I would spill some details sometimes.” He takes a few gulps of water and looks at Taehyung who hasn’t stopped staring at him for the last few seconds.

“Well, thanks for the water,” He makes his way to the front door and Taehyung is more than happy to walk him out.

“You’re welcome,” He watches Jimin pass through the door and when he sees him get in his car, he closes the door with a sigh of relief.

He doesn’t go into his art studio for hours after Jimin leaves. He settles for busying himself with going over his next assignment over twenty times.

It’s getting harder and harder to keep this up, he never thought he’d get to this point. Something wasn’t right about that, Jimin isn’t his friend, and he’s never approached him like this—he knows something. When he makes his way upstairs, he tries to brush it off but here you are in his sanctuary to remind him.

“You were gone for a long time, who was that here earlier?” You mumble, barely sparing him a glance from your gaze off the balcony.

“No one you need to worry about,” He’s upset, that much you can tell, “I need you to go back to the basement for a little while, so you need to use the bathroom and eat.”

“What?” You can’t be hearing him correctly. “But why?...”

“Because I said so,” He stands in the doorway, arms crossed and posture uninterested, “let’s not have a repeat of last time,”

“But I haven’t done anything wrong...” The light drains from your eyes and anxiety pits in your stomach. “Is this because I wouldn't tell you what I felt about the painting?... Taehyung, I-”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” You walk inside and tears start to burn at your eyes instantly. You walk over to him and look to him with pleading eyes, hoping he’ll find it in his heart to change his mind. “Taehyung, I hate being down there, I’ll go to the other room, I won’t bother you...Please just don’t make me stay down there.” Tears stream down your cheeks and

“There’s an outside investigator who’s looking for you, the police are looking for you, and soon enough the man who hired me will be looking for you too. I’m trying to protect you and make you comfortable but you only like the benefits of getting close to me, you don’t actually appreciate that I’m giving you so much.” His tone is cold, no longer filled with that tinge of adoration and warmth.

“I do appreciate it!” You didn’t think he’d get so upset, you’re trying to save yourself now. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like I don’t-”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” He cuts you off, hands reaching for your arms but missing when you pull away. He grabs your arms with more than enough force and pulls you to him, and this time it hurts, “Don’t fucking pull away from me.”

“B- but,” You whine, wiping your tears as you try to comprehend why he’s acting like this all of a sudden. “Taehyung, please-”

“Shut up!” He lashes out, eyes dark and voice louder than it’s ever been before as his grip on you just tightens. “Stop whining like you’re hurting because you’ve made me feel a lot worse than this. You think I don’t notice what you’re doing? I’ve let you push and pull for as I could,” The volume in his voice seems to increase his physical size somehow and decrease your own, “but your little game isn’t fun anymore, I’m fucking sick of it now.”

“But I’m not-” You try to speak but he clamps a hand over your mouth and the horror of your worse nightmare washes over you. He’s trying to hurt you.

“Be quiet.” He walks forward until your back is pushed up against the wall, letting his hand fall from your mouth slowly so he can take your trembling wrist in his hands.

“All this time, there was so much I could have done, that I’ve wanted to do, but I’ve waited patiently...” By the way he keeps biting the inside of his cheek, it’s clear that he’s teetering on the edge of something.

“You’ve been starting to want it too and that’s why you push me away so hard, for some reason you like to deprive yourself.” He cracks a smile and looks up at you’re teary eyes, cooing at the sight of you falling apart.

“But you won’t admit that to yourself, or me. So, the best thing I can do for us is to lock you back up.” You shake your hand but he nods, a cynical glint in his gaze when you lean your head back to stop some of your tears.

“Why’re you shaking your head no? That’s what has to happen. Here’s how it’ll work; I’ll blindfold you so you don’t even have to see me and I won’t have to see those pretty eyes anymore. Maybe even gag you so I don’t have to hear your sweet little voice say another word. Then I’d have the pleasure of taking you upstairs and giving you a bath each and every day, you wouldn't want to see scary-Taehyung, right? So that blindfold will have to stay on. You’ll just have to trust that the only eyes and hands on you are my own. And every day I’d come down to feed you and you’d know that I’d make your life a living hell if you dared say one word. There would only be a hand full of sounds I would allow you to make,” He tilts his head, amazed by how much color had left your face.

“How does that sound? You wouldn’t have to be around the big scary-Taehyung anymore, is that what you want?”

Your lips tremble when you attempt to open your mouth and say something, it’s too scary. He’s scary. All this time, you’ve been waiting this out, trying so hard to stay calm and get close, but not too close. And this is the result.

“Answer me.” You shake your head, fearing the sobs that would erupt from your mouth if you spoke. But he doesn’t care, “Ah-ah, I’m not gonna treat you like a little baby just yet, answer me with your words.”

“N- no...” You push out your answer, chest heaving from trying to breathe through your cries.

“No,” He scoffs, mocking your answer, “well had you been the target for anyone other than me, that’s what would have happened to you. You either trust me, or you don’t, you can’t have it in the middle anymore.” Hands still firm on your arms and knee still anchored against you so you can’t move, it’s suffocating. “You have to choose, do you trust me or not?”

“I- I trust you...” You sniffle, nose burning red and your sight blurred from your tears.

“Ah, I don’t believe you,” He drops his hands from you, “I think you need to learn your lesson in the basement until I think you can be honest-”

“No!” You throw your arms around his waist and wail into his chest like a baby. “I- I trust you! I do, please don’t put me down there-” You hiccup, “I’m sorry, I really do trust you, I know you’re only trying to protect me, I get that now. I- I just want to stay with you, I wanna be with you.”

You want to be with him, a sentence he never thought he’d hear you say. He was just trying to scare you into revealing your true feelings but he didn’t expect you to cave that fast. He returns your affection, wrapping his arms around you gently. “Yeah, that’s what you really want?” You nod vigorously, your grip around him so tight it would take a hundred men to pull you off.

“Yes,” You look up at him, and just the quick, the Taehyung that you know is back. Those soft eyes, that gentle smile that wants nothing but to see you smile, make you happy. This is the only Taehyung you ever want to see.

He caresses your hair, pushing it back from your flushed face. The way you’re staring up at him, it makes him feel like you’re the only people in the universe and he’s swimming in a galaxy made of the stars in your eyes. He wants to eliminate that little space. But you beat him to it. You’re on your tippy-toes and that pesky little space is eliminated and he plunges face-first into the seventh heaven that is you. You have to show him and yourself that you trust him, you want to prove it. Your eyes are sealed tight and you’ve given up all control in favor of him doing as he pleases.

“Mh,” He leans down to lessen your reach and puts your hands around his neck. Breathless, his lips start to tingle and he bites down to regain a more familiar feeling. You’re so soft, just like he imagined. It’s all too much but not enough all at once.

He carried you away with loving arms, leaving all of his feelings to tip over like a bucket of paint and spill over the blue-stained sheets

* * *

“Hey boss, I went to his place this morning,” Jimin finally got the call from Minho, “did I see anything? Not really. There were two placemats at the table, two sets of dishes, it kind of looked like he had someone over but there was no one that I could see. Maybe he had someone over last night, I don’t really know,”

“Did you ask about the target?”

“I did, but he gave me a bland answer. He said it doesn’t matter how it’s done as long as it’s done, his usual, sorry I couldn’t be more of more help,” Minho thanks him for his efforts before hanging up the phone.

“I’m just so scared for her,” She plucks her third tissue from the box in front of her, “I haven’t slept in days.”

Jin drove all this way to sit with your mother, he called her and she said her husband out on business. He couldn’t imagine being alone when your child is missing, the thought alone hurt.

“It’ll be alright,” Jin sits at with your mother, who at one point he thought had a chance of being his mother-in-law. “They’re doing everything they can to find her, she’s a fighter.” He grasps her hand.

“I know,” She sighs, crumpling up the tissue and throwing it in the bin, “you came all this way, have you eaten? I feel like cooking something.”

“I wouldn’t want to make you-”

“Please, I know you have the same favorite meal as Y/n, let me make it for you.”

“Alright, thank you,” He smiles, watching her leave to the kitchen with a bit more light in her eyes. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he slips it out.

Min Yoongi: I talked to Suzy today and I can almost guarantee that her being missing is related to the handful of reporters who died at a conference she attended a few months ago. Why she was the only person that went missing makes me suspect an alternative motive. I’ll update you if anything changes.

Yoongi slips his phone back in his pocket and walks into the police station, it’s late but he hopes the cop over your case is still in. When he walks up to the front desk and asks, the receptionist points him into the direction of the person he’s looking for.

“Min,” The man smiles, extending his hand and dropping his conversation with the Sargent in front of him.

“Cha Eunwoo, so you’re the lucky guys on this case,” Yoongi has known Eunwoo since his days at the academy. He went FBI and Eunwoo went police department, both choosing paths that fit them the best in the end.

“Yeah,” He scratches the back of his neck, dismissing the guy he was talking to, “I know you’re working alongside us, a personal favor?”

“Something like that, is there somewhere we can talk privately?”

Yoongi doesn’t notice, but there’s a pair of lingering eyes that watch him and Eunwoo moves to his office.

“What’s going on?”

“I talked with the girl's supervisor today,” Yoongi walks around the desk, looking out at the pretty sunset, “I was informed that she went missing the exact same day an article of hers was supposed to be published. This article held details from the conference that have never been revealed. The article's physical and digital copies are gone. Cha, this doesn’t seem like you’re average missing persona case, there’s something bigger going on,” he rests his hands on his hips, bottom-lip tucked between his teeth. “I don’t want to tell her family that just yet, not until I’m sure.”

“You know what,” Eunwoo makes a thoughtful expression, “you could be right. There has been speculation around this case that the abduction was planned for a while now, I think for her sake we should look into that. Thank you Min, this could really change the nature of this case and it’s probably gonna get bigger, especially if we bring the parties at the conference into question.”

Jaemin was hanging outside of the hallway but runs to the restroom when he hears footsteps approach the door. When he’s sure there’s no one else in the stalls he frantically pulls out his phone and makes a call.

“Hello?”

“The case is about to blow up, the PI is onto us and I think the organization is about to be in jeopardy.”

“Damn it,” He sighs, “what do you suggest we do?”

“You have to tell Kim to reveal the body.”

#taehyung smut #taehyung stalker au #taehyung angst #taehyung scenarios #taehyung fluff #taehyung fanfic #bts angst #bts au #bts smut #bts fluff #bts fanfic #taehyung assassin #bts assassin au #don't breathe

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thedistrictsleepsalonetonight · 4 years

Text

Space girl

The beginning of most love stories: the moon falls in love with the sun.

(The problem, however, is that most love stories aren’t set in the Boiling Isles. To confirm that the metaphor works adequately, there must exist at least one moon and one sun in your admittedly bonkers world. Is there a sun? A moon?)

Amity shivers where she’s sitting at her window, stares up at the bright bluish orb hanging over the sky and decides it does, in fact, qualify as a celestial body, whatever the hell that means. Luz has been teaching them about the intricacies of the human world, every bit of knowledge that they would require if in case they ever got transported there accidentally, and that includes something called a smartphone, a bus and the shortest way to the nearest vending machine, preferably a vending machine that stocks Mars Bars. Amity suspects the last is just another one of Luz’s whims, but has no way of confirming.

(And what is the point of confirming anything anyways? It is enough to sit in front of Luz, or beside her or anywhere with a direct line of sight to her, so Amity can listen to her blabber on about chocolate chips and scrambled eggs and something called a Tumblr; enough to get lost in the insistent, sunshine shaped cadence of her voice and forget about the perils of the week.

