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tj-wrote-things · 3 years

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𝐇𝐞 𝐖𝐡𝗼

Nikolai Lantsov x fem!Grisha!reader

Based off of this ask

A/N- Hey besties, this is kinda late,, and i hate it but only a little bit. Can you guys like -stop requesting arguments??? pls its breaking my heart.

Mega thanks to @itisroe e for being my editor and shoulder to whine on :)

*Id like to take a moment to say that Nikolai is a bit of a dick in this one, and id like to reiterate that its never okay to invalidate or insult a so. I dont condone that type of behavior, im just writing it

enjoy:)

•

If there was one thing Nikolai Lantsov knew how to do, it was pout. You caught him— more than just a few times— slouched over on the blush red couch with his arms crossed, face smushed into a scowl as he studied you packing your bag.

You sighed, casting an increasingly irritated glance at him as you folded the coarse cloth of your winter coat and tucked it away with the rest of your belongings. The weight would be too much to bear, but you knew it would be cold up north where you were headed alongside Zoya and the Bataars.

“I’m leaving at dawn, whether you like it or not, Sobachka.”

The King looked away briefly at your words, hating understanding that you were right. He hauled himself out of his seat and redirected his sulking to the world outside the large window. It was beautifully blanketed in steadily falling snow.

“Will you really make our last night together a bitter one?” you commented.

“It wouldn’t be our last night if you’d just let me come with you,” Nikolai huffed.

You exhaled, dreading that this would be the third time you had this discussion, which, in his world, was more so a debate.

The reason was simple: Nikolai had no business accompanying them. The objective of the mission to Fjerda was a peace treaty between the Drüskelle and the Grisha populous. As Nikolai fit neither category, it had been decided that he would stay back and continue to hold the country together.

“We’ve been through this: to bring more people on the expedition would only irritate the Fjerdans. Especially, the king of a country with which they’ve been at war for a considerable amount of time,” you reiterated.

Nikolai shook his head again, unwilling to accept it. He refused to welcome the fact that the love of his long life would be away and in perpetual danger for weeks.

The wind whistled as it bounded against the window, filling the room with a violent creaking.

“It’s dangerous, Y/N, why can you not understand—”

You cut him off swiftly as his voice began to rise, “You watch that tone, Lantsov, or I’ll—”

Now, it was Nikolai’s turn to cut you off: “You’ll what? Leave early?” The young man turned to you from the window and met your incredulous gaze. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. We both know it's your only vice.”

“My only vice,” you mocked cynically. “In what regard?”

Nikolai spread his arms patronizingly as if he were explaining the obvious to his childhood self.

“Your heart craves adulation,” he said, pointing a sharp, accusatory finger your way. “You’ll take any opportunity to leave Os Alta— leave me— and flaunt your gifts.”

Your heart thudded heavily in your chest. In anger or despair, you could not tell.

You would not lie to yourself. You knew with all your heart that, all things considered, your mastery of the Small Science was a blessing, hidden behind the mask of a devil. In the days you served faithfully in the Second Army, your gifts were revered and you were respected in the highest regard amongst your Grisha peers. However, in the years following the war, you became like everybody else.

It was at the behest of your husband that you progressively began to use your power as an Inferni less as the days passed. Ever the political mastermind, he had approached you one summer evening and begged you refrain from using your power in public, claiming that the presence of a Grisha Queen was too much for his fragile country to bear. In the beginning, you had agreed, for if there was one thing that surpassed your love for your husband, it was your shared love for Ravka.

You knew that relations between the Grisha and the others were strained, and so you agreed, taking your husband's hand and promising to limit the displays of glowing orange flames which had burned your enemies as well as warmed the hands of your allies.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to train behind a closed gate, under a roof, beneath the watchful eye of First Army guards armed with fire extinguishers. In fact, it had grown so stifling you had begun to resemble Alina Starkov when first she came to the Little Palace, with her pallor skin and brittle locks.

You brushed the aforementioned hair, now soft and healthy from the effects of tailoring, behind your ear as you placed the brush down and sharpened your stare at Nikolai’s face, shrouded in silver shadows from the icy light of the moon.

“Craves adulation,” you grumbled, knowing that if your voice rose any higher, it would betray every emotion storming around your heart. “Have a look in the mirror, Nikolai, and tell me which of us truly fits your description.”

His description, in all its insulting glory, fit Nikolai Lantsov to the tee.

Nikolai Lantsov, who would smile and wave to a crowd with a Sun Summoner on his arm, allowing you to watch with disdain from your place on a horse beside Mal. Nikolai Lantsov, who would hide behind a pair of gloves to escape the truth of what he had become. Nikolai Lantsov, who had pushed his wife into a state of sickness, albeit unknowingly, sacrificing her life’s blood for the sake of his country.

Nikolai Lantsov, who resolutely shook his head, running a hand through the already dishevelled hair on his head, before waving it dismissively, as if swatting a fly. “Please. You’d flick your hands for anyone who’d ask— if they clapped hard enough.” Nikolai moved for the bookshelf, drawing out a novel as if his words were mere small talk with an old friend.

Your anger blurred to shock. “Flick my hands—”

“Honestly, you take every opportunity to flaunt it. I’m surprised the Little Palace is still standing after having you inside for twenty years!”

There was no sense to his vile declarations now. Though, Nikolai could not see it. The anger, betrayal, and frustration at being left behind were all that clouded his boyish mind as he hurled one unkind word after the other.

“Nikolai,” You moved towards him, arm outstretched, eyes beginning to water. “Lapushka, please—” As your hand approached his, the storm heavier than ever. He wrenched his arm away from you, leering his head back to look you in the eyes.

“Truly, I can’t be sure why you haven’t left already.”

“For saints’ sake, Nikolai. Look at me!”

The dam broke as you flicked your hands, removing the tailoring to your appearance, unveiling the truth of your restrictions.

Nikolai stared with an open mouth and hard eyes as the warm winter flush of your cheeks was replaced with dulled skin, and the sleek shine of your hair was redefined with a brittle and unkempt bush.

“The only person from whom I crave adulation,” you whispered, “is the only man who’s too thick to look past a wavering mask.”

The Lantsov King swallowed, flipping the book restlessly in his hands. “Y/N—”

“Get out.” You left no room for him to argue, even when he opened his mouth once more. “I said leave!” You stalked to the door, pulling it open with a loud shriek of wood. “Now.”

Nikolai Lantsov, who spent the night in a guest room, in a state of perpetual regret.

No amount of tossing and turning brought any comfort to his aching heart, nor his pounding head. He flopped halfheartedly in the guest bed, stiff from lack of use, and from lack of you, revisiting the disgusting words he’d spat. The reason for them, however unjustified, sat heavily on his chest, suffocating him at an agonizing rate.

Nikolai Lantsov, who was afraid that— like his mother and father— you would grow to resent his blood, resent it for its stark difference to yours. The fear that you would regret your marriage to what your people called an otkazat’sya: the abandoned.

The King figured it was only a matter of time before the title served him fully.

It was reasonable, wasn’t it? To lash out at a time of vulnerability? Nikolai couldn’t be sure, having grown up in a family of despots who had never given him the time of day when it mattered most.

Watching the tailored facade fall from his wife’s face, Nikolai was reminded solely of his mother, who, like you, was coerced into moulding her face into that of the perfect queen, at the behest of her husband. He knew then that all he had said and done was wrong. Wrong to her, and wrong to her people.

How could he bring himself to apologize? To walk into their bedroom and beg forgiveness? Would she forgive him? Even if he stooped— a king in tears and on his knees for the woman he loved perhaps more ardently than the country he vowed to govern— would she, in all her scorned glory, crouch beside him, take his face in her hands, and kiss away his regret?

Could he expect her to?

Dawn came around all too swiftly, rousing husband and wife from their fitful sleep in separate rooms, and with it came your departure to the northern lands.

