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wedreamedlove · 3 years

Text

[FIC] Golden Wheat

Rating: M Characters: Xu Mo/Reader Word Count: 4388

Tags: Lime. Fluff. Minor angst. Established Relationship.

Notes: He’s 29 years old, if we’re counting from when this game was released in China! (I have to make myself feel better about my own aging LOL).

Summary: Sometimes a special day doesn't need anything special, simply being together with someone important to you is enough.

"Mhm, I just got off work and I'll be coming home after making a quick detour. I'll only be 10, maybe 15, minutes later than usual."

You tell Xu Mo this through the phone while weaving around people on the sidewalk, heading for a bakery which was just across the street from you.

"Huh? Oh no, you don't need to come pick me up. Seriously, I'll be home before you—ah!" You jerk to a stop before you step out into the road when a car comes to a screeching stop right before the crosswalk, blaring its horns at you.

Excuse me? The walking sign is clearly on and flashing, so you have the right of way! Was the driver trying to run a red light?!

You give them the stink eye and then cross the street quickly, this time after checking to make sure no other cars are going to try and break the law, before picking up your conversation on the phone again.

"Hello? Sorry about that. Anyway, like I said, I'll be back before you know it. Just relax and wait at home!"

You don't hear a response after your words though so you bring the phone down only to see that the screen is completely black. Did your phone die!? But it was clearly at 20% battery the last time you checked... You know you should have replaced this old phone with a new one, but work has been so busy lately that the matter keeps slipping your mind.

Hopefully, Xu Mo got most of your message though. You speed up your steps just in case and head into the bakery to get the birthday cake you ordered in advance. You and him planned to take a trip to celebrate his birthday and, unlike the first celebration, you're determined to make sure this cake survives its journey to him.

~~~

Of course, the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry. Who knew you would end up waiting in line forever just because a customer decided to argue with the counter clerk. It gets to the point where you contemplate stepping in to save the poor employee who is being berated, but fortunately a manager appears to handle the irate customer.

After that whole situation is resolved though, there's an issue with your custom order in their electronic records and the employees have to spend a good chunk of time manually finding your order in the back of the store.

By the time you leave the bakery, you decide to hop into a taxi to get home instead of taking the subway, thinking that will be quicker, but it's peak rush hour now and you end up getting stuck in the traffic of everyone else trying to go home.

Your estimated 10 to 15 minutes of being home later than expected becomes an hour and a half. You also have no easy way of contacting Xu Mo to let him know. For a second, you think about asking to borrow the taxi driver's phone, but decide that will be too much of a hassle.

You just know Xu Mo is going to give you that helpless smile of his, tinged with exasperated affection, when you get home and tell him all about your Herculean journey today.

Finally, the taxi brings you to the small neighborhood where you are living with Xu Mo and you quickly pay the fare before jogging through the small path between the trees to the house and the man you know is waiting at the end.

You lift your eyes up automatically, straining to see a familiar silhouette on the veranda where he will often lean against the rails to catch sight of you whenever you return home later than him. However, you don't see any figure on the veranda. The lights of the house are on, so you know he must be at home. But you don't see him.

Just as your eyebrows start to furrow, you hear the gravel ahead of you crunch and shift and your line of sight drops down to see Xu Mo appear on the road home.

Oh. He must have been unable to wait for you and came down to personally welcome you home instead. Fondness and amusement wells up in you and you get the urge to tease him for his impatience.

"Xu—" You start to say his name, but then you find yourself pulled into a crushing embrace. Caught off guard, the cake box tumbles out of your hands and onto the ground between you two.

"You're home."

His voice is hoarse and the freezing cold fingertips that brush against you, when he curls a hand around the back of your head to hold you closer to him, gives you a shock. How long has he been standing out here waiting for you?

You can feel his throat move beside your ear, Adam's apple bobbing, as if there are too many things he wants to say but he doesn't know where to start and so he can only swallow the words down. It's so unusual for your professor that your hands hover in the air, not sure what has come over him, before you finally return his embrace.

A tremor runs through him at your touch.

"I'm back."

"... You were gone for much longer than 15 minutes later than usual."

There was an angry customer in the bakery. The shop had problems. The taxi got caught in traffic. My phone died. These phrases appear in your head but they all sound like excuses even though there is no censure in his voice.

"I'm sorry," you say instead, feeling contrite as you realize he was genuinely worried, "I should have let you know somehow."

His silent laugh stirs your hair. "I'm not blaming you, but hm... maybe you do need to pay a price for lying."

It's your turn to laugh against him and the weight in your chest disappears when you hear him slyly trying to get a benefit. If he can tease you like this, then whatever emotions that had prepossessed him earlier are now gone.

"Alright, name your price." You place yourself in his hands without hesitation, curious as to what he'll ask for.

"Let's cancel the trip tomorrow."

However, you weren't expecting him to say this. You blink and then reflexively step back to be able to see his face. Xu Mo lets go, giving you this space, and watches you with a calm expression.

You can't read anything in those quiet and dark eyes, but it's extremely rare for him to openly go against something he knows you've been looking forward to, especially when the purpose of this trip is to celebrate his birthday. You don't refuse him though. You can't and never have whenever he voices his wants.

"Okay, we don't have to go. It'll be your birthday after all, so whatever you say goes." You smile brightly to let him know you really don't mind.

"Thank you." His expression softens, eyes suffusing with tenderness, and then he bends down to pick up the fallen cake box in one hand before reaching out with his other to grab yours. His slender fingers slide in between your fingers and your hands press together, palms flush with each other. "Let's go in before you catch a cold."

"You're one to talk," you reply, squeezing his cool hand in emphasis before you place your free hand on top of his and yours and try to rub some of your warmth into him.

He leads you on the short path home and you swing your joined hands lightly as you tell him all about your day. When you get to the part about the cake, the two of you are already through the front door and you cast a look at the box in his hand, which he's placing on the small entryway table, and sigh as you take off your shoes.

"I'm a bit scared to open the box and see what happened to that poor cake after its fall. Hey, how come there's always cake casualties on your birthday?"

You raise your head up to look at him only to feel something warm press against your mouth.

Xu Mo takes advantage of your surprise to deepen the kiss. Despite the chill that lingers in his hands when he cups your face and in the tip of his nose when he tilts his head, skimming it against your cheek, his tongue is burning hot. His need for you is consuming, completely at odds to the calm appearance he had earlier, and you find yourself falling.

No, you really do stumble, breaking the kiss when your legs go weak and you barely manage to clutch onto his shirt in time before you slide down to the ground.

This doesn't even faze Xu Mo though, who lowers his head to follow you and catches the rim of your ear between his lips. His breathing echoes the pounding of your heart and then you feel him drop his hands from your face to loop an arm around your waist and the other below your backside before he lifts you up.

"Xu Mo!" You startle when you suddenly find yourself weightless and entirely in his arms. You grab onto his shoulders instinctively to balance yourself. "Wait—"

But with your faces at the same level, he kisses you again. You dimly feel him press you against the wall of the foyer before the white-hot surges of pleasure muddles your mind and completely drowns out your thoughts.

You're breathless by the time the kiss ends. Still, somehow you manage to gasp out, "The cake..."

Shouldn't it be checked to see if anything can be saved and put in the fridge? Or if not, thrown away?

"We'll make another one together tomorrow," his voice is low when he responds.

It takes you a second to understand him, because that wasn't what you were asking. He doesn't give you a chance to clarify though as he seals your mouth with his again and takes away your ability to think. His tongue sweeps across the sensitive spots in your mouth, making your toes curl and your legs clench around him, before he turns his head to the side to place open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and neck.

Ragged breathing resounds in the space between you two and you can't tell whether it belongs to him or you anymore. But every time his breath brushes against you, it leaves a streak of damp heat and you dig your hands into his shoulders, head falling to one side as his lips slide down your neck.

"May I take you to bed?"

The words are mouthed against your fluttering pulse more than they're said out loud and then he pauses his assault on your senses, waiting to hear your answer. His breathing is heavy and you can feel the tension in his muscles underneath your hands, like his entire body is as taut as a bowstring, but he holds you steadily and patiently.

Your cheeks flush with heat at the direct question but you still nod in permission and then lean forward, shifting your arms so you can wrap them around his back, to hide your face in his neck. When you do, the comforting and familiar scent of grasslands fills your nose.

Xu Mo's arm around your waist tightens for a second before he carries you effortlessly into the bedroom where he sets you down gently onto the bed and then leans forward to cover you, settling a knee in between your legs.

But, having unclasped your arms from him when he put you down, you press a hand lightly against his chest, making him pause. You flick your eyes to the light switch in the room and then back to him.

Xu Mo takes in your red face and appears to understand your insinuation but, much to your surprise, he doesn't grant your wish and instead says, "Let's leave the lights on tonight."

If it's possible to turn any redder, you're pretty sure you're doing it right now. You want to protest but the words catch on your lips when you look at him and realize he's not teasing you.

There is enough light in the room to see his subdued expression clearly but it also casts a shadow at the edge of his features and—maybe this is just a trick of the light—there seems to be a layer of fragility around him. Beside the bed and him is the full length window that faces the trees in the back, with its curtains partially drawn right now, but the sliver of darkness you can see suddenly strikes you with an irrational thought. If the lights were to be turned off right now then would Xu Mo vanish into the darkness? Would the shadows around his edges spread like a drop of ink in water and consume him?

Before you know it, you loop your arms around his neck and pull him down into you, not wanting there to be any space between you two, and he comes to you without resistance, catching your mouth with his.

The lights in the house remain on long into the night.

~~~

You wake up slowly to fingers playing with the bangs on your forehead and the occasional brush of those fingertips against your skin is gentle.

You breathe in deeply, filling your chest with the smell of damp meadow and something cool like mint, before you open your eyes and, as expected, see Xu Mo sitting beside you above the covers in a short robe. He's reading something on his tablet, glasses perched on his nose, but he looks over the moment you stir.

"Good morning," you say, but your own scratchy voice shocks you. You clear your throat, eyes wide, and there's an amused smile on Xu Mo's lips as he exchanges his tablet with a glass of water from the side table and helps you sit up before handing it to you.

"It'd be more correct to say good afternoon."

"Huh!? Why didn't you wake me? We're going to be late!" You barely avoid choking and spilling the water on your pajamas when you hear the time. How can you two get on the train in time if it's already the afternoon?!

"Silly, we canceled our trip. Remember?"

"O-oh, right."

"I also thought it'd be better for you to sleep more. I'm afraid I asked a little too much from you last night," Xu Mo says apologetically, smoothing your bed hair with a hand, before he takes your empty glass to put it aside.

You blink at him and it takes a good second for you to register his words. Then the memories of last night come flooding into your brain.

A creaking bed.

The damp heat that presses against your back.

Bunched up sheets clutched and shifting beneath your hands.

Hot and heavy breaths echoing beside your ear.

Pleasure peaking and taking you under, but just as you sink down he starts to move again, bringing another thundering crest of passion.

Your breathless and weak voice begging for mercy.

A hoarse plea in response, "Stay with me a while longer. Just a while longer."

Ravishment swirling with ecstasy mixed with intensity until you're drowning in an ocean of fervor...

You don't remember anything else concrete. Just flashes of other images and sensations like his hand entwined with yours. The... variety of positions. But now you understand why your body aches all over and why your throat was so dry just now.

Immediately, your face feels like it's on fire and you squawk before diving under the covers. You hear him laugh from beside you, making you reach out to blindly smack at his hip.

He catches your hand in his though and kneads the pads of your fingers. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about. You were cute. Mm, like a kitten."

You pop your head out from under the covers. "Stop bringing it up!"

But it's not like you're actually angry and you use this opportunity to take a closer look at him. His face is relaxed and his expressions are open; whatever haunted him yesterday seems to be really gone now and his eyes are serene as he gives you a helpless smile.

"Alright, I'll stop teasing you." Xu Mo bends down to kiss your forehead. "Freshen up and come into the kitchen. Didn't you want to make a cake today?"

The distraction works instantly and you ask excitedly, "We have all the ingredients?"

He hums in affirmation and starts to take off his robe to put on a turtleneck sweater, but a strangled noise escapes your mouth when you see all the scratches on his back. Xu Mo glances over his shoulder at you, giving you a curious look, before comprehension dawns on his face and a smile curls on the corner of his lips, "Like I said, you were as cute as a kitten."