Plus, is the sun ever wrong?)

A month ago, Amity would have been alarmed at how easily she writes down her utter devotion towards a very human someone who gets beaten up on the regular by some ancient eldritch horror. Now the words just walk out of her quill and plant themselves firmly on the page like they couldn’t belong anywhere else, except maybe her paramour’s heart. That’s the problem with the moon falling in love with the sun. it’s annoying yet ineffable and inevitable. It’s also the easiest thing she’s ever done.

*****

Emira figures it out first. Which probably means that Edric knows as well, since Amity is pretty sure the twins share a single mind and keep passing it to each other like they’re in an eternal Grudgby match. However, he’s not the one who appears in her room in the middle of the night to scare her half to death. That’s all Emira.

“What,” Amity starts, one hand on her chest, other reaching instinctively for her training wand at the sight of a green cloud of smoke that’s materialized in her room out of nowhere, “in the world are you doing here?”

Her sister leans against the doorway, like she’s been there all along, takes in her room. Amity knows it’s clean, knows that there is not a speck of dust hiding beneath the floorboards or an errant cape strewn on her bed, and yet can’t help following Emira’s gaze anxiously as it travels across her neatly arranged trophy on the shelf, her table and the loose floorboard she now hides her diary under, before she comes to rest on hers.

“You never told us what happened at the library the other day,” she says, finally.

Amity blinks. “I did tell you what happened. Otabin turned into a monster and tried to sew me, literally, into a book. Had to be fought off.”

She doesn’t continue with the subsequent thoughts in her head. Luz was there. Brave, idiotic Luz with a tendency of barging into adventures without a second thought. Luz, who I would’ve jumped into fire for. Luz, who made (makes) me laugh.

“You mean you and Luz?” Emira asks, innocently.

She bites the inside of her cheek, tries hard not to betray the smile that’s trying to creep up her face at the sound of Luz’s name. Nods.

“Luz is pretty cool, is she not?” Emira continues, and okay, there’s no reason to say someone’s name this much in one conversation. She ambles around her room, touching things at random, while Amity regulates her breathing. This was pathetic. The sound of someone’s name wasn’t supposed to make her feel like her heart was going to burst out of her, wasn’t supposed to climb up her throat and turn into absolute warmth all over her face.

“Uh huh,” she manages. “I guess. Yeah. Eh. Yeah.” Too much too much too much too much.

Emira is suddenly in her face then. She places her hand on Amity’s shoulders, stares right into her eyes.

“Aw, Mittens,” she chuckles. “You’re adorable when you have a crush.”

And then she disappears.

Amity does manage to chuck the object nearest to her (which happens to be her training wand) at Emira’s retreating figure. Then she sits on the floor and curls up into an embarrassed ball. You know, as one does.

*****

The whole jumping into danger for Luz thing would be a lot more avoidable if Luz didn’t have an equally huge jumping into danger for Amity thing as well.

Which is such a godforsaken Luz thing to do. The idiot immersed herself in a cauldron full of sludge for Willow, who she had met minutes ago, of course she would take on her burden for Grom night. Of course she would somehow break the cage Amity had conjured up for her to come save Eda and Edric and Emira and of course she would help her make things right with Willow. If the girl had one coherent thought when she woke up every morning, it was probably this – Ooh, someone’s in trouble? Let me fix it!

(She does inevitably manage to turn a tiny cut into a gushing wound in absolutely no time at all, but would Luz even be Luz without shenanigans?)

Amity loves it. It gives her a heart attack, but she loves how Luz is always ready to help out a random stranger. She’s never met anyone with a heart bigger than Luz’s and a personality sunnier than hers.

(Also hasn’t met anyone who’s cuter, or prettier, or better-looking in a strange black-pink-frilly-yet-well-tailored attire, but let’s not go there)

Either way, it’s completely understandable that she immediately reaches for her wand when Luz climbs up onto her balcony after Grom night, ready to fight whatever it was that was evidently bothering her.

“No!” Luz holds up her hands, shoots her a quick smile. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Oh,” she says, feeling herself relax. “So, um — why are you — here?”

“I could go! If you — wanted to, sleep or—”

“—no! Absolutely not!” Curse her for picking the absolute worst way to phrase a question. Why hadn’t she said Hey Luz, it’s so nice to see you, what brings you here? Or Hey Luz, please walk into my room and never leave.

(You know. Either works)

“I’m glad you’re here,” Amity says, then fumbles for something, anything, to add on to that revealing statement. “I mean, I couldn’t sleep anyways.”

Luz nods, and then giggles when Amity joins her onto the balcony and in the moonlight.

“What?” she asks, a little self-conscious. Also very charmed. Making Luz laugh was like some form of intoxicating elixir; Amity was hooked onto the feeling. Luz laughing made the world brighter.

(God, she was so gone for this idiot.)

“Your pajamas have tiny owls all over them,” Luz points out.

“Okay, that’s it!” she says, half-turning to go back into her room, when Luz’s hand grabs her.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Luz is still laughing. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. You look cute.”

Thank you, Luz. That’s very nice of you, Luz. You look nice in your strange clothes and oversized jacket as well, Luz. Those were all potential responses she could deliver.

Instead, she makes a choked-off noise that sounds suspiciously like hngg and closes her eyes.

(She’s so gone for this idiot)

*****

“Does your moon look like the one here?” Amity asks, one night of many, when they’re sitting on her balcony staring up at the gigantic thing. There’s some quiet song about stars and lovers that’s playing on that infernal device Luz is always toting around, and Luz is next to her, her arm brushing against Amity’s, radiating warmth out from the point of contact.

Amity wouldn’t mind if she died happy right at this moment.

“It’s a little different, I think,” Luz tilts her head, regarding it thoughtfully. Then she picks up her phone, taps at it and holds it out in front of Amity. “Here, that’s the moon back home.”

It isn’t bluish like this one. Nor is it smooth, unblemished. It’s got marks all over it, remnants, Amity presumes of outside forces long gone by. Enraptured, she leans in for a closer look.

“It’s orange!”

“It was just that day,” Luz informs her. “It isn’t orange all the time.”

“It changes colors?” That was surprising. Also fascinating.

“Not — not all the time. It’s complicated, I guess.”

Amity likes the wide smile Luz holds when she talks about this. Luz is so expressive, she couldn’t hide her feelings to save her life. Most of the time in school, when being faced down by exasperated teachers Amity thinks of it as a curse. Now, however, at midnight, while it’s just the two of them, and she is privy to this unbridled display of everything that makes up Luz, she’s enamored.

“Why do you like the moon so much?” she asks, curious.

“Why do you like the sun so much?” Luz shoots back, playfully.

Oh. That one’s easy. “Because it turns everything golden. Because it’s airy and light. Because it makes me feel warm inside.” Because your eyes turn a particular shade in the sunlight and it’s hard to look at you directly, you shine so bright. Because every time the sun comes up, it is a precursor to me seeing you in school.

Because it reminds me of you.

Luz looks at her, her eyes uncharacteristically wide and serious. “I like the moon because it makes me feel seen. Because it’s almost as lonely as I am. Because I can trust it enough to know that it’s mostly always there, even if it’s behind the clouds at the moment.”

They’re staring at each other, eyes wide, and Amity can’t breathe. She thinks of a lonely Luz staring up at the night sky back in the human world, talking to the moon, and it twinges, sorrowfully, like a ukulele out of tune, at a place deep underneath her chest. Some strange mixture of I’m sorry you had no one to talk to and I wish I’d been there, I wish I’d known you back then — I’d have listened to all your stories.

“Plus,” Luz smiles, “it’s pretty.”

Amity blinks, and the spell is broken. Luz jerks, as if coming out of a dream, and stands up straight. Stammers, fumbles, makes a truly terrible joke about broomsticks and King and the annoying owl slash security guard slash housekeeper and runs off, leaving her completely confused.

*****

It’s when Gus finds out that Amity discovers that everyone and their parent has known about her Grometheus sized crush on Luz the entire time.

“But why didn’t you tell me?” He’s still sulking about it in a corner, while Amity is faced down by Willow, Edric, Emira, Eda and King at the same time.

“Nobody told anyone, strange little child,” Eda waves a hand impatiently at him. “We just have eyes.”

Edric casts a momentary silencing spell on him, but Amity is pretty sure he’s mouthing the words “But I have eyes too”. Not that she’s too worried about Gus. He’ll be fine.... eventually. It’s more the fact that she now has to figure out which parts of her behavior have apparently clued in the whole world to the fact that her heart is waddling around in an idiot’s chest, most times.

“How about the fact that you can’t stop smiling when I bring her up?” She does not—

“Or that you did some pretty advanced magic trying to save her when that Slither-Beast had us?” How did he-

“You nearly combusted when she picked you up after our Grudgby match?” It wasn’t that bad.

She buries her head in her hands. Then looks up at King.

“Do you want to add anything?”

“No,” he replies. “I had no idea until today. I just didn’t want to be lumped in with Gus over there.”

She stands up, picks up her bag. “Okay, I am clearly at a disadvantage here—”

“Mittens, come back,” Edric grabs the back of her shirt, lets her flail for a minute before she gives up.

“I just — I just wanted to get her something nice for her birthday tomorrow, okay? And instead I’m being ambushed by the entirety of Boiling Isles.”

“But we are trying to help you, kid,” Eda tells her, now lounging on the couch with King on her lap. “God knows I love that child, but she has not an ounce of common sense in her. There is no way she’s ever going to figure out you’re in love with her if you don’t—”

“—whoa, whoa, whoa, love? That’s — please — completely crazy — idea. I’m not — in — love. That’s—”

She’s not. She’s not. So what if she keeps interrogating Gus on human things so she can impress Luz with her admittedly flawed knowledge on all things non-Boiling Isles? So what if she hasn’t slept more than five hours for the past one month because Luz comes over at night and they end up talking until past midnight? What does it even matter that Luz is the only person who she feels any form of innate comfort around? Or that every time she lends Luz her jacket when it gets chilly, the sight of an awkwardly clad Luz in that oversized thing makes her heart feel full to the point of bursting?

That’s not love.

(Some strange whisper echoes through her head, leaving echoes of But it could be behind)

Luz is the sun, okay? Bright and beautiful and adored by everyone. There’s no reason she could, or that she even should pay attention to Amity. Her affection is easily given, evenly split between all her friends and the citizens of the world; there’s no way Amity could ever hope to exert enough gravity to make Luz notice her, no way she could dare to hope for a greater portion in Luz’s long list of priorities.

(After all, does the sun even know that moon exists?)

*****

“Come on, Amity!”

She presses her lips flat, tries not to burst into laughter at the sight of an impatient Luz, vibrating by her side, hands opening and closing in the air.

“I know you have a gift for me! And you’ve been hiding it from everyone! Nobody at the party knew!”

“Aren’t you tired from the party?” she asks, knowing the abrupt change in topic is just going to annoy Luz more. It had been a hectic affair, after all. Monster complications in the morning aside, the Owl House had seen an impressive number of guests who wanted to wish Luz a very happy birthday. An impressive number of guests along with an impressive number of gifts.

All except one.

“Nope. Not tired at all,” Luz tells her, promptly. “Completely alert and ready to receive the gift that I know you’ve gotten me but aren’t giving me yet, because you like messing with me.”

Amity twists her face into the visual equivalent of Who, me but conjures up a wrapped box either way. It falls into Luz’s outstretched hands, and then she has to tell her to shush unless they want Amity’s parents grounding her, forever.