You stood side-by-side with Nikolai as the carriages were loaded with provisions, luggage, and gifts for the Drüskelle, refusing to look at him. Instead, digging fruitlessly in your shoulder bag as an excuse to keep your head down.

The call came from the footman as the time arrived for you to leave. You didn’t make it more than one step forward with your hand gripping the leather strap of your bag before a firm grasp was on your waist.

“Wait,” whispered Nikolai, tugging you back. He cast a glance at the guard, letting him know that they would need a moment. “I can’t let you leave— not like this.”

You held your gaze to the floor. Gently, he tilted your head back up with his thumb and forefinger. “Not now, not when you can barely look at me,” he continued. You held his stare as his hand shifted tentatively towards your jaw. “Not when I can’t be sure you won't come back to me, Milaya.”

You sniffled softly at the nickname, moving your own hand to his face and pausing to tuck away a loose golden curl.

“Please come back to me,” he said softly as if he were sharing a secret. There was an unspoken apology apparent in his reddening eyes while the seconds ticked by.

“Of course,” you murmured back, tipping his head down as you pecked his brow, then his cheek. “Nikolai, there’s not a thing in this world that could keep me away from you.”

You kissed him soundly, your hand running across the expanse of his jaw as he leaned into the tender forgiveness settled in your palm. When you broke apart, Nikolai took your hand from his face. He kissed your palm and walked you to your carriage. The King watched with concerned eyes as you took your seat.

Nikolai kissed your hand once more from his place on the ground and looked up at you. “Swear you’ll write,” he said. “Or I’ll crash the proceedings.”

You barked a hearty laugh, squeezing his hand as he tried to let you go. “I will,” you promised. “And I’ll see you when I come back.”

It was another moment before you let go of his hand. His palm hit the carriage door bearing the Lantsov crest. You watched as the carriage travelled further and further away, Nikolai’s frame disappearing into the horizon.

“I promise,” you whispered.

•

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backtoyuta · 3 years

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NCT 127: How they would be as coworkers in a shitty office

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❁ [Taeil] King of the welcome wagon; If it was your first day working in a small dinky business, Taeil will make it his sole responsibility to make the environment as inviting as possible. After all, the business wasn't some glamorous well known company, nor was it an exciting new start up, so Taeil made it his mission to paint the office as pretty as he could before you could decide if the job was too boring to keep. If you ask any of his co-workers they'll tell you nobody put him in charge of welcoming the newbie, but it seemed everybody but you noticed him do a double take at the receptionist's desk where you waited to be shown around. Soft moments included him making you a coffee every time he left to make his own, making a point of clearing a little space in the communal fridge for your lunch and hanging around while trying to maintain a respectful distance in case you had any queries so he could be the first to answer them. If you were low-key dreading your first day, you kinda forget about the nerves quickly because of his kindness and tells you cheerfully "See, we don't bite." Will make sure you have everything you need, down to the last sticky note and ball point pen, and smiles bashfully at you when you go to thank him.

❁ [Johnny] cheesy office romance; It was quite impressive really, the fact that Johnny managed to unlock every single office romance cliche you could think of and he wasn't subtle about it either. Though there was no policy really about dating co-workers, the whole situation was a tiny bit embarrassing given the blatant flirting from the titan walking around in his shirt and tie, always throwing devilish smiles from over the photocopier. Even if his desk was miles away from yours, there would always be an excuse to stroll by your work space to drop off some paperwork personally, or remind you of the meeting happening in the afternoon despite the email reminder going around. Johnny really put his bladder through it since he now took too frequent trips to the water cooler that was so conveniently placed next to your desk. The whole office gagged when you finally agreed to go for drinks after work. The hours were spent buying each other pints and admiring him with his tie loosened and shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing the delicate tattoos that decorated the skin there before calling it a night and letting him kiss you on your porch after walking you home. You kind of became the height of office gossip, which Johnny thrived in, but you couldn't really be mad when you were dating that tall glass of water after all.

❁ [Taeyong] The receptionist with first aid training; Stapling your finger was embarrassing enough, imagine the heat flooding your cheeks when the receptionist appears at your desk clutching the first aid kit, big kind eyes glancing at your finger empathetically. Taeyong was the first face you saw when you walked through the door, that alone making a wonderful first impression, also he was a very diligent worker. He never made a fuss when you asked him to fax something, make a memo or photocopy, and when you had to ring the office because you left your keycard and needed to be let in, he laughed that off with you too while assuring that it happened all the time. On the blasted day you aimed the stapler at your paper but instead caught your finger, Taeyong was the first to perk from behind his desk at your exclamation of "Ow!" and was by your side before you knew it. He apologised profusely at the sting of an anti-bacterial wipe and wrapped your finger gingerly in a plaster, his chair scooted towards you and your knees bumping occasionally. You were pretty sure every female in the office was crushing on him and you were one of many, but you couldn't help the blush when you received a private IM chat asking if you wanted to get coffee after work: "Date? :)" he wrote at the end of the message. You wasted no time typing on your computer a reply, sneaking a glance at his face from behind the desk and exchanging a smile before looking busy once again.

❁ [Yuta] The guy that lowkey terrified you; Yuta was the co-worker that, whether it was on purpose or not, pushed you away with sheer intimidation and sinfully good looks. When you first encountered him in the office you were sure he was a model undercover, and when that was debunked you were sure he must have had a much higher level and higher paying job than you. His presence read corporate, the cologne you sometimes caught a whiff of smelt expensive and you could easily picture him in a big leather chair in a tall glass building barking orders at people. What surprised you was behind the intimidating aura, lay the humility of any of your other co-workers. All it took was one painfully awkward conversation in the break room and with the power of pointless small talk you learnt that his weekend plans didn't involve a modelling side hustle like you expected, but rather being a homebody, watching animated movies and cooking dinner for one instead. When you did finally enter an established relationship with him, expect impulsive moments like being tugged into the copier room so he can press his lips to yours and run his hands through your hair, or intense staring contests when other male co-workers demanded your attention. Overall, he was terrifying, but his redeemable qualities involved making dates after work so you had something to look forward to, buying your favourite cake during office parties and volunteering to do overtime with you so you would always be entertained.

❁ [Doyoung] The manager that scares you shitless; For the position of local branch manager, Doyoung exuded way more power and intimidation than what was probably warranted. Maybe that was why he managed to get the branch performing so well, everybody dreaded being called into his office for "friendly chitchat" after making a small mistake. When you first arrived, you steered as clear from him as possible, only venturing near his office when absolutely needed. What you didn't see was the way he would watch you intently in your little office nook, always appreciating how hard you worked and how cute you looked in your office get-up. You often squirmed at the amount of eye-contact he gave you when he ran meetings and you would glance around to see if anyone else was experiencing the same thing. Nope, just you. When he did call you into his office that one time you were quaking in your shoes. You had already convinced yourself you were fired before you had even reached his office door, but the feeling was replaced soon enough with confusion when he did eventually speak to you. "I just wanted to ask... would you be interested in.... this corporate training program?" He rushed. My god, your boss was just as awkward as the next bumbling guy. It would be a while before he asked you on an official date, dinner for two, also quite a bit of paperwork to fill out with HR, but you would come to realise his icy exterior wasn't all that icy when he wasn't in work-mode.

❁ [Jaehyun] The temp that never left; Jaehyun was fresh from university, now venturing into the world of work but still had the boyish aura that set him apart from the rest of the men in the office. From the way he spoke to you over lunch in the break room you could tell he was full of ambition, but also didn't seem to be in any rush to leave this job any time soon. Jaehyun was the guy who you initially tried not to get too close to, since you were under the impression that he would be leaving after completing the temporary placement and when he left it would hurt like a bitch. However, you could have sworn his placement ended like a month ago, but eventually you learnt that he somehow managed to talk himself into a full-time position. "Oh that, yeah, I guess I just realised I had more reasons to stay." He shrugged as casually as he could when you asked about it. You couldn't deny that you were happy, not when you saw his smiling face in the conference room saving you a seat, hearing his outrageous stories from uni and always being the two to get a little too drunk at corporate parties and being sent home in a taxi of shame. Romance blossomed when you remembered that one drunken kiss in the backseat and you both bonded when your boss gave you the cold shoulder after arriving to work a little more than dishevelled and with a hangover.