You cover your face and sink into the covers again. You feel him pat your leg, but you refuse to move and it's only after you hear him exit the bedroom and head into the kitchen that you dare to raise your head and leave the bed to wash up.

~~~

By the time you make your way to the kitchen, Xu Mo has already set out the ingredients needed to bake a cake and done preliminary preparations. You can't help but pause in the doorway and take in the sight of him though.

He's looking over a recipe on the tablet he placed on the counter and as the afternoon sunlight pours in through the wide windows, giving his white turtleneck a golden sheen, it catches on the dust motes in the air, filling the space with little glimmers. They contrast sharply with his ink-black hair, as if something celestial has spilled onto him, and with the warm light softening the graceful lines of his face you feel like you're seeing something not of this world.

For a second, you're afraid any noise you make will shatter this illusion and the immortal who has descended into your home will disappear.

"Are you planning to watch me do everything?"

Xu Mo's calm voice breaks you out of your thoughts and you see that he's looking over at you with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, the original cake's fate was because of you..." you joke as you walk over to lean against him, reassuring yourself with his solidity, and take a look at the recipe. "By the way, what happened to it?"

"I'm afraid it was unsalvageable." He accepts your weight naturally and shifts his position so that you're more comfortably pressed against his chest rather than his arm. "I believe today is my birthday though?"

"So you think you should get a free pass?"

"Isn't that the case?" He tilts his head down and his breath caresses your ear.

You clear your throat and fight to keep the laughter out of your words. "I guess we can split the work 50/50 then."

"Thank you for your lenience." You hear the smile in his voice. "Why don't we get started then."

The two of you enter an easy rhythm, pre-heating the oven, mixing the dry ingredients, and mixing the wet ingredients. Occasionally, either you or he will read out the next steps for the other person.

Soon enough, the cake enters the oven and you both switch over to making the frosting. It doesn't escape your attention that there's a variety of food coloring you're sure the kitchen didn't have before though, meaning he must have gone out in the morning to get these. You carefully make a few different shades of colors, already having a general idea about how you wanted to decorate his cake, but you still ask Xu Mo for his opinion on each color. However, he just leaves the ultimate decision to you.

Finally satisfied with everything you've prepared to decorate the cake when it's finished baking, you wipe the back of your hand across your forehead. Even though it's the end of autumn and the start of winter, the temperature in the house is warm and with the two of you in the kitchen, as well as the oven being on, it's actually a bit hot.

You turn to Xu Mo to ask him what he wants to do to pass the time until the cake is finished only to find that he's already looking at you, lips twitching.

"What? What is it?" You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously.

"Silly girl, you got frosting on yourself." He reaches out and uses the pad of his thumb to wipe at your forehead before showing you the purple frosting on it.

You make a startled noise and look at the back of your hand. It's only now that you remember you were testing different shades of purple on your hand because you couldn't decide on one.

Hearing him actually start to chuckle as he turns towards the sink, probably to wash his hand and grab a paper towel for you, you're struck with a mischievous urge and your hand shoots out. Xu Mo doesn't even flinch as you smear a streak of purple cream across his cheekbone though.

You giggle at your handiwork. "That's what you get for laughing at me."

But when he turns to stare at you in silence, you actually start to worry at having taken too much liberty with him. Maybe playing with food wasn't such a good idea. You open your mouth to apologize, only to shriek when he grabs you and rubs his cheek against yours, spreading the cream back to you.

He has an arm around your waist and a hand at the back of your head to prevent you from pulling away, but before long he stops smearing the cream on you and raises his head to press his forehead to yours. He tilts his head a little, touching the tip of his nose to yours and brushing his eyelashes against your skin, kissing you in every way but with his lips.

"I love you."

There's nothing special in his voice. No emphasis. No emotional intensity. It's just said between one breath and the next, as if it is something that is always hovering between the both of you and only now, through the power of words, has it been materialized into the open and given form.

"Mm, I love you too," you reply.

"Say it again." You feel his lips curve into a smile.

You blink with surprise at his request but answer it easily enough, "I love you."

"I love you as well," he replies immediately, except this time there's a tenderness that permeates every one of his words. "Again."

You hesitate, feeling that he's up to something, but he just brushes your noses together again and his lips skim yours as he breathes out, "I love you."

"I love you too," you unconsciously lower your voice to match his.

In this quiet kitchen, with the sunlight streaming in and creating a golden glow at the edge of your vision that isn't filled with Xu Mo, the world feels like it's shrunk to this tiny space between you two. Even breathing seems too loud for this moment.

"Again," he requests.

Your cheeks start to heat up as each repetition seems to add more weight to the words and you barely manage to whisper out an audible "I love you".

"And I love you."

The hand at the back of your head returns to cup your cheek and your eyes flutter shut as he touches his lips softly to yours. You feel him open his mouth, as if he's about to ask you to say these words again, but the ding of the oven interrupts him and shatters the atmosphere.

You jerk back at the loud noise and clear your throat in embarrassment. He sees your flustered appearance and smiles in resignation before turning to bring the cake out of the oven.

While he does this, you clean up the frosting on yourself at the sink and also dampen a paper towel so that, after Xu Mo sets down the cake on the counter to cool, you can reach up and clean the streaks of cream on his cheek. He bends down to make it easier for you to reach him and leans into your touch, closing his eyes and raising a hand to encircle your wrist.

Seeing this rare look of peace and defenselessnesss on his face, you can't resist sneaking a peck on his cheek along with a quick "I love you" after you wipe his face.

You spin around before he can open his eyes and busy yourself with grabbing the frosting to decorate the cake. Xu Mo laughs softly from behind you and then presses himself against your back, wrapping his arms around your waist, but he's content to leave the decorating to you and simply rests his chin on your shoulder to watch you work.

The cake is decorated in short order (and if you were going off of your memories of the cake you ordered from the bakery, well, that's your secret) and you present it to Xu Mo. "Ta-dah! What do you think?"

He hums contemplatively and the sound reverberates beside your ear, "Unique and it looks delicious."

"Are you making fun of my drawing skills?" You nudge him in mock outrage.

"Not at all. It's unique because you drew it with your own colors."

Your ears redden at the sincerity in his voice and you distract yourself by grabbing a fork and using it to split a small section of the cake off before you scoop it up and hold it out to Xu Mo. "Here, as the birthday boy, you get the first bite."

He accepts the forkful that you feed him.

"Happy birthday, Xu Mo," you say, beaming at him, and then you ask, "How does it taste?"

The only warning you get is the mischievous glimmer in his eyes seconds before he leans over and kisses you.

This year's cake is sweeter than any other cake you've eaten.

#love and producer #mr love queen's choice #mlqc #mlqc xu mo #mlqc lucien #bringing back old fandom ratings lol

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zirkkun · 3 years

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you don't have to post this if you don't want, i just wanted to let you know I support you. maybe I'm just not in the right headspace to understand, but i truly don't get the mentality that you not wanting to create 18+ content for an au you love, even one that's specifically 18+, is somehow censuring. you are the owner of your blog and you create for you and how you're comfortable doing it? just because you personally aren't publicly making nsfw content doesn't mean other people can't/you don't like them. the only thing I sorta understand is the name thing and how, out of context, it could seem you weren't happy with the original, but even then that's a valid perspective. not everybody has to like an AU, and if someone wants to do their own version there is literally no excuse for sending them hate. this is a fandom of AUs and derivative content, to get mad at someone else for following suit is hypocritical. you aren't in the wrong here, and the people spreading misinformation about you with the intention to hurt (even if they feel thReAtEnED by your PERSONAL AU INTERPRETATION THAT RHEY ARE FREE TO CURATE OUT OF THEIR FEED SHOULD THEY NOT LIKE IT ...) are absolutely being horrendous. I'm here for you if you wanna talk, you can DM on discord or here. I hope you're okay.

I mean, in a way I can understand taking it as censoring, especially after talking to a few people about it directly, since it was a bit of a combination between both the interpretation of the name misunderstanding as well as ULR not being 18+ leading to the conclusion that it was censoring Underlust. But after I explained it, the couple of people who approached me about that specific issue understood pretty quickly, too.

And, in all honesty, if I don't really like something, I wouldn't go through the effort of trying to make anything based off of it. The closest example that I can think of where I did something akin to that is when I once tried like, writing an AU for Fire Emblem Fates, because I love the concept of the games, but thought the execution couldn't have been worse. (I've done insane amounts of research on how it truly was so bad, and honestly, the dev team was a complete mess, so I don't really blame them for how it turned out despite them being the ones that made it lol. They barely could come to a midway point for it, so the fact they released it was a miracle.) Sure, there's points of Underlust I don't like, but as I've said before I could say that about everything I like. Except maybe Promare /j (but it is a good movie)

It's also probably really weird, but like, even with things I know I don't like, I'm willing to read or look into sometimes. Like, I don't like Dreamtale at all, but I've gotten myself fairly invested in More than one fic about it and do like some people's works based on it. I'm between unable to handle and yet can tolerate yandere fics nowadays thanks to Alch's fics and them just being a generally wonderful human being, but like, before that they just sent me into a panic attack lol. Ragnartale is also a weird one I am somehow invested in, since it's like, on the surface, it looks like something I wouldn't enjoy, esp since. None of the ships showcased I'm really into at all. But I'm very invested in it ;w;.

Anyway, my point with this part lol is like, I love seeing different interpretations of the same thing, and it's absolutely wild to me walking into this fandom from every other fandom I've been in where like, and AU is just the same characters in a different scenario, while here an AU is literally a whole separate world based off of either Undertale itself or a different AU entirely and the cast is really varied and even if characters are of the same origin from one AU to another, they're so distinctly different that some of them are unlinkable to the character they originate from. And y'all made a multiverse out of it!! With consistent lore between said multiverse!! Wh?? Like I said I've been on the internet a long time but this is genuinely the only instance I've seen this happen, and while I've been told it used to be worse, y'all are super respectful about stuff here too (and like, notably on YouTube with AMVs and MEPs, people actually credit where they got the fanart from in the description?? It's not all of them, and some may be without permission, but this is still the ONLY fandom I've seen do that and that's one hell of a leg up on everyone else.) It's like weirdly, to me, like... an ideal way art should be? Like, a world where anyone can make whatever they want, and people work with each other and from different things, taking inspiration from each other with credit and care and love and not slamming people in the face with a big copyright button for so much as thinking about making something off of their content (coughnintendocough). Obviously Toby's a chill guy too, for not only allowing this to all happen, but based on that message he left in i think the 5th anniversary vinyls, adores it just as much.

So yeah, definitely being slapped in the face when I step in with my idea after all of that openness before me definitely kinda hurt LMAO. It does feel nice to finally like. Actually talk about it instead of holding it in though. Even if it's actually almost two months later now (cause this happened on like December 5th and i was like already having an awful week with a real bad birthday so that was fun avdbwvsn)

I don't know that the original intent was to spread misinformation, because from what it seemed like, they merely read one post, blocked me, and then told everyone about the information they got from said post, but from there it became misinformation, because that one post is probably the oldest post about ULR and doesn't properly summarize anything about it at all it just has character faces and rules for the ask box lol. And frankly, before I updated it, it was out-of-date and inaccurate as well, cause i never thought it would be necessary to change. But that info that i have is also from like one or two posts my friend snagged off of twitter (cause, well, they blocked me lol), so I'm not really 100% certain.

But even so, thank you for the support man, I think I'm good for now, but I really appreciate your offer and checking in on me like this, it really does mean a lot💕💕

#zircon answers #owl bones #and i dont rlly mind posting at this point tbf #also being on mobile you cant really reply privately which i hate lol #need an xkit for mobile so it functions like desktop sometimes honestly lol

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mattatouile · 5 years

Text

jaime and brienne marriage of convenience fic idea/bullet-point/rec request

FIC IDEA! But I need someone to tell me if this fic exists so I don’t have to write it myself:

Roose Bolton, shit snack extraordinaire, actually sees Jaime set his hand over Brienne’s without even looking, because they’re that connected now;

Then he knows Jaime came all the way back to Harrenhal and jumped one-handed and unarmed into a bear pit to save this woman;

He writes to Tywin and he’s like, “Hey, get your son in order. Some shit’s going on with him and the heir of the Evenstar.”

Jaime shows up in King’s Landing one-handed, he and Tywin have that conversation about how Jaime needs to give up this Kingsguard bullshit and get married, Jaime’s like KINGSGUARD 4 LYFE, DAD.

Tywin drops the bombshell, “I know you’ve dishonored Lord Selwyn Tarth’s only living heir and I will not have you siring bastards on a noblewoman and then disavowing them.”

Jaime protests! He! Did! Not! Deflower! Brienne! Godssake, DAD.

Tywin’s like, “Yeah, well, dumbass literally everyone at Harrenhal, including Roose fucking Bolton, saw your dumbass jump into a bearpit for her when you were missing a hand and oh yeah a weapon. THAT’S SUPER NORMAL, JAIME.”

Tywin makes some threats about how everyone will know Brienne has been dishonored by a Lannister and hasn’t Jaime done enough bullshit to enough people to not do this to the woman that dragged his half-dead ass across half of Westeros? (But in Tywin speak that isn’t remotely complimentary to Brienne.)

Basically: put up or shut up, because if you don’t marry her, it won’t be long before literally everyone from Winterfell to Sunspear will know that you’re an even bigger oathbreaking pile of shit than you were already.

Jaime has to ruminate on this for a while, but he realizes he owes Brienne more than that. She did wipe his ass for him, she did save him in the tub, she’s now the sole keeper of his deepest darkest secret, and is he really so craven he would abandon her to the censure of Westeros and incite her own father’s wrath -- maybe directed at her for not better protecting her own virtue, but definitely directed at Jaime for something he didn’t even do. Again.

Jaime tells Brienne all this and she’s like, “Don’t care. Can’t marry you. Don’t wanna be a wife right now. Don’t want to have children right now. I’ve got shit to do and Stark girls to save. And will not welcome you into my bed and bear your children while you’re still fucking Cersei. Thanks for the offer, tho.”

Jaime explains to her about her dad and think of all of Westeros finding her even more distasteful. And she’s like, “And think about how what they’ll see when they look at you next to this mess.” It’s not like anyone will believe he wanted to marry her, and so now she gets to be an even bigger laughing stock, trying to hang off the arm of a man as pretty as Jaime Lannister. Also, she has Stark girls to save.

Jaime makes some promises he probably can’t keep. Namely, he’ll help her save Sansa and Arya still, he’ll do anything within his power to help her. She saved his life, literally. He owes her whatever he can give her. And right now, it’s the protection of his name saving her from being branded his whore on top of everything else. His name alone will open doors for her to find the girls and save them and she’ll have better luck with him along for the ride. (and they can protecc each other.)

Brienne ... starts to relent. But she finally tells him she’ll marry him, but she won’t let him bed her. She was serious about the Cersei thing. She’s not trying to say he can’t still love his sister and sleep with her if that’s all he wants in life, but she will not be his side piece. (also, seriously, doesn’t want kids right now, moon tea be damned.)

Jaime should be relieved by this condition of hers but he’s not and he does not have time to suddenly know how to engage in self-reflection, being as he has less self-awareness than most coral species.

Then, obvs, they get married and slowly have to grow together on their quest to find Sansa and at some point, Jaime realizes he did actually stop wondering when he could next get inside Cersei, and start wanting nothing more than for Brienne to want him and love him and care for him as more than just her buddy-pal and travel companion. And then the man that has been the most in denial about his own feelings has to really Go Through It and realize he’s in love with his godsdamned wife and he really wants her to be in love with him too.

Dammit.

#jaime x brienne #bullet point fic #DOES THIS FIC EXIST?#PLEASE GIVE

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sabraeal · 4 years

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The Most Perverse Creature in the World, Chapter 8

Though your father had been a country count, unimportant to the machinations of Wistal’s court, you had never lacked for companionship. What your father had lacked in political clout, he had made up for in varied acquaintance: knights’ daughters, a neighboring baron’s young granddaughter, your own cousins-- all of them had made up your coterie of ladies, giggling beneath covers in childhood and over fans when you made your debut.

They had cooed when you had told them of your husband’s proposal, teasing you over his age, over his equally distant holdings, but when you had married in your father’s lavish gardens, taking your husband’s hand as you made your first steps toward Bederin--

They had wept.

You wonder sometimes what has become of them. Whether they married well, whether the pretty knight’s daughter caught a peer after all. Perhaps you sit on the council with their husbands, and they--

They ignore the receipts as well. Just another entry made in the ledger, written in their neat hand at the same time it is thoroughly unseen.

Perhaps they think of you, too. The news of your husband’s death, at least, must have brought them pause over their needlepoint, remembering their younger, less complicated years. Their condolences could have been one of the hundreds you received and blindly answered, too deeply entrenched in your mourning to think of anything more than a few lines of thanks.

They might even think of you now, wondering if you nephew took care of you as he ought as the new count, or if you had been sent to the house of your brother, living as a spectral albatross about his neck.

Ah, whatever they think, it would pale to the truth of it.

“I only mean to say, if we’re to be taxed for acts, then what’s the incentive for us to do more than give ‘em a quick rub and send ‘em on their way?” Himawari folds her arms right under her chest, mouth set in a belligerent pout. “What next? Are they going to take for duration too? For how many little deaths we fake?”

At least, you hope your friends would not be able to guess at this. “I am not sure of the lords’ plans for future taxation, but as it currently stands, you would be changed more for a, ah, rub than you would be for something more...traditional.”

Himawari’s brows draw sharply over her blade of a nose. “Traditional.”

“What her ladyship is trying to imply,” Kikyo interjects smoothly, “is that they mean to tax us for what they call lewd acts, which doesn’t include fucking. Unless you do it any way but on your back.”

Himawari snorts, stretching out to her full, impressive length. Before tonight you thought few men wanted a woman who could look them in the eye, but it’s taken you weeks to find an opening in Himawari’s schedule. Aside from Tsubaki, she’s the most popular girl in the house.

“Well, that makes no sense. It’s quicker and cleaner to just use a hand, and I--”

“Plenty of your other companions feel the same,” you explain quickly. If you have learned anything in your meetings with the ladies of this house, it is that you do not give them time to expound upon...personal experiences. Or rather, specific personal experiences. It only leaves you wondering which of your fellow councilmen might have been the ‘rude gent that wanted a spank’ before he inevitably got down to business.

(Though you do have a few ideas on that one. And the lord who asked for a glass of port during a specific act you will not allow yourself to recount.)

Himawari frowns, somehow forbidding even in her gossamer negligee. “Then what’s to be done about it? It’s the lords what decide our fate. Are we to deny them custom? Starve ourselves while they go elsewhere?”

“That is why I am here.” You smooth your notebook across your lap, taking comfort in the paper beneath your palms. “His Majesty has task me with finding an alternate proposal.”

“She’s been asking all of us our thoughts,” Kikyo explains, “in an attempt to make one that’s more fair to us, instead of the lords.”

Himawari raises a skeptical brow. “And how’s that been coming?”

“Ah...” Your notes are a mess; you ask one girl what she wants, and it confounds another’s. You put forth this contradictory piece, and suddenly you are in a debate with no experience to draw from, only what you have gleaned from your interviews and trolling through the Big House’s archives. “I am...approaching an idea...”

“Yeah, that none of us want the same thing,” she laughs, shaking her head. “There’s some girls here who don’t to much but lie on their backs. And some of us that have made a name filling different sorts of appetites. And have you talked to the boys?”

“Boys?” You blink, shuffling through your notes. “The doormen--”

“They’re for sale too.” Her mouth hooks, wry. “I’m sure they’d have plenty to say about getting taxed up the--”

“We take your point,” Kikyo interjects smoothly, “but there’s not much to be done. Not without suspicion.”

You nod. “I’ve gleaned that your madam wouldn’t like the idea of you girls bargaining a better position.”

“Not unless it made her a pretty penny,” Himawari spat, “which it might well do, since she’s so keep on pinching from our pockets.”

You swallow a sigh, shifting in your seat. “It would be nice to have all of you in a room at once, if only to make some sense of it all. But your madam--”

“Would never allow it,” Kikyo confirms. “She’d think it was cutting into profits.”

“Even if I paid?” You would be far from the first peer to rent out a house of ill repute for an evening. “I could--”

“My lady, it would only be a pretense.” Kikyo sends you one of her soft, sly smiles. “She hardly likes two of us in a room at once, let alone all of us.”

“And agreeing,” Himawari huffs. “Might give us ideas about who should really be running the house.”

Your mouth hooks into a smirk. “Sounds like you all have ideas on that too.”

“Don’t we just.” Himarwari’s teeth bare in a tiger’s smile. “Mainly seeing our current one out of it.”

Her words slap you as hard as a thunder clap. “Would that be possible?”

Kikyo’s eyes widen. “My lady?”

“I do not mean permanently.” Yet. “But for a night. Is there a way to get her from the house?”

The two women exchange glances.

“She hardly ever leaves,” Himawari admits. “Unless...”

“Unless she has custom,” Kikyo finishes, thoughtful. “But she considers her services very...elite.”

“What she means is: the madam won’t go out for anyone but the choicest lords.” Himawari grins. “Which don’t happen too often, considering how they all like young things that aren’t too big for their britches.”

More likely they prefer young things who are impressed by their power and will do anything to please them. You bite down on the thought; as true as it may be, your job here is not to denigrate the reputation of the other councilmen.