(Not that it pleases her, much. She hates telling Luz to quiet down, because it tends to break her out of whatever spiel she is embarking upon, and Amity adores it when Luz rambles. Her eyes shine, and her hands move around animatedly, and her voice, her voice is so, so sweet she doesn’t mind it telling her about things she cannot comprehend)

She puts a hand on Luz’s right arm just as she’s about to unwrap it. “Luz,” she starts, already embarrassed, but determined to power through, “this, is probably not the best gift, and probably not even accurate as well, so you have to tell me if you don’t like it, okay? I’ve got other backup gifts I’d planned on giving you, so no worries, okay? Just—”

“Amity,” Luz cuts in, her excited smile morphing into something a little quieter, gentler, “I already love it.”

“You haven’t even seen it yet.”

Luz shrugs, like it doesn’t matter, still looking at her. Only resumes unwrapping it when Amity nods. Opens the box, and thankfully isn’t looking at her when Amity starts talking.

“I tried — to make it as close to the real thing as possible,” she says, watching Luz look at the off-white orb in wonder. “King helped. He went on something called the, the internet? And turns out your moon has a lot of craters! But it’s pretty regardless, so I tried — to. Yeah.”

She’s not exactly surprised when Luz leans over and hugs her. They’re sitting side by side so the angle’s a little off, but it’s not like she cares. Luz, beautiful, happy, Luz is here and she’s solid in her arms, and she can feel her smile against her neck and Amity is going to die—

“Thank you.” Luz disentangles herself from the embrace, but still pretty close. “I — Amity. Thank you. You didn’t have to.”

But I want to. I want to give you things, and I want to give you things that you like and that will maybe remind you of me. She places a hand on the orb between them, sees it light up.

“It also does this,” she informs Luz, unnecessarily. Then places a hand again, watches it turn orange. “Changes colors. Like yours does.”

She finally looks at Luz again, after a moment of complete silence, only to see her staring back. The look in her eyes is so — so intense (Amity can think of no other way to describe it), that it makes her want to turn away and cover her face. Like it’s going to burn her up if she keeps looking into her eyes.

And then Luz quickly darts forward to press a kiss to her cheek, and Amity combusts.

(Only inside. You’d think it was possible, wouldn’t you? It was the Boiling Isles, after all. But no. Nobody had spontaneously combusted since Elaric the Great and as far as anybody could tell, it didn’t have anything to do with romance)

The kiss lands half on her half and half on her skin because she’s pretty sure Luz hasn’t exactly thought it through either. There’s a single, blissful moment of peace, and then then her heart goes into overdrive, beating away like it’s trying to catch a train.

Speaking of things trying to catch a train, however....

“I have to go!” Luz scrambles away, gets up. Her face looks red as well, and Amity, a little stumped, watches it happen, as though in slow motion. Even through her haste, she picks up the replica of the moon carefully and wraps it up in her jacket. “I’ll — see you tomorrow! At school! Where we both.... go. So. Yeah. Goodnight!”

“Goodnight?” Amity replies, softly.

Right before she’s about to climb down, Luz stops. Turns around, and very quickly says something that Amity for the life of her cannot figure out.

(Also, because she’s still in the tummy-woozy, mind-blank state of just having a kiss pressed to her cheek by the most perfect girl in the world)

“Can you say that again?”

“I, uh,” Luz slows down, deliberately, her voice coming out quieter. “Did you totally hate that?”

Oh.

Oh, gosh, the idiot.

Amity shakes her head, grins at her, hoping that says what she isn’t brave enough to say yet. “No, Luz. I didn’t hate that.”

*****

She keeps the picture of Luz’s tremulous, answering smile wrapped in the fist she presses to her heart a long time after she’s gone.

*****

And that’s how the story ends. With the sun smiling at the moon.

#the owl house #lumity #luz x amity #fanfiction #okay so i finished the owl house like yesterday and god do i think every single character in it is cute? hell yes #but amity! turns out im not immune to mean lesbians either because first episode and she was already my fav #also because she's exactly as much of a mess as me when i like someone #but anyways #here's a rambling oneshot i wrote about them being cute #also about them being the sun and the moon #so metaphors abound!

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seokoloqy · 4 years

Text

A Hunter’s Mark | knj (m)

➳ PAIRING: hunter!namjoon x hunter!reader

➳ GENRE: fluff, f2l, Nevermore universe

➳ WORD COUNT: 2.3k

➳ WARNINGS: nothing too freaky, just making out, tiny bit of thigh riding action, yes I wrote c*ck, yes I wrote p***y but nothing else too detailed, implied smut, a little blood and injury

➳ SUMMARY: While Namjoon, the pacifist, has always been reluctant to kill beasts, you and him have officially been marked as hunters. Your first assignment doesn’t go as planned and it leads to confessions.

➳ A/N: you’ll be seeing a lot more of Namjoon in my necromancer fic, Nevermore! This is just a short little drabble expanding on the universe and Namjoons character ENJOY~

—

“Stop crying about it, Namjoon!” You shout, tugging on the back of his collar to get him out of bed. He’s been lying face down for hours and whining about the mark you both just received.

Today was your initiation as hunters. One of the rites included having a priestess sear a mark into your left eye that grants you the ability to see invisible supernaturals. It’s meant to aid you on hunts.

“I never even wanted this,” his muffled groan comes after you release his collar.

Namjoon has always been vocal about his disdain for hunting supernaturals. Despite his entire family being hunters, he refuses to follow the same path. He votes for living peacefully among vicious beasts instead of slaughtering them. He’s always had a weak heart. If he had seen the things you’ve seen—monsters tearing apart the innocent without mercy—he’d never hesitate.

“Everything is okay.”

He drags his face out of his pillow to look at you. His left eye, newly marked, is now a deep amethyst and where his pupil once was now in the shape of a pentagram. The pentagram represents protection from evil. It matches yours and all other hunters who’ve been marked.

“I saw a reaper today! She had this white veil on a-and scissors. How is that okay? I don’t want to see that!”

You’re starting to get frustrated with his whiny attitude. He needs to start seeing reality the way you do. Creatures like vampires and demons that prey on the vulnerable, sirens who seduce sailors to their doom with tempting songs, even mischievous fae that hide in the forest and lure victims in from town don’t deserve to live. They’ll never change like he wants to believe. All they do is destroy lives like yours.

You’d still have a family if they weren’t slaughtered by demons all for the fun of it. Experiencing tragedy like that is something Namjoon has never known and it’s exactly why he’s so naive to it all. You don’t want his delusions to end up killing him if he hesitates.

You don’t know what you’d do without him. Living a life without Namjoon is something you don’t want to imagine. It’ll be hard not to have his dimpled smile and warm hugs to comfort you or his intellect to get you out of trouble with the priestess. He’s always there to comfort and listen to your troubles, especially when dealing with the stress and fear that comes with being a hunter.

“Reapers won’t bother you unless they’re going to kill you. So please get up, Joon, I need you.” You grab one of his pillows and swing it at his head to motivate him.

He only glowers and buries his face back into bed.

“Come on! We have our first assignment,” you groan. “There are rumors that a vampire is staying at the inn.”

Namjoon grunts, shifting further away from you.

You settle yourself on the bed beside him, sighing dramatically. Your hand reaches up to card through his dark hair, leaning in closely to his ear. He can feel your breath on his blushing cheeks.

“If you don’t come I’ll go by myself without backup. And if I die I’ll ask the reaper to let me stay and haunt you.”

Namjoon visibly stiffens and finally turns his head back to you with a glare. He pushes himself out of bed and begrudgingly gets his things together.

—

The two of you walk towards the inn where the vampire is rumored to stay. At night the town of Nevermore becomes a quiet eerie place. The citizens never wander around at night in fear of being captured by anything lurking in the dark. Their biggest fear being so close to the ocean is the seductive siren’s song that is known for luring people out of their homes while they sleep.

You’re used to the emptiness at night with nothing but the ocean waves to calm your nerves. You glance at Namjoon who has been shuffling his feet behind you the entire time.

“Don’t be so mopey.”

He finally speaks up, “We don’t even know if this vampire has killed anyone.”

You roll your eyes. “Even if this one hasn't killed before, it will eventually. We need to stop it before that happens.”

“They don't have to kill,” Namjoon mutters. “If they find someone willing to give blood.”

You click your tongue, already knowing where he’s going with this. The kingdom to the North and its controversial vampire army that survives off the blood of volunteers.

Somehow they’ve managed to tame a whole group of vampires to serve them, but as a hunter, your instincts tell you those vampires are just waiting to attack unsuspected.

That kingdom doesn’t allow hunters, so it remains a mystery to you whether or not they use volunteers or sacrifice up their citizens as lambs to slaughter. You vote for the latter.

But there’s one thing that’s for sure. On the battlefield they’re the ruthless monsters you’ve always known, ripping apart the enemy and dancing victoriously in their blood. Their army is an unstoppable beast that is too dangerous to exist.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you groan. “As if anyone is insane enough to offer their blood to a blood thirsty vampire. Now come on. We still have a vampire to hunt.” You extend your hand out to him which he reluctantly takes, allowing you to drag him along. Your fingers curl around his hand, feeling the pulsing warmth.

“Right,” he sighs, following after you towards the inn.

—

Your first hunt isn’t going as well as you’d hoped.

Your body collides with the wall, knocking all the air out of you.

You both arrived at the inn and found the room where the vampire was residing. It seemed startled when you entered, pretending that it wasn’t going to harm anyone and that it only wanted a place to rest.

You didn’t believe a word of it, but Namjoon hesitated, giving the vampire the perfect opportunity to lunge at you.

Namjoon rushes toward you instead of drawing his weapon to kill the vampire.

“No,” you cough, scrambling to pull yourself off the ground and find your blades. You see them across the room, too far to get to in time. “Kill it! Forget about me.”

Namjoon ignores you, kneeling next to you to check your wounds. The vampire scurries out the window, dropping down five floors, a feat not too difficult for a monster.

“You’re letting it get away!” You push yourself onto your feet and dart towards the window just in time to see the vampire run off down an alley. You moan, palming your face, “the priestess is not going to be happy about this!”

The priestess at the hunter’s sanctuary may have a kind hearted and innocent facade when she’s sitting on a cushioned throne giving advice or caring for injured hunters, but when she snaps at those who allow beasts to get away, they’ll be lucky to walk away unscathed by her wrath. However, you two being brand new hunters, she might be lenient with punishment.

She’ll have to send another hunter to deal with your incompetence. You wonder which hunter will have to deal with this mess.

“It’ll be okay,” Namjoon tries to say, attempting to calm you down.

“Our first hunt,” you mutter dejectedly.

“It’s fine,” he brushes off, “let’s just go back to my house.”

—

“Don’t touch me!” You hiss, slapping his hand away from the scratch on your arm. You’ve had plenty of time to simmer over your failed hunt.

“I said I’m sorry,” Namjoon repeats, “I should’ve jumped in before he could grab you.”

You scoff, “that’s not why I’m angry. I’m angry because you let that vampire get away.”

He shouldn’t have run to you and you shouldn’t have let him convince you not to chase after it. By not pursuing the vampire and finishing the job, it already breaks the hunter’s code of fighting till your last breath. You're afraid of what the priestess will say most of all.

Namjoon crosses his arms. “I’m not sorry about that.”

You ball your fists at his words. How can he say that? Even if the vampire seemed to beg for its life it was all just a rouse to lower your guard. Now it’s free to go tear apart families because you two couldn’t kill it tonight. Namjoon had the chance to kill it but rushed to you instead.

“I can’t take it anymore, Namjoon! You can’t keep convincing yourself that these monsters will ever change!” You cry out, finally letting all your frustration flow. “You’ll get yourself killed one day and then I’ll have no one!”