❁ [Jungwoo] Desk buddy; Honestly, who could hate their job when they had a sweet Jungwoo sitting at the desk adjacent to theirs. You kinda scored when your boss appointed you this specific desk because Jungwoo took to you almost embarrassingly quick. It made your heart swell looking at all the little knick knacks on his desk; toys to fiddle with and colourful sticky notes, this was just one part of his persona. You were a little shocked when he offered you a cigarette during the lunch break, kind of exposing a duality you didn't know existed, but nobody could be that wholesome of a person. Monday to Friday 9-5 was filled with Jungwoo ping-ponging back and forth between these traits, any off handed comments he would mutter to you when the boss was giving an announcement or the conversations you would overhear him having with a friend over the phone would remind you he wasn't a total puppy of a human being. However, the way he always offered to share a snack and would flick paper and notes at you playfully was also very much him being himself. You always fluttered a little at the smirk he would throw your way when your manager was talking something boring or ridiculous, it seemed those smirks were only reserved for you. It didn't take long before he became your best friend in the office, if he wasn't in that day you were in the right mind to just call it quits yourself (and vice versa), he was the guy that made the long hours that much more bearable.

❁ [Mark] The bumbling intern; When it came to responsibilities in the work place, you tried to delegate as little of that as possible to Mark the intern. It was cute really, the guy put in 110% effort into his tasks and yet when it came to coffee orders, photocopying or sending out a memo, something nearly always went wrong. You couldn't help but admire his enthusiasm, also that he made an effort to know everybody in the office, including the cleaners. Mark was one of the first people to greet you when you joined, waving around a little notebook of Starbucks orders and a company card to splurge, urging you to write down whatever you wanted. A simple task right? Rookie mistake. Bless him, you would never tell him how his mistake of getting full dairy rather than the soy you requested led to a night on and off the toilet, but that just scratched the surface of his office blunders. Somehow, he never cost the company too much, but there was a reason why the poor boy never got promoted beyond intern. He wasn't deterred though, he'd lean up against your desk while you made idle chit chat and he'd tell you that he liked his job and he didn't aspire to be the best in this business. Where he really proved himself was during company functions, you'll never forget during the annual employee bbq when he asked you your favourite song so he could sing it melodically accompanied skilfully with a guitar. Mark's contributions to the work place were always a little unpredictable, but he kept things interesting and people, including you, genuinely enjoyed having him around.

❁ [Haechan] Probably the reason you get fired; Even in the workplace, Haechan can't deny himself a bit of mischief. He made a stellar first impression by rocking up half an hour late, sending your boss a half arsed apology and plonking down at the desk across the room from yours. To be honest, he kind of annoyed you at first, his attitude came off immature and you didn't appreciate how distracting he was when you had work to do. However, things started to change at some point. Haechan was the guy that convinced you to ditch the office party and sit on the rooftop with him to watch the city lights, the guy that sent out ridiculous memos just to catch you smile and the guy eventually became the reason for you own demise after he started picking you up for breakfast most mornings. When the manager called you in his office after being late the third time in a row, you ducked your head and mumbled something about traffic while hiding a croissant wrapper in your pocket, Haechan covered a laugh with a cough and apologised on behalf of both of you. When you asked him about why he never seemed to give a shit about anything, you learnt that it was because he had a taste for adventure; "Don't tell me you wanna stay and work here forever? Don't you wanna do something more... exciting with your life?" He asked you incredulously, like the answer was obvious. He kinda got you, no, you didn't want to work in a dingy office for the rest of you life. To be honest, when he painted a picture of moving to a big city, or taking a road trip, or just fucking off to the suburbs you didn't hate the sound of that either. When you were both sat there in your manager's office, signing off on a severance package, you weren't even mad. You didn't have time to be, Haechan was already clasping your hand and leading you to his car and laughing about finally being free, tugging his tie from around his neck whilst driving no where in particular- the start of an adventure.

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ephemerlskies · 4 years

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constant craving 04 (final) | jjk

⇢ pairing: jungkook x reader

⇢ genre: “drabble” series, best friends to lovers au, slight angst, FLUFF, bestfriend!au, unrequited love, smarter idiots but still idiots all the same

⇢ word count: 6.8k

⇢ warnings: explicit language, mentions of alcohol, excessive drinking (drink responsibly), pining, jungkook is an overdramatic baby, a surplus of feelings (i am disgusted with myself), one (1) fire hazard

⇢ summary: with the Friendiversary approaching quickly, both you and Jungkook have an array of trials to navigate through. and, as Seokjin gets caught in the crossfires, you must finally make a decision that will define how the rest of your life will unfold.

♪ playlist: constant craving - k.d. lang, bad religion - frank ocean, misunderstood - lucky daye, neu roses - daniel caesar ♪

╰ series index: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 (final)

a/n: wow.... so bitches really call this a drabble series then write a 6 thousand word finale... its me im bitches... anywho, i really love the way this played out!! jungkook had to hit the bottom to start rising to the top and it shows. also, the ending is like....... hehe well ill just let you all see for yourselves. enjoy my lovely readers! this wrapped up such a heartfelt series that is so dear to my heart. thank you all for the support for this! and i might whip up a few drabbles simply because i think this relationship is really cute hehe ok... happy reading! <3

part four: i love you too

Carrying that music box in his pocket felt like a well-deserved and all too grim reminder of what went down a few days ago. Sitting drunk yet again, though one would best describe Jungkook’s posture as more of a sloven pile of flesh and bones withering away on a bar stool, he searched for the wallet which was in one of his four pockets.

He reached for the wrong one. Instead of the faux leather skimming his skin, it was a solid wood corner pricking the pad of his index finger. It stung more than it should have. Perhaps he'd gotten a splinter, or the top layer of his skin was simply too raw from all the wear and tear of your fight. Jungkook wasn’t one to jump at such negligible shocks, but it sank him back into that night. It wasn't the wooden corner at all.

You loved him. You still love him.

That's what you said. That's what nearly put him on the floor instead of in his chair, and what had been preying on his mind as if he were no different than a helpless animal drowning his regrets in whiskey. And he knew he should have said it back.

Jungkook theorized ways to defy the cruel restraints of time, and if the universe would be so kind as to allow him to travel back to that day in middle school when he happened upon a scared, flush-faced student running so fast and panicked that they bumped into each other, just to be the one who said 'I love you' first. Or those genies and shooting stars and blessed fountains that supposedly granted wishes; he would pay no hesitation to plead with whatever deity would listen and permit his most prioritized desire.

The retrospective bargaining remained a ghost haunting just about every waking moment of his life. Though, he had not been quite sure if said ghost was some cosmic sent presence or simply his own guilt. If regret took on physical ramifications, then Jungkook would have been convinced that was why he felt as if his legs wouldn't have been able to carry him even if he tried.

If I could just go back to that night with the knowledge I know now, I would have hauled my ass to your house instead of that club and told you that my choice was made for me the moment I met you. Every other person I ended up with these past twelve years was simply a buffer for loving you. I had to prepare myself, because loving you was something entirely too tremendous for a boy still grappling with his own faulty speech pattern to assume.

I wish you knew that. I wish I didn’t stand there like an idiot and let you leave, thinking me some hero for finally letting this new guy Seokjin take the place I had always imagined being in. I wish I had just said that I love you.

I love you.

I love you, ___.

Jungkook’s vision resembled that of a smudged lens. However, there were no fingerprints on his eyes. The world had turned blurry and colorless, the latter he knew was not due to the sixth order of whiskey he let soak into his heart’s open wound.