After all, they do such a fine job of it themselves.

“Not that it would solve much,” Himawari scoffs, “Sumire would still be here.”

Sumire. You’ve heard the name before, once or twice, as girls passed meaningful looks. “Is that...?”

“The Madam’s spy?” Himawari snaps. “Yes.”

Kikyo’s glance is laden with censure as she says, “Sumire is the Madam’s freshest flower.”

“Freshest flower?” you ask, already fearing the explanation, but-- you are here to learn. There is no point in helping them if you choose to turn away from what they cannot.

“She debuted last year,” Kikyo explains with a hesitation that sets your teeth on edge. “To much anticipation.”

Himawari snorts. “She paraded the girl around for a year, letting everyone look and never touch, and then sold the right to the highest bidder.”

“An auction.” Kikyo gives her a quelling glare. “Only the most promising receive one. There’s no point, after all, if one’s debut won’t pay for the party itself.”

“You mean that her...” You flounder for the words, and Himawari smirks. “Her maiden’s head was...?”

“Sold, yes.” You stifle a squirm, but Himawari’s grin says you have done a poor job of it. “To some lord, who kept her until he tired of her.”

“That isn’t what happened,” Kikyo snaps. “You know that well enough.”

“It hardly matters in any case.” The tall woman shrugs, careless. “Only the fanciest lords are allowed to have her now.”

Your mouth pulls thin. “I take it that the Madam has something to do with that?”

“Of course.” Himawari’s grin is sharp. “Why accept less than the opening bid?”

“The Madam gives her the choicest clients,” Kikyo clarifies, “and as such, Sumire is loyal to her. Like a child to a mother.”

It is on the tip of your tongue: a mother would never sell her child. But it is an easy thing for you to say, a woman who never had one, a child who never wanted despite it. But when a child is yet another open mouth to feed, and there’s not enough food to hand-- who knows what might be done to make up the lack.

You stare at your hands, still covered in lace, the weight of your wedding ring heavy on your finger, and--

And maybe it is not only those hungry for bread that sell their daughters.

You nod, briskly, to organize your thoughts. “Then we will table such an idea for now. But as for your thoughts...”

You close the door behind you, leaving the woman to whatever preparations they make to conceive the illusion of your visit being a profitable one. For your own peace of mind, you’ve never quite asked what that entails.

Those thoughts are not the ones that occupy you in any case. Your mind races, as it always does, filled with half-written laws that sag in the middle, or are only held together by a thin chain of ellipses as you search for the words you need to bind them. The other councilors might joke about your knotty problem, but if it is one, its loops conceal a hopeless tangle beneath, the whole of it always hidden from your view. You may pull at what you see, hoping to find an end, but you suspect all of those efforts have only made it worse, not better.

Still, you probe at it, mind tugging at its coils. If only you could drag every last bit of it into the light--

You press your lips together, teeth biting at your cheeks. There is a way to do it, if only you could figure out the logistics of it.

Hah, but is that not what you were trained to do? They may not have wanted you to be a countess in your own right, but the perfect count’s wife, able to organize a luncheon--

Now that, that you have been trained to do.

“Obi.”

He glances up from where he leans against the wall, all impossibly long limbs, the way hounds were just after they grew out of being puppies.

“May I help you?” he asks, gaze darting to the door behind you. “Is my lady ready to leave?”

You blink. “Yes?”

His brow arches, every feature of his face curved into polite curiosity. It takes you aback for a moment, he looks younger like this, hardly more than a boy without the guarded suspicion marring his face. “Will you get her?”

“Get her?” You stare at him, brows drawn in confusion. “I’m here.”

“You’re--?” His eyes widen, jaw going slack. “My lady. I didn’t-- I didn’t recognize you without--”

Words fail him, and he gestures vaguely toward his face. For a moment, you stand stymied, but then you raise your hands, the smooth round of your cheek squishing beneath the lace of your fingers.

“My veil,” you breathe, reaching for your reticule. “I must have-- I didn’t--”

His hands come to still yours, lifting the fall of lace from your boneless fingers. “Please, my lady, allow me.”

He sets it over you gently, lowering the blusher of your veil until it falls over your chest, obscuring the world beneath a black cage.

“There, that’s...” His lips press together. “Normal.”

“Normal,” you sigh, fussing with the edge. “Yes. I suppose.”

Obi opens his mouth only to close it again. “You were going to ask me something else, my lady?”

“Yes.” Your hands drop down to your side, laying flat against the crape. “There’s a girl I want you to secure a meeting with. Her name is Sumire.”

#haruka x reader #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #ans #sadly there is no haruka in this chapter #but this is pretty much a lead up to the deeper plot #so...he'll be in the next one #instead please enjoy Obi being a Good Boy

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invidiosa · 4 years

Text

IWTB fic

In honour of the 12th anniversary of the IWTB release, here is a fic I wrote 10 years ago (1 March 2010 to be precise):

In a Graveyard by Circe Invidiosa Rating: PG-13 for the swears Disclaimer: I know the law, and the law would win.

Summary: He hated snow…Mulder attends a funeral. A post-I Want to Believe fic.

Keep reading it here or read it on: my fic site LJ

He hated snow, he decided. Considering the week he’d had, Mulder didn’t know why he hadn’t come to this conclusion before now. He watched the flakes begin to fall in bigger clumps, sticking to the casket in splotches.

The snow muffled the minister’s drone, making him sound like he was rooms away. Like when Mulder would hide in the linen closet when his parents had company over and they thought he was asleep, back before Samantha was born. He’d hoped to hear something he wasn’t supposed to hear. Why else would they send him to bed? But it always turned out to be boring adult talk. They didn’t even talk about him.

Mulder shook off the memory and the snow that had collected in his hair and tried to concentrate on what the minister was saying. But it was obvious the officiant knew Dakota Whitney about as well as he did. The trite platitudes, the words about faith and God’s will, seemed even more pointless to Mulder than usual.

He couldn’t give Scully an answer to why he was going to Dakota Whitney’s funeral. He didn’t know what he’d hoped for — meaning, absolution? None of that was here.

He’d stayed back, far enough away that he could scan the faces of the crowd. He’d recognized a few faces, older now, just as he was. No one would meet his eye except Drummy, who glared openly at him. Mulder wished he had a reason to glare back.

It was during this absurd staring contest that someone approached and stood next to Mulder. Walter Skinner didn’t even acknowledge when Mulder turned to see him, hands shoved into his overcoat pockets staring forward. But Mulder felt bolstered enough by his presence that he could forget about Drummy and his censure.

Mulder leaned toward Skinner. “Arlington, huh? How’d she score this kind of real estate?”

Skinner motioned his head to the older uniformed man who held the folded flag. “General Whitney.”

That explained a lot.

Mulder realized that he hadn’t really considered anything about this girl — woman. Christ, she was older than Scully had been when they’d first met. Obviously — far too obviously — Dakota Whitney had been interested in Mulder and had considered everything about him. He began to feel embarrassed for her, and for himself, remembering their final conversation, when she’d made a play for him.

Uncomfortable again, Mulder turned to Skinner to make his apologies and leave when Skinner said, “There was snow at your funeral, too.”

Well, fuck. Mulder knew that he hadn’t said it out of maliciousness, but maybe Skinner was making a point — he’d been to enough funerals and didn’t want to go to another of Mulder’s. Whatever Skinner’s reasons, it rooted Mulder to his spot.

Mulder changed the subject as fast as he could. “Did you know her?” He nodded toward the casket.

“Sorta. She came to me, before this case, wanting to know about you, about the X-Files. Pestered me every day for a month. Kept telling me it was all ‘off-the-record’.”

“What did you tell her?”

Skinner snorted. “I’m still an AD because I know there’s no such thing as ‘off-the-record’. And because I know when to leave something damn well alone. Last time she talked to me was last week. Came into my office and triumphantly told me she’d gotten approval to get you for consulting on some hot case, and thanks for nothing.”

Mulder smirked, remembering her tenacity. “I noticed she didn’t take no for an answer.”

“She didn’t get to be an ASAC by backing down.”

Mulder sighed. “Well, it got her killed. Bringing me back got her killed.”

Skinner shook his head. “You’re unbelievable. Isolation has actually made you more egotistical. You must’ve been a joy to live with these last six years.”

One thing Mulder knew was that regardless of how many times Skinner threw everything aside to help him, there was only one reason he did it: for Scully. And this was Mulder’s cue.

“Thanks for the chat and for the cuddle the other night, Walter. Drop by any time now that I’m not wanted.” Mulder started to back away.

Skinner rolled his eyes and walked past him, back down to the path. “Get over yourself, Mulder. There’s something here you need to see.”

Mulder took one last look at the snow-freckled coffin before he followed. They walked away to a gun salute.

———-

Skinner led the way. After a few minutes, he veered off the path and stopped in front of an unremarkable headstone. Unremarkable until Mulder read the name aloud: “Frohike.” Sure enough, Langly and Byers flanked him.

“Shit,” Mulder muttered. Scully had told him all about The Gunmen’s heroic deaths, but it never seemed real. Especially not with the spectral visits the boys occasionally had paid him.

Skinner pointed to the fresh flowers left at all three graves. “Jimmy, that kid who started following them around that last year, he visits every couple of weeks. Makes sure it looks like someone’s been here. That someone remembers what they meant.”

“I met him once. He was –” How could he put it delicately?

Skinner read his mind. “What he lacks in sense, he makes up for in eagerness. I thought their deaths would kill him. But he’s still putting out the paper. He still believes.”

Lucky kid.

Skinner bowed his head momentarily, paying his respects, before he cleared his throat. “I’ll give you some time alone here. I’ve gotta go make an appearance at the wake and do Assistant Director stuff. You can make it outta here okay?”

Mulder nodded. “I’ll just follow the breadcrumb trail I left.”

“Tell Scully I’ll be in touch,” Skinner said before he walked away.

Mulder knelt down by Frohike’s headstone. He didn’t have to wait long and was not startled when a voice spoke.

“I thought he’d never leave.” Langly appeared from behind a nearby tree.

“‘Bout time you showed up,” Frohike said as he stood up from behind his tombstone.

Mulder rolled his eyes and stood upright. “You might recall that up until very recently, I was wanted by the FBI for killing a marine. You even warned me to go on the run and not look back. So it would be a pretty stupid idea to just waltz into the largest armed forces cemetery. But thanks for understanding.”

Byers appeared from behind Mulder. “Don’t mind him, Mulder. The afterlife isn’t what he expected.”

Mulder chuckled. “What, all the great conspiracies didn’t just reveal themselves to you when the pearly gates opened?”

Langly was leaning on his own headstone. “Nah. He’s just got his panties in a twist because it turns out he’s just as bad at getting dead tail as he was at getting live tail.”

“At least I’m looking for girls! You’re just interested in other long haired dudes!” Frohike said.

Langly’s fist came down. “Joey Ramone is a GOD, not a dude!”

Mulder was getting fed up. “Guys! I’m here now. Not that you couldn’t have come to see me any time, you know, what with having shuffled off your mortal coils and all.”

Byers shrugged. “Mulder, even you think we’re figments of your impressive imagination. If you haven’t seen us lately, maybe you should ask yourself why.”

Mulder rubbed his forehead. “If you really are figments of my imagination, why haven’t you gotten any better looking?”

“Speak for yourself, Not-so-Grizzly-Adams,” Frohike said. “Did you shave just for us?”

“All right,” Byers intervened, his hands raised like a referee. “Mulder, we know why you came here today. We’re sorry about the girl, Agent Whitney. You and she seemed to work well with one another.”

“Too well,” Frohike interjected.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mulder replied a little too defensively.

Langly sighed. “Don’t get him started.”

Frohike waved him off. “Too late!” He turned to Mulder. “Running off with this young chickie, Mulder, just because she’s all into the paranormal? When you’ve got the luscious Dana Scully waiting at home? What are you thinking?”

Mulder turned away. “It wasn’t like that –”

“It never is,” Byers said, to Mulder’s surprise. “And that wasn’t our point, Mulder. It’s not your feelings for Agent — Doctor Scully — that are the problem. It’s where your relationship stands now that you’re free.”

Mulder replied. “Look, Scully knows where we stand –”

“Does she?” Frohike asked.

Mulder threw his arms up. “Of course she does. How could she not?”

“Have you actually told her, Mulder?” Byers asked.

“Yeah, that really seems to be a bit of a foreign concept for you two,” Langly said.

“Think about how ready was she to give up on you when you went into crazy investigator mode.” Frohike said. Don’t give up. Maybe it was Mulder that Father Joe had been referring to all along when he said that to Scully. Frohike added, “Does that seem like a person who knows where they stand?”

But I can tell you that I won’t be coming home. Mulder had just chalked it up to Scully having a passive aggressive tantrum for not getting her way. He hadn’t understood a single thing she said that night. He still didn’t.

“She doesn’t need to worry. We’ve been together for years now.”

“Only because you didn’t have a choice. You were in hiding. You had to rely on her,” Byers said.

“Maybe she thinks she’s a placeholder. Just good enough for now until you were able to get back to what you love doing,” Langly added.

Frohike shook his head. “Lemme tell you something. I ever had a woman half as smart, sophisticated, and hot as Dana Scully, she’d never have to guess what she meant to me.”

Langly laughed. “Like that would ever be a possibility. She’d have to be half as tall, too.” Frohike made a hand gesture at Langly.

Byers interrupted, bringing them back to the matter at hand. “The point is, Mulder, whatever you end up doing now that you’re a free man, you have to let Dr. Scully know where she stands.”

“Ditchin’ her ain’t an option any more, man,” Langly said, adding, “Even if you are pissed at her.”

Frohike rubbed his hands together. “All she’d have to do is open up that top button and I wouldn’t be mad at her any more.”

Mulder pointed at Frohike in warning. “That’s far enough, Melvin. You’re talking about the mother of my son there.”

Byers said, “You know, that’s another thing we should probably talk about.”

Mulder stooped and picked up a bouquet of flowers from Frohike’s grave. “Not today, boys.”

Frohike stepped forward. “Hey! Jimmy just gave me those!”

Mulder shrugged. “It’s for a good cause, Melvin. ‘Sides, you really wanna go around yelling that a dude left you these?”

Frohike grimaced. “Touché. Tell her we said hi?”

“Not on your life,” Mulder said.

Langly walked up to stand beside Frohike. “Considering we don’t have lives, that means absolutely nothing.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be back. I’ll bring you something nice.”

“Scully would be nice,” Frohike said.

“You can’t win, Frohike,” Mulder said. “You don’t even have a body.”

“Don’t rub it in, Mulder,” Byers said, now standing on the other side of Frohike. “You don’t have to spend eternity with him.”

“No, I don’t,” Mulder said, walking back down to the path, “I have to make sure I’m spending it with someone else. Thanks guys.”

When Mulder turned back to wave, they were gone.

#circe invidiosa fanfic #xf fanfic #iwtb fanfic #old fic #my fic

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bts-bringthescenarios · 4 years

Text

Genre: fluff, hints of angst. Pairing: [romantic] female reader + bts!hyung line Contents & Warnings: multiple career!reader, physical contact, swear words, Harry Potter (Books) spoilers.

***

Kim Seokjin

Jin had always been a firm believer in love at first sight. As such, he was convinced that when he met ‘the one’ a slumbering something would simply wake up inside him and let him know clearly: ‘this is your soulmate, Seokjin’. So what he wasn’t expecting was the baffling torrent of thoughts and emotions that were brought about when you talked to him for the first time, which left him feeling both exhilarated and terrified at the same time.

“Hello, worldwide handsome,” you had mocked him playfully, beaming at him as you leaned in to apply primer on his skin. “My name is (Y/N). Please let me know if anything I do tickles you or makes you uncomfortable, okay?”

And you had gotten to work, just like that. You had shaken him inside and out and gotten yourself busy without so much as an acknowledgement for the mess you’d made of him.

There was an extended BTS tour coming up, and BigHit was rallying a team of makeup artists to join them during the whole trip. You had worked with other idols for a while, and you were so good your boss personally recommended you as an asset for the tour team in BigHit. They decided to try you out for a BTS Run Episode, which lead to your first meeting with Jin.

Of course, you already knew the members from hearsay and had an idea of what to expect. Jin, on the opposite hand, was not prepared for you. Perhaps physically you weren’t the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, even though he found you pretty and charming. What drew him to you was something he couldn’t put his finger on, more like your “aura”: you were spontaneous but also considerate, kind but funny at the same time, very professional but with a casual, laid-back attitude. You moved your body with purpose and determination, and you furrowed your eyebrows in a very cute way while you worked.

By the time you were done with him, Jin was feeling dizzy. During the whole time your face had been very close to his, and even though he had never felt uncomfortable by close proximity with previous makeup artists, this time he found it hard to talk and breathe normally. You had prattled and joked around the whole time because you noticed he was a bit uneasy, but when in the end he gave you a tense smile, you assumed he hadn’t quite liked you. This probably meant you wouldn’t have a good chance to join the tour team. His face looked fantastic, more so than usual, so you figured that ought to count for something.

Still, you were pleasantly surprised when your boss called you up to let you know you’d been selected for the job, and what astonished you the most was that Jin had personally requested you to be his makeup artist. Your boss frowned at your shocked expression, but you decided not to let her know about how tense Jin had appeared to be when you had worked on him. Maybe he was having a bad day and you had taken it too personally.

So the tour began. On the first concert date you walked down to the changing rooms, feeling a bit jet lagged and carrying your faithful makeup briefcase with you. The moment you entered the room, Jin flashed you a breathtaking grin and greeted you enthusiastically. Your heart skipped a beat as you noticed how beautiful he looked when he was happy about something.

You stopped dead in your tracks. ‘No’, you told yourself firmly, ‘Kim Seokjin is off limits, (Y/N).’

“Are you alright?” Jin asked, getting up from his seat and rushing by your side.

“I’m fine! Nothing to worry about,” you answered hastily, shaking your head a little. “I’m just a little jet lagged, you know?”

“I understand,” Jin replied smilingly as he walked next to you toward his makeup chair, “I’ve gotten so used to it I barely notice it anymore.”

This time, Jin was incredibly chatty as you worked. It made your job a bit more difficult, but you were so entertained by your conversation you didn’t mind at all. He joked and made puns all the time, telling you funny tales about his previous tours and all in all making you laugh heartily. By the time his makeup was done, you had enjoyed yourselves so much you felt sorry work was over for now. Still, even after you were done he kept talking with you, until it was his queue to go to the stage.

“Okay, time to go,” he said, looking a bit down for the first time. He got up and examined his face in the mirror. “Wow, (Y/N), you really are the most talented makeup artist I’ve ever met.”

You chuckled nervously, your heart punching loudly against your chest. As Jin waved at you and left the changing room you took a second to compose yourself, monitoring your breathing. You sternly reprimanded yourself for… for whatever it was that you were feeling. You didn’t even want to think about what those feelings meant, least of all name them.

However, this wouldn’t be the last time you would censure your emotions; as a matter of fact it quickly became a routine over the next couple of months. And it was just so fucking difficult to get a grip on yourself once Jin started asking you personal questions, or finding excuses to touch you for the briefest moments. He was deeply interested in everything you said, and he started sharing more and more about himself, his life, his family…

The other makeup artists were already beginning to gossip good-naturedly about your relationship with Jin, jokingly trying to persuade you to take the leap and snatch him up. You really liked Jin, but you weren’t sure if he liked you as a friend of else. Besides, weren’t the Bangtan Boys banned from dating? You couldn’t risk both your jobs like that. So, naturally, you sought help to control yourself before you did anything stupid: you asked coworker and best friend Yu-ri to monitor you and warn you when she saw you getting a bit too involved. She was the only one who took your conundrum seriously, and you soon found she was perfect for the job: on several occasions she called you away from Jin at the nick of time before you gave your feelings away.

The Bangtan members noticed the situation too, of course. And, unlike you, they could see the toll these daily conversations had on Jin. One concert night Namjoon had a full view of his hyung’s melancholy expression as he walked away from you.

“When are you going to ask her out? You know they called off the dating ban,” Namjoon whispered as they marched towards the stage.

“I’d do it right now if I could. I’d literally turn around and ask her to go out with me right this moment,” Jin replied, and then he gave Namjoon a sad smile.

“But…?”

Jin sighed quietly as they took their positions in the elevating platform, staring into space. Namjoon waited patiently.

“The success rate of idol plus non-idol couples in this industry is low enough without me chipping in, even without dating bans. I can’t risk it,” Jin replied rubbing his temples, clearly distressed. “(Y/N) is so amazing, so unique. And the way I feel when I’m with her... I just can’t help myself. I want to get to know her, and I want her to know me. But I don’t want to ruin everything. I’d rather wait for now, maybe in a few years…” he trailed off hopelessly.

Namjoon nodded pensievely, and then squared his shoulders.

“Well, I don’t think you like her that much,” he snapped. Jin stared back in surprise. “I mean, that must be the reason why you won’t even try.”

The platform started its painfully slow rising motion, and they couldn’t continue their conversation.

Jin mulled over Namjoon’s words that night. Was he being a coward? In truth, the way he felt about you was scary to him. He’d had crushes before and knew how those felt, but with you? He was in love. He wanted it —no, he needed it to work. He should be cautious. But was waiting for who knows how long a careful thing to do? Would you just sit and wait or would you give up on him?

And then the answer popped up in his mind effortlessly. Of course he had to involve you in this decision. Why should he figure this out on his own? Why should you be left out of it?

The next day was their night off, so the whole staff was resting in their hotel rooms. You were sharing with Yu-ri, and you had decided to hang out at night and watch a show together. You were too preoccupied with your feelings for Jin to actually pay any attention to it, so you barely noticed when the room phone rang and your roommate picked it up.

“(Y/N)? It’s for you,” Yu-ri said, gazing at you meaningfully. “It’s him.”

“What?” your voice cracked. She nodded excitedly. You pressed the receiver to your ear. “It’s happening,” Yu-ri mouthed silently.

“Seokjin? It’s (Y/N).”

“Hi! Sorry to bother you on your night off. Are you free right now?” he asked, sounding rather nervous. “Could you come over? I’d like to talk to you.”

Your heart was racing in your chest as you took the elevator to his room. ‘He’s just worried about his makeup tomorrow’ you tried to convince yourself as you walked through the hallway. ‘This is NOT a date, (Y/N).’ But, if it wasn’t, then why was he summoning you to his room on his night off?

Your hand trembled as you knocked softly on the door. Jin opened the door and invited you in.

As you eyed him carefully, you noticed dark bags under Jin’s eyes, who nervously led you to the couch beside the bed and gestured you to sit down next to him. You obeyed quietly, worried. He looked a bit ill, and for a while he remained silent.