Namjoon is the only person you have left. If he dies it’ll be one more person taken from you too soon.

Tears well up in your eyes as you stare at his shocked face. You move closer to him, almost blinded by the tears in your eyes as your shoulders begin to shake.

“Don’t leave me, Namjoon… I can’t lose another person I love.”

You love him and his tender heart, his sympathy, his selflessness. He’s the last person in this world who you love and trust. You’d do anything to protect him.

“You won’t.” His arms encircle you and he hugs you tightly. “I promise.”

“Then stop being so stupid.”

You rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart, shutting your eyes as a hot tear runs down your cheek.

He’s always so selfless, running in front of others to protect them whenever there’s danger without thinking of what kind of consequences would come from it. And the unwillingness to believe in the cruelty of monsters paired with that recklessness will only get him killed. He can promise that he won’t leave you all he wants, but you’ll never be able to believe it.

He holds you closely until your body stops shaking and you’re no longer crying. You sit together on the bed, thighs and shoulders touching.

“Namjoon?”

“Hm,” he hums, staring down at his intertwined fingers.

You dab your damp cheeks, a shy smile creeping onto your face. “Should we pretend I didn’t just confess my love for you?”

You’re not sure how he’ll react. He must not want to say anything that’ll upset you further. He doesn’t feel the same way, you think. He sees you more like a sister he grew up with.

“Why? I-” Namjoon swallows, feeling his hands get clammy, “I love you too.”

“Like a friend or sister, right?”

“No, I’m in love with you.” He emphasizes in love, trying to get you to understand how he truly feels. Namjoon stares into your eyes, his shy hands coming up to cradle your face. “I love you, ___.”

For a second time tonight, tears begin to well up in your eyes. This time you’re overjoyed.

“Swear by the gods!” You want to hear it again. You want to savor his words for as long as you can. Living the life of a hunter doesn’t guarantee a long, virtuous life. There is only one rule a hunter lives by: slaughter as many monsters as you can or die fighting.

For as long as you have left, you want to hear the words I love you.

“I swear by the divine gods above, that I am in love with you, ___,” he laughs, looking down at your smiling face.

Without hesitation you push your lips onto his, throwing your arms around his neck to deepen the kiss.

Namjoon, stiff and unsure at first, gradually relaxes and cups your cheek, returning the kiss.

Both your hands move at their own volition to eagerly strip each other of their shirts. You run your hands over Namjoon’s toned chest. Despite his reluctance to hunt, he maintains a nice physique to keep up with you during training.

His hand glides over your bare stomach, leaving goosebumps in its wake. His lips latch onto your neck, sucking and licking a perfect mark on your heated skin. From your neck to your shoulders, down between your breasts, he leaves evidence of his desire.

Your legs rub together, creating friction to barely satisfy the throbbing between them. Need builds up in you, threatening to explode, the longer he’s not inside you. Now, now, now, your body cries out for him. You need him so desperately, but…

“Namjoon,” you moan, pulling his attention away from your neck. “Can we do this?”

Should we do this?

Crossing the boundary between friendship and lovers is a big step. You’re afraid of what will happen if you both hand over your hearts to one another especially now when you’ve both become hunters.

“I’ve wanted you to be mine since the day we met.”

His mouth returns to the spot on your neck he favors, allowing his hands to wander again. Gently, he coaxes you to lay against his bed. When he pulls back from sucking bruises on your neck, his thick thigh presses against your core, sending a shock through your body.

Your hips move to grind against his flexing thigh, hungry for stimulation. It’s not enough to satiate the throbbing though. You can feel your underwear beginning to stick to your pussy from all the arousal.

Your arms are thrown around his shoulders when he dives back down and his hands begin to remove your restricting pants. They slide off without much struggle after you raise your hips and are discarded somewhere in the corner of his room.

Cupping your cheek to bring you close, Namjoon captures your lips in another heated and passionate kiss with tongues exploring each other's mouths. Your hands, craving for something to do, begin to wander downward, trailing down his toned back. He shivers under your fingertips raking over his skin. Your hands move down the waistband of his pants, working quickly to get them off and his cock free so you can see all of him.

“So eager,” he teases between uneven breaths, hissing as your hand wraps around him and teases his tip.

“I just want you right now.”

“Then go ahead and take me. I’m all yours.”

#bts #bts smut #namjoon smut #namjoon fanfiction #bts fanfiction #bts fluff #namjoon fluff #bts fanfic #namjoon fanfic #bts drabble #bts scenario #i hate tags

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hwallout · 4 years

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chemistry - haon

request: you're literally so cute omg 🥺, and yes he really is talented, one of the best rappers in my opinion actually,could it be a fluff, you being an idol and something like you two are dating and go to a variety show together and everyone just adores you two 🥺

words: 4,2k

genre: fluff

early a/n: omg im so nervous about this, my first request!! i kind of got carried away with the idea and just wanted to write a lot of things for it. it’s also my first time writing an idol and variety show au so i hope i did it justice <3

“Today, we have a special, new couple with us, everyone please welcome them!” The short and chubby woman said, a little nametag hanging off the rough material of her shirt, Jiyoon. Her voice rose slightly at the last word, arms extending and hands pointing towards the two youthful souls that stood not so far away. Slowly, the camera zoomed out and focused on the excited and cheerful appearance of a young couple.

Today, after exactly two weeks of going public about your relationship with Haon, you were guesting on your first “couple” variety show. Needless to say, nervousness taking a toll on your mind, although it wasn’t the first time guesting on this exact show. Being a popular solo artist, you’ve been invited a few times, and so has the rapper beside you, but being here as a couple was a completely different story.

Still, you didn’t let the tension win, and decided to film today’s episode as per usual – with a lot of fun and laughs. Now that your boyfriend was there, the atmosphere was only going to be better. Haon had a huge smile on his face, one that was well matching with yours. His cheeks came up high and made his eyes turn into thin slits. Just seeing him so happy was enough to make anyone’s day perfect.

The two of you walked hand in hand, bodies moving to the slowly increasing volume of a song playing. It took a long second to realize that it was your recent collaboration – a song that earned a lot of praise and became a hit overnight. Letting the beat glide, your idol persona took over and you started bopping and mouthing the words of the song.

When in the center of the room, Haon turned around and rapped along, hyping up the whole set. His lyrics flowed perfectly, breathing perfectly in control for the speed he delivered the words. Although so close to the boy, you still envied him, there was still so, so much to learn from such an experienced person. Slowly but surely, he built up the atmosphere for the main part of the collaboration – which were your own lyrics. When they finally started, the set went silent.

Still in the chic persona that the fans adored so much, you rapped along, holding an imaginary mic. At some point, you’d lift up your leg and step on Haon’s thigh, the boy now crouching down and enjoying the show. He looked at you with a cheeky smirk, but the eyes held so much indescribable adoration for the female before him.

Distancing away, and deciding to walk around the room, you showed off the powerful aura that was one of the main reasons you were an instant hit right after debut. The producers and cameramen bopped their heads along. In the last few lines, your boyfriend joined in on the vocal parts and you ran towards him to perform together, satisfied with the smooth execution of the beautiful collaboration.

The song ended with a strong growl and an imaginary mic drop from the both of you. Sounds of amazement resonated through the room, and the MCs appeared in the shot once again, also clapping along.

“Exactly what do we say about this duo? Legendary, exceptional, talented couple” Jiyoon chirped, her voice high but slightly raspy. “Haon and _____ everybody!” Hoseok and Lim, two of the other MCs joined in, chanting names and motioning towards you for the main camera to move and switch focus.

A brief filming cut was made, and suddenly there were a lot of people running around. Some staff came close to check up on makeup, hair, clothes, while the rest prepared the set behind. Haon’s disappearance went by unnoticed, until he came back, holding a fluffy blanket in your favorite color. Unable to control the sudden rush of feelings, you hugged him tight, hearing quiet coos from the production crew.

Everything was finished in a matter of one minute, and the filming resumed. You were seated now, with the blanket covering up your legs, a warm feeling spreading over the chilly skin. There was a wide smile on your face that only widened as the male beside reached out and held your hand, placing it neatly in his lap.

“First off, welcome! It’s a pleasure seeing some familiar faces again” Lim spoke, deep voice contrasting his soft features. He looked at the boy on your left, then you, a friendly smile on his lips. The man’s cheeks were high and full, making it clear as to why the media often compared him to a mochi. Seeing Lim hosting again allowed you to relax more. You were already comfortable enough to joke and fool around with the older.

“Thank you for inviting us!” Haon replied, glancing to his right quickly as if to catch your reaction. Even after so long, there was that soft smile he fell in love with so long ago.

“It’s always refreshing when couples guest on our show, but I must say I was pleasantly surprised with today’s lineup” Lim continued, and was met with approving hums from the others. You looked down at the blanket, feeling a slight flush overtaking your features.

“We hope you guys will have fun with today’s segments we prepared just for you” The host continued, flipping over a page on his script and taking a quick glance at it. The announcement had your eyes widening and mouth forming an O shape. Haon was in charge of vocal reactions, an amazed (or perhaps thrilled?) sound leaving his parted lips. You looked at him in excitement, resuming to clapping and legs swaying back and forth.

“Ah, just for us? Stop it, I’m gonna blush” Haon suddenly said, putting a hand to his heart, trying to fake fluster. The tone with which he spoke was high in pitch, almost way too cute for his usual demeanor. You laughed at his little remark, seeing just how comfortable the other was with the older man.

“You know you’re my favorite, how can I not?” Lim replied with the same type of undertone, mimicking the actions of your boyfriend. A slight commotion developed between two friends. You, and the two other hosts, sat on the side, watching with attentive eyes the teasing conversation that went back and forth – providing yet another source of entertainment. The room was quickly filled with laughter and claps of excitement.

Once the noise died out, Hoseok was the one to speak. He was the newest MC of the show, yet he always seemed so professional.

“As you can see, we always have fun with our guests” He said, taking a glance at the script in his lap. The motion was brief and quick, almost unnoticeable. “And I hope you’ll continue to enjoy the show because we are jumping straight onto the first segment!”

The MCs did their usual transition between introductions and first segments, their strong cheers followed by your own. Adding to points for style, the couple made little hand guns that were pointed at the camera. They were later on edited to shoot colorful hearts.

“So, guys, you’ve been dating for some time now” Jiyoon noted, looking at you with adoring eyes. The woman was in her mid 40s and always loved seeing such young but aspiring people happy together. It was something about these pupils that had so much weight on their shoulders, but found time for each other, that made Jiyoon’s chest feel warm. It’s probably exactly why she loved doing shows like these.

“9 months” You interrupted, trying to hide the excitement that threatened to drip off those words. Honestly, it wasn’t possible to remain emotionless while speaking about your relationship. The boy meant so much to you, that whenever talking or thinking about him, you’d smile.

“9 months, yet only decided to go public recently, how did that go? How did you come about making such an important decision?”

“Well, we talked about it a lot ever since we got together actually” Haon spoke, the dark strands of hair falling over his eyes, failing to hide the raw emotion in his pupils as he spoke. Out of nowhere, the boy’s hand reached for yours and for the nth time that day, you let him hold it.

“But I think that just after our collab came out, the fans managed to catch onto that little bit of emotion. That’s when we realized it couldn’t be hidden for much longer. So, as we appeared in more videos together, they kept on picking on all these little looks because you know, it’s impossible to hold all of them in-” The boy laughed, cocking his head to the side. “And then maybe I slipped and posted a certain story...”