A life of color was one of the many things that left when you did.

He didn’t know it then, but Jungkook was being fervently dramatic since it had not been more than seventy-two hours the last time he spoke to you. Thought to him, it was akin to being just short of death and taking another breath would have been an expense he wasn’t sufficiently funded to pay.

Whatever happened in the interim of him paying his tab and walking out onto the sidewalk must have landed somewhere in the blacked out stretches of his inebriated memory, since he was now staring at your contact gleaming on his phone bearing the semblance of one guardian angel.

It was so ingrained into his routine. Opening the app with the phone icon, clicking the ‘recent’ tab, and finding your name no further than three contacts down the list because he called you as if he had important things to tell you, though normally it was just to hear your voice or to tell you about what he had for lunch. And it nestled into his muscle memory as natural as it was for him to breathe or blink. Even when alcohol debilitated his driving, walking, and thinking, his body was drawn to seek a haven such as yourself. And he nearly pressed ‘call’.

Before the comfort of your voice could ring through to his phone, reality descended upon that reflex. Right now, you were probably with Seokjin, attending some pretentious art gallery for one of his colleagues.

It was just Jungkook and the night sky and the moon that he hoped you were gazing at too; it would be the only connection to you as of now. The moon, a parcel for the most longing gazes.

There are stories where the two protagonists get it right. This was not that story. That reality stung more than the residual burn of whiskey clinging along his throat.

Both you and Jungkook made every wrong decision possible. From the moment you subjected yourself to exploiting the veneer of being a ‘good friend’ to disguise any true feelings that might have taken light, to the moment Jungkook was presented with all the excruciatingly obvious signs that you were in love with him, but was simply too inept to notice, to the both of you neglecting any urge threatening the bounds of platonic. Any path that would have steered to a destination where you two would get that happy ending was conveniently untaken.

And you had a long journey riddled with heartbreak after heartbreak to prove it.

He traded his phone with that wooden music box, scuffing the soles of his shoe as he walked back home, hoping he’d be able to give the gift to you on your Friendiversary.

-----

Your pain was still raw. In this way, you had not considered, or rather avoided the idea of tending to such delicate wounds. The days leading up to the infamous anniversary had been spent hoping you would organically heal enough to allow the presence of Jungkook while denying another reopening in your wound.

You had been juggling a not so thrilling number of conflicts the three days preceding that self-acclaimed national holiday.

One, Seokjin and his bottomless supply of invitations that you felt too obligated to refuse. He had such a life packed with plans which is more than you could have said for Jungkook. He, most likely, busied himself with promoting ranks in some obscenely violent video game. Two, a mutual friend of yours had told you Seokjin was fixing to make your relationship official this coming Friday, and you didn’t want to admit the lackluster reaction upon hearing the news was equivalent to receiving a C on a test. It wasn't the worst grade to receive, but you knew there would always be something better than adequacy. Not satisfying enough nor disappointing enough to be dealt with without bending a few expectations. And three, all you really wanted, the only agent of excitability (both good and bad) that diluted the festering numbness in your heart just a tad more, was thinking about seeing Jungkook on your Friendiversary.

But with that excitement, was its equally worrying constituent: whether or not you would be able see Jungkook that day without cracking under pressure.

Things weren’t exactly attuned between the two of you. Your emotional stature had never been more unsynchronized and offkey with Jungkook’s, so, forcing a celebratory movie or dinner would be no different than adding cornstarch to the already thick tension.

“___? Are you listening?” Everything Seokjin had just been droning on about filtered in and out without a single word being absorbed, and you could have pretended this wasn't the case but stress had apprehended caring enough to lie.

“Sorry… No, I wasn't. I’m just stressed is all.” Since that was only a half lie, self-admonition had not yet taken permanent residency whenever you would look at Seokjin’s eyes offering nothing but genuine tact.

“Oh, sorry to hear! Are you okay? Anything you wanna talk about?” That, and the soft press of his hand over yours had swallowed you into a perpetual, guilty cycle of comparing two incomparable people.

Seokjin was always like this. Serving a gentle smile and honest ears as a vessel of calmness during whatever calamity you were grappling. It was safe knowing if you fell, you’d have a comfortable cushion to soften the impact. He was mindful with his words and had the intelligence to articulate them with impressive eloquence. You were more likely to see pigs fly than to see him stutter. He had a diverse group of friends and walked a steady path to a financially secure life. And you started to wonder what else one would need in a partner? Any sensible person would do much more than you had to snag someone like Seokjin, as handsome as he was kind and respectful. He seemed to have everything Jungkook lacked, including mutual feelings for you.

It would have been entirely too easy to pick him, as if there was a ‘Seokjin’ button and a ‘Jungkook’ button and you could press Seokjin’s on a whim. If choosing him would have meant miraculous nullification of all your very real and very unremitting feelings for that idiot you called your best friend, then you would have done it in a heartbeat.

There wasn't a 'Seokjin' button or a 'Jungkook' button, nor was there a button that would wondrously redistribute your feelings towards Seokjin.

And then there was Jungkook. Always in the back of your mind when he wasn't tenanting the focus of it.

He was never predictable in the ways that mattered. It was just as difficult figuring out his next move as figuring out whether this trait was exciting or exhausting.

Though, this had not been to say you didn’t know him well; in fact, all his habits and preferences and pet peeves could be bound into a book, written by you, and it would be so accurate anyone who read it would think it was an autobiography. He knew you to the same caliber. Where Seokjin would ask what was wrong, Jungkook wouldn’t need to. He already learned your behavior to know to say something along the lines of ‘tell me what’s wrong when you're ready, we can watch your favorite movie or swing by that Chinese place with those great fried dumplings in the meantime’. And on more favorable occasions, he'd say nothing and simply wrap you in his arms and let his shirt become a delta for your tears.

To anyone else, that might sound entirely too frank and perhaps a bit dismissive to be comforting, but to you it was the exact cure for each affliction. To never need explanations that would validate your feelings because Jungkook saw to that right when he took notice; to never manufacture fake smiles through failed attempts at cheering you up since, of course, he knew exactly what to do to vegetate joy in your heart and earn a smile from years and years —and years— of practice. It had almost driven you mad, thinking about how he knew from a shift in your brow what you were feeling and yet, somehow, never realized how deeply in love you were.

All the while, the moment you were convinced you had been versed fluently in his every move, he would pawn another blindsight that would leave you breathless and amazed all the same. Jungkook always had concealed tricks up his sleeve, and life was anything but repetitive with him. You would more often than not find yourself struggling to relearn language and existing itself just to keep up with him. How exactly he managed to wield such diametric facets of being was an enigma beyond the reasoning of this universe.To feel like home, somewhere you belonged outside of your own body, and a daring voyage into a completely new world all at once must have meant he was some sort of Godsend. Only angels could have sculpted a soul so magnetizing, you assumed.

Seokjin was an umbrella, shielding you on some arcane journey under an unforgiving rainfall. Your shoes kept dry and your hair intact.

And if he was the umbrella, then Jungkook was the rain. Falling everywhere and all at once, so that you couldn't help but let yourself be saturated in his entire, vibrant being. And who’s to say letting such a water fall against your skin was a bad thing? Sometimes rain is cleaning, gentle even. They bear fruits as beautiful as rainbows that guide you to an unnamed treasure.

Your treasure, however, had a name.

Jungkook calling.

"___? Hello? You in there?" Seokjin waved his hand in front of your face mostly in a jesting manner, but part of him felt like your eyes were blinded by something held in your heart. If he hadn’t pulled you back into reality, you might have been lost forever.

“I'm just…” Your attention had abandoned this conversation the second his name gave light to your screen. “Sorry, um…”

“It's okay, you can take the call. I’ll be in the kitchen making us some coffee.”