“I should have brought my makeup with me,” you finally said, going for a light-hearted tease to break the ice. “I want everyone to be rendered speechless by Mr. Kim Seokjin’s handsome looks on tomorrow’s talk show. And by the look of you, I should be getting started with your makeup right now if we want to be done by tomorrow night.”

“I’m sorry I’m taking little care of your raw material,” he chuckled, and then got serious again. “I haven’t slept at all. I have a lot on my mind these days. Or, should I say, you’ve been a lot on my mind,” he added, moving closer to you.

Your heart skipped a beat.

“I think you know why I called you here, but I’d like to say something first. As you must know by now, an idol’s life is very fulfilling, but filled with complications and self-sacrifice. Specially when it comes to our personal lives. They take the biggest toll.”

“I know,” you said softly. He was sitting so close, you only had to extend your hand to touch him. You didn’t. “I see how you struggle with it, and I can only imagine how hard it must be.”

Jin’s heart melted as he saw the genuine concern on your eyes. He swallowed hard and fixed his eyes on yours.

“(Y/N), I know, believe me, that you deserve the best partner there is. I spent the last months convincing myself that I’m not the right fit for you, that you don’t want to be with someone with my job. But… I realized I never thought to ask you about it. I’ve been so scared of your answer, I couldn’t bring myself to ask you the question. So I’m doing it right now.”

As Jin’s words sunk in, the nervousness that had gripped you during the night dissipated quickly, a radiant excitement taking its place. You weren’t treading on unsure grounds now, you knew that you felt exactly the same way about him. This confidence made your heart swell and brought back your usual light-heartedness.

“So,” you grinned as you took his hand in yours, “are you asking me if I would be willing to date an idol?”

“Exactly,” Jin nodded, squeezing your hand in his.

“Hmm,” you mocked a thoughtful expression, “not just any idol, only the most handsome idol in the world. But would Worldwide Handsome Jin be willing to date a makeup artist?”

“Not just any makeup artist,” Jin teased back, caressing your cheekbones with the back of his fingers. “Only the most wonderful, most talented one I’ve ever met.”

In a motion slow enough to drive you crazy with anticipation, Jin wrapped his arms around your waist and softly pulled you closer, gazing deeply into your eyes. You held his face in your hands and leaned in, your breath warming Jin’s full lips.

Knock, knock.

Both of you stopped, your faces just a centimeter away from each other.

“Hyung, why aren’t you replying to my texts? We need to go over tomorrow’s interview,” Namjoon’s voice echoed from the other side of the door.

Jin sighed heavily, brushing his nose against yours. He knew he had to answer, but he was unwilling to let go of you yet. You slid your hands down his neck and tried to pull away, but Jin held you in place. He pressed his forehead to yours and closed his eyes.

“Can we do this in the morning?” he answered, just loud enough for his voice to carry outside.

“No, I’ll be busy,” Namjoon insisted. “Can you open up?”

“Stay right here,” Jin commanded softly. As he got up his fingers trailed up your spine, making you shiver, and you knew you wouldn’t move an inch even if he took all night.

Jin opened the door, and Namjoon, too busy going over notes he was holding, walked right into the middle of the room before he saw you. Frozen in place, it took him a few seconds to react.

“(Y/N)!” he blurted out, blushing furiously. His eyes darted frantically from you to Jin, who was standing next to the door with his arms wound tightly over his chest. “Er… how are you?”

“I’m embarrassed, thanks for asking. How about yourself?” you replied humorously. Jin chuckled quietly at your answer.

“Oh, I’m so sorry for interrupting. Er… I should leave. I mean,” he said, turning to Jin. “We can talk about the interview tomorrow, right? We’ll figure something out.”

“Please,” Jin replied dryly, moving out of the way to gesture Namjoon out. Despite his hurry to have him out of his room, Jin wasn’t angry at his brother. After all, how could he resent the man whose wise words had made this whole situation possible in the first place?

Namjoon stumbled out of the room, Jin locking the door behind him. The moment he was out of range to listen, Jin and you burst out laughing.

“I don’t think I ever saw someone looking so mortified,” you said as Jin slid back next to you, embracing you again.

“Serves him right for interrupting one of the happiest moments of my life,” he whispered as he leaned in and sealed your lips with his.

***

Min Yoongi

The clinic was overworking you, and you had covered more shifts than usual this past week. It wasn’t their fault that the other two psychologists from the ER team had taken sick leave because of the flu, and you were too responsible to just leave people unattended. Your boss and team were grateful for your efforts, but they had insisted you take the rest of the weekend off after working double shifts for the past seven days, which was a good thing because you already had plans.

A few weeks ago, you had promised the boys you would visit them on Saturday and you would all go to a Karaoke Bar, and they had booked a private room to have fun away from the clicking of the paparazzi's cameras. So as soon as you finished your shift in the afternoon, you went straight to their dorms to have tea and leave together for the Karaoke Bar in the evening. You were really excited about your plans, and even though you hated to admit it, you were even more excited at the prospect of seeing Yoongi again after a while. You usually hung out with him more than with the rest of the boys, you just got along so well, but although the BigHit headquarters were only a few blocks away from the clinic where you worked, this past week had been so hectic it had been literally impossible for you two to even catch a coffee together, you had been too busy.

At first you were full of energy and enthusiasm, and even prepared tea and sandwiches with Yoongi. You laughed and joked together all the while, but he was secretly worried. Throughout the past week he had texted you regularly to make sure you were getting enough sleep, and he knew you weren’t. He had double checked if you wanted to raincheck on today’s plans, but when you insisted you were just fine he didn’t press the matter. He knew better than to argue with you, and besides he was too glad to see you again to miss out on the opportunity.

Despite your initial great mood and energy, shortly after you all had eaten together you began to feel drowsy. You still had a good hour or so before you had to set off to the Karaoke Bar, and you could barely keep your eyes open. Yoongi was sitting right next to you, and as he monitored you he became increasingly convinced there was no way you would be able to stay awake.

“Jimin, text the Karaoke Bar to cancel the booking,” Yoongi finally said aloud, making your eyes snap open. “I think we’re all just dead tired today. We should stay home and watch a movie or something.”

“I’m not tire—” Jimin began, but he was swiftly reprimanded by a slap on the arm from Namjoon. It was too late, though: you had already heard him.

“No, no, it’s fine,'' you said, suppressing a yawn. “You guys have been looking forward to karaoke all week. I just need to rest up for a bit, I’ll be as good as new in a few minutes.”

Yoongi shot you an exasperated look. Why did you have to be so goddamn stubborn? Why couldn’t you just prioritize your own wellbeing for once? Why did you have to pretend to be fine all the time when you clearly weren’t? You were just so… so like him.

“Really, (Y/N), we can reschedule for next Saturday. I’m tired too,” Hoseok added considerately, catching Yoongi’s concerned eyes.

“No, you’re not,” you answered firmly. “You were the most excited of us all, Hobi. You even played the list of tracks you’re going to sing all week during breakfast. Yeah, I read all those texts in the group chat.”

Well, it was true, Yoongi thought. And you hadn't even mentioned the fact that he actually sang along. As much as he loved his fellow member, Yoongi didn’t know if he could survive another week tolerating Hoseok’s interpretation of all his favorite songs, but then again he was worried you would just faint if you overexerted yourself. He’d rather wear headphones during breakfast for the next few days and have you rest now.

“We still have some time to decide, (Y/N),” Taehyung ventured, “we could just take it easy and watch something for now, and if you’re fine later we’ll go.”

“I want to watch the first episode of that show that aired on Thursday!” Jeongguk added, his shoulders bouncing up and down excitedly.

You knew they were trying to persuade you to stay put, but it just didn’t feel right to cancel their plans. They rarely had time for fun, since they worked so hard and toured all the time. And you had all finally managed to arrange your schedules to go out together. You weren’t going to give up easily.

But Jeongguk’s genuine excitement made you relent. He really seemed to want to watch the show. There was no harm in taking it easy for an hour, right? Once the episode was over you’d feel renewed, and then you’d all go to the Karaoke Bar together.

However, the moment you all sat down on the huge couch in the TV room you felt overwhelmingly exhausted. To nobody’s surprise, you were out like a light in less than five minutes. The boys waited until you were fast asleep before quietly exiting the room, where only Yoongi remained to make sure you were not disturbed.

He was hoping to get some work done while you were asleep, so Yoongi took out his tablet and began to write down ideas for a song he’d been unsuccessfully trying to complete this past month. He had worked out the melody and he just couldn’t find lyrics for it. Yoongi tried for a few minutes to conjure up the right words, but he was too distracted. His eyes kept darting back to you, like a magnet, and he worried about all sorts of things. Were you comfortable enough or were you going to wake up with a stiff neck? Were you cold? Should he bring a blanket? What if you woke up when he placed the blanket over you? Did you always look so beautiful when you slept?

Oh no, not these stupid ideas again, he thought, shaking his head and trying to stop himself from staring at you. He had been over and over this with himself. You hadn’t shown any sign of actually liking him in a romantic way. You were attentive and caring toward him, sure, but that was the way you were with everyone. You liked to make people feel good. You were also kind, and witty, and incredibly smart and… but he had to stop himself again. As much as he wanted your relationship to be different, he didn’t want to risk your friendship by making you uncomfortable with his feelings, especially because you were good friends with the rest of the boys. What if you felt so awkward about it that you stopped hanging out with all of them?

In spite of his efforts, he still couldn’t stop stealing glances at you all the time. After two hours or so, in which the sun set and you gradually slid to a fully horizontal position without even waking up, he simply decided to give up and make the most of the time he had. When did he ever get a chance to just look at you freely, to let his eyes roam your face without having to control his expression? And as soon as he accepted that and allowed himself to appreciate you openly without restraining his feelings, the words just began to spring up in his mind. He took his tablet and began to write the lyrics of what he knew was now a love song.

You slept for another hour, which was enough time for Yoongi to finish the lyrics that had just poured out of him. As he read and reread them, relieved to have finally found a way to express what he was feeling, he genuinely wondered if he shouldn’t just confess to you. Just because you hadn't given him a clear hint of your feelings didn't mean he had no chance, there was no way he'd know unless he tried. And besides, shouldn’t you be able to decide for yourself what to do about it if you didn’t like him back?

It was at that precise moment when you began to stir, waking up quietly from your deep slumber. You blinked a few times, a bit dazed, and the darkness in the room brought you back to reality. You sat up quickly, which made you feel dizzy and groan in confusion.

Yoongi got up hurriedly and placed his hands over your shoulders, trying to hold you in you in case you fell.

“Why the hell did you get up so fast? It’s bad for you,” he murmured.

“Karaoke”, you mumbled. “I fell asleep…”

“Yeah, you really needed it. You could barely keep your eyes open, let alone sing a tune.”

“But—”

“For fuck’s sake, (Y/N). You needed the sleep. We’ll just go some other time, okay?” he cut you short sternly, trying to stop you from getting up. But Yoongi wasn’t prepared for your heartbroken expression, which softened his voice and made his hands slide down your arms. “What is it, (Y/N)?”

“I can’t believe I ruined our plans like this,” you began, bitterness welling up inside you and mixing up with the exhaustion. You were angry, tired and sleepy, so you simply exploded. “I know how stressed you all are, I know how badly you need to have some fun. I wanted so much to just go out together, to help you relax a bit… Hell, I needed to just go out and relax, too. Why couldn’t I hold on for a little longer?” Yoongi rarely ever saw you vent like this so he just let you get it out of your system without interrupting, and unable to contain your frustration you went on. “We have had no chance to talk this week because of this stupid flu outbreak. I wanted to talk to you, I wanted you to tell me how your song was coming along, Yoongi, and I just fell asleep like an idiot and wasted all that time we could’ve spent together—”

“You wanted to see me?” Yoongi asked, unable to stop himself. It was only when he voiced it that you became aware of the implications of what you had just said. You opened and closed your mouth, unable to respond, which was enough to make Yoongi’s heart pound violently in his chest. But you didn’t know that, all you could think about was that you hadn’t intended to tell him that, you hadn’t meant to expose your feelings for him like that. What was wrong with you today? Why couldn’t you keep it together like you normally did?

Yoongi’s expression had you backtracking soon enough, though. He was gazing intensely into your eyes, and you suddenly became aware of the fact that he was kneeling with his face just a few centimeters away from you, his hands holding you firmly. Your breathing accelerated. No, it couldn’t be. Surely he didn’t reciprocate your feelings? But the look in his eyes gave you the nudge you needed to simply let the words slide out.

“Yeah”, you answered in a low, shaky voice. You couldn’t lie to him when his eyes were piercing you like that, when his whole expression had become hopeful and anticipating. You felt his grip tighten around your arms. “I… I missed you.”

Yoongi’s features brightened instantly, and he smiled his lovely gummy smile. You were grinning too before you could help yourself. “What about you?” you inquired nervously, tilting your head.

Yoongi responded lowering his gaze and fixing it on your lips, and before you knew it he was slowly pulling your body to him, your face so close to his your noses brushed softly against each other, and you could hardly mistake his intentions.

And then Yoongi froze. For a second you were confused, but then you heard it too: two people were speaking in hushed voices outside the room.

Why, why, why was this happening fucking now? Why did they have to come now of all times? Never in his life had Yoongi wanted to just make the rest of the world disappear as badly as he did at this moment, and that was saying something. He shut his eyes angrily, and you both concentrated hard to pick up what the voices were saying.

“... not answering our texts. Maybe he dozed off? Should we check on them?”, Hoseok asked quietly.

“You saw how tired (Y/N) was, she’s probably still sleeping. And Yoongi’s always willing to take a nap, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s out as well.” Jin whispered.

“But what if—”

“Will you stop trying to act stealthy and just leave us alone?!” Yoongi interrupted irritably, not yelling but loud enough for his voice to carry to the corridor. You could hear both Jin’s and Hoseok’s startled squeaks from the other side of the door, which made you chuckle.

“Sorry!” Hobi squealed, “Did we wake you?”

“Just go away!”, Yoongi retorted.

“Okay! Enjoy your naps!”

Yoongi sat back on the floor and rubbed his fingers against his temples in annoyance as you both listened to Jin’s and Hoseok’s footsteps echoing away. It was just his luck to finally get a chance to kiss you, only for it to be completely ruined.

Regardless, the interruption had made him reflect on what he was doing. It wasn’t easy for him to just speak aloud when it came to his feelings, but he knew you were shy, too, and you had taken the first step by admitting you had missed him. Now that he knew that you had feelings for him, that you wanted that kiss as much as he did, he decided to walk the extra mile and actually tell you that he… Well, that he was in love with you.

Still giggling over the incident, you pulled him up to the couch so he could sit next to you.

“Those two had a real bad timing,” you said, trying to lighten up the dampened mood. His irritation quickly dissipating, Yoongi reached out for your hand.

“Definitely, but in spite of themselves they made me realize I'm doing this backwards,” he replied, picking up the tablet as you pierced him with a puzzled look. “You asked me about my new song, right? I'd like to read it out to you now… Mainly because it is about you.”

You both realized after the first verses, however, that Yoongi wasn’t going to finish reading the lyrics. The way you were looking at him was just too much for him to handle. He dropped the tablet and leaned in toward you, cupping your face in his hands before sealing your lips with his. No one interrupted you this time. At least not for the next few hours.

***

Jung Hoseok

When Hoseok offered to show you the new song he was working on, you excitedly agreed. You were visiting the boys in the dorms this evening, and while Jin and Yoongi prepared dinner and the rest played games, Hoseok and you retreated to his room to check out his new content. However, when you got there you were distracted: Hobi had accidentally left his laptop on YouTube, and by some inscrutable algorithm it was now playing a funny, modern interpretation of the Swan Lake ballet.

“What the—” he stuttered, his face screwed up in confusion. Both of you were unable to tear your eyes away from the screen as the couple of dancers bent and twisted their arms together in bizarre synchrony. “How is that supposed to look like a swan?”

You had to agree with him. The general choreography was just weird, and when the couple pressed their palms together and began waving them around in a sort of rigid and mechanical motion, you couldn’t suppress your laughter.

“We just have to try it, Hoseokie.”

And you both knew you did. That was your thing, after all. When you became good friends with the band and began hanging out with them frequently, you also started to join them in dance practice every so often, and tried to imitate their choreographies. You weren’t a great dancer —actually, you weren’t even a good dancer— but you weren’t self-conscious about it and you really enjoyed yourself, laughing out loud and mocking yourself when you didn’t get the moves right.

And Hoseok absolutely adored that about you. He had so much fun teaching you, then watching you try hard and laugh it off when you failed. He was such a perfectionist when it came to dancing that seeing you enjoy yourself like that regardless of the outcome made him feel warm and fuzzy inside. And that was how he had begun to realize he had feelings for you, feelings that had slowly but inevitably grown stronger with time.

Of course, it had started off innocently enough. He showed you the moves and you tried to copy him. On occasions you had to adjust your arms or your shoulders, so he had to touch your body in order to get it to the right position. He had to, right? But sometimes his hands lingered unnecessarily over your arms, or he casually brushed your hair with his fingers, or needlessly held your waist in place. You liked that very much, too, which scared you to death. ‘It would be plain stupid to develop romantic feelings toward Hoseok’, you had told yourself over and over again. Well, it turns out that it was stupid but also completely unavoidable.

So today Hobi and you rewinded the choreography and began to imitate it, and soon you were both doubling down in laughter. You kept watching and pausing the bizarre ballet and mimicking the dancers until suddenly the couple in the video began to dance very closely together, their bodies in full contact with each other. The male dancer’s hands traveled softly down the woman’s outstretched arms until they reached her waist, where he lifted her up in the air.

It was as if the room had been suddenly filled with static. Hoseok paused the video, uncertain of what to do. He craved to hold you like that, but would he be able to restrain himself once he was wrapped around you? You were anxious about it too, but decided to play it off. You were afraid that if you stopped right now it would be obvious you were nervous about it, consequently giving away your feelings.

“Okay,” you mumbled, trying to project a casual tone to your voice and failing miserably. “So I just have to— to raise my arms like this, right?”

Hoseok hesitated for a moment as he watched you turn around and lift your arms upward, which allowed him to appreciate the delicate curve of your exposed neck, the perfect place to just casually plant a kiss... He shook his head, trying to chase the thought away. Then he swallowed noticeably and positioned himself behind you, pressing his chest against your back. A shiver ran down your spine the moment your bodies touched, and you just knew he had noticed.

You wanted to kick yourself for being so stupid. This would definitely make things awkward between you from now on.

You were about to make up an excuse to stop when Hobi raised his arms, and he began to imitate the dancer’s movements. The feeling of his fingers caressing you softly, almost impossibly so, was so wonderful you felt goosebumps form over your arms where he had touched you. It was as if your skin had suddenly become hyper receptive and sensitive, and the slightest touch set an electric current. You couldn’t move, you could only stay still as his hands slid all the way down to your waist, where he gripped you tightly.

Hoseok knew he was supposed to lift you up in the air, but instead he impulsively decided to turn you around. He wanted to look into your eyes, to know for sure that you were feeling what he was feeling right now. And when you spun and faced him, the intensity of his gaze confirmed what you had been too afraid to hope all along. He pulled you tightly against him, so close you could feel the whisper of his breath on your lips.

“(Y/N)! Hobi! Dinner’s ready!” Taehyung yelled from the corridor.

Hoseok and you immediately jumped away from each other, as if you had both been electrocuted.

“Oi! Did you hear what I—”

But when Taehyung reached the doorframe he realized he had interrupted something, and his suspicion was confirmed by the murderous glare Hoseok threw him, which shut Tae up instantly. He had never in his life seen that look in Hobi, but then again he didn’t know how much Hoseok had waited for a moment like this and how he would have given anything to have another minute alone with you, just a single uninterrupted minute.

“Yeah, so… Join us if you want to,” Taehyung muttered quietly, and walked away as fast as he could.

Hoseok and you stared at each other for a long while, not knowing what to say. Then you decided to take the leap.

“I don’t really feel like having dinner right now,” you whispered shyly, unmoving. Hoseok smiled brightly, relieved to hear just exactly what he wanted to know. He walked toward the door and locked it, and then he slowly marched up to you and pulled you close to him again, not wanting to waste a single second before having you back in his arms.

“Me neither,” he said, and pressed his lips firmly against yours.

***

Kim Namjoon

Jeongguk dropped his head between his arms in exasperation, his forehead smacking against the surface of the table. He wasn’t the only irritated person in the room. Hoseok was zoning out, Jin was picking up the dishes impatiently and Taehyung and Jimin were staring in disbelief. Yoongi rolled his eyes and decided to go back to his room shortly after you and Namjoon had begun one of your endless, pointless debates where you both argued hotly about the ethical and moral grounds of literally children books and Disney films. Today, the discussion had been triggered by the actions of Dumbledore from Harry Potter.

“He is not the good guy, Namjoon!” you persisted, “He is easily the most machiavellian character of the whole saga.”

“I think that’s debatable. Or are you trying to tell me that he was worse than Voldemort?” Namjoon replied fiercely.

“Of course not! Don’t undermine my argument by proposing a grotesque exaggeration of what I’m saying,” you protested, lowering your voice a little as Jeongguk raised his head again and grunted moodily. You hadn’t realized that you had both gotten carried away in a debate again, so you tried to adopt a friendlier tone. “What I mean to say is that he was willing to raise a boy only to be slaughtered in the end—”

Namjoon snorted sarcastically. “Raise a boy for slaughter? He prepared Harry as best as he could for his final confrontation against Voldemort, which was going to happen anyway because Harry was the only one who could defeat him!”

Your indignant expression when you heard Namjoon’s words convinced the rest of the members that it was finally time to follow Yoongi’s steps and leave you both alone. This kind of debates happened all the time between Namjoon and you, and it annoyed the shit out of the rest of the guys. You had noticed this, but you just couldn’t help yourselves. Both of you had hot tempers and absolutely loved a good discussion.