“Slipped and went through the effort of putting a filter and timestamp on the picture” You noted, remembering just the exact moment when it all unfolded. It was a late Friday. In quest of breathing some fresh air, you walked out on the balcony, leaned against the balustrade and enjoyed the beautiful view. The full moon greeted you happily. Haon joined you on the balcony shortly after, but his steps were quiet, unalarming of his presence. From his point of view, your form was only a dark silhouette, contrasting the city lights and white city behind it. Without much thought, the boy snapped a picture, turning to instagram story and writing ‘late night inspiration’.

The fans weren’t slow to catch up. Fortunately, it appeared to be a good decision.

“We were with supportive comments even before going official, and when that accident happened, we decided to come clean of it. That’s what he’s trying to present an essay about” You answered the question with a sassy tone, rolling your eyes playfully at the other, earning a laugh from the hosts in return. Your boyfriend tried faking offense at being so nonchalantly interrupted, but the smirk that followed on his expression didn't wait to appear.

“And how did all of this happen? How did the relationship develop?” Lim questioned, raising his eyebrows in a teasing manner.

“Haon was actually there when I auditioned for the company. He wasn’t allowed in by the judges-” You began, trying to vividly recall the exact moment of your first encounter. Haon was shorter back then, hair curly and covering most of his forehead, reaching his eyes even. It was a wonder he was even able to see you audition through those strands and blurry glass. Haon wore baggy clothes, and you remember thinking that his outfit of the day was inspired by homeless fashion.

“Mind you, I was called, but I refused”

“He refused and then stood right outside, watching the audition. When I came out of the room, he greeted me and we talked while I waited for my friend to finish her audition. We became friends in a span of 10 minutes”

“I knew she was going to get accepted, and when that finally happened, I was there to help her with all the burdens of the trainee period. Especially because she was trained to be a solo artist. We’re similar age, so I was there to be a friend as well as some kind of a tutor. Then, it all slowly developed from that friendship” Your boyfriend spoke with so much pride in his voice and you had to physically restrain from cooing out loud. Despite all effort, there was still a faint tint of red on your cheeks.

“The two of you are people of great qualities, what are some things that you exceptionally like about each other?” Hoseok questioned, quite interested in the whole topic. He wanted the two of you to talk your hearts out, to show just how happy people could be when together. The man was an idol too and completely aware of how cruel the industry could be, especially towards young artists that tried living life outside of work. Seeing a couple like you, openly talking about the relationship, gave him some faith to believe in.

“She’s extremely selfless. She’ll first make sure everyone is doing fine and everyone’s needs are met before hers. Also, she’s very determined. If this girl has her mind on something, she’s not going to stop working until it’s achieved. If some things meet bumps along the way, she tends to talk herself through it-”

“I do not!” You tried defending pride, but the words held no truth. It was a trait you were aware but definitely not proud of.

“You do. Personally, I find it cute, especially when you’re working on songs, composing or writing. You hum a melody and then explain it to yourself. Or when your tongue pokes out while concentrated, like this” Haon explained, carefully moving his tongue to place it between his soft lips, resembling a puppy. Although called out, you found the situation to be a great source of even more entertainment. Deciding to tease the boy further, you squinted and leaned in.

“No I don’t?”

“Yes, you do, exactly like this” Your boyfriend repeated the action, turning around so you could observe from different angles. Unfortunately for him, there was no affirmative reaction, and you only resumed staring at him. At this point, the MCs caught onto the game and started giggling silently, hands covering their mouth and trying to prevent the sounds from escaping.

“How? Can you please demonstrate again I didn’t see it” Just then, the façade broke and your voice pitched up at the end. A sneaky laugh slipped just in between the last two words. The boy looked at you seriously, taking a second to process the situation before gasping. His head shook in disapproval while everyone around laughed loudly. Your shoulders shook with so much power that they managed to throw you off balance and off the chair – almost. Almost, because just like always, the protective and reassuring side of your boyfriend was there to steady your form. With an appreciative look, you silently thanked him. Just a few more moments passed before you were answering to Hoseok’s question too.

“Haon... he’s very outgoing, to the point where I have to mentally prepare for whatever might happen tomorrow. He’s always doing something, always busy with something. Also, he loves to gift and surprise people, with small pieces of affection or big extravagant plans”

“Haon likes to interrupt me mid writing to listen to his songs and I really can’t complain about that because I get to hear all of the songs in their raw, original format” You tried to do the boy justice, although it is extremely hard to do so using plain, simple words. Your feelings went further than any sentence could ever portray.

“He’s very clingy and loves to show affection at any moment possible” To prove the point, you pointed towards the other hand that was securely in his. The hosts cooed at the sight, and instead of pulling back, Haon only caressed your fingers carefully.

“He likes to switch between English and Korean a lot, thank god that I understand him, for we’d definitely not be able to communicate properly if I didn't”

Truthfully, it was possible to go on for days about your boyfriend. It was that huge space the boy had in your heart that held so, so many reasons for why it loved him. Deeming that the show wasn’t an appropriate place for your heart to write love letters, you decided to stop there, ending the presentation with a slight nod and look at the ground. The hosts took a few seconds to drink up this beautiful confession, before agreeing on moving on to the next segment.

“For every couple, communication and understanding are very important, right?” Jiyoon started, looking around as if to gauge reaction. Humming and nodding along, you agreed with her statement. She flipped the pages of the script, a little more obvious than Hoseok, and continued the speech. “Those who are close can understand each other without words, even, so that’s exactly what our first game is going to be about”

As if on que, Lim ran towards the production crew to pick up a a stack of papers. All of them had something written on them, but thanks to his broad form, the words were hidden from sight. Hoseok took it upon himself to explain the game, saying you’ll be explaining words to each other using only your body. In the first round, Haon will be the one describing, while you guess, and in the second, vice versa. Six points and above were considered a win, there were two passes and one minute per round.

“I don’t think this is a good idea, we have a collective sum of three braincells” Your boyfriend spoke, realizing that such a game maybe wasn’t one of his strongest fields. Laughing quietly while walking towards your position, you listened to the funny exchange between him and Jiyoon.

“Three work better than none” The woman tried encouraging the boy, patting him softly on the back.

“The problem is all three of them are hers” Haon replied, a teasing tone noticeable in his words. The older giggled, pushing him softly towards his own position, shaking her head while doing so. Lim stood a few steps behind you, holding the papers high above his head so the boy describing could easily see the words. The countdown began and in a matter of three seconds, you were thrown into the game.

A minute passed by way too quick for your liking. It was as if you’ve only had enough time to properly think about two of the terms the other was mimicking, when in fact you’ve managed to do quite well. Succeeding on guessing explosion, roller coaster and cute, with a pass on police officer, you thought you’ve done well enough. For the first round, you were very proud of the both of you. Now the team only needed to get three more right, to win the game.

Unfortunately, this word set appeared to be a lot harder than the last. Still, somehow, with incredulous amounts of effort and teamwork, you’ve managed to succeed on cloud, phoenix and leaf with a pass on machine. Hearing someone yell “PASS” sent both youngsters into overdrive.

Cheers of celebration echoed throughout the wide space, as you all but yeeted yourself across the room. Succeeding appeared to be a huge accomplishment, even though it was just a simple game. You ran across the studio, occasionally throwing glances at the rest. Haon was wiggling his body like a spaghetti, making weird noises to emphasize his happiness. Once in arms reach, he lifted you off the ground and spun around. As a succession gift, the pair was gifted a Korean beef set, that managed to increase their already huge amount of happiness.

The next segment was calmer than the last. The MCs discussed a little bit more of your life and daily routines, still curious about how you were managing everything. They brought up some funny pictures and videos you’ve posted together in the past two weeks, and listened to the stories behind them – especially the video where you were running away from a flock of angry ducks at a local park, all while Haon was sneakily laughing and recording. Or the one where he was trying to make a certain type of pastry and managed to completely drown himself in flour. Of course, the picture you snapped then was immediately posted on Instagram.

When the hosts introduced the next game, your interest was immediately earned. Although alone, it actually was something you’ve practiced before, therefore doing it with your boyfriend shouldn’t be that challenging.

The explanation was brief and clear. You will be shown a yoga pose for exactly half a second and will then have twenty to recreate it as accurately as possible. Two executed poses are a success.

Apparently, this was supposed to showcase another side of your teamwork and compatibility. Just how the hosts imagined the game to prove your compatibility was beyond the couple, but as long as you had fun, nothing else mattered.

Feeling a rush of confidence from the last game, you stood up and approached the little screen that will be displaying the poses. Haon joined in and you were shown the first picture not long after. A gasp left your lips.

“Tell me I didn’t see that well” You whispered, surprise evident both in your voice but also eyes. Seeing your confused face, the boy was ready to explain, but upon noticing the clock already ticking down your precious twenty seconds, he realized there was no time for it.

“Unfortunately, you did, now hurry!” He said, already moving to mirror the pose of the man on that picture. It was easy for him to hurry, when his part of the pose was way easier. Carefully approaching him, you stood on his foot with yours, then looked back.

“I swear if you drop me-”

“Wouldn’t be the first time now, would it?”

“Just please don’t drop me this time” You pleaded, letting Haon grab the other leg by the ankle and slowly lift it up. Thanks to the idol training, you were quite flexible so the boy easily lifted your leg in the wanted position. Crossing yourself, you dared to push forward, screaming when the force on the ankle pulled you into a secure position and prevented the fall from happening. At that moment, your heart beat faster than ever. Extending arms forward, the pose was finished and you listened to the last few seconds tick away.

The second one seemed to not have put you in a wishful position either, but it was easier than the last one. You took the black shoes off while Haon executed the downwards dog, strengthening his back so you could easily climb up. Shifting all weight on strong arms and stepping backwards (and carefully) on Haon’s back, you stopped only when you reached his hips and were folded into a 90-degree angle. Once again, the clock ticked away, the MCs screaming ‘PASS’ and coming over to assist you coming down.

It was only easy yoga, yet the both of you gasped hard for air afterwards. A weak fist of celebration was risen into thin air, as you sat down cross legged, still somewhat dizzy and disoriented. The camera made sure to zoom in everyone’s face, from different angles, eager to catch raw reactions. Haon on the other hand, although out of breath, was able to talk and stand up. He decided to go grab water for you, commenting on the experience while walking.

“I don’t know how it showed our compatibility, but it for sure proved how out of shape we are if we managed to get out of breath like this”

You were given two minutes to calm down and have makeup checked (for the nth time that day), before the shoot continued. For the next, and at the same time last segment, you were seated again, speaking with the MCs about different goals and future plans. They allowed you to be as cliché and cute as possible, listening to the long bucket list of things you wanted to do together. Lim took a teasing approach and asked if you had any plans about the future wedding, to which your face flushed and turned a bright red shade. You were still pretty young, and there were a lot of things both had to experience and achieve before settling down; but it would be a lie to say that such thoughts haven’t crossed your mind. Haon decided to play along and replied with a laugh, saying that once it happens, all three of them will be invited.

The show wrapped up in a beautiful atmosphere. You were asked to perform another one of your collaborations, which was a slower, ballad song. Your hands stayed intertwined throughout the whole performance, only letting go at the last few lines. Then, you raised one arm up, meeting Haon’s just above your head, succeeding at forming a lovely heart.

The director yelled ‘CUT’ and the filming finished. Politely bowing to every one of the show’s staff, you walked away from the set, proudly holding the big set of Korean beef.

The next week, when the episode officially aired, you were nervous checking the reviews, still unsure how such a wide audience would react to it. Thankfully, as the two of you sat comfortably on the bed, in each other’s embrace, scrolling down the comment section, you couldn’t find a single negative remark. There were two million views already, and ten thousand comments, all of them filled with praise, delight and support.

“They’re nations new couple!”