If you were to thank him profusely, it would have been far too obvious how much you missed seeing his name among your notifications, and most likely expose how often you spent thinking of Jungkook while you were supposed to be enthralled with Seokjin. So, you just nodded and answered the phone.

Nodding and answering, as though that didn't feel like taking a breath of clean air after hours of swimming through muddied waters.

“Hello? ___?”

“Jungkook.” It took you longer than usual to form a response and what was assembled had been a half-baked utterance just to let him know you were on the other side of the phone, hearing his voice and feeling a surge of energy course through your veins like he was some delicious narcotic filling life into you after only a week without him.

“___.” Jungkook was in his own debt of words as well. The exchange halted for a few seconds, a jaded breathing cutting the cracked static.

“Look-”

“Hey so-”

Any hope that you had finally caught up to the same page as Jungkook was lost. Now, it seemed you two were reading entirely different books.

“You go.” You said after another dreadful pause. He was the one who called, so he should be the one carrying the burden of navigating through this deafening tension.

“Well, I- uh… I… Well, you see I was just, um, wondering…” Jungkook’s heart must have shut off. That would explain why even the most rudimentary of words felt closer to a foreign language. Or, why he was making conscious efforts to counteract the threat of his nearly dormant lisp.

His brain was drained dry of any blood, his inner mechanisms were shutting down. Even without the alcoholic filter catching words and common sense in its web, Jungkook felt himself fall into an overactive state of dumbfoundedness. Sobriety only a cataract for his emotional override.

“Our friendiversary?”

“I’m sorry, I did not understand literally anything you just said.”

“Me neither.”

The charming and familiar laugh that spilled through the speaker reminded you that Jungkook was in fact a real person. Not some figmented embodiment of every lost and unrequited and tortuous feeling you had been suppressing for twelve years. Jungkook was real, his laugh and everything else you loved about him were all so incredibly real. And more importantly, the pure joy you felt was real; a permanent serialization of his. Your smiles and his smiles had always surfaced in tandem.

Now, you both were laughing. Neither were warranted by his messy attempt at forming a coherent sentence. The weight of discomfort shedding from your shoulders had been partnered with a slew of relieved chuckles.

“Anyway, um. I- I still wanna see you on our Friendiversary. Or, at least give you your gift.” Admitting that was terrifying but the thought of breaking the consecutive streak of eleven years simply because he was too much of a coward to admit he wanted to see you dizzied him. However, the thought of spending your friendiversary alone terrified him beyond comprehension. So, he thought not about that as a possibility; he carved an opening to his heart in hope you wouldn’t send sharp thorns of rejection into it.

“Yeah, I, uh. I still wanna see you too. I mean, it is a national holiday. We gotta have holiday spirit, right?” You were forcing playful banter, it felt like lemon juice scouring cuts on your tongue, but you were so desperate to make things between you two feel normal.

“You’re right! So, um… You can come over tomorrow night. I’ll set up a surprise or whatever.” He seemed to have fallen back into stride with pre-confession Jungkook. Trying to keep up with him now would just exhaust you of all your means, so you chose to save the rest for tomorrow night. Even if that meant watching him walk away to some unforeseeable finish line; his back, the last part of him you’d see until you could finally collect your broken pieces and start walking as well.

“Sounds good! I’ll, um, see you then.”

“See you, ___.”

You had no idea, and how could you, that Jungkook was now wiping small clusters of wetness from the bed of his eyelids. Why he thought you, the one person that remained a constant in his life, would say no to him over one fight (of many) made for quite the spill of tears. But if you did know, you would have told him you felt like crying too.

"Hey! How did everything go?" You were so immersed in your virtual conversation with Jungkook you nearly forgot the person you were presently with. The train of guilt wouldn't stop for your pathetic attempts at disembarking.

"Oh! Thanks for the coffee." You sipped, and it had just been a stall to blink away the tears that were straying beyond your will of concealment. "It went good. We're still celebrating our Friendiversary."

"Friendiversary?" Seokjin's light chuckle veiled his tense concern.

"Yeah... Uh, it's just this thing we do to celebrate our friendship. The day we met."

"Oh... that's..." His eyes were scaling the rim of his mug.

"That's what, Seokjin?" You were stern, knowing well enough it was born of far more than platonic defensiveness. And you had no right to be the one prosecuting him since you clearly had more to hide than meets the eye.

"I mean, it's just interesting how dedicated you are to an anniversary with a friend." Seokjin wielded that soft-spoken voice which made it difficult to be anything but patient with him. And from the tone of it, he seemed to have no ill intentions with that statement, though it had not been an entirely innocent observation. To you, however, it felt like he might as well have set you on fire.

"Interesting? What is that supposed to even mean? I mean, we've been friends for twelve years. I- I don't know why people are always so judgmental." Your arms crossed over your chest, hoping he would take notice how much his comment slighted you. If asked, you would have insisted you would have been this worked up over any of your friends. Though you knew well enough this was untrue, and it made you feel even worse acting as though Seokjin was the one at fault here.

"I'm sorry. I'm not judging you, really. I just... I just have never heard of two friends doing something like that so religiously."

You sighed out all your anger, knowing the way you snapped at him was merely misdirected frustration. "No, I'm sorry. I know it's kinda weird."

"Look, I get it. You guys are close. But, ___, you talk about him so much that half, no, over half of your stories include him. We've been dating for, what, barely a week now, and I know more about this Jungkook guy than I know about you, and I haven't even met him."

Lips parted, ready to dispatch another slew of defenses to refute all the things he said. It was more disappointing than it was shocking to find nothing but a long sigh emerging. Because he was right. Jungkook has been interwoven so thoroughly in your last twelve years that if you only told the stories without him in it, then it would be the least accurate and nondescript retelling of your life. Fragments of an unfinished novel. It would miss the most crucial pieces, entire chapters, of your story.

You would have been presenting a shell of you, hollow and one dimensional. All the inner parts of you, the lungs and veins and tissue that gave you life and made you whole belonged solely with Jungkook.

That's why you sat there, blank faced, foolishly waiting for the words that wouldn't come to your aid because you had no place to contend with him.

"Seokjin... I'm with you..." It's all that would come up your throat, and it felt like acid. You were sure it burned his ears when he heard them more than it had your throat.

It hadn’t even been partially true. Physically you were with him, but in your head you were sitting on your couch with Jungkook, consuming a concerning amount of junk food while chatting through a movie used more as background noise than entertainment.

"Okay. Does that mean you don't have feelings for him?"

"Well..."

"Can you confidently say you could replace all the time you spend with him with time you would spend with me?" Seokjin must have noticed your returning tears because he loosened his verbal grip from your throat. To you, it sounded like he was pacifying you for some horrible sin, to anyone else it sounded as though he was simply trying to dredge up feelings that would disrupt the chance of a relationship between you and him. "___, I like you. I really do, but in all honesty, I'm looking for something serious. I think we would be great together, but only if you don't have any feelings left for him."

"Seokjin..." You regretted looking at him.

Sweetness was strewn in his eyes and gentle smile. Seokjin was softer than cotton, which made the real threat, the rough sandpaper wearing away skin and bones, you. It made it all the more painful to know you had been keeping everything you felt for Jungkook hidden from Seokjin. Though, if one would have presented an objective point of view, your feelings were far from secretive. And the most brutal honesty was that you knew feelings for Seokjin were never in your attainability. Not the way they always had been for Jungkook.

He was the wrong person who crossed paths with you at the right moment. A mere convenience. And you knew he deserved much more than what you had to offer.

"And maybe I'm being an idiot, but I like you too much to give you some ultimatum which would put you in such an unfair position. So, I'll let you think this over." His compassion felt more like a sharp blow to your chest. “No pressure.”

If he hadn’t smiled like he did, then you would have broken up with him right then and there. It was not possible to rip away such tender hope away from a smile so sweet.