“Wash the dishes when you’re done deciding if a fictional wizard from a children’s book was a good person or not,” Jin said as he exited the room and shut the door.

“It’s not a children’s book! If anything, it’s children’s books. Plural,” you called after him, knowing you were being petty just for the sake of winning an argument.

Namjoon chuckled at your last comment, combing his hair back with his hand. “Is it children’s literature, though?” he followed. “I’d argue the first books are childish, but from the fifth one onward they become more like Young Adult style.”

“What about the fourth book? They literally murder a kid,” you countered, ready for the next round, and so the debate continued. However, this time you both got up and began doing your chores while you conversed. Namjoon washed the dishes in the sink while you dried them off with a towel and put them away neatly, but at no given moment did either of you stop talking.

Every now and then Namjoon glanced sideways at you to admire the fiery look on your eyes when you were defending your point of view, and it made him feel funny inside every time. He had thought you were beautiful from the moment you met, but he found you most alluring during your debates. At first he thought the aching feeling on his chest when he saw you like that was born out of respect for your intelligence and excellent reasoning, but he gradually realized that there was something else going on: he didn’t only admire you, he also felt attracted to you.

Ever since, he had been torn between confessing his feelings or just going on as friends. These past few weeks he’d tried to be more observant of you, to analyze your reactions when he touched you or sat close to you. However, it was difficult to draw any conclusions because you were never alone together, and there was hardly any true intimacy between you. So when Namjoon realized that you were both actually alone in the kitchen right now, and that the rest of the boys had retreated to the opposite side of the house, he fell immediately silent and dropped the ladle he was washing.

You interrupted your discourse in alarm, examining him carefully.

“Are you okay, Joonie?” you asked, a concerned tone coloring your voice. “Here, let’s go sit down.”

You took his hand, dragged him to the nearest chair and sat opposite of him, afraid he might be feeling faint due to the long exposure to hot water while doing the dishes. Namjoon was genuinely feeling a bit giddy, especially since you were still holding his hand even though you were both sitting now. You wrapped his hand in both of yours, enjoying the feeling of his skin. You were only realizing it now, but you liked it a bit too much.

“Would you like a glass of cold water?” you inquired, trying to catch his eyes. Namjoon shook his head and looked away, attempting to clear his head. He struggled to find something —anything— to say, but he felt as though his brain had been opened up and emptied of all words. This was a first for him.

As you watched him you became increasingly concerned, and his evasive attitude worried you. Was he feeling ill or had you said something wrong? Maybe your last argument had offended him somehow, or made him feel bad. What had it been about? You couldn’t remember exactly, maybe because you were feeling a bit panicky about Namjoon’s state. Still, you had to do something about this, so you tried to raise your hand and place it in his forehead to check if he was running a fever. Namjoon didn’t let you. When you tried to pull your hand away, he held it firmly in his and fixed his eyes on yours with such an intense look that you felt as though the floor below you had melted.

And that was when it dawned on you, too: you were both alone, sitting very close to each other and holding hands.

“(Y/N).”

How could you avoid the tickling feeling in your stomach when he was saying your name like that, with a deep voice that was sensuous enough to make your mouth feel dry. You gazed back into his eyes, unconsciously leaning toward each other. Namjoon raised his hand and placed it on the back of your neck, then he softly pulled you closer to him until his lips were touching yours.

The door opened abruptly.

“Hey, have you sorted it out already—”

You both jumped up, startled. When you whipped around to face the door, you noticed Jin was staring with his mouth hanging open. He had, of course, seen you almost kissing. You knew it was pointless to try to play it off as a misunderstanding, but the whole situation was so awkward you decided to break the silence and said the first thing that came into your mind.

“Jin, we’re kind of, uh… busy right now, so would you mind—”

And Jin was closing the door already, which was a good thing because you didn’t want him to witness you embarrassing yourself any longer with the dumb shit you were saying. You covered your face in your hands and closed your eyes, the words ‘kind of busy’ echoing in your brain and making you feel more and more stupid by the second.

Namjoon, on the contrary, thought you had been brilliant. The way you had confronted the situation immediately and without pretence made him feel even more strongly about you. And not only that, but you had expressed the desire to be alone with him. He walked around you to face you again and he softly pulled your hands away from your face. Namjoon wrapped his arms around your waist as he leaned in to kiss you without a single hint of hesitation.

#bts scenario #bts reader #bangtan boys #kpop #bts #bts pairing #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #rm #jin #suga #jhope #fluff

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marvelmando · 5 years

Text

tempest [p.parker x o.c.] - before

notes: hi. so, I’ve already uploaded this before, but I don’t think enough people saw it, or maybe it was just bad in general. I’m not sure. please let me know what you guys think, I need the validation :)

contains: swearing, canon-typical violence, hostages

pairing: peter parker + fem!o.c.

word count: 4.4k

next chapter tempest masterlist

MARIN WASN'T SURE WHAT BUGGED HER MORE—the annoyingly steady thumping of Oliver Hall's foot, or the weight of the side-eyed glares Lucy Webb kept aiming her way.

Decidedly, Marin met Lucy's gaze with equal intensity. "What?" She clipped, not meaning to sound so sharp, but heights tended to do funny things to Marin's stomach, and unless she wanted a second look at her lunch, she kept talking to a minimum.

Lucy pressed her full lips into a flat line, looking at Marin out of the corner of her eye until she slid her gaze forward. She adjusted her grip on her seat's straps. "Nothing."

Sensing the fire burning behind Lucy's eyes (a good, ironic pun, she commended herself silently), Marin waited patiently in her own seat to Lucy's right, watching as Lucy strung together words in her head. Unlike Marin, Lucy, admirably, was careful in what she said and how she said it—a great characteristic; exemplary of her leadership abilities, but completely inconsistent with the expected temperament that was typically associated with her mutant abilities. One would assume, with Lucy's ability to control fire, her personality would be complementary, but she was rather the exact opposite—mostly level-headed and calm. Marin could count on one hand the number of times she'd seen the older mutant lose her cool (another pun, she thought, I'm on fire! Whoops, did it again).

"Do you think you're... prepared... for the mission?" Lucy finally asked after a while. She was being careful again, Marin could tell. Her eyes said it all—the blatant fear, the hesitation, the caution; it was a look Marin had seen in all the eyes of those who knew her—knew her story, at least—since she'd come to live at the Institute nearly nine years ago.

"I'm going to behave," she responded, narrowing her eyes. "Since I know that's what you're really wondering."

Despite her occasional censure of Marin's behaviors, Lucy was one of only a few other mutants whoever looked at her with anything other than suspicion. She supposed that meant Lucy was her friend—her only friend, really—and Marin was glad enough for it.

Lucy gave her a disbelieving look. "That's what you said last time, Marin. And your heroism nearly cost us Sanchez's life, and all the information he had on the Crimson Circle."

"I'm well aware." Marin huffed, jostling in her seat as the jet jerked through a pocket of turbulence. She flicked away a section of her bangs that had fallen into her eyes. "Besides, I think the three weeks of probation was more than enough punishment for me to learn my lesson on how not to treat criminals like people."

Lucy rolled her eyes at the sarcasm. No matter how many times Marin got in trouble, no matter how many punishments the doled out to her, Marin would never lose the stubborn streak she'd had since she came to the Institute. For reasons Marin couldn't understand, Professor Charles Xavier had yet to kick her off of the X-Men team, and she wondered just how far she could go before he lost his patience entirely.

Marin was ambiguous about her role as an X-Man. On the one hand, it gave her an opportunity to help people in ways she wouldn't be able to if she was stuck back at the Institute every day. It often felt that this was the only reason why she hadn't just quit the team herself. The X-Men were an elite team at the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning, and her position as one of ten total members put her in an uncomfortable sort of spotlight—one even more unnerving than being the center of gossip on what happened the night her powers were revealed.

(Which confused her, since most mutants tended to have gnarly origin stories, and Marin felt like she was no exception. But she knew what they said about her—what they say she did. None of it was true, and the Professor never addressed the gossip, so she never brought it up. She'd just figured he had no idea of what they said about her. Besides, tattling would do nothing but fuel the flames further. And anyway, it didn't bother her; she was a loner either way.)

Whatever today's mission was, it apparently required five members of the team, accompanied by two of the older mutants. Hank McCoy sat at the cockpit, showing Avery Cho sequences of button-pressing and flip-switching. The girl looked bored, popping her gum against her teeth as she copied Hank's movements by flipping and pushing with a nudge of her mind. Logan (she wasn't really sure if he actually had a last name) was standing at the back of the jet, leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest and sharp eyes observing his wards. Marin suspected he was only there to make sure she stayed in check, and the way his gaze seemed to train on her periodically confirmed her suspicions.

With nothing left to say, Lucy fell silent. The consistent drone of the jet speeding through the air was only disrupted by Oliver's tapping foot. Marin knew he couldn't help it; his super-speed made him constantly hyperactive, and she didn't think she had ever actually seen him stay still for more than a second at a time.

As she observed her surroundings, she noticed for the first time that Lucy sat unaccompanied, surprised to find James' usual seat (always right next to his girlfriend) empty. The couple was practically inseparable, joint at the hips in a perpetual honeymoon phase—even if they'd been together for three years now.

James was also telepathic, and Marin figured that if there was one person who should go on all missions, no matter how inconsequential, it should be the guy that could read and control minds. Not for the first time that day, Marin wondered what the mission was that they need to travel all the way to Queens for, and with half of the team, no less.

The last person Marin observed was Juniper Pierre, and as far as Marin knew, she'd only been at the Institute for little over a year, and that she could control plants or something. She was nice enough, though, from the few interactions Marin had had with her.

Feeling the lurching impact of the jet setting on the solid ground had a similar effect on jerking her out of her thoughts. She clicked her straps loose, standing with a stretch to regain feeling in her numb behind.

Everyone gathered around Lucy, who had taken head on the center of the now-lowered gangway ramp. She cleared her throat and began reading her exposition off of a small packet of folded papers she pulled from the inside of her X-Men jacket. "Witnesses reported seeing a flash of green light before calls were made into local responders after a neighbor noticed smoke coming from within the house. The sheriff department's lieutenant then contacted the Institute when he found our subject, Mary Tellers, aged seven, inside the home and abandoned by her parents— crying, but otherwise untouched by the fire. Lieutenant Collins informed us that when he tried to drag the subject out of the house, she emanated the same green light witnesses noted seeing earlier. Our best guess is energy manipulation, and we should tread with caution."

A weirdly heavy feeling settled in Marin's stomach, but the group was moving before she had a chance to contemplate as to why. She was still unsure why this recruitment mission needed so many people, but followed anyway.

Logan and Hank stayed behind as usual. Marin realized they'd landed the jet in a secluded plot of flat land that was surrounded by a thick layer of trees. According to her own smaller packet of information, which she referenced with a passing glance, they were heading to the police department located in Richmond Hill.

She wasn't sure exactly how far away they landed, but it took a solid twenty-five minutes for the group to reach the precinct. It must've looked strange, even for New York, to see a gaggle of teenagers dressed in matching blue and yellow leather jackets, approach the doors of the police department with varying levels of determination and severity. Marin was the last to enter the building, only pausing with her hand still holding the door open to let an officer pass through before she hurried along after the group.

They huddled into a small waiting room, where a little girl still covered in soot sat in a padded chair with her knees tucked up to her chest, wrapped in a light blue blanket. Next to her was whom Marin assumed to be the lieutenant. Lucy exchanged a few indeterminable words with him before turning to the girl.

"Hello," Lucy smiled kindly down at her, gently taking an empty seat beside her. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Mary Tellers," the little girl whispered, the missing front tooth giving her a slight lisp.

"That's a very pretty name." Lucy cooed. "My name is Lucy, and these are my friends: that's Oliver, and Juniper, and Avery, and Marin." She said, pointing to each in turn. "Can you tell us what happened this morning, Mary?"

Mary flicked her eyes hesitantly between each of them. "It's alright," Juniper spoke, her honey-smooth voice warm and gentle. "We're here to help you."

Mary nodded slowly, taking them in. "I don't kn-know, I came home from-from school and Mommy was putting clothes in a big suitcase, and Daddy said I had to go live with Na-Nana because they couldn't take care of me anymore, and I just—I just—" tears overcame her, and the little girl hugged her knees tighter as she buried her face into them.

"It's okay," Lucy shushed the girl—comforting her, but not touching her. If there was one thing all mutants collectively excelled at, it was dealing with people who had experienced trauma. "It's okay, Mary. You're not alone."

Mary eventually calmed down enough to pick her head up from between her knees, watching as Juniper approached her slowly, holding out a flattened hand so she could see a small daisy bloom in her palm.

"You're not a monster, Mary. You're a mutant." Lucy explained, the girl's eyes going wide. "So is Juniper, that's why she could grow that flower. We all are."

"Really?" She asked, and when everyone nodded in response, she seemed to calm down.

"There's a place where you can go and be safe to use your powers. That's where we all came from, and we would all love it if you came and joined us there. Would you like that?"

Mary nodded slowly, unfurling herself and standing on wobbly legs. Taking Lucy's hand, Mary was led out of the station with the rest of the group. By that time, the sun had begun to set, and the streets were surprisingly empty for a brisk April evening.

Barely five minutes had passed, and Mary was already starting to cheer up as Juniper popped out flowers one-by-one, so the two could fashion them into a braided crown.

Marin, once again, lingered behind, too caught up in her passing thoughts. The team had come to a relatively quiet intersection, only the occasional car passing them by.

The air was still and calm, but the tranquility shattered as a shrill scream rang out through the street, coming from behind them. Marin bristled, immediately alert and aware of her surroundings. Surprisingly, no one else seemed affected, as if they hadn't even heard the scream at all. No one else except Mary, who tugged on Lucy's hand.

"What was that?" Her lip quivered, the half-made flower crown shaking in her tiny hands.

"Oh, I'm sure that was nothing, sweetheart." Lucy responded with a saccharine smile, before giving the rest of the team a discreet jerk of her head that said 'we've got to go'.

Marin was shocked but not entirely surprised to see the rest of the group follow Lucy without hesitation. Marin watched their retreating backs frantically as the headed in the opposite direction of where the scream came from.

"So—we're just going pretend like we didn't just hear a woman screaming?" Marin blurted, causing everyone to turn and look at her. She noticed the glares they gave her, but she decided that she didn't particularly care; instead, she felt stunned that she was the only person concerned. "We're just going to ignore them, even if they probably need help?!"

"We can't do this now, Marin." Lucy clipped, making to grab Marin's wrist. But Marin twisted away, taking a couple steps back.

"No," she shook her head incredulously, gesturing around with her arms. "We—we've got to do something! We can't just abandon them!"

Lucy made up the difference in the distance Marin had put between them in a fraction of a second. The sudden close proximity to the heat radiating off of Lucy was stifling and caused Marin to drawback. "And why exactly do we have to do anything, Rain?" Lucy sneered Marin's horrendous code-name like it was a searing fire poker, branding painfully on Marin's flesh. She had made it obvious of her disdain for the name in the past—it had become a permanent reminder that she was stuck at the Institute, that she'd forever be an X-Man. (That, and it was kind of a hideous superhero name.)

"Don't call me that." Marin snarled back, clenching her fists. Her voice was sharp but pained, displaying obvious weakness to a trained ear. Lucy noticed, of course, because she quirked an eyebrow like Marin was challenging her (and failing, too, judging by the haughty weight in her eyes). Marin inhaled shakily. "We—we're heroes, aren't we? I mean—isn't that what we should do? Go out and save—"

"No." Lucy snapped, her eyes glowing a vibrant orange with barely-controlled rage. Stunned by her sudden hostility, Marin cowered. It was there, in her eyes—a resentment too familiar to Marin. Lucy was supposed to be different, she thought pathetically. "We are not heroes, Marin Frost. We are mutants. And we are certainly not those irresponsible, arrogant fools playing dress-up and dropping cities out of the sky. We are not the Avengers—you are not an Avenger. Your stupid delusions that you are one, need to end now because you never will be."

Marin's breath seized in her chest, she felt like she was boiling from the inside out. As she glanced around at the others, Marin noticed that no one was coming to her defense. No one even looked sorry—just annoyed and impatient. They didn't care about her—it was a realization that, while not entirely surprising, still slammed into her like a fist to the solar plexus. Marin fought through the large hole of abandonment burning through her heart.

(She could still hear the distant cries for help.)

"Fine." She conceded with a choking sound, appearing defeated. As Lucy nodded and led the group away, no one bothered to see Marin's eyes scorch with bright defiance.

No one even noticed she was gone until they had climbed into the belly of the jet, and no one was there to trail in behind them.

+++

This was a bad idea. The worst she'd ever had, if Marin would admit it to herself (which, of course, she wouldn't).

She was already on thin ice with Charles after her last act of defiance, and she was positive that this was the last stunt she would pull as an X-Man. But she couldn't find it in herself to regret her actions, not when she could still hear those women screaming for help. She relished in the rush of adrenaline sweeping through her body as she followed the commotion to a bank down the street. She took only a few precious moments to catch her breath, yanking off her X-Men jacket and exposing her bare arms to the cool air. Digging through her jacket, she pulled out her reusable water bottle and unscrewed the lid for easy access. Despite the chill in the evening air, Marin flushed with slight perspiration.

Peeking around the corner from where she hid next to the building, Marin looked in the window, taking inventory of the people inside. Four men in ski masks, all carrying handguns; two women huddled in the furthest corner of the bank with one criminal keeping his gun trained on them, and one woman being held in the clutches of the center-most robber, his gun digging into her temple. The other two men had their guns aimed at... a boy, Marin assumed, wearing blue sweatpants (were those red knee-socks they were tucked into?) and a red hoodie, his arms waving minimally in the air. Was he... wearing a mask? And what were those chunky black things wrapped around his wrists?

Marin didn't know what this kid was doing walking around dressed like that in public, but she supposed that she was still technically in the city, and she knew the truths behind stereotypical city-dwelling crazies. Still, the masked weirdo was a hostage just as much as those women were, and with how his hand gestures kept getting increasingly more erratic, Marin didn't want to waste another second.

"Well, I must say that I'm disappointed I wasn't invited to the slumber party," She waltzed through the door, adopting a casual tone as to not startle the criminals and jeopardize the hostages' safety.

"Who the fuck are you?" The man holding the female hostage by the neck demanded, aiming his weapon at the boy, while the other two whipped theirs on Marin.

"That is... incredibly rude, sir." Marin tutted, taking small, careful steps toward the scene. The fabric of the ski mask shifted like he was scrunching up his face, most likely in confusion. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you and your buddies to leave this fine establishment."

The man scoffed, adjusting his grip on the gun. "You've gotta be kiddin' me."

"Afraid not, Mr. Criminal. I only kid on Tuesdays and Fridays exclusively, and today just so happens to be a Thursday." Marin sighed, continuing to inch towards them. "Now, why don't we let these nice women and... boy... go? Surely you'd rather things stay nice and clean so your face doesn't get any uglier than I'm sure it already is."

Curse her improvising ass. She always ended up insulting someone when she was on a roll, and to do it now was asking for trouble. She had a split second to realize that he turned his gun on her, but she was prepared enough to react. She flicked her hand up, summoning the water from inside her bottle and surrounding the bullet with it. Instantaneously, she turned the water to ice, trapping the bullet in midair and swatting it to the floor beside her, barely missing her head.

Silence fell over the room as everyone watched in astonishment.

"What the hell?!" Marin heard a voice cry out. Shifting her head to spare him a glance, the boy had his hands clutched to his head in shock. Were those goggles?!

In her moment of distraction, one of the extra thugs took the opportunity to strike, lashing out at Marin's forehead with the butt of their gun. She yelped in surprise but didn't have enough time to recover before the other man stepped forward and kicked her hard in the stomach.

Her breath flew out of her with a grunt, the force of the kick sending her sprawling back into a couple of chairs lined against the front wall. Just before she moved to right herself, red and blue flashed in the peripherals of her vision. She straightened as best as she could, clutching her stomach and determinedly ignoring the throb of pain radiating in her forehead.

To her complete and utter surprise, Marin found the boy in red and blue pajamas on the ceiling. What... the hell?

As he hung upside-down, somehow keeping himself attached to the stucco ceiling of the bank, he took turns fighting the three criminals that had gone to attack him. He lashed out only occasionally, letting the criminals to most of the work for him; ducking and dodging swings he couldn't have possibly seen, even out of the corner of his eye. Then, almost strangest of all, he shot out his hand and released a white fluid from the black thing on his wrist, attaching itself to one assailant's face.

What. The. Hell?!

Marin flipped her gaze over to the women, who were being corralled to the opposite side of the bank, away from the action, by the fourth criminal. As he shoved one of the women, Marin retrieved the shattered ice laying on the floor, turning it back into a liquid and gathering it in her hand. The man shoved the barrel of his gun into one of the women's face, so Marin thrust out her hand, using the water to snatch the weapon away. With expert precision from years of training, Marin released the magazine from the gun with one hand, and turned the water back to ice with the other. She chucked the sphere of ice at the man's head before he could react, knocking him out instantly.

A pained gasp yanked at Marin's attention. She pivoted to find the boy on the ground, curled into himself for protection as the three thugs took turns beating into him with whatever means they could use. They weren't using their guns on him—an observation that told Marin that they would rather drag out his pain and suffering than stop him from retaliating.