“Look just how cute they are!”

“Their interactions are so precious; their chemistry is so strong!”

“Haonnie, we know you’re going to take good care of our angel!”

“They’re so close... I wish I had someone as precious as she does T.T”

And maybe, just maybe, that was all you had to see to finally experience full happiness with the boy your heart loved more than anything ever.

A/N: Here it is! My first request! Thank you so much for requesting and giving me a chance to write such a scenario <3 Also thank you for introducing me to Haon, i’ll keep up with him from now on <3 Hope you enjoyed reading this!

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venusofthehardsells · 5 years

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Dreamgirl [part 1]

ReaderxBucky Barnes Summary: Bucky tries to adjust to his new life in the Avengers compound. One day he meets a girl who might be everything he needs in order to move on, but is his past really that far away? Warnings: Non/dub con (I don’t know the details yet, but will update warnings on each chapter. Nothing in this first one though), masturbation, violence, psychological manipulation A/N: This is written for the In the Dark Challenge hosted by the super amazing @darkficsyouneveraskedfor so don’t let this fluffy first chapter fool you, it’s gonna be dark and angsty down the road hopefully. My chosen prompt was the line “I’m touching your skin, if it’s just a fantasy, then why is it killing me?” from the song Infatuation by Maroon 5. I plan on writing the entire story from Bucky’s point of view, so the reader is “her” instead of “you” in this one. Enjoy and let me know what you think ♥️

The sheet is tangled so tightly around his legs he is sure it's trying to stop the flow of blood to his feet. The whole bed is wet and cold with sweat and a shudder runs through his body. He is still sweating. He knows he should pull one of the blankets over himself, because even if his insides feels on fire, his skin is icy to the touch. The summer nights have been treacherous as of late, but the high tech self-regulating cooling system in the building should take care of that. Should. His head is pounding and he knows that even if he manages to fall asleep again, he won't get the hours he needs. Bucky's dreams are getting worse.

When he realises the faint light of dawn is getting brighter outside, he gives up fighting with the sheet and tears through it. The two white halves of linen sinks to the floor in silence like the echoes of distant ghosts. He will have to see if he can stitch them back together later. The day is already off to a bad start and he doesn't need to hear Stark lecturing him about defacing borrowed property. Again. No, what he needs is to clear his head. He can't even hear his own footsteps as he crosses the room and opens the bathroom door. His own stealth unnerves him sometimes. Clenching his jaw, Bucky makes sure to close the door behind him. The soft click of the lock is somehow comforting. As is the water splashing onto the crown of his head and running down the length of his body, rinsing away the stench of sweat and nightmares. That's why he sleeps naked; it's less of a hassle in the mornings. He turns up the heat as far as it will go and waits until the metal plates in his arm have absorbed the warmth. With quick, efficient movements, he begins to jerk himself off under the shower. As with everything else in his life, he goes about the task with the cold detachment of a soldier that HYDRA perfected in him. There is nothing sensual about the way he pumps himself towards completion, nothing gentle about the squeeze of his balls in his flesh hand. He just wants some sort of release, and he knows exactly which buttons to press for his body to respond. It's another part of him that, despite Shuri and the rest of Wakanda’s finest scientists’ best efforts, remain more automatized than human. Biting his lower lip hard, he tries to imagine someone else's hand stroking his shaft. A smaller, more delicate hand, nails painted red perhaps. It doesn't work. In the past, Sergeant James Barnes would have thought of a girl he had taken dancing back before he got shipped out. Billowing skirt, shoes with soles that clicked merrily against the cobblestones, all done up for him and glowing when she saw him, handsome in his still pristine uniform. How she blushed when he smiled at her, how she gasped as his fingers trailed up her thighs, the tightness around his cock as he filled her - or maybe some local European farmer's daughter who had spared him a lingering glance and a pretty smile as he marched by. He would have thought of her coming to him in the lonely hours of the foreign night, whispering soothing nothings in his ear while her hand crawled into his trousers and gently began stroking his length. She would kiss his neck and tell him how brave and beautiful he was, her warm body pressed close to his while she worked him into a blissful, private ecstasy with a hand not made of metal, and he would fall asleep with the certainty that once the war was over he would return back home and find a girl of his own. Bucky knows somewhere deep in the shadows of his mind that those fantasies had felt pleasant and a lot more satisfying than the solitude of the shower stall. He has tried time and time again to call up the images of the girls from the past. Not a single one of them remains to him. There are of course modern women who tickle his fancy every day. Steve's friend from SHIELD, the receptionist who works weekends in Stark Tower, the blonde who sometimes walks her dog in the park when he runs, the modelesque beauties leaving Sam's room after a night out, the woman reading the weather forecast on TV. Even the girl who delivered pizza to the compound last week had made Bucky look twice, with her pierced lips and dark green eyeshadow. No matter how hard he tries, however, he can't picture them in his mind when he puts his hands on his cock. They become fleeting ideas in his head, words without meaning, too distant and abstract to turn him on. In the end, he is left with no imaginary aid and pure physicality will have to do. He cums with a short groan in the back of his throat. The water washes it all away and it only takes him a few deep breaths to get his heart rate back to normal. It's 5 a.m. when he dons a pair of black sweatpants, a matching tank top and a dark grey sweatshirt to hide his metal arm. It'll be too warm later in the day, but as long as he can get his morning run done before the sun rises too high, it's manageable. He slips past Steve's room quietly and out through one of the kitchen doors without meeting anyone. Once outside, he takes off down his usual path. The air is clear and still. Nothing moves except for him. The pale golden disc of the sun has not entirely let go of the horizon yet, clinging on for one last kiss before the day can truly begin. The world still holds its breath. The streets are all but deserted at this hour, or at least the ones he takes. Bucky has deliberately planned this route through trial and error with that particular criteria in mind. He rarely, if ever, runs into anyone. He prefers it that way. Today is a rare one, however. As he nears the park, he spots a girl hurrying along its fences. She doesn't look at him and normally Bucky wouldn't acknowledge her, either, but his enhanced senses doesn't miss the fact that something small falls out of her pocket and lands on the pavement while she marches on, clearly focused on reaching her destination fast rather than pay attention to her surroundings. Bucky changes course and picks up what turns out to be a blister pack with four of the little capsule pills popped. He doesn't recognise the long Latin name of the drug on the back of it, but it seems important. For a moment he considers dropping it back onto the pavement and hope she comes back for it herself. If it is important, she'll notice the medicine is gone and go back to look for it. There won't be a lot of people around at this time of day so chances are no one will take it for at least an other hour. Then, just as he is about to put it back down, an unwelcome thought creeps into his mind in a nasty little voice that resembles Stark's a bit too much: what would Steve have done? Bucky almost groans. Yes, what would Steve have done? Medication on prescription is expensive. He doesn't know what it's for, but it could potentially be something that saves her life - or ends it if she doesn't take it. Besides, littering is bad form. He rolls his eyes hard at himself and takes off again after the girl. She has entered the park, presumably to cut a corner towards the main street, when Bucky catches up. "Excuse me? Miss? You dropped this," he calls out when he gets close and the girl stops, turning around. For a second, Bucky forgets to breathe. "Thank you." She eyes him warily when he offers her the blister pack, but she takes the pills from him regardless. Her fingers faintly brush against his hand when she does and his heart does a weird off-kilter somersault in his chest at the contact. "It would have been a pain to lose these." And then she smiles at him. It doesn't matter that she looks pale and tired, or that her hair is slightly messy and her posture is already halfway turned away from him in her haste. The small, tentative smile she offers makes Bucky feel warm inside, fuzzy almost and he smiles back with the slightest tinge of red in his cheeks. "Take care," he says lamely and then she's gone, hurrying on down the street until she turns a corner and he loses sight of her. Bucky feels strangely bereft when he returns to his route. Normally, he is focused on running, on the path ahead of him, on the movement of his legs and strain in his muscles, but now all he keeps seeing is her. The early sunlight in her messy bed hair. He turns and runs down by the lake in the park. The gravel crunches beneath his feet, but the sound is faint. His cheeks are still warm with the lingering rush of blood her smile caused to flood his face. It's an odd sensation. During all his years as HYDRA's Asset, he never blush, he's sure of that. And all the blushing he has done since his return from the darkness didn't feel like this at all. The soft shape of her lips when she smiled at him... An urge Bucky hasn't felt in a very long time stirs somewhere deep inside of him. It's not feral or aggressive, just... warm. Tiny, but warm. It has always been there in the oppressed depths of his tortured humanity, he realises as he allows himself to be reacquainted with the little spark after all those years as a stove away in his own mind. The Asset repressed and ignored it for so long it almost withered, but now that it has Bucky's attention again it's determined to make up for all the lost time. It screams and cries at him, demanding to be fed, revelling in the brief second her hand touched his as he handed her back the pills. Because that's what it is, this need, it's what it craves: touch. Not just any kind of touch, but the certain gentle and soft kind only an intimate partner can provide. Affection. Desire. Loving kisses and caresses long into the night. Bucky has to stop running and close his eyes so hard the world keens. Even with eyes shut, her face is clear as day. He rubs his eyes as if that might make her go away. Then he takes a few deep breaths, shakes his head and takes off around the lake faster than before. It's usually not something he does in public, sprinting like that. He's too fast for people not to notice something is different about him. But right now, all he cares about is getting the image of the girl out of his mind again. It feels unnatural, the way he can't seem to let her go. God, he even remembers her nail polish with little yellow hearts on each meticulously shaped nail. He groans in frustration and pushes himself to run even faster. Hell, it's still early and there are not a lot of people around to see him. After having been around the lake so many times he has completely lost count, Bucky is actually sweating and maybe a little more clear-headed - though not a lot, he thinks, biting the inside of his cheek. He slows to a jog and takes another few rounds at a more civilised pace, trying to look at the trees this time. They're lush and green and almost a little menacing in the early daylight, but he prefers them to the sinister high-rises jutting up from the asphalt all over the city like a sea of mismatched teeth reaching to chew at the sky. Trees in parks have no such appetites. They bloom and grow and shed their leaves in the winter even when they are trimmed or cut down to half their size. The city isn't regulated that way. It reaches up and down and out, devouring the land little by little until, he imagines, the entire globe has become a single gargantuan metropolis, glittering artificially in the big black nothingness of space. Will there still be trees left then? The young James Barnes loved the city with all its sizzling technology and promise of wonders beyond belief. This older, damaged version of him is less thrilled. He prefers the trees. The subject of vegetation actually manages to take his mind off the girl and distract him for as long as it takes him to wander into the coffee shop he sometimes stops by before going back. There is nothing wrong with drinking coffee back at the compound, but this way he has more time to himself. Away from Stark. Away from Steve. And today he figures he needs the extra minutes. The old-fashioned bell chimes above the door when he enters. It is the only thing he registers before he finds himself in front of the counter and face to face with... her. Bucky's world freezes on its axis.

[TRANSMISSION]

ORION: MISSION STATUS

ALHABOR: ASSET LOCATED. PATTERN OBSERVED. ESTABLISH CONTACT? ORION: PROCEED ACCORDING TO PLAN ORION: COMPLETE REPORT VIA SAFER CHANNEL ALHABOR: UNDERSTOOD ORION: HAIL HYDRA ALHABOR: HAIL HYDRA

Tags: @cake-writes @buckybarneshairpullingkink @some-kindofgnome

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #inthedark!challenge #dark!bucky barnes #dark!fic #dark bucky barnes #dark fic #marvel fanfic #marvel writing challenge #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst

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wildcherryhs · 5 years

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𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮

❝ 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢'𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐨. ❞

𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭: harry isn’t used to being rejected, especially by his best friend.

𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫+𝐚/𝐧: this is for the fine line writing thingamabobmajiggything. i’m also really good at mediocre shit so enjoy my mediocre shit. cussing is most definitely ahead. this is really short, i’m sorry? i tried? also every time i listen to adore you, this is like how i interperate the song so y ee t. i might write a couple more chapters/parts to this depending on how i feel about it.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: harry x plus size! best friend! fem! reader

—

It all started with that damn Christmas party last week.

She had worn the matching Rudolph sweater to his reindeer ears headband, a duo that no one would ever doubt. Her hair was in her face and hiding her blushed cheeks every time he joked about standing under some fake mistletoe. And her lips were plump from the constant drinking of punch, the pineapple soaking it’s acidity into her skin and making her look nothing but kissable. Harry was suffocating the entire night and even had a thought to himself that strangling himself with the hanging lights would be more comfortable than this. Anything but this.

Because Harry realized for the first time that night that he was in love with Y/N. His dear, precious Y/N that he’s known over the years and has endured every part of his successful journey with him. Y/N was his best friend in the entire world and that was something that would never go away. He trusted her in everything he did.

However, over the past few months, he’s gotten closer to her in a way he never thought he would see himself doing. Their late-night conversations weren’t just for shits and giggles, no. They somehow grew intimate with him, and he felt so transparent and real. The only girl to ever make him feel like he wasn’t just another human being. Y/N gave him everything and made him feeling everything all at once. That’s when he knew he was royally fucked.

A groan left his lips as Harry covered his eyes from the light above him, shielding himself from the outer world as well. The studio had been empty for hours, and he thought it would be best to stay behind after the others left to just think. It only made him bury himself further in the hole that he had dug. Just as he was about to sit up, the sound of a knock on the door jolted him back to reality. At the door stood the janitor, Gary, who was in his fifties, holding a vacuum looking rather confused.

“Oh, uh, I didn’t think anyone else was here. I can come back later,” he started.

Harry shook his head, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “No, no. You’re completely fine, I’m sorry for holding you back from your job. Let me just grab my stuff and I’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

Without giving Gary the time to protest, he began to pack up his lyrics and jacket, even throwing away some of the others’ trash from dinner. Little did he know that his face was scrunched up in concentration, eyebrows furrowed and lip tucked under his front teeth. It was clear that he was deep in thought and that made Gary questionable.

“I don’t mean to pry, but son, you look troubled.” Harry glanced up as he spoke, freezing in his movements. Was it really that obvious the damage he was causing himself? As he sighed, Gary nodded and pulled back a seat from the table in the middle of the room. “I have some time, ya know. It looks like you need someone to talk to.”

For a split second, a genuine smile placed on his lips and he cautiously took a seat as well, folding his arms in front of his chest. It was silent for a moment as he tried thinking of what to say. His lips pursed every time he thought of what to say only for him to go into a frown, finding himself stuck. Why was it so hard to admit he was in love with Y/N?

The janitor sat back in his seat, inspecting the other male rather closely before he nodded slowly. “You’re in love. It’s complicated, but you’re in love and don’t know what to do.”

Harry was stunned, to say the least. This man who he had never met before in his entire life was able to describe exactly how he was feeling in one statement as if he was an open book. He could only sit in shock with his eyes wide at the older man, trying to come back to reality. Gary took this as his chance to continue.

“All you teenagers today treat love like it’s some scary thing like once you close your eyes it will disappear. Horse shit,” he started, shaking his head.

Harry scoffed for a moment but Gary only smiled.

“Kid, I’ve lost so many people in my life. These are people who I loved with all my heart and yet they still left. I never stopped loving them, and I don’t plan on it. If you’re feeling this way because of love, then you’re only hurting yourself. It deserves to be heard and to be celebrated. The more you hold it inside, the more unhappy you’re going to be.”

Harry could only nod at the wise words being spoken by someone he’s only known for five minutes yet had the audacity to call him out on his bullshit. He felt like he was trapped inside his own mind but the advice from Gary was making him feel liberated in a way, almost reassuring him that everything was going to be alright no matter what the outcome would be like. Harry glanced up at the janitor to see him already leaving the room, and he panicked for a moment.

“W-Wait, how do I tell her?”

Gary shrugged. “I’m pretty sure she already knows. Just confirm it.” he laughed lightly.

Harry half-smiled at the advice but then smirked slightly, standing up to grab his stuff as well. “By the way, I’m not a teenager. I’m twenty-five.”

Gary continued on his way out the door with his back facing the younger boy, his own smile upon his lips in a way a father would smile at their kid.

“Then act like it.”

--------

Before he could stop himself, Harry was standing in front of the familiar sand-colored door that had a shitty, dollar store Christmas sign taped to it. It was the same one she put up every year despite how out of shape it was getting over the course of time. He could feel his heart racing against his chest in a way he never thought he would experience. He’s performed in front of thousands, if not millions, of people and this was still more frightening to him. However, Harry knew he had to do it. He had to do it tonight before it was too late. Or he would never forgive himself. Harry rung the doorbell with a shaky finger, deciding that if she asked why he was shaking it was because of the winter evening.

Within a matter of seconds, Y/N stood in front of him in her loose-fitting clothing, which was actually an oversized band shirt and some black leggings. Her hair had been tied back to prevent it from getting in her face as she made her annual Christmas sugar cookies. But, the look on her face was priceless because why would Harry be here so late at night and in this weather?

“Harry, what the actual hell?” Y/N fumed, pulling him inside immediately to shield him from the cold December night.

She slammed the door shut and began to brush off some snow from his arms as he just stood still, admiring her caring actions so closely. Harry stared at her from his height, being around a foot taller than her, and felt himself grow even more in love with her. Just the way she always cared for him, the way how she rushed to make sure he was warm-

“Harry, I asked you what are you doing here?” Y/N chuckled, moving some hair from his face.

That’s when he fucking lost it.

“I’m in love with you, Y/N.”

There was a moment of silence before either spoke once more. Harry’s eyes were wide at revealing his own secret and Y/N froze in place, spacing herself between him with a good foot of distance.

Harry... loved Y/N? Of course, they would love each other, they were best friends! That’s why it had to be the reason and the only reason. She smiled warmly and nodded at his statement, taking it lightly as she only thought of it platonically. I mean, her whole friendship with him she’s had to keep it platonic in fear of ruining anything between them. So, whenever he said things like this, she would just embrace their friendship even further knowing he could never love her. At least that’s how she perceived it.

“I love you, too, H. You’re my best friend!” she giggled, shaking some more snow off of his body before turning to leave to the kitchen.

Harry looked at her with confusion, tilting his head to the side. For the first time, he actually questioned if there was something genuinely wrong with Y/N. Did she not just hear him confess his undying love for her? And she just walked away? What the fuck?

“I made some tea, do you want some?”

Harry followed her into the kitchen and scoffed. “No, I don’t want your fucking tea.”

Y/N stared back at him with just as much shock as earlier, his language turning cruel in just one second. She gave a face of annoyance, a hand on her hip as she replied in a sassy tone, “Well, damn, you could’ve just said no.”

Harry sighed heavily. “I said I was in love with you, Y/N. I love you like a best friend too but I really, really love you. More than a best friend should.” He spoke rather softly on the last part, stepping closer to her almost as if needing her touch.

Y/N laughed it off. “You can’t be serious.” Was all she said, a fit of giggles erupting from her only to turn into deep chuckles. However, when she opened her eyes from her little fit, she could see Harry standing there looking as honest as ever. It was something in the way his eyes looked at her, taking in every inch and curve and imperfection and viewing it as complete art. His body was aching to be near hers, reaching out and holding onto her waist that was always so soft and fun to grab, which he meant in the best way possible. She had shape and he loved it; God did he love her body. Harry was so in love it fucking wrecked everything in him. And Y/N could see it all unfold right before her in the kitchen around 1 in the morning on a random December night. Harry Styles was most definitely in love with her.

He leaned in, nuzzling his face into her neck as he brought her in close. She was so warm already and he felt like a snowman defrosting in front of a fire. Y/N shivered and almost reciprocated his movements only to push him away slightly, a bitter laugh escaping her lips.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she scoffs and Harry is only more confused as his face scrunched up at her rejection.

“You can’t be in love with me, Harry. I’m me. I’m your best friend that stays home from parties because I’d rather be alone. I’m the type of person to call in sick from work just to get some extra hours of sleep. Harry, I don’t even make it to school on time because I’m either having some like panic attack about school or I’m thinking about dropping out. I am not the girl you should be in love with and I don’t understand how you could love me when I don’t even.... when I don’t even love me.”

Harry felt something in him twist in pain, almost like the self-hatred she felt for herself was causing him to physically feel ill. How could she feel so unwanted? So unloving of herself when all he ever did was let her know how much she meant to him? He knew that loving yourself is one of the hardest things to do but he just couldn’t understand it, not in this situation. Not when Y/N was such an amazing person. It made him upset knowing that’s how she viewed herself because to him she was so much more than she could ever imagine.

He felt the need to speak up against her words only for Y/N to push him away once more.

“No, I don’t want to hear what you have to say. Harry, you can’t be in love with me. I’m not the girl you need in your life right now and honestly, I hate you so much for telling me this. Why did you tell me this? Why now?” she pushed, anger beginning to rise in her. If he was so in love with her, what changed about telling her tonight? Why couldn’t he tell her before? Y/N couldn’t even realize the amount of hypocrisy at the moment as she continued to rage at her best friend.

Harry laughed at her words. “You’re mad at me for telling you how I feel? Wow, that’s a first. You really do astonish me, Y/N. You always have.” he chuckled but something about it wasn’t sincere. “I don’t think you quite understand what I’m trying to tell you here and it’s so frustrating- God, you’re being so frustrating right now.”

The two shared a stare of intensity, anger evident in both of their eyes. Y/N was too prideful to even let into Harry’s feelings and to let him know she felt the same. She continued to hold herself back however Harry was pulling her into him, almost like two waves fighting against each other in the ocean and meeting together as one. He would never stop colliding with her until she realized what he was saying to her was true. Even if she didn’t love him back, Harry just wanted her to know that what he was saying was true. Why was she making this so difficult?!

“I would never lie to you, I mean, I would never lie in general because that’s not me. But, lovey, I would never lie to you.” He was so gentle with his words that it somehow sparked the fire in Y/N.

Tears had spilled onto her reddened cheeks, her hands reaching up and wiping furiously at the mess he had made. Y/N just felt all of her emotions outweigh her as she let go of the grip she was holding inside. Everything came pouring out and Harry couldn’t be more welcoming to the open invitation of her vulnerability.

“Harry, I can’t let you love me. Please, I-It’s not that I don’t want to be with you, but I can’t let you be with me. I’m a mess of a human and I can’t bring that onto you. I love you, too. I always have.”

Harry felt his heart swell in his chest at her words, both in sadness and in joy. She had just confessed that she reciprocated the way he felt about her and he couldn’t be happier. He reached forward, despite her pushing him away, and held onto her like before however, he wasn’t going to let her escape as easily. His forehead pressed against hers, shushing her as she crumbled against him, their bodies being able to mold into each other so easily after all of the years of being together. It was home to her; Harry was home. Her cries turned to muffled whimpers into his chest, her arms wrapped tightly against him, knowing that she wanted this just as much as him.

“Please let me love you.” was all he whispered, his own eyes forming with tears.

Y/N could feel how close they were in that moment and could feel his heart beating faster by the second. Despite wanting to close her eyes and avoid confrontation, she knew she had to be open. She slowly began to nod her head but she knew that Harry would want a vocal response. So, as her lips parted, she swallowed roughly and responded with a shaky breath.