"I'm sorry." You meant the remorse behind those words and it still hadn’t amounted to a proper consolation. "I'm sorry. I guess... I guess I'll go... Seokjin?”

“Yes?” He replied quickly, and you knew only a pace that rapid was one brought on by a sliver of faith that you might have made your decision right then.

“You’re a really great person. You deserve the world.”

Unfortunately, you couldn’t give him what he wanted. And as bitter and unkind as that might have felt at the moment, it was the only bit of truth and relent you could have offered him.

-----

In your bed, sleep became somewhat of an abstract desire. You knew your rest was deprived from you when the digital clock on your bedside told you it was six hours past the time you'd normally fall asleep. It was because you really did have a choice to make now.

To choose Seokjin, and know you'd collapse in the safety of his reciprocated affection, though haunted by how you would never feel the fullest extent of content. And you would live with that until resentment and distance wedged irreversible damage in your relationship.

Or, to choose Jungkook, which would catapult you into a depth so dark and tenuous that you would have no idea whether you'd meet gentle snow or hard, deadly concrete when you landed. And maybe you'd never land at all; maybe you would be caught in a state of falling down and down forever, until your beating heart eventually stilled.

Which one was worth it? Which were you willing to risk? These were the questions that kept you awake.

The hours leading to your undisclosed celebration events with Jungkook ceased being actual points of your existence and merely obstructions that you had to plow through in order to arrive at some conclusive moment. Something that might give you an answer to all your questions. Something that might have released you from devotedly checking your phone for a Jungkook patented text or call.

You were turning into a half-being. Someone who could only inhale a full breath, laugh an intentional laugh, and sleep a soundless sleep when their other half was there.

If you thought being in love with Jungkook for your entire friendship was pathetic, then you couldn’t fathom what you had become now.

Standing in front of his door, the same one you lugged him to that night he was too drunk to balance on his feet, when you willingly carried all the weight he couldn’t, when your lips became acquainted and comfortable with his within half a beat, you felt as if this chunk of wood was mocking you. A partition barricading you from Jungkook. Your Jungkook. The man you always felt you were on the outskirts of, with only a window to peer into his unreadable mind. And that was enough for you ―until now.

Now you were going to knock on that door with your hand, make him open it for you, and walk into his home. You would be the one to step foot inside of the very structure that only solicited closed doors and immovable walls and fogged windows. And you would leave behind your timidity, every feeling and urge that left you with disappointing compromises for the sake of maintaining this friendship.

You would be selfish, and he would finally feel a mere glimpse of what you have always felt for the best and worst of your life.

Even when he opened the door, arming a smile that actively disarmed you, this home of his was yours to conquer. This was your time to act for you alone, despite how many smiles he sent your way. You had not any weapons or shields or an infantry for a clutch. You just had your heart and all the love it carried.

“Hey! ___, you look… You look great.” There was no real incentive for him to censor how he truly thought you looked. Immeasurably beautiful. It was simply his own nerves impeding on the feelings that were too intense to express without it being followed by an entire soliloquy of I love you’s.

“Thanks... You too...” You could almost feel the words brimming in your and Jungkook’s mouth, carrying such raw emotions and longing intentions.

"I'm really glad that- Jungkook..." Walking into his house punctuated what you were about to say.

His living room was strewn with enough candles to steal the last of your words and to consider his house a fire hazard. That didn't negate this lovely sea of lights to be anything but romantic and thoughtful. A bit cluttered, and not at all perfect, but it must have taken Jungkook hours to set up every wax column. The thoughtfulness of this gesture would have astonished you had it not been for the consistency of Jungkook snatching your breath and words away whenever he tried. It was antithetical, the way you expected his surprises. Yet, always surprised all the same.

Unpredictable, completely surrounding you just like the rain.

"I had to turn off my fire detector but... Worth it." Jungkook considered the number of mishaps that could have dampened any chance of this being romantic.

A candle could tip over and set his entire place ablaze, the wax could leak onto his carpet and tabletops, damaging his furniture and savings for replacements, you and he could have suffocated from all the fumes steaming from the wick. But if that look on your face didn't feel like the only bit of revival to keep his heart's steady beating, if your eyes didn’t look as though it was the only set of eyes that shed beauty into this world then he wouldn't have used up exactly three lighters to pull this stunt. But it did, and he felt warmth and color return to every inch of his body.

He would have used hundreds of lighters to ignite thousands of candles if that meant an ounce of happiness from you. He wanted to say that, but he knew the candles said it for him.

The spectacle almost made you forget why you were here in the first place. It almost made you forget the resolve you managed to gather before entering. And then he said your name.

"___."

The letters flowing from his lips as if they could only be pronounced by his tongue. It sounded so good. So good, that if anyone else were to say it then it wouldn't have been your name at all. It would have sounded wrong, sullied. And it wasn't supplied by neat articulation, this new belonging of your name in his mouth. The need for him to sculpt your name into this world was more than that. "I will never forgive myself if I don't get this out while I still can."

"Jungkook, what is all this?" You didn't know why you felt a collection of tears brimming along your eyes, but you didn't care to figure it out. Perhaps you felt an influx of feelings, an abundance too heavy for your body to seal within the confines of your emotional seams, so they overflowed in the form of tears. This certainly had not been the first time you cried over Jungkook, but you had never cried over him like this.

"___, I love you!" Jungkook said loudly. It was just you and him who could hear, but it felt as though he wanted the entire world to know.

"What? I- You- What?" Your lack of verbal poise was indicative of your love for him once again taking the reins of your mind and heart. Words were a luxury you couldn't afford as of now. You just had to feel everything you were feeling until the rainstorm settled. The hope that he would spare you some remnants of fluency was far along, and you weren't too sure if what Jungkook was about to say would be gentle enough to leave you with any words at all.

"I love you. I don't know why I didn't know it sooner. Or maybe, I- Maybe I did know?" Jungkook sighed at his own ineloquence. "I'm stupid! That's it. That's my only excuse. I'm so stupid. The way I felt about you, the way I still feel about you, is something I thought all best friends had. I thought everyone felt like the moments they weren't spending with their best friends just felt like filler moments. Like, every day I spent without you was just a span of time I had to wait out until I see you again. Like every damn moment of my life is spent waiting for you. And if I don't end up with you then... then I'll never stop waiting."

"Jungkook, I-" He prevailed in surprising you, taking words and breath and thoughts all at once.

"And, I'm that stupid! I really thought all best friends had those moments when they stare at you, and- and-" Now, you weren't the only one with wet eyes and cheeks. "And I just feel like looking at you and being with you just makes me better. It makes me a better person, or something, and it makes me feel like... Like I'll never get hurt again. And even if I do get hurt, I know it's you I want to be there. I know that whenever something bad happens to you, or when you feel like crying or when you're happy or angry or anything that I want to be the one who gets to be by your side. When I look at you, all I want is to love you. To love all your pain away."

"You really mean that?"

"Yes! God, I love you." You didn't notice how it happened, but Jungkook's arms became a shield around you. Inside his arms you were indestructible. Your hands pressed against his cheeks, memorizing the plush, smooth skin. The world could hurl all the fire and ice it had, but it wouldn’t matter. "___, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry it took me so long to figure it out. I'm sorry that in that period, I hurt you. Please, forgive me. I love you, and I want to be with you."

"Of course, I forgive you. I... I can't believe this." Hearing everything you always wanted from him was drastically different when it was actually unfolding. It was a million times more than any hope or dream you used as a salve for your longing. It was everything.

"Maybe it took so long because I was afraid. Because the idea of loving you was something I wasn't ready for. Even though I did love you, God, who was I to take on something as fragile and crucial as loving you. I know I probably would have messed it up. And, fuck, maybe I'm messing it up right now. But I just needed it to be perfect. I needed loving you to be perfect because I don't want to give you anything less than that."

"You were always enough for me, Jungkook. More than enough. You were and are everything to me" His arms that pressed you further into him expressed how happy that made him.