Marin felt her anger surge as she watched the boy take the beating. Images flashed against her vision: Lucy digging into her soul, ripping her psyche to shreds and reveling in it—watching as no one came to defend her—enduring the years of isolation and animosity—remembering the night her powers surfaced, seeing the look in her father's eyes as he—

The first thing she noticed as her vision began to return, and her mind began to clear, was the ringing in her ears.

"What the hell are you?!" A feminine voice exclaimed in terror. Marin blinked away the dark spots clouding her vision. What... what happened? Marin wondered, taking in the scene before her. The lights overhead were blown out, bathing the bank in darkness. The criminals were tied up, trapped to the floor under a blanket of whatever came from the boy's weird wrist gadgets, unconscious but alive. Marin glanced around, only to find the boy gone. Where was he?

Remembering who had spoken, she snapped her gaze to the women still cowering in the corner of the room. Her heart dropped when she saw the fear in their eyes. The adrenaline rushed out of her and she was left with nothing but exhaustion and the feeling that she was about to shatter into a million tiny pieces.

"I-I don't—I'm sorry, I—" Marin stuttered, and realizing she was still gripping the unloaded handgun, she dropped it like it had stung her. She stumbled, tripping over her feet as she crashed through the doors. She gulped down a shaky breath, the crisp air burning a path down her trachea. Her throat ached with the desire to cry as she reached to pick up her jacket where she'd left it lying in the alley next to the bank, and collapsed against the wall, taking heaving breaths to keep herself from crying.

Suddenly, just as she'd managed to settle her breathing, a figure jumped down in front of her.

"Holy shit, dude!" She yelped and would've lashed out instinctively if she'd had enough energy to even get up off of the ground. Instead, she only clutched at her chest and didn't get up from her spot in the dirt. "Give a girl some warning next time you leap from outta nowhere!"

It was the boy, hovering over her hunched figure like a cross parent lecturing their child. "What the hell is your deal, lady?!" He shouted, pointing vigorously down at her. Marin immediately went on the defensive.

She screwed up her face. "What the hell is my—you should be thanking me right now! I just helped you—"

"I had it under control!" He growled forcefully. "I didn't need your help!"

Marin scrambled to her feet, enraged. "Are you fucking kidding, dude?! Waving your arms around like that? You were basically a human neon sign, screaming 'hey, come and shoot me'! I saved your ass, and if I didn't intervene when I did, you probably would have been shot—or killed!"

"Well, your little light show almost did kill those criminals in there! Not to mention that those women could've been killed, too!" He fired back. Marin's expression closed up as she glanced away. She had no idea what he was talking about, and her head was throbbing too much for her to come up with a response.

As the two regarded each other in silence, Marin realized something. This wasn't just a weird dude dressed like he was going to Comic-Con—he had powers. She didn't know what the whole deal was with his wrist devices, but she recognized his enhanced sensory abilities—the way he could detect movement even out of his line of sight. Then there was the matter of him being able to stick to the ceiling. As she looked down at his chest, she noticed a design drawn onto the fabric with a black marker.

"Is that a spider?" Marin pointed to his chest.

Startled by the sudden change in tone, he glanced down at his chest. "Ye—yes, it's a spider!" He screeched. Clearing his throat, he said, "I'm—I'm Spider-Man!"

That explained the white fluid—they must have been his version of spider webs. Marin cocked her head, thinking. "Hmm."

"What?!"

"I'm Marin."

"'Marin'? That's a weird superhero name."

"That's because it's my name, dingus."

Before he could respond, a throat was cleared. In front of them stood Logan, looking angry as hell with his claws out and on full display. Marin only gulped, but Spider-Man took a few frantic steps back.

"Shit," Marin's face twisted. "I'm screwed now, aren't I?"

"You're in real deep shit this time, kid," Logan grunted, obviously holding back his rage for the sake of the boy standing—well, behind her, now. "Say goodbye to your boyfriend, and get going."

"It was nice meeting you, Spider-Boy," Marin lamented, dropping to grab her jacket and water bottle. She muttered as she passed Logan, "And he's not my goddamn boyfriend, claws."

Logan grumbled a half-amused sound as he dragged her away, leaving a very disturbed young superhero in the darkness of the alley. Spider-Man grimaced to himself in disbelief.

"Spider-Boy?!"

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werewolves-are-real · 5 years

Note

Hello! if it isn't too much to ask, can you share a short snippet of whatever you're currently working on? I am particularly fond of your Temeraire fic, but anything would be good - I am enjoying your latest immensely, although Star Trek is not my fandom.

:) Thank you! It’s always nice to hear people enjoy the writing.

I’m having a lot of fun writing more Star Trek - it’s nice to write something different. It seems like I only talk about Temeraire these days, ha, so I included excerpts from a Temeraire fic *and* a Star Trek fic below

The Temeraire snippet is from a fic where things... escalate at the start of book 2, The Star Trek fic is from an old, old WIP I never posted, where I wanted to address the way the crew (and especially McCoy) tend to criticize Spock’s heritage. It’s old and.. not so great, but I like pieces of it, so I’m considering rewriting it (once I’m done with other fics, hopefully)

(Temeraire)

Laurencewakens slowly after the battle. The last thing he remembers is thefighting; Temeraire was flying, the boarders had been repelled, andthen a Petit Chevalier was falling upon them...

“Sir,”says Mr. Allen. “Are you awake? Do not try to rise, please.”

Ignoringthis, Laurence levers himself up with an elbow. He looks around;Digby and Allen are crouched around him, each holding a hand over thehilts of their swords. The three of them are behind the bend ofTemeraire's leg, and in the distance Laurence can hear an argument.

“Iswear to you,” Admiral Barham's voice rings out, “If CaptainLaurence resists we will use force...”

“Goodgod, man, shut up,” Granby snaps. Laurence winces in mortification;the lieutenant will get himself booted from the service, using thatkind of language against an admiral. “Captain Laurence is injured,and you must wait to see him.”

ButBarham's threat has already roused Temeraire. Above them theCelestial lowers his head, snarling. His ruff is blood-streaked andgory from the battle; with his teeth bared he looks savage.

Barhamroars, “You will control that beast, Lieutenant! All of you willstand down, or we will take action - “

“No,Sir,” Granby snaps. “No farther, not one damned step. Temeraire,if these men make ready you may knock them down.”

Thatis too far. Laurence struggles to his feet, ignoring Digby's objects.“Help me up,” he snaps, when Allen insists on waiting for thesurgeon. “I must speak with the admiral.'

Reluctantly,they support him from under the protective shadow of Temeraire's leg.Barham scowls tremendously as soon as he appears.

“Thereyou are,” he says. Granby looks furious. “Did you think you couldhide here like a coward? You are under arrest, and if you prevaricateany more than by god I will have the Sergeant shoot you.” Hegestures to a nearby officer, who reluctantly levels a gun inLaurence's direction, flinching under the weight of Temeraire'sgrowl. “And stand down that animal, at once!”

“Iwill not stand down,” Temeraire says. “And you are not comingnear Laurence, not at all.”

Temeraireraises a claw. At the same moment Granby makes a quick gesture.Immediately the nearest aviators jump behind Granby, forming a line.They start to raise their rifles.

Ashot rings out.

Laurenceslides to the ground, startled. Granby shouts. More gunshots.Temeraire roars – loud enough to rattle his bones – and above thetreeline, at the edge of the clearing, Maximus suddenly looms up. Hepeers over with alarm, alerted by the commotion. All over the covertother dragons rise to look their way too.

“CaptainLaurence!” Digby cries. His hands are covered in blood, and hepushes futilely at Laurence's side. Laurence stares at him, thenlooks down. His jacket is soaked and red.

Laurencerealizes that Allen is holding him by the shoulders, bearing all hisweight.

He'sbeen shot.

“Oh,hell,” Laurence says aloud, and knows nothing more.

______________________________

It'snight when Laurence awakens. He looks up at the star-studded sky,trying in vain to remember the name for the little cluster of lightsabove his head. He's lying atop Temeraire and recognizes the scalesbeneath himself without any issue; maybe this is why it takes him toolong to remember the shooting, and Barham's yells, and the screams.

Laurencetries to stand.

“Oh,there you are,” says Mr. Allen. “Please do not get up, Sir, notagain. Roland, can you tell the lieutenant he's awake?”

Emilyscuttles away. Looking around, Laurence sees that for some reasonhe's resting in a a jumble of blankets and medical-supplies atopTemeraire's back. He becomes aware of people speaking in thedistance; then they cut off, abruptly, and under him Temeraire jolts.“Laurence!” the dragon cries. “Are you well?”

“Yes,my dear,” Laurence lies. His leg is throbbing in time with hisheart, and Laurence doesn't think he could stand,even if Allen let him try; the wound in his side makes him feelqueerly like he could snap in half if he made any wrong movement.“What has happened?”

“Well,I killed that awful admiral,” Temeraire explains. “So now we areall rebelling, but everyone is arguing about how to do it, eventhough I'm not sure how anyone would fight us.”

Laurencestares at him helplessly for a moment. Then he manages to prophimself on one elbow, looking around.

Thereare other dragons crowded into Temeraire clearing; more have sweptaway the trees to combine their space with that of Maximus. There aredragons coiled atop one another, heavy-weights on the bottom withclusters of Yellow-Reapers and Longwings and Bright Coppers clingingto their backs. And in between the dragons are the crews, andservants from all over, with a group of men and women wearingcaptain's-bars standing in a semi-circle before Temeraire.

Andeveryone is craning to look at Laurence.

Laurencedoes not immediately give speech to his dawning horror; Granbyscrambles up Temeraire's side, looking profoundly relieved. There's astreak of blood across his forehead; he doesn't seem to notice. “Sir.I'm glad you're awake – should we call the surgeon?”

“Forgetthe damn doctor,” says Laurence. “What the devil happened?”

(Star Trek)

McCoy has now been aboard for fourteen days, or two Terran weeks.Spock is well aware that his own interactions with the doctor couldbe interpreted as increasingly hostile. He feels no need to censurehimself. If he cannot risk reporting the doctor or properlyreprimanding him, he at least refuses to meekly submit to the man'sslurs. He has survived worse, and he will not give this human thepleasure of victory.

To this end he continues to verbally spar with the man, but howevermuch he makes the doctor sputter and grumble the man always comesback. And however efficiently and logically Spock can cut him down,humans do not much appreciate logic. Officers who watch theirarguments continually express amusement, and this rankles worse thanthe man himself.

After one too many incidents of open disrespect that leave hisscience department highly amused at his expense, Spock resolves tofinally reprimand the irrepressible doctor when he next acts in a wayunfitting a Starfleet officer. Public humiliation is never pleasant,but he is long past the point of having to tolerate racism. McCoyshows every sign of staying aboard for a long while, and Spock willnot let this situation continue.

Then the captain develops Vegan Choriomeningitis.

There is little warning when it happens. The bridge is quiet andcalm, officers moving with easy efficiency. It's only the second hourafter the shift's beginning - late enough for the officers to haveproperly woken, and early enough that everyone is still energized.Except, unusually enough, for the captain.

Spock notices the captain's blinking eyes and the quick, painedgestures he makes to his head. A headache, obviously, but these arefairly frequent among humans. Not a matter of much concern, howeverunpleasant. The captain seems tired as well, but he assumes this is aside-effect.

When Yeoman Tracey hands the captain a requisitions form, though,the man just seems puzzled. Instead of skimming and signing thedocument, he stares at it blankly for some two minutes, Traceystanding awkwardly by his side.

No one else seems to notice, but Spock keeps his attention on theentirety of the bridge. So he hears Tracey hesitantly ask, “Issomething the matter, Sir?” and turns just in time to see thecaptain crumple to the floor.

“Send for a medical team,” Spock snaps efficiently before Uhuracan even turn to see the source of the noise. Jumping, she quicklycomplies.

Spockwaves off the frantic yeoman impatiently, checking the captain'scondition with quick, careful fingers. His skin is significantlyhotter than normal for a human - 39ºC (102.2ºF)- but he seems not to have injured his head in the fall, which isgood. The man's pulse is a rapid flutter, but weak. Spock tilts hishead. The captain must have realized he was sick, and ignored it, tohave come to this state. Illogical.

The door slides open, and in a whiskof blue uniforms and terse orders McCoy takes Kirk straight toSickbay.

______________________________

The whole ship gains a certain tensionwhen the captain is in sickbay. Spock also finds, unpleasantly, thatmore eyes watch him. People want assurance that they are underadequate leadership. Spock wonders if people are comforted by hisdirection. He doubts it.

When the immediate crisis will likelybe over, and the doctor thus free to speak, Spock hands the con toSulu and makes for the infirmary.

“Took you long enough,” McCoysnaps at the sight of him.

Spock doesn't bother with a rebuttal.“Report on the captain's condition.”

Face darkening, a scowl on his face,McCoy complies. “It's not good. Vegan Choriomeningitis. Damn thinghas a high enough fatality rate as is, and Jim, the idiot, has let itgo on much longer than advisable.”

Spock nods. “To my understanding,Vegan choriomeningitis is fatal if left untreated within 24 hours.”

“I can't tell when he picked it up -the incubation period is unpredictable. All we can do at this pointis treat him and hope for the best.”

Spock considers the situation, andsays honestly, “Given the captain's nature, it is quite possible hehas been suffering for far longer than twenty-four hours. Death islikely.”

From what he knows of the captain'snature this is true. Indeed, had Kirk not collapsed on the bridge helikely would have struggled through the entire shift, though Spockknows that this particular disease causes extreme pain in the musclesand extremities. He is an admirably determined man - but, in thiscase, sadly misguided. His death will be... truly regrettable.

But McCoy seems suddenly angry.

“Damn it, man, do have a heart atall?” He bursts.

Spock blinks, wondering at thenon-sequitur. “I fail to see how my physiology is relevant to thepresent situation,” he says, honestly puzzled. McCoy's sole focusshould be on the captain.

The doctor seems, if anything, evenmore furious. “I'm not in the mood for your damn logic, and I don'tknow what Jim sees in you. A computer has more feelings than aVulcan!”

This being said, McCoy dramaticallystomps into his office, leaving Spock blinking and perplexed in themain portion of Sickbay.

So, with little else to do, Spockleaves.

_______________________________

Later, this is what Spock learns;

Kirk goes into a critical state. Hisbody starts to overheat from the disease, and inflammation to thebrain causes him to have a seizure. After he is stabilized, McCoythrows caution to the wind and tries an experimental drug regimen -dangerous, untried, and wholly inadvisable by every tenet of logic.

It also works.

Quickly, asa matter of fact. The nurses and some biologists talk about theincredible benefit this will bring to the medical community; everyoneelse is just glad to hear that the captain is awake and talking lessthan a day after his collapse.

He is, of course,also tired. Spock assesses the captain's condition when he visits himin Sickbay. Kirk seems to have grown more pale during his shortillness. His face shines with sweat, his hair limp and lifeless. Hismovements are slow and fatigued, made only with great effort. But heseems relieved.

“It was close.And not a pleasant experience.”

“As you nearlydied, I would not expect it to be.”

Kirk smilesweakly. “Oh, not just the pain. Though that wasn't fun. I gotdelirious at the end.”

“That is acommon symptom of the disease,” Spock consoles.

“Whichisn't much of a comfort when you've rambled out all your secrets.”Kirk gives an embarrassed laugh. “I'm just glad it wasBones,” he says. “I trust him, you know? The things I said...”He shakes his head. “Anyway, he said to stop by sickbayimmediately, in the future,if I'm feeling off. What a pain; do you know how often this job givesme a headache?” He shakes his head. “But, I can deal with it forBones. Only for him! I'm not typically a fan of doctors - I'm glad Iconvinced him to come aboard.”

“It is indeedfortunate,” Spock murmurs, trying not to imagine this man dead.

Soon afterwardKirk drifts into sleep. And Spock, reluctantly, resigns himself totolerating Leonard McCoy for so long as he can safeguard thecaptain's health.

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flowerflamestars · 5 years

Text

Burn and Bloom

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE He was losing too much blood. Lucien knew, however, he didn’t have much further to go. In the full form of his beast, Tamlin wouldn’t be able to cross the Wall, but that didn’t mean these lands would remain safe for long. Burning his wounds shut now would render all this blood useless- and Lucien had been useless for long enough. Roses. He’d found her there once before, maybe he would again. Even so, Elain Archeron had carved a place in the landscape the precise shade of her heart. An ideal place, if Lucien was going to let himself bleed. The oldest magic holds the highest cost. And Autumn the oldest court still- Lucien had learned it’s secrets well once. Of blood and bone, the Wild Hunt’s call- stories and power the gentry had long forgotten, but the old fae of the forest remembered. Ancient and fearful, but who had the taught the youngest son of a tyrant their gifts. On his darkest nights, Lucien still hoped he could return their kindness somehow. Now, he’d use every drop of it. Let this one family- this one human girl- stay safe. Lucien wanted to live to see her again. — In blue predawn, the last carriage full of noble blooded cargo finally left the Archeron estate. Elain watched them go with a sigh, and let Nesta lead her through the house and out into the growing light. Not to face the rising sun as it crowned their fields and orchards, but to the lush sprawl of Elain’s spring garden. Where she could breathe. No less than four invitations from their spring ball. To tea with mothers, to wild flower gathering, all carefully artificial errands. They were the introductions of courtship, and she was running out of time to sidestep them. “I heard Lord Nelson call you Eleanor,” Nesta said, tiredness rasping in her voice. “He’s as stupid as he is tall, isn’t he?” Despite herself, Elain breathed a laugh. “Kind as he is dumb,” She agreed. “He’s breeding that horse for you-“ Nesta stopped. Talking, moving. “Elain,” She whispered, suddenly urgent. “Go back to the house.” Elain stopped too, followed her sister’s gaze. In the pink glow of a cresting sun, the darkness shining over the grass and flagstone was just barely visible. “Is that?” Elain started, twisting to meet Nesta’s gaze. There wasn’t a world where she’d actually leave her to find whatever was bleeding alone. But Nesta shook her head, looking beyond Elain. “Go back to the house.” And then she saw him. So still Elain might have mistaken him for one of the garden statues, Lucien sat cross legged in a bed of flowers. Was he breathing? Unmoving, unblinking, shirt and hands- body- stained with that same dark liquid. With a sick lurch, she stumbled forward without thinking, only to be caught by Nesta’s iron grip. “Don’t touch him,” Nesta hissed, pale beneath the growing pink light. Gods, how much blood had he lost? What was he doing here? “Elain. Tell me that is not your faery." She didn’t have to say it. Nesta growled a curse so foul Elain felt herself flush, and the sisters stepped forward as one. “Lucien,” Elain murmured, low, insistent. “Lucien.” Still he didn’t move, didn’t blink. Elain couldn’t tell where he was wounded, but it seemed impossible that was he was sitting up like this. What could possibly have gone so wrong that he’d come here in refuge? Nesta snapped her fingers in front of his face, eyebrows jumping up as nothing changed. Horrifically, something near a hysterical laugh tried to bubble up in Elain’s throat at the sight. Until Nesta sighed, and slapped Lucien across the face. “Nesta,” Elain shouted at a whisper, remembering the desperation of quiet at the last possible second. Her sister only made a half regretful face. “If someone else finds him, he’s dead, us along with him.” Nesta’s slap had smeared some of the debris on his cheek. As sharp as her fear and adrenaline, Elain had the insane thought she didn’t want anyone else to touch him, not even her sister. “Let me,” She insisted, and knelt in the grass before Lucien’s still body. Nesta leaning over her shoulder, Elain reached out to try to shake him. Muscles like iron even through his clothes, nothing she did even swayed him. “Maybe we can drag him?” Nesta suggested, eyes narrow. “Is he even breathing?” Unthinkingly, Elain rose higher on her knees to press a palm to his face. In less than a second- in a motion she couldn’t see- Lucien went from deathly still to furiously alive, and twisted to sink sharp faery teeth into her wrist. Elain barely managed to swallow her shriek- but it was Nesta, who immediately walloped him across the face once more- that made Lucien let go. She felt bad for it later, but Elain scrambled back from him as Lucien blinked, and awareness came back to those eyes, golden both. The grass beneath them began to smolder. For a long moment, none of them moved. Finally, Lucien sighed. “You’re here,” He breathed, voice a ruin. A sting and itch distracted Elain as she watched in silent wonder her skin knit itself back together. And so she half missed him topple fully to the ground. Nesta jumped back, standing straight to eye Lucien fully. The furious look on her face clearly said, must we? Elain’s wide eyes answered, somehow, as she held out her healed wrist. Her older sister’s scowl deepened, but Elain saw the moment her shoulders squared. In a rush that left Elain aching and Nesta unusually quiet, they dragged Lucien’s dead weight between them. Down garden paths and over grass, hiding briefly behind a hedge from their cook on a dawn walk through the herb garden, they made it to Elain’s sitting room. Never before had she been more glad that she’d allowed herself the unladylike insistence of banning all the staff from this room. They couldn’t lift him, but like all rooms in this storied, faery-gold bought estate, the hearth rug was plush. Paler atop the green of it, Elain was left to strip the filthy, bloody clothes from his too warm body after a whispered argument with Nesta. Maybe it was stupid- but Elain was absolutely sure he wouldn’t wake up an attack her. Not immediately at least, and nothing else mattered right now. Nothing- but the long clawed wounds and bruises that looked both days old and dark enough that they’d have killed a human. Water pitcher balanced on a cedar chest Elain had never seen before, Nesta returned to sink down without pretense and began to pass her wet cloths. Neither spoke as painstakingly, Elain cleaned away the blood. In the early morning light, even half dead, Lucien blazed gold. Nesta didn’t move to help, not even to pull the leaves from his long tangled hair, and Elain was grateful. Slowly, another delicate, perfect tattoo revealed itself over his heart. Honeysuckle, just barely recognizable as the copper ink blended with his tan. It wasn’t until her heartbeat faded back to normal, until Elain picked up one of Lucien’s hands in hers to clear away the smear of ash, that Nesta spoke. “Elain,” Nothing so much as a sigh, but it articulated miles. Beauty is a faery weapon. They’d both been told so since they were children. Faeries beguile, faeries enchant. Her sister didn’t speak in censure however- but sympathy. Hands clean and wounds bound, Elain let Luciens arm fall gently to the carpet and leaned back. Made herself lean back, and take in the full scope of his growing stillness. “If something went wrong in Spring,” Nesta said, carefully. “Feyre might be hurt too." Panic bloomed anew in Elain’s chest. “We can’t cross the wall,” She said, automatically. If Lucien was so wounded, what could Feyre survive? They knew she’d struggled, she’d fought- but Feyre was human. Nesta was staring at Lucien too. “We can’t,” She agreed, “But he can.” Elain opened her mouth- to agree? To disagree? She wasn’t sure- but stopped as the early morning slam of the kitchen shutters opening echoed down this wing of the house. She exchanged a dark look with Nesta, “The bread.” But her sister only nodded. “I’ll stay with him.” Gratitude caught in Elain’s throat. Because they had to play their parts- the day after a ball like that Nesta would be absent, the household would expect her to be hiding away. They’re purposeful put out rumors of her weak health- the need to recover her strength- but really Nesta usually needed the break from people, and the uninterrupted time to tend to the shipping business. But Elain would be present. To take stock of the cleanup, to congratulate the cook on the previous nights successes, to organize the thank-you cards and steal away the household accounts to tally it all when the housekeeper was otherwise occupied. They had to play their roles- to keep themselves, and Lucien safe. And the day was beginning- the households bread baked. Soon, a maid would come knocking to Elain’s rooms with breakfast tea. “I’ll stay,” Nesta repeated. She knew- something- or suspected, and Elain was too tired to care. She’d told Nesta everything anyway, and would do it all over again. “I’ll be back,” She promised, rising shakily to her feet. It was hard, harder than it should have been, but at Nesta’s nod Elain forced herself to leave the room. She looked back only once before shutting the door. Her blood was still on Lucien’s lips. —- It was the scent that woke him first. A storm, somewhere. A rage. But beneath- surrounding it- warmth he could lean on, fall into and drift. Honeysuckle and embers, worry Lucien wanted to drag close and soothe. He breathed it deep, felt it echo inside him. Lucien could taste it. That was strange enough- intoxicating enough- that he felt it must be another impossible dream. Still, he woke with her name on his lips. And found himself stared down by the older two thirds of the Archeron family, where he lay, bound head to toe.