“O-Okay,” she whispered back.

Harry broke into the biggest grin, lips reaching down to be met with hers. Immediately he felt ignited from his feet all the way to the top of his head. He was on fire, the hair on his arms rising from the shock that was cast upon him. Harry was overwhelmed with affection, a feeling he could finally come to understand and appreciate. Y/N had never been kissed like that, and somewhere inside of her, she knew it only proved they were meant to be. Soulmates would be an understatement for their case. It was like the world was made for them in that exact moment in time, and no matter what history was made on that day, they would always end up together one way or another.

Like it’s the only thing they’ll ever do.

#harry styles #fine line #fanfiction #harry styles fanfiction #finelineficchallenge

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acioo · 5 years

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( PART THREE HERE ) & ( PART ONE HERE ) here are NINE MORE CHARACTER BASES ( label & background & personality ), all of whom i have played out in the past. they expand beyond ‘ the fuck boy ‘ and ‘ the arrogant rich kid ‘ because i think as a community we’re all tired of the cliche bull, so have some of my most fun & most subversive times. these are for inspiration purposes as well as admin purposes. if you are going to use these in an rph setting, i request credit, but otherwise, it’s not necessary. ( all details viable to change ; pinterest board links available for all of them - if you are interested in my characters, see my muse page ) TW : violence, alc, drugs, ( parental ) emotional neglect, death, blood, homelessness, police

001. THE WITCH — you are in the second generation of witchy women in your family. you’re not meant to misuse, you’re meant to give back, your mother tells you. nature loves you but nature holds grudges, your mother tells you. you are not you but we, your mother tells you. you will not heed her advice. age six, you learn how to make the tea boil in seconds just by whistling, even if you know that it’s not necessary. age ten, you make the kids who say bad words to you trip on their way up the stairs, leaving them with bloody noses and mouthfuls of curses. age sixteen, you fall in love with a girl who loves you like she’s going to lose you, who makes you forget why your parents crossed continents and why your blood sings a song of violence and why you stand unflinching in the eye of loss. you and your friends get into bad things when you start to get old enough for people to notice you. their eyes always go to you first. you and your dark eyes. you and the furrow in your brow. you and your lesson in awakening. you adopt another stray emotionally compromised teenager into your friend group and she tells you breathlessly, reverently that you’re the most beautiful person she’s ever seen. and it makes you mad, but maybe not at her, because you can recognize the good and bad people like a lie detector that’s seen too much and knows in details what a long night is because they’re all you have. you’re powerful in a way that they don’t seem to understand and maybe, you will take a lesson your mother. you’re powerful and you won’t let them see.

002. THE PROM QUEEN — the oldest by eleven minutes, you grow up trying to be everything your little siblings need. your parents are twisted but you learn to see them through rose-colored glasses instead of living in pain. when your siblings fall, you feel it, too, and when they cry, you cry too. it’s too much responsibility. your parents feed and clothe them, but you hold their mental health in your hands and the truth is you’re no better. you just got so good at hiding behind your mask that you can’t seem to tell the difference between you and party favor anymore, and the fact of the matter is that while they’re quiet and just so different in a way that your parents feared they would be, you blend in like a chameleon. you’re class president and prom royal. that’s the way it’s always been. but all the makeup in the world can’t hide the fact that you’re no better. the older you get, the more they can see. your grandmother, first. then your little sister’s best friend. your first love. everything you try to hide sits in your lap and you try to wrestle it into submission and sometimes it wins. they know you but you don’t. your eyes flash golden sometimes when you’re mad enough that you remember that you’re the one who put the burn stains on the wood floors of your family’s old penthouse, but you’re more human than anyone can ever even imagine.

003. THE UNAPOLOGETIC SLOTH — you’re the small-town preacher’s child who comes out with a slam when you turn ten years old. you’re burning your clothes in the basement when your mother comes home from book club. you’re looking for a way out, but all she wants to know is if you want to do it in the expensive fire pit outside instead. they call you their golden child but no one else shares the sentiment. you’re lucky that your group of friends ( they don’t look like you exactly or act like you exactly, but you all know what it’s like to feel like you’re alone in the world, or you did until you met them ) likes the way you bite back even if your grandmother doesn’t and neither does she come over for christmas dinner anymore and it tears you up inside until you bleed an angry and violent storm and trail curses ( against anyone, against god, if there is a god at all, if you even believe in a god at all ) down the creaky wood stairs from your room all the way into you mom’s lexus. you’ll come back but for now, you are a tempest and you are only beautiful when you’re burning. you’re not the type to bend yourself out of shape for people who won’t look back at you. you’re happy with yourself in a way that most people wish they could be, most people who spend nights drinking or turning in bed or smiling. you’re happy because you couldn’t care less.

004. THE PYROMANIAC — the child of two famous superheroes, you’re the picturesque image of your mother. you only have your father’s mutant blue eyes and you think that you’ll curse your mother with unhappiness for it until she gives up on you like you want her to. you hate her for her giving you everything you have. your powers, your hair, your two good hands. you love your father more than you love anything. it starts when you’re still little. lying about your powers, saying you have your fathers. your parents can’t stop it. the therapists certainly can’t stop it. not even your classmates' jeers can. the fires start in your teens around the time you start sneaking out at night. your mother with her kind eyes ( not yours, which are an icy and violent storm that everyone needs to seek cover from ) and tired crinkle in her forehead, who loves you even if the only time she gets your affection is at the request of your father, asks you about it and you don’t answer, look at her with contempt and a scoff. she knows the answer anyway. you’re the angriest kid she knows and they all wonder where you got it from as you project the worst pieces of your parents. your father's arrogance. your mother’s envy. by the time you turn eighteen, you’ve been arrested six times ( your party stories are to die for ; arson & assault & arson & underage drinking & arson & disorderly conduct ). you’re so hilarious, so famous, that they like to forget that you are also lethal.

005. THE PRINCELY POLYMATH — you don’t grow up as a person. the only child of one of the richest men the world may yet see, you come out of nowhere. bright hair and brighter eyes, you look and act nothing like your father. it takes you many years to find out that the only reason you’re surrounded by people is that they want something from you. the anxiety develops around the same time. coils into you and holds you tight. you cover it up poorly with anger and insult. it’s a bad look on you and it makes you bite your tongue hard enough to draw blood but it’s better than the alternative. you’re still going to get followed around. you’re still going to have callers. because you’re attractive and you’re devastating and you’re one of the brightest minds they’ve ever seen. you try not to let your father find out that under that mop of blonde curls lies a brain that can’t be matched, but he does when the maid returns from your room with empty vodka bottles and books on aeronautics and too-tiny baggies and sketches of architecture. your iq test makes the news, but you just wanted something of your own. your new school is just as fancy, but now you don’t have to hide the fact that you’re bored and unchallenged. when you’re fourteen, your starlet mother, who your father never forgave you for resembling, will overdose on pills in a bathroom in ibiza as you take the sats. you’re not allowed to be sad. you haven’t seen her since your fifth birthday. there’s nothing for you here. you wonder when there will be.

006. THE BEST OF THEM ALL — for as long as you can remember, you’ve been the nicest kid anyone has ever known. a candy-sweet smile and you really mean it, too. people marvel at the way you carry yourself and the hpw you can speak to people, but they’re always looking over your shoulder for your brighter, more reckless friends. you’re in the instagram posts but you’re no one’s first choice, and it’s okay because you’re used to it. you’re still going to be there when they fall down and cut themselves on the sharp edges of others that you told them with a wavering voice to watch out for. you keep a shovel in your trunk and your ringer on. because you’re that good. you won’t survive this kind of disregard but you think you’ve known this from the start. you’re not the protagonist in this story, but maybe you should be. people like to hear about warzones and long nights with longer bottles but the fact of the matter is that you’re not the kind of kid. you’re warm hands and a down looked smile. you won’t stand on the edge of the mountain but you’re happy to use your first aid kit to patch up anyone who does.

007. THE ACTIVIST — your mother never wants to be a mother and your father isn’t the kind of man she’d trust with her heart, let alone you with your chubby hands and big eyes. giving you up is the right thing to do. you run away from foster homes left and right. eventually, they stop looking for you, and you move from state to state, a rolling stone of your own. you find a person of your own. you call them your twin, but the facts don’t line up in a way you won’t realize for a very long time. eventually, you find your place with a microphone in hand and a shoebox under your feet. you care about everyone but yourself and you’re pretty okay with that. you’re a survivor, you always have been. when you’re fifteen, the peaceful protest you organized gets interrupted by local police who ask for a permit that’s not there. the noise ruptures your eardrum ; the crowd, the riot guns, the yelling. you never get back all your hearing but it won’t stop you. you’d never let that happen. you keep going, just different and with the help of friends. when you’re sixteen, you’re moving through a crowd, doc martens ahead of you when you stumble into a strong chest. an older man with a kind smile. when he offers to walk you home, asks if you’re parents know where you are this time of day, you laugh, but he’s serious. ( you’ve never met someone kind over the age of twenty. ) he adopts you in the spring and your platform is larger now, but you’re still the same old kid with fire in their heart and no chip on your straight shoulders. that’s the year you track down your biological mother. she’s apologetic and kind, but honest with you and you forgive her. she thought she was doing what was best for you and you think, despite the grim, and the scares, and the bad parts, that she did. you grow up, move from smartphones to tv screens to podcasts. you make a difference.

008. THE PSYCHIC’S DAUGHTER — you’re never going to be your sister, and eventually, you’ll be able to live with this fact. she’ll know of a father, a man who has dark hair and dark eyes and a dark heart, but you left him breathless and unhappy because he, like you, is a fighter. the worst person you know has your last name and your lips. your mother. she is what someone would call a powerful woman. she opens up a business of psychic women, trademarked under your last name, and you know it’s going to haunt you until the day you die. you know they have no power. you know they’re a trick of the light or a flick of a card or a bag of sequins. they teach you one thing. if you say anything with enough confidence, someone will believe you. you don’t know why you never say anything, but you don’t. you won’t. you will never reveal their secret. it’s not yours to tell. when you’re sixteen, following after your sister with big puppy dog eyes as she speaks gold and weaves silk with her steps, she will beat a girl half to death on the football field. she never tells you why and it seals the fate between you, but the truth is that you’d never be able to forgive yourself if she told you. ( she did it for you. the unloved child people whisper about under the bleachers. the psychic's youngest. you’ll curse them, they say. ) you are not your sister and you’re certainly not your mother. you’re dramatic, earnestly so, not with an outreached hand but with an open heart. and you may never recover from spending your days in the dark house at the end of the block, but it won’t hurt to try.

009. THE BACKGROUND CHARACTER — your small town chokes you from a young age. you grow up as one of the cool ones in that big squad of pretty, rich kids that everyone wants to be apart of, but you never asked for entry. your mother’s a bird who breathes down your neck, pecks at you for answers that she will never get because you’re too stunted, too angry to really be the child she’d always dreamed of having, and you find that kind of funny because you’re a lab baby that cost more than her car. you’ll try for her, but not for anyone else. they know that your ‘we’ll see‘s and your ‘maybe‘s are really just your fun way of saying you don’t want to hang out. you’ll try for her because she gave you everything you have ever had, but all they give you is migraines. too loud and too inconsiderate, you think. you’re a harsh judge on people, but they know what they bought into when they invested your sour apple self. you watch from the windows and that’s how you’ve always liked it. you’re safe there. they can’t hurt you. you’ll sleep with one every other month, or attend a party or two, but you’re too fast and too much of a whim for them to even know you before you’re gone.

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