"But I'm not perfect yet. I might mess up... A lot. No, I'll definitely mess up. I don't know if I can offer you perfect yet. But I do know that through everything I have never stopped loving you and I will never stop loving you."

"Jungkook... I don't know what to say." Your thumb grazed a falling tear from his face. Jungkook had not cried often in front of you; and you could tally up the amount of times he had on your fingers alone. But when he did, it was still as beautiful as when he was smiling or laughing or even scowling.

"You could say you love me back." You did. You loved him, his smile that was currently on a mission to melt your heart, his arms that carried both the good and bad parts of you, his wit that you always relished in. All the reasons to love him were an endless flowing river. If you were lucky enough, you would catch a glimpse of each beautiful current and be able to give name to the gravity that pulled you into him.

"I love you too, you idiot." The last word caught in your throat because your lips were being kissed instead.

His lips. Warm and exciting, allotting your being with an infinite devotion of his. And it was more than you could have ever hoped for.

It felt like fire. Like a grove of candles encapsulating the origin of heat. You and Jungkook, holding each other so close, you could have become one. Hot and all-consuming of anything in its path. If one stood too close, they would suffer scorching embers that stray from the orange pyres. Seokjin, Irene, and any other unassuming casualty that had the misfortune of stepping between the two of you, harboring the burn scars to remind them of what fumed from their interference.

Every element concocting between you and him was that of a bright flame, cremating pure metals and wet woods and thick forests alike.

You were in his home. His arms and lips and hands told you it was your home as well. All that time spent wondering why you could never slip inside before was never because he didn't want to let you in. And the thing is, you never thought to knock until now. You sat outside in a silenced hope that he would voluntarily open that door for you. But unknown to you, Jungkook seemed to be waiting as well. Waiting in a large room with empty spaces where you belonged and where he kept reserved for your residence alone.

He waited even when he wasn't quite sure of who he was waiting for, or if you would ever actually spill your warmth into his home. He waited until his fingers turned to ice and his eyes fell to exhaustion, for you to walk inside.

"So, you're like my boyfriend now?" Your voice brushed against his smiling lips.

"Yeah, your boyfriend, or whatever."

"You know this means you have to top next year's friendiversary. And I mean, all these candles? That's gonna be tough." It could have counted as sensory overload, the feeling of his palms flush against your back, the tip of his nose grazing yours, the bright array of candles illuminating the room. But you were so, incredibly cold without him that this felt like solace to you.

"When have I ever disappointed you?" Jungkook regretted what came out of his mouth too late to stop himself from saying it.

"Oh, I couldn't count the amount of times on my fingers alone! What about that time you forgot our chains for the tires on our trip to the mountains? We almost died." His eye roll only encouraged you to continue. Maybe, if you were lucky, he'd equip that cute pout whenever he wanted his way. "Or what about when you swore you brought water, but three miles in on our hike you had that look on your face. You know I reminded you to get water and you swore you did. Or what about-"

"Okay! I get it! I fuck up, jeez." He scrunched his nose, his eyes waning into crescents courtesy of that grin of his. You counted the number of wrinkles along the bridge of his nose as you always did, though you had acquired an expertise in the geography of his face. Each line and angle and ridge were now and eternally yours to restudy and marvel. "Hey, uh, almost forgot."

He reached into his front left pocket. "I, um, kept carrying it around thinking I'd see you somewhere. Kinda dumb right?"

"Not dumb." You opened the tiny box, wound the handle until the spring felt tight and you could see the throngs prick the textured wheel, and it was one of those moments where you didn't see a gift in your hand. You simply saw his thought and sentiment manifested as a box of wood that sung a tune.

All the things Jungkook wanted to give you, the sun and the moon and the entire universe were not his to give. So for now, he settled for this music box and there would be a day when he would collect each celestial being and place them right into your hands. Maybe then, he would feel less of a debt for possessing such a love like yours.

"This is... I love it. Thank you, Jungkook." You smiled, but it was motivated in the hopes he would smile back. You thought he deserved that much, at least. And he did.

"Sooooo... Can I tell Seokjin that you're actually in love with me and that he sucks ba-"

"Um, absolutely not!" As always, his crudeness and slight inability to remain mature for too long only wedged you deeper in love.

So, terribly in love. Your state of constant craving for Jeon Jungkook had been left barren. That desolate, solitary province was no longer yours to take residence in.

You had a home now. And you had no need to crave Jungkook anymore. He was right here, holding you.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

a/n: okay, cry with me.... these two.... such hopeless saps for each other i'm here for it. final destination is simp city... also (spoiler) it is completely canon that irene and seokjin bond over their mutual heartbreaks and get to smitten hehehe. anyway, my loves i hope you enjoyed this finale as much as i enjoyed writing it!!! it was a short but heartfelt journey with these two and i will miss their idiocy sm. thank u for your endless support i love u all!!! <3

#bangtanarmynet #ficswithluv #btsgoldnet #bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts angst #bts fluff #bts writing #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook bestfriend!au #jungkook angst #bts series #jungkook bestfriendstolovers!au #jungkook series #constant craving #rubycoast

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kimnjss · 4 years

Text

get even | ksj

⤑ series: sugar free

⤑ genre: angst, rich!jin x artist!reader, college au.

⤑ rating: explicit

⤑ word count: 4.4K

⤑ warnings: humilation (it’s not a kink here tho), suggestive topics, nudity... (this lowkey pretty tame, ngl).

⤑ A/N: a little late, but i literally just finished this and did like a half ass job editing it, buuut i really wanted to get this out bc OHMYGOD (you’ll see) - don’t forget to let me know what you think, your feedback is my favorite! x

A bet. The second the words left Yuna's lips you felt your blood begin to boil. Was that what all of this was? Why Jin had been so persistent to be around you, to get you to like him... so he could win a measly 100 bucks from his friends. That was it?

You felt sick to the stomach, on the verge of screaming at the top of your lung. How could you allow yourself to be so stupid? To not be able to see past the cheap facade, protect yourself like you had done countless times before. To think you were slowly starting to melt, starting to see yourself becoming comfortable around him. Smiling a bit too wide when texting him into the late hours of the night, moving a little too fast when his name was lighting up your screen.

He had been playing you for a fool this entire time and the only thing you could think of was how could you get even. At this point, he had no idea that you were on to him. Still thought that everything was going according to his plan, boy was he wrong. You were going to get him back, flip the tables so he was the one left licking his wounds. Who the hell did he think he was?

The idea came to you a few hours after hanging up with Yuna. The anger that had blinded you earlier finally subsiding enough for you to properly check the messages that had been flooding your inbox in the time since. Most of which were from the group chat of your best friends. Making a mental note to tell Yoongi about his role in this bet as well, you immediately clicked on the latest message from Jin.

[15:59] seokjin: did you pick a movie for tonight, yet?? i saw something you might like.

Instantly you're scoffing at the reminder that you were supposed to be out with this man in a little over an hour. You had actually been looking forward to this date, a more relaxed setting where you two could truly be yourselves around each other. The hell with that now.

Quickly, you were typing back your response. Ignoring the fact that it was coming in three hours too late. He could wait. If he felt like he could use you as a ploy in this stupid game with his friends. Then he could wait a few hours for your reply.

[18:12] to seokjin: oooh, surprise me then! im getting ready right now, see you in a bit?

Rolling your eyes at your overly enthusiastic you're standing from your position on your bed, moving to your dresser to pick something to wear tonight.

When you were in your early teens and just getting to know Namjoon and his friends, not a day would go by without an argument between you and Jungkook to take place. He always felt the need to try and one-up you, always had an opinion on what you were saying, and never believed you were as smart as him.

The fact you got into your shared middle school solely on recommendation had nothing to do with his thought conclusion. Anyway, something that young Jungkook found extremely amusing was pranking. Loved the thought of tricking someone to the point of them getting upset only for him to shout: 'Relax, it's just a prank.' It was his favorite pass time, especially when you were involved.