@breath-of-sindragosa @flxwer-petals @ladyvanserra @illyrianinterrasen @missanniewhimsy @tntwme @ourbooksuniverse @pitterpatterpot @thestarwhowishes

#the elucien au #tw: blood and injury #the latent matebond is ALIVE in this one #Nesta doesn't trust him one damn bit #but she trusts Elain #Next up:#what does blood magic from the heir to a court do?#WHERE IS FEYRE?#Sometimes a family is an older sister hiding her trauma #her younger sister and best friend with a eight mile high facade #and a 300 year old faery who had decided to casually protect them both with his life #but he's NOT IN LOVE AT ALL OBVIOUSLY #elucien #feysand #nessian #nesta archeron #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #acotar au

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raywritesthings · 5 years

Note

Lauriver + 2 for the prompt meme please?? I love your writing

Anon, thank you so much! I’m so happy you enjoy my writing that much.

Close My Eyes and Jump

Oliver has been trying to decide what to do since Laurel’s confession in the hospital, and finally works up the courage with a few little pushes. Also can be read on my AO3 page.

The two of them laughed, and Oliver frowned. Not that anyone noticed. He was making sure to keep well back from the others.

It was another team up with the Flash crew that had brought them to Central City. They’d been after a gang that had been moving back and forth between both their territories and decided to combine their efforts. Now with that taken care of, Barry and Iris had made the offer to host everyone for a late lunch at their newly purchased loft.

They’d agreed, and the meal had been fine. Afterwards, everyone settled in the open sitting room, naturally breaking off into smaller conversational groups.

And right now, Laurel was listening to Cisco tell what he assumed had to be the most hilarious story of all time judging by the way her face was lit up in a wide beam.

Maybe because Cisco had had a girlfriend at the time of their last team up, Oliver hadn’t noticed. But the more he watched, the more it became clear that the other man adored Laurel.

And that…made him uncomfortable in a way he didn’t like to admit.

It was wrong. He knew that without needing to be told. Laurel deserved to have friends and people who appreciated her. He knew he’d been a failure at doing so in the past, even if he was trying to make up for it now. So Cisco being his usual friendly, funny self shouldn’t have been a problem, nor should Laurel enjoying his company have been a problem.

But there was also the matter of what they had talked about in the hospital, the night they’d almost lost her. What she had told him about her feelings. Present tense.

Oliver had been left reeling since that night. He had thought any love Laurel had held for him had been snuffed out long ago due to his own mistakes. He had believed it to be a fondly remembered dream. Not still a possibility.

She had left them for a time to recover at her mother’s home in Central City, away from Darhk. During that time, she’d been caught up in STAR Labs’ second particle accelerator explosion along with Wally and Jessie, granting her meta powers that matched the Cry she had used to achieve through technological means.

With this unexpected aid, they had put a stop to Darhk’s plans before he had launched any nuclear missiles, and he now sat in a secure ARGUS facility, his idol smashed beyond recognition. When the dust had settled, Oliver had tried at last to approach her about that conversation in the hospital.

“Oliver, there’s nothing you have to say. I’m fine,” Laurel had told him with one of her soft smiles. He hadn’t been able to help but notice how fragile it had looked. “I knew when I said it that you didn’t feel the same way. I probably shouldn’t have said it at all.” She had shaken her head. “You don’t need to worry about it.”

“What if I am?”

Laurel had taken hold of his shoulders. “Then don’t be. I’m happy just having the team and my family, and someday you and Felicity are going to patch things up and be happy together. That’s what you really want. And I’m telling you it’s okay.”

She had pulled him into a hug, and Oliver had held on as tightly as he dared. He hadn’t wanted to let her go.

A few short months after that conversation, Felicity had begun seeing another man named Billy and seemed much happier for it. Laurel had been coming and going between Star and Central to get in some training of her new metahuman abilities. And Oliver had been doing a lot of thinking.

He still dreamed of her, was the main thing. When he closed his eyes and really thought of the perfect life, it was Laurel at his side, smiling and happy the way she deserved to be. Proud of the man he’d become.

It was her good opinion he valued most, and her censure he had tried to avoid on multiple occasions when he’d known he was doing something wrong. He trusted her to watch the city in his absence and to care for his family. The night she had been stabbed was one of the worst he had had in his life, those few minutes where she had been hovering between life and death. He couldn’t imagine losing her. Every time he thought of her confession, Oliver’s heart both ached and yet felt full. She loved him, and the truth was that despite his own claims he would always love her. If only she knew.

He wanted to be with Laurel, yet she was sincerely convinced he belonged with someone else. How had he made such a mess of things?

Oliver tried not to frown again as Cisco scooted closer on the couch. It wasn’t inappropriate, and it wasn’t his business. His personal feelings didn’t entitle him to deciding who got to be close to her or receive her attention. He needed to accept and respect whatever choices she made in that regard.

What if she had moved on? What if saying it out loud had given her some kind of closure, and she’d decided once and for all to leave that part of her life behind? She’d said he would always be the love of her life, but what if that just wasn’t enough? What if Cisco made her laugh enough that she decided to stay in Central permanently?

“Hey, Earth to Ollie,” Thea spoke up at his elbow, and he gave a start.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Nothing, just checking on you.”

“Okay. Well, I’m fine.”

Thea leaned against the wall and smirked. “Oh, I’m sorry. I hadn’t realized isolating yourself from the group and staring at it like we’re all on the other side of a glass you can’t get through means you’re fine.”

Oliver folded his arms over his chest. “I’m not doing that.”

“Well, you were doing it to Laurel and Cisco for several minutes there.”

He felt the back of his neck heat up and hoped it wasn’t turning a noticeable red as well.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not here.” There were way too many people around for him to get into something so personal.

As if to demonstrate his point, there was a brief breeze as Barry suddenly zipped in close on his other side. “Hey guys, everything okay?”

“It’s fine,” Oliver repeated.

“Yeah, Ollie’s just practicing his sad and alone face.”

“Oh, yeah. That used to be me at every party I went to with Iris before we got together. I’m sure things will work out with Felicity in time.”

“That’s okay, Barry. I’m fine with how things are.” Oliver hoped his tone indicated that was to be the end of things.

Of course, it never was with Barry. “Really, how come?”

“Cause he wasn’t looking at Felicity,” Thea said in a small voice. When he turned, his sister was wide-eyed and looked to be preparing to draw in a large breath.

Oliver had to act fast. “Barry, is there somewhere we can talk privately—”

“Uh, bathroom, that way,” his friend said, ushering the two of them from the room.

It was a tight fit for both him and his sister, but necessary when Thea finally shrieked, “Really?”

“Shh!”

“This is crazy!” She was still managing to shout in a whisper as she grabbed at his arms. “I mean when did- how did- what—”

“Thea, calm down. It’s not a big deal.”

“Uh, pretty sure you still being in love with Laurel is a big deal. This is so exciting!”

Oliver bit back what he was originally planning to say and instead asked, “Wait, you’re happy?”

“Of course I’m happy. I mean, as your sister, I obviously want you to be happy with whomever you choose,” Thea with a magnanimous wave of the hand that eerily resembled their mother. “But I’m really excited about this!”

“There’s nothing to get excited about. You don’t even know that she — you did know,” he realized.

“Well, I do live with the woman. I mean, Laurel’s never said, but I’m practically her second sister.” Her smug look shifted as she asked, “But when did she tell you?”

“That night at the hospital. But listen, this isn’t what you’re thinking it is. Laurel and I aren’t getting together.”

He was vividly reminded of the day Thea learned Santa wasn’t real based on her expression alone. “But why?”

“She doesn’t think I feel the same.”

“You haven’t told her?”

“I didn’t know how I felt at first!” He had to remind himself to check his volume before he continued. “My engagement had just ended, and I had no idea Laurel still felt that way. I didn’t know how to answer her at first.”

“Okay, but it’s been a few months now, so,” Thea urged.

“So she’s still convinced I should just wait for things to settle with Felicity.”

“Because you haven’t told her,” Thea stated rather than asked, then let out a groan. “You have got to stop doing this.”

“What? Doing what?”

“Leaving people guessing about how you feel. I know you have every right to hate feeling vulnerable, which is kinda why you’re trying to become a turtle right now instead of talk to me—”

“What?” Oliver straightened out of his hunched posture and uncrossed his arms. “I’m not — you can’t become a turtle, Thea—”

“—but you have to be willing to go out on a limb sometimes for the person you love. Take the jump. Because you’re the only person that can show Laurel you’re ready to give things another try.”

Oliver hung his head. She was right, and he knew it. Laurel had already confessed to her own feelings, and it was on him to meet her halfway. He just didn’t know how to make things work this time. What if he messed up? What if he hurt her?

“If you don’t say anything, then maybe she will move on, and that’s something you’ll always regret,” his sister said. “And that’s the last thing I want for you, Ollie.”

There was a knock on the door. “Somebody in here?”

“Um, be right out,” Thea called back. She reached around Oliver to turn the knob, and John stared at the both of them when the door swung open.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“It’s fine,” Oliver repeated once again, eyes on the ground.

“It will be fine,” Thea corrected. Then she began pushing on him to get him out of the bathroom and down the hall.

Grudgingly, he went. Out in the sitting room, everyone was in about the same places. Felicity was putting on her coat since she was heading back on the train early to meet Billy for drinks, and Barry had rejoined Iris on the sofa though he met Oliver’s eyes with two raised eyebrows.

Cisco was still right there with Laurel. She looked happy.

“Look, now doesn’t seem like a good time,” he muttered to Thea.

“Now is a great time. Besides, if I don’t make you go through with this now, you’re just gonna let it stew for the next five months, and that is never a good look on you.” Thea clapped her hands on his shoulders like she was preparing him for a fight in the ring. “Now go ahead. Straightforward, clear about your intentions. And if you can manage it, maybe a little playful.”

He wanted to argue that her various pieces of advice seemed contradictory, but she’d already given him a little push, and he began walking forward. One foot in front of the other until he had drawn up to the couch and had nowhere else to go.

Laurel glanced up at him with a dazzling smile for just a moment while she listened to Cisco. Oliver’s attempt to clear his throat got stuck, but the other man broke off anyway.

“Oh, Oliver, hey.”

“Uh, hey. What have you two been chatting about?”

“Suit designs at the moment,” Laurel answered. “Cisco has a lot of opinions.”

“Well, he did make a lot of them,” Oliver had to concede. Cisco was a talented guy, after all, and he certainly didn’t hate him by any means. He just sort of wished he could be the one on the couch with Laurel right now instead of awkwardly standing in front of them.

“Yeah. I mean, as far as suits I didn’t have a hand in go, I still have to say Laurel’s is my favorite,” Cisco said, looking to Oliver for a nod of agreement that he readily got. Laurel just smiled and shook her head. He was a natural flatterer, that Cisco. “Basic black doubling as perfect urban camouflage, the functionality, the style. And the detail work! The fishnet pattern on the gloves, I mean, what was the inspiration for that?”

“Well, Laurel’s always looked good in fishnets.”

As soon as the words had left him, Oliver wished he’d never made it off the island. Of all the ways to go about it, to try and let Laurel know he was serious, and he’d picked that?

He wished he had a drink or something in his hands to focus on so he didn’t have to see Laurel’s stunned expression. She couldn’t believe him, clearly.

Cisco’s mouth was hanging open, though he eventually recovered. “Okay!” There was a laugh that Oliver couldn’t decide whether it was forced or not. “That’s, uh, good to know.”

“Mm-hm. Cisco, if you would excuse us for a moment.” Laurel stood and fixed him with a look before marching for the door. Oliver braced himself before turning to follow.

“Good luck, dude,” Cisco said to his retreating back. He appreciated the thought.

She was leaning against a wall with her arms crossed when he stepped out into the hall.

“Okay, That did not come out the way I wanted it to,” he started with.

“Oh? And what way was that supposed to be?”

“A compliment? A- I don’t know.”

She sighed, pushing a hand through her hair, and he watched as it fell back into place around her shoulders. “Well, thank you, but you should maybe stick to compliments that aren’t about my body so Cisco doesn’t get any ideas.”

“Well, maybe I want him to.” His chest had puffed out a little as he said it, but Oliver stood firm even as Laurel looked at him in clear disbelief.

“What does that even mean?”

“It means that I’ve made up my mind, Laurel. That I know what is going to make me happy, and that’s being with you.”

She took a step towards him, her head shaking. “Oliver—”

“Laurel, I know I’ve given you plenty of reasons to doubt me. I know I tried shutting the door on that part of my life. But it didn’t work. It never works.”

“Okay, but that’s not a sign. Your breakup with Felicity had nothing to do with me.”

“No,” he agreed. “But when it happened, you were the one who was there for me, the same way you always have been. I used to take that for granted.” Oliver took his own step and reached for her hands, which Laurel didn’t pull away from. “I’m sorry I took that for granted. You are one of the best people in my life, and it took almost losing you for me to realize just how dark my life would be without you in it.”

Laurel looked down. “That doesn’t mean—”

“Laurel,” he said. He almost wanted to laugh. “I know you’re trying to do what’s best for me the same way you do for everyone, but I’m telling you what that is now. And it’s you. It’s always been you. I’ve been scared of that for so long,” he admitted. “At first I was scared of settling down because I was young and stupid and thought I was invincible. Then I was scared to let myself be happy because I thought it would never last. And worst of all, it got to the point where I was scared of disappointing you again, so I just gave up trying. But in this kind of life, there isn’t time to be scared. It’s not enough to fight other people’s battles and fears. I have to face my own, too.”

He drew in a breath and closed his eyes for a moment, needing one last moment before taking this leap. Laurel’s eyes had a wet shine to them and her grip on his hands was tight.

“Dinah Laurel Lance. I love you. And I’m sorry for all the times I’ve made you doubt that. There’s no one else I’m waiting on or trying to be with except you, even if I’m far less than what you deserve.” His gaze lowered, first to their clasped hands and then to the floor. “So I’ll let you get back in there with Cisco if that’s what you want.”

There was a pause, and then Laurel let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Cisco? That’s what this is about?”

“A little,” he muttered, shoulders hunching. “He’s a good guy, and I want you to be happy whatever that means.”

“Well, Cisco is a good guy and a really good friend,” said Laurel. “But I think we both know it’s a bad idea for me to start something with another person when I’m already in love with you.”

He chanced looking up at her, and she was watching him with such warmth in her gaze.

“This is really what you want?”

“Yes,” he replied, not a single second of hesitance. Oliver used the hold he had on her hands to tug her closer, then let go to wrap his arms around her instead. Laurel went willingly, folding into his embrace with that sense of rightness that had always accompanied her. He turned his face into her hair, smiling to himself as her hands slid further down his back.

“You’re sure?” She asked, just a whisper past his ear.

Oliver pressed his lips to her head. “Yes.” Then he pulled back just a little to look her in the eyes. “And I promise to prove that to you every day.”

Laurel’s lips parted, and his eyes drifted to them. He bent forward, just a breath away—

The door to the loft swung open, and Caitlin jumped as she stepped out and spotted them. “Sorry! I just have to take a call. Um, I’ll go in the stairwell.”

“That’s okay, Caitlin,” Laurel said as she turned around in his hold. The other woman was already scurrying through the fire door that led to the steps, however, so she sighed, her head falling back to rest on his shoulder. “I guess you really better be sure now.”

“I am,” he insisted, bringing his arms back around her middle. “I don’t know why you think I should be the one having second thoughts about this, but I am sure.” Any reasonable person should have been running for the hills instead of giving things another shot with him, and that was what had had him so convinced Laurel couldn’t still be in love with him.

Yet as he tilted his head down to look at her, it occurred to him that Laurel wasn’t always the most reasonable person. She was strong-willed and stubborn and went her own way whenever it suited her. Why should her heart be any different?

As if in answer to his thoughts, she gave a half-shrug. “Hey, I know how I feel.”

“Well, you’ll have to trust that I know how I feel. That work?”

“Of course.”

It was that simple, really. Laurel had always believed in him. Now he just needed to believe in himself too, that he could make this work.

She placed her hands over his and lifted them from around her, but kept the fingers of one laced through hers. “Come on, or we’re going to get caught out here again.”

“Right.”

They returned to the loft. Cisco was still on the couch but turned around to chat with Barry and Iris on the sofa, and he scooted over to make room for the both of them. Across the couch in her own chair, Thea grinned widely at him. Oliver looked away from her, as well as John’s questioning stare, and instead focused on rejoining the conversation and the group with Laurel’s hand in his.

He was done holding himself apart.

#lauriver #laurel x oliver #oliver queen #laurel lance #arrow #cisco ramon #thea queen #barry allen #green arrow #black canary #my writing #Anonymous

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keishid · 5 years

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17. the one where your soulmate’s name is on one wrist and your enemy’s name is on the other and you have no clue which is which. (Yasukat, because I am a BASTARD and I wanna see Kat have a minor crisis about there being even the vaguest possibility that her soulmate is Jericho fucking Swain)

(AO3 mirror)

extensive headcanons used sry

feel free to interrogate about them XD

Katarina can’t read the markings on her left wrist. They’re sharp and angular, squared off in places, so much more complicated than the simple Common script on her off-hand; she used to think, when she was still figuring letters out in the first place, that it was just particularly complex or maybe a specialized alphabet and she’d get it later but—

But it’s just not in Common in the first place.

It’s easy to assume which is which, then. There’s a name in Common—not noticeably Noxian or Demacian or anything in particular, but there’s no reason it shouldn’t be Noxian. It seems a little short for a Noxian name—an actual family name, not the Nox indicative of a guttersnipe, but only one middle name attached. There’s no reason for her not to have her share of enemies in her homeland as well as outside it, but when she knows for a fact that one of the souls linked to hers is from somewhere else… the odds feel pretty decent that the foreigner is probably her enemy.

死蓮.

Apart from that single section, Hiroto can’t read either one of his linked names. They aren’t any alphabet that he learns, isn’t from any one of the isles; he’s never personally met a mainlander before, so he can’t exactly ask them what his wrists say. (They probably wouldn’t even bother learning Ionian, even if it is the island closest to the mainland.)

Yone says he’s heard that most of the mainland speaks one language most of the time, which frankly feels like bullshit considering the size of the place, but it’s not like Yone can read it either. He can speak some Common—they both can, just in case, especially since it looks like the isles can’t just avoid contact with the mainland for much longer—but reading it isn’t a priority. And just running around showing everybody the names in the hope that someday, someone will be able to tell him what they say—

It would be pretty weird. It’s private, anyway.

He’d at least like to know why this person, whoever they are, has a single Ionian name in amongst this… frankly ridiculous mix of other ones. Or why it’s so godsdamned… pretentiously grim. It sounds like one of the Kindred’s priests, but they only have the one name in the first place. Not six , assuming he’s understanding the spacing right. And it can’t be that all mainlanders have names that unwieldy; his other wrist only has four sets of characters, and all of them are much shorter.

(What the hell kind of mainlander names their child death lotus? Or, worse still, what the hell kind of mainlander gets weirdly obsessed enough with Ionia to name themselves like that?)

Half the reason Katarina leaps into her Ionian studies as hard as she does, when her father finally tells her about the overseas part of her curriculum, is in the hopes that she’ll finally at least have a name to put to the lines on her skin. She has a person to put to the other name now, at least: a soldier who shouldn’t reasonably be alive, put in a minor command just by dint of outliving everyone else who could have qualified. A cripple (although Katarina knows better than to assume that means much of anything, or he would have died before making it into the army at all), a strategist, with a six-eyed raven as a familiar. Some sort of witch, and almost as old as her father.

(No one ever said that a soulmate had to be romantic. Many of them aren’t. It’s childish of Katarina to be disappointed, but she is.)

Reading the language is far more difficult than speaking it, and even if keeping one’s full name a secret is a habit that only Noxians needed to cultivate, it feels wrong to unwrap her wrist and show her teacher the marks. Or even to copy them down somewhere else and ask that way. (Her handwriting is terrible, anyway, even with the simplest characters.) She learns it in bits and pieces, months apart; and she doesn’t get the full context until she’s already on Ionian soil, living with the Kinkou.

Yasuo. No middle name, she’s expecting at this point (Ionia, as it turns out, does have its own problems with local spirits and elementals; they just don’t seem overly bothered with using a name for power—not so much less malicious as just following a different set of rules). No surname… is odd, but enough of the Kinkou forego them that it’s not out of place here. It gets under her skin, rubs her the wrong way. It can’t be safe, your entire identity stripped down to three syllables that anyone can know. Katarina— Shiren, she still has to remind herself; she’s Shiren as long as she’s here—still doesn’t like the idea that her full name is seared into a birthmark on someone else’s body. (Possibly even more than one, depending on how many enemies she makes in her life, how much reason she gives them to hate her.) She can’t imagine…

She can’t imagine having no such protection at all.

He goes to the sword school at ten; he gets renamed at twelve, the moment that his skills start to surpass where the masters think his ego ought to be. (He can deal with their censure; the fact that Yone agrees, the fact that his very identity gets rewritten, that he has to relearn how to respond to something that isn’t even his real name—)

It’s fine. It will be fine, eventually.

He meets her at seventeen.

If Shiren comes with a warning, it’s not one that he hears. The masters don’t seem surprised to see her, but Yasuo isn’t convinced they’d even show it if they were, so for all he knows she just… shows up to be taught. More, because can’t be that much younger than him, and he’s never seen a brand new student show up that old.

They don’t actually meet for the first couple of days; the masters are keeping them both busy, and if she shares the same curiosity about him that he has about her (she’s a mainlander and she’s here, so maybe—), she doesn’t seem interested in going out of her way to pursue it. She does show up for dinner, but getting near her without being obvious about it is… a challenge.

She doesn’t look like much when he finally manages to get close enough to look. She’s smaller than him both in height and in build—a swimmer’s build, or a dancer’s (or a ninja’s, but he hopes not). Her accent is off, but she’s still understandable, and she’s at least doing a hell of a lot better than he was expecting from a mainlander. She has an angular face, like a fox given human form. Her eyes are shockingly green; her hair is black, but her eyebrows are a deep red, her eyelashes amber. It’s not a color that feels like it should exist on a human being, but…

“If you dyed your hair to trick people into thinking you’re Ionian,” Yasuo says, food halfway to his mouth, “I have some bad news for you.”

Shiren looks up at him, startled. For a (tense) second, she doesn’t react; but whatever she was waiting on or looking for, she must find it, because then she just looks back down and snickers. “I don’t want to stand out from a distance,” she says. “That’s all.” She pauses. It’s not clear whether she almost says more and then thinks better of it, or whether she’s just having difficulty figuring out what else to say in the first place. “I’m Shiren,” she offers finally.

He knows. He knows, but his heart still twitches in something that might be terror when she says it. His skin itches under the hem of his sleeve. “Yasuo,” he says.

She looks up again, sharper this time. Her eyes—her eyes are so green, but also narrowed just slightly, as if…

As if she’s asking herself the same questions he is. Gods, he wishes he could see the insides of her wrists, but they’re wrapped in interlaced fabric from the heels of her hands to somewhere inside her sleeves. (Maybe it’s a mainland thing. Yasuo’s never met anyone who particularly put the names on display, but maybe they’re stricter about it where she’s from.)

“Yeah?” she says, in a voice that’s trying just a little too hard to sound neutral. His heart strongly reconsiders having a predictable beat. “Just Yasuo?”

He swallows. “Just Yasuo,” he says.

Her eyes flicker to his hands. “I might have to ask you about that,” she says, so quietly he barely hears her over the general conversation. “Later.”

Later. Right.

Later is harder to figure out than she expects. The swordsmen push her… well, about as much as the Kinkou did when she first came to them. This school is smaller than the Temple, but she somehow still manages not to be alone with Yasuo for a couple of solid days, despite her best efforts.

She eventually at least gets the opportunity to spar with him—which is frankly terrifying, since she still doesn’t know what he is to her. The sun is high, the wind smells slightly of flowers (she’s still not used to those; the wild plants that can survive in Noxian soil don’t tend to produce flowers worth looking at, let alone safe to put to one’s face), and Yasuo—

He’s beautiful. That’s safe to admit, no matter how this ends up going, what he ends up being. There’s a tension that leaves his shoulders the moment he steps outside, as if there’s something inside him that unfurls and blooms only when he can see the sky. He turns to her, mouth pulling into a challenging smile even as he bows from the other side of the makeshift arena. If she’d spent any less time here than she had, she might have forgotten to return the gesture.

He draws his practice blade and strikes in a single movement, dashing forward faster than seems possible for a normal human—but there’s no magic in the air, only excitement, the leap in her chest as she just barely ducks out of the way. He deflects her return blow, twists back out of reach; faces her again, now that they’ve tested each other a little.

“You’re quick,” he says. His voice feels like a caress, settling between her lungs and warming her blood.

Focus. “I hope so,” she answers, circling, mirroring him. “I’ve been staying with the Kinkou for the last few years.”

Yasuo pulls a face. “Should have known,” he says, but he’s smiling before he finishes speaking. “I’m surprised you haven’t started throwing things yet.”

Throwing things, shunpo-ing behind him, is almost impossible to resist—it’s what she’s been doing, it’s what the ninjas taught her. But that’s also exactly why she’s ended up here.

“I have to learn how to fight fair eventually,” Shiren says. She grins, lashing out at his sword arm. “Besides, I’ll probably be disqualified if I try, right?”

She expects him to leap back or just block her strike, but he dashes forward instead, closing the distance before she can react. His hand closes around the wrist of her off-hand, pulls her in too close for their weapons to be of any use.

“I have a few things I’m not allowed to do either,” Yasuo says. He’s not so close that she can feel his breath on her neck, but her skin prickles anyway. “I might show you later so we can have a real fight.”

Shiren stays tensed, fully prepared for them to get right back to sparring, but she does lean ever so slightly into him. Her eyes flick down to his wrist, the curves of letters she can’t quite see at this angle. Yasuo’s fingers dip underneath her sleeve, catching on the cover over her wrist.

Oh. Right.

“If you’re looking for your name, you’re holding the wrong one,” Shiren says quietly.

She can just barely hear Yasuo take a breath. Behind them, a teacher clears his throat, and they jerk back apart as if burned.

Her footsteps on the tatami don’t make a sound. Yasuo doesn’t even realize someone else has come into the room until she wakes him up with a hand on his shoulder.

He blinks up at her, bleary and confused, but she puts a finger to his mouth before he can say anything. She points to the cracked-open door leading outside, gets up to her feet, and offers him a hand up.

He’s at least half certain he’s dreaming, or that she’s an apparition, but her hand feels solid when he takes it. She’s still silent as a cat as she makes her way to the door and through it, but she takes a slow and audible breath when they’re safely out in the open air. She looks real enough, stretching briefly in the pre-dawn light.

“So,” Yasuo says, biting back a yawn. Either Shiren’s been up for a while or she just wakes up more quickly than any reasonable human would. He’s trying not to resent her for it.

(Maybe she is his nemesis after all.)

Shiren shakes herself, glancing back at him. “So,” she agrees. For a moment, she looks like she’s going to actually say something, but then she closes her mouth and starts fidgeting with her sleeve.

Or not her sleeve. She undoes some sort of knot he can’t see and starts unwinding her not-quite-glove from her wrist.

Yasuo takes a step closer, remembering to breathe. “You keep those on when you sleep?” he asks.

Shiren glances up at him, twisting the strip of fabric around her fingers. “It's—” She scrunches her nose in thought. “It’s for safety,” she settles on, finally. “We have—I don’t know your word for it. They’re not human.”

“Vastaya?” Yasuo guesses.

“No,” Shiren says, shaking her head. “Some vastaya don’t want to kill you. These are just…” She shrugs helplessly. “And even outside of the fae—” and that’s definitely not an Ionian word but he’s not sure how to ask— “names have power where I’m from, more than they do here. We can’t risk people knowing the whole thing like this.”

Yasuo thinks, abruptly, of how much space her name takes up on his skin. “That why yours is so long?”

Shiren bites back a smile. “No one knows the whole thing but my father and I,” she says. “And you.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he says, looking out towards the woods just to diffuse the inevitable awkwardness of the next few seconds. “I can’t read most of it.” Yasuo clears his throat. “But I can’t read any of the other one, so if you wouldn’t mind helping me with it…”

She snorts a laugh. “Maybe,” she says, balling up the last of the wrist-wrap in her hand. “Come here.”

It’s… maybe it’s akin to anxiety, the tension buzzing underneath her skin. Maybe Yasuo can understand some of it, because he’s meeting her in the same way she’s meeting him, but there’s no way he can grasp exactly how—how intimate this is for her. For any Noxian.

(He can’t read her name. She doesn’t have to tell it to him.

But she wants to.)

Yasuo takes a few steps closer, just brushing the edge of her personal space. She doesn’t know what to do with her hands at first, whether she should look at her name or show him his, but he finally just reaches out himself. She can feel every callus on his fingers catching on the skin of her forearm as he raises it.

They both know what he’ll see when she turns her uncovered wrist over. She can hear his breath catch anyway, just slightly. Shiren can tell just from the length of the script that her name isn’t on his left wrist, but when she pulls his right closer—

She’s never actually seen her name written down, not in its entirety. It feels wrong, inherently alien; she almost wants to hide it since he doesn’t seem to have any interest in it, but—

“Katarina,” she says, brushing her fingertip over the first segment; and then she continues, each name in turn, while he watches her trace the letters on his skin.

“I’m never going to remember all of that,” he says. She doesn’t have to look up to tell that he’s smiling.

Shiren—Katarina—laughs under her breath. “I’m not leaving for a while,” she says, meeting his eyes. “We have time.”

Yasuo’s mouth twitches up a little. “Katarina,” he says, like even her given name is a secret. His fingers trail down to hers. It’s impossible to tell if he tangles them or if she does. “I don’t… think we’re enemies.”

She doesn’t want to be. He’s—he’s too godsdamned nice to look at for him to be her nemesis. “I don’t think so either,” she says.

She can feel her heartbeat in her throat when he kisses her.

#my writing #em writes fanfiction #yasukat #yasuo x katarina #au: soulmates #gayazrael

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seriouslyhooked · 6 years

Text

No Other Plans (A CS Birthday AU)

A/N: Modern AU where it’s Emma’s birthday and she never celebrates it with anyone. She’s been slowly falling for this new neighbor of hers, Killian, for a while now. Emma’s crafted a plan to ask him out after months of pushing him away, but because it’s me writing a fluffy fic, Killian already has his own plan in motion. The two come together in a sweet, lovely one shot and there is no angst anywhere ever at all, the end. Also on FF here and AO3 here.

Whatever special love the rest of the world had for birthdays, Emma Swan could never seem to understand.

Maybe it would make sense to her if she’d grown up in a loving home with the parties and the presents and the celebration, but there was none of that in her world. Her birthday was just like any other day, with no fuss and no grandeur and that was the way she preferred it. Even when she’d left the foster system, an adult in her own right now in charge of her own decisions and destiny, Emma still downplayed the day. What was the point of making a big deal? It wasn’t like she had a ton of friends to party with, and she definitely didn’t think that wishing on a candle would get her anything of value in life. It all just felt kind of pointless and arbitrary. Why should this one day of all days matter?

The truth was it shouldn’t, at least not in Emma’s eyes, but this year she was making an exception, because this year, for the first time in her life, she had a real regret that she was living with. As cheesy as it sounded, she actually had a birthday wish, a wrong to make right and a hope in her heart where hope had so long been absent.

It all started a few months ago when her closest neighbors unexpectedly moved out and a new tenant moved in. Emma hadn’t thought anything of it. This apartment complex had enough turn around to make it inconsequential. New people came and went all the time; that was the way things went in the city. But then she’d actually met the man who would be living across the hall and everything changed.

“You must be Swan,” this handsome foreigner had said as he dropped one of the boxes he was moving in and came to extend a hand in greeting. Clearly he had missed the memo on city dwellers in America – the occasional smile or hello in the elevator was just about as chummy as people got here. Still Emma found herself accepting the handshake all the same. “Well at least you are ‘Swan’ if the mail boxes are to be trusted.”

“They are,” Emma replied hesitantly, her thoughts distracted by the way his being so close made her feel. It was pleasant when typically she went out of her way to avoid people. “And I am. But it’s Emma actually. Emma Swan.”

In the moment she couldn’t understand why she was telling him so much. Emma never opened up to strangers. Heck this guy could be certifiably nuts. Lord knew she saw enough in her line of work to know there were some real sickos out of there. But strange as it was, her gut couldn’t seem to muster anything like repulsion at this new person in her life. Instead she felt comfortable, even safe, and that thought scared her half to death.

“Emma,” he’d said as his hand held hers just a little too long, leaving a warmth and tingling all in once in her palm and through her fingers. The way he said her name was delicate but also gruff. It had just a hint of gravel melted in with that sexy accent and it shocked the hell out of Emma, so much so that she barely caught his introduction: “Killian Jones, at your service.”

“You always talk like that? Like a pirate or something?” she’d asked, completely embarrassed when it slipped out but hiding it as best she could as Killian laughed.

“Aye, love. It’s one of my many quirks. Beware my tendency for swashbuckling and excessive exclamations like ‘argh’ and ‘ahoy there.’

Emma found herself laughing at his joke, which totally took her by surprise. But surprising didn’t cut it when it came to Killian Jones. He was… indescribable. There was just something about him that drew Emma in, that made her want to linger out there in the hallway when he greeted her, or made her debate if a little more neighborly visiting wouldn’t be a good thing. She could cook him something, right? Like a casserole or whatever the hell people brought neighbors in the movies. Well obviously she’d have to learn how to cook first but…

These were the kinds of thoughts Emma had been having for months as she slowly but surely caved to an infatuation with the handsome Brit. She would not call her feelings for Killian a crush – she would certainly not call it love – but she had to admit that there was something about him, something in those piercing blue eyes and that charismatic smile; something about the way he always held the door, not just for her but for everyone; something about the charm he had that was almost roguish even though he was always a gentleman. He was a flirt, but never crossed a line, he would tease her, but he never insulted her at all. Instead he boosted her up, whether he meant to or not, always leaving her with something – some small compliment or professed bit of faith that made her feel better and made her want more.

Killian had even been bold enough to make it clear that he wanted more too, asking Emma a number of times if she had plans during a weekend or a slower night of the week. She always said the same thing – “Sorry, I can’t” – any time he asked, but she also knew he would ask again even when he turned her down. No matter what he always asked again, and he managed to do so without ever pressuring her or making her feel like her boundaries were tested or infringed on. Emma could tell that he was patiently waiting for her to be ready, but she was starting to worry that that patience had run out, because for the past week she’d barely seen him, and when she had he hadn’t mentioned anything about hanging out at all.

“It’s my own fault,” she muttered aloud to herself as she nervously paced around her apartment. “I should have just said yes. I should have just gone on the date with the guy I like instead of turning him down over and over again. Now I’m that girl who makes a move on her birthday of all days. God this is so dumb.”

Emma was spared from further self-censure by the ding of her over timer, a sound she’d rarely ever heard since moving in. She went to open it up and found the vanilla cupcakes she’d put in there. They actually looked kind of okay and as she pulled them out she read all directions very carefully. She made sure they were totally cool and then she did her best (which was admittedly not very well) to try and frost them. The frosting she was using was blue, a blue not unlike the darker specs in Killian’s eyes, and she would be lying if she said she hadn’t thought of that or about Killian’s love of the sea when she chose it at the store. She knew all these little things about him, and unbeknownst to her at the time she’d been saving them up and keeping them all close because they actually mattered to her.

Finally Emma looked at the scene before her, finding two of the twelve cupcakes she’d made that looked slightly more passable than the others. She placed them on a clean white plate, added a couple of white sprinkles, and then she took a steadying breath and readied herself for this moment. Right now she was going to make a move – she was going to see if Killian was interested in spending the evening with her, and hopefully if the promise of her company wasn’t enough, then the cupcakes would bribe him into letting her back in. Truth be told she missed him, even though it had only been a few days, and accepting that was a big step for her, one that told her she should take the chance and see what happened.

Emma headed out her front door, moving down the hallway the short distance to Killian’s place. Once there, she only hesitated for a moment, trying to steady her resolve. She was a big girl, a strong woman, surely she was brave enough to put herself out there. But just before she could raise her hand to knock, the door swung open, and there was Killian, looking as gorgeous as ever and totally taking her breath away.

“Emma,” he said, taking in the sight of her with an obvious tone of shock. “What are you – I mean I was going to – uh…”

Emma watched the expressions of his face. He started at thrilled to see her, something that made her heart flutter with excitement in her chest, and then he moved into surprise as he saw her cupcakes. Emma realized she was staring at him, and then it was her turn to notice that he was holding something too, a small light green cake with candles and everything not so unlike her cupcakes.

“Is that for me?” Emma asked, smiling as she saw him turn a bit red at the question.

“Aye, Swan. I know you don’t typically celebrate your birthday – you’ve told me as much before – but I hated to think it would go by and we wouldn’t commemorate it somehow. You deserve all recognition, love. Your too remarkable to go without.”

Emma was touched at how sweet his words were, and she ducked her head back down to look at the cake and to hide the mistiness that was coming to her eyes. This was honestly more than she’d hoped for. Killian hadn’t forgotten her at all. He wasn’t taking a step back from his admittedly closed off and guarded neighbor. He still cared – she hadn’t waited too long!

“I thought I’d make an exception this year,” Emma clarified, looking back up at him and finding so much hope and curiosity in his cerulean gaze. His hope emboldened her own as she said more. “But I realized the only person who I’d want to spend the day with was you. I mean if you’re not busy that is.”

“I’m not,” Killian rushed to say and Emma smiled at how he seemed to get flustered all over again before trying to regain his cool. “Trust me, I’ve no other plans, Swan. Certainly not when I could be spending time with you.”

“Good,” Emma said softly, stepping into his apartment and putting her cupcakes on the kitchen table. Killian chuckled at the sight of them, commenting on how they’d had the same idea. He said something about great minds thinking alike, but Emma wasn’t really listening. Instead she was thinking about how she’d already come this far and how she should just do it – she should just put it all out there so he’d know how she felt.

So when the cakes were safely on the counter, Emma made her move, cutting into Killian’s compliment of her frosting job and pulling him in by the leather jacket he was wearing, the one that she’d always wanted to grab onto. There was only an instant before she pressed that first kiss to his lips, a single moment before the world exploded into all the possibility that Killian had presented from their very first meeting, but in that second Emma watched as Killian understood her intentions, and she saw in his eyes an undeniable point of proof that she wasn’t in this alone. Then the kiss took that proof so much further, illustrating that not only did they understand each other, but that the chemistry between them burned so much brighter than she’d ever imagined possible.

All those nights that Emma lay awake wondering ‘what if’ had done nothing to prepare her for reality. She’d imagined what it would be like to be wrapped in Killian’s arms, but it didn’t hold a candle to the real deal. Here she was warm and safe, protected and cherished all at once. She might have started the kiss but he controlled it, showing this dominance and a need that woke her up inside and made that already present craving flare to something even more. She was desperate for this, desperate for him, but all they could have right now was a taste. There were still things to say, still steps to take, but this kiss would forever represent the start of something Emma now truly knew she wanted. She’d have this memory emblazoned in her mind forever, and she couldn’t help the smile that played at her lips as they broke apart. She felt like a kid at Christmas – or at least a normal kid at Christmas. It was foreign to her, but oh so delightful all the same.

“I didn’t want you to wonder about where I stood in this,” Emma said, her voice sounding breathy but strong as her words sounded out between them. Killian, meanwhile, ran his hand against her cheek, the feel of it a perfect mix of rough and tender and Emma had to fight to get the rest of her thoughts out and to not get distracted “I want you, Killian, and I’m tired of trying to deny that. I just thought you should know.”

“Thank Christ for that,” he muttered before kissing her again, but before they could get too carried away he pulled back making his own confession. “You know you really had me going there, love. I’d wait forever for this, but damn am I glad the wait is over. It is over, right?”

Emma laughed at his sudden bit of panic and nodded. “Yeah it’s over. We’re doing this. Well, we’re trying at least.”

“Oh we’re doing this,” Killian affirmed as he took both of her hands in his. “Because no matter what may come, Emma, my feelings will not change. This is it for me. You’re it for me. I knew it from that first day.”

“I think I did too,” Emma confessed happily, looking from Killian back around his apartment and feeling so satisfied as his arms came around her once more. Her eyes landed back on the cake, and so did his, prompting his question.

“So… any thoughts on what you’ll wish for?”

“Not a clue,” Emma replied before looking back up at him. “I already got what I wanted. I don’t think I need a wish.”

“Everyone needs a wish, Swan,” Killian said, deftly finding a lighter and illuminating the candles as he still held her close, tucking her back to his front and letting her face the treats they’d both worked so hard to create as the candles glowed and waited for her. “I think you can rise to the challenge.”

Emma thought on it for a moment, loving that even with all this newness there was still that easy, playful banter between them. So much was changing, but the most important things would stay the same. She trusted Killian, she wanted Killian, and now they could be together because they were willing to make the choice. It was an easy choice to make too, once she’d let go of the fear and listened to her heart, just like it was easy to find another wish if she let it come from the same happy, hopeful place. Just before she blew out the candles Emma smiled at the realization that this was her first birthday wish in all the years she could remember. She only hoped as she got all the candles in one try that all those years of waiting would mean better luck in getting her heart’s true desire.

And sure enough that wish did come true, though it took a little time to come together. Because Emma’s wish was to make this work with Killian; to take the risk, to fall in love, and to find her happiness once and for all. She wasn’t looking for a fairy tale per se, but something honest and real and wonderful, and lucky for her, and for Killian too, they found exactly that.

Post-Note: So it’s my birthday today, and as such it felt right to treat myself to a little bit of writing. I carved out some non-existent time and wrote this little drabble because I needed some CS fluff today. Hopefully you guys will enjoy, and if you’re wondering about the title, it’s actually inspired by the song ‘No Other Plans’ by Jillian Edwards. I’m not including this chapter in my mixtape collection since there’s a lot of variance from the original lyrics, but figured I’d plug it here if anyone wants to listen. Anyway thank you all so much for reading and I hope you have a lovely rest of your day!

#captain swan #captain swan fic #captain swan au #captain swan ff #cs fic #cs ff #cs #cs au #cs oneshot #cs au oneshot #emma swan #killian jones #cs neighbors au #cs birthday fic #ouat au #CS modern AU #no other plans

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