Quickly, you were picking up on his tactics and soon enough you were able to counter all of his 'well thought out' deceptions in a way he was the one with the egg on his face in the end. Fast forward years later, you and Jungkook hardly argued as much and he found more interested in girls than pranks... but that didn't mean you forgot how to play along.

The forced learned deception would be applied tonight. How dare that boy think he could pull a fast one on you and get off scratch free? Yeah, right. There was going to be hell to pay. And you were going to make sure of it.

Despite the fact, this was only a movie date and you could pretty much dress down when sitting in a dark room for hours, what you wore held a big part of your plan for tonight. Of course, you didn't want to make it obvious that your goal was to turn heads. Something subtle but undeniably sexy that his jaw was dropping at the first sight of you.

It had been a while since you wore your bright red mini skirt and it fit tighter than you remembered. Deciding the tightness fit the theme of tonight, you're tucking your long sleeve black turtleneck into the skirt; admiring the way the form-fitting material highlights the natural curves of your body.

A large heart belt to give your waist that extra snatch and short black boots to tie it all together. Yeah, this guy is not going to know what hit him once he caught sight of you – you were sure of that much.

Makeup had never really been something that you cared a whole lot for. Loved the way a bare face felt as opposed to being caked up for hours. Tonight was an exception though, you had to play the part, right?

One short, way too detailed YouTube tutorial later, and you're being interrupted by the knock on your front door. With a final swipe of lip gloss onto your softened lips, you're moving from the mirror to answer the door.

“Oh! Are you early or am I running late?” Jin stands on the other door, a large hoodie covering his slender figure and black jeans clinging to his legs. He eyes you shamelessly, seeming to have missed the words that had just left your lips. Bingo! “Here come in, I'm almost done,” You're turning, leading him into your house acting as if you hadn't noticed the way his eyes dropped when he thought your back was too him.

Too freaking easy. Guys were too easy, it was sad.

Just for good measure, you lead him to your couch; delicate fingers wrapped around his wrist. You're gesturing him to sit with a gentle tug of his wrist and his body moves accordingly, eyes never once lifting from you.

“I'll just be another minute,” You promise, watching as he pushes a smile on his face before nodding. You make your way down the corridor and into your bedroom, honestly finished with getting ready but not against making the boy sweat for a little bit.

Ten full minutes pass by of you just sat on your bed, scrolling through your phone before you're deciding that it was time to go. Jin stands as soon as you're exiting the room, composure back in check – that familiar smug look settled on his features once again. He spares you only a single glance as if he hadn't been full-on drooling when you first had opened the door.

“You ready?” His voice sounds deeper than you remember and you can't help but wonder if he was forcing it in hopes to impress you. Not caring much to mull over the question, you're nodding your head. The heels of your boots clack against the hardwood floor as you move to meet his side.

Jin thoughtlessly slides his arm around your waist, a simple gesture that pulls an annoying reaction from you. He leads you out of the front door, waiting patiently on the steps as you lock up.

“No, Minho?” You're asking, noticing the absence of the shiny SUV parked on the curb. Jin is shaking his head, digging into his front pockets for something you can only assume is a key due to the metallic jingle filling your ears. “Gave him the night off... it's just me and you,” He grins and you smile back, of course, your master plan in mind and in no way a natural reaction to the sight of his contagious smile.

He's pulling a silver key from his pocket, clicking the remote and you nearly jump at the sound of the beep. Bright lights illuminating the headlights of the sport's car parked just a few feet from your building. “Is that your car!?” Wondering out loud and neglecting to check the excitement in your tone.

Jin watches with a knowing grin as you make your way over to the vehicle, cautious palms sliding over the fresh paint. You couldn't believe what you were staring at. A 2019 Alfa Romeo Giulia in the shade midnight black; an all-red leather interior... were you going to be sitting in that? This was what he was going to be taking you to the movies in?

“It's nice, right? Got it for my birthday last year... a little bored of it now, though.” You hear the cocky tone of his voice, the 'I'm-so-much-richer-than-you' twang that has your blood boiling. With a roll of your eyes, hands now stiff and dropping to your side you step back.

“It's alright,” You say with a shrug, pulling the passenger's side door open and sliding in before he even has the chance to reach for it. No point in keeping up with his fake gentlemen facade, you could very well open your own doors.

Despite your slight shift in mood, Jin is still smiling. Not thinking twice about you not letting him open up the door you and sliding in on his side. Instantly, he's pulling his seat belt on; twisting the key in the ignition and you melt at the hum of the engine coming to life.

“What's the movie you picked?” You're asking as a few moments of silence passed, the only sound that had filled the car in the past eight minutes was the radio that he liked to keep on low for some reason.

His gaze is shooting in your direction, eyes wide as if he hadn't expected to hear your voice just then. You offer up a gentle smile, blinking your eyes cutely up at him as you wait for his response. Jin's adam's apple bobs as he turns his attention back onto the road.

“It. Have you already gone? It came out a few weeks ago,”

You're shaking your head, ignoring the fact that if you had been the one to choose the movie for tonight – that would have been your choice. Even if you had already seen it, horror films were at the top of your list of faves... which was weird, because you had it on pretty good standing that Jin wasn't into scary movies.

Either way, it wasn't like you planned on having him pay all that much attention to the movie in the first place.

As expected, Jin paid for both your ticket and his. He purchased a large bucket of popcorn for the two of you to share and a couple of drinks to counter to salty effects of the treat. What a shame he was actually a douche bag, otherwise you would've swooned at his catering.

Seats smartly chosen in the back row, where you could see the entire movie screen clearly but avoid being spotted by the other moviegoers. With the risk of being obvious, you lifted the armrest that divided your two seats long before the movie had started. Forty minutes in and several popcorn jerking jumps after, you were taking advantage of your early decision.

“It's a bit cold in here, don't you think?” You spoke with a pout, eyes lifting to grasp his attention. He was staring at you, head shaking in a nod and you could tell he was searching his mind for ways to make you more comfortable. How sweet. “Should we sit a bit closer?” Voice laced with velvet, you're already scooting over the gap before he can disagree.

Not like he planned to, the moment Jin's realizing what's going on; he's moving to close any left space between you two. His arm lifting to wrap around your shoulders as he tucks your body into his side. The movement so fluid and natural that you can't help but wonder how many times he's pulled the same move – no prompting needed.

A few moments passed with your body cradled in his arms, his warmth surrounding you, and the strong scent of his cologne intoxicating you. You had noticed this the first time the two of you went out, Jin was well put together in his clothes and he always smelt so good. Not sure what it was, but the way that he smelt never failed to make your stomach flip.

But it wasn't the time for that. Right now, it was time to put your perfect revenge plan into action. Delicately, the tips of his fingers ran over the swell of his chest, admiring the way the muscle felt underneath your digits. Dropping your hand lower, you spread your palm against his abs.

He had been so invested in the movie during your initial contact, that he hadn't noticed the feeling of your fingers on his chest... or chose not to acknowledge it. Now that you were tracing the ridges of his abs, his eyes were on you, slightly wide as he tried to figure exactly what you were playing at.

You shot him an innocent smile, the tip of your index finger running over the curve of his bellybutton. Flinching at the contact, he blinked hard; breath caught in his throat as he waited. “I never knew you were so... strong,” Voice coming out in a purr, the tip of your finger trailing up the middle of his stomach.

Jin visibly gulped, confusion dancing over his brow as he shifted beside you. Not sure how to react to your sudden shift in behavior. You didn't care to slow down, to explain it to him – this was what he wanted, right?

“I'm finding it so hard to pay attention to the movie,” Scooting closer to him, your hand drops down onto his thigh. Giving the muscle a light squeeze as you lean your body up, lips inches from his pink ears. “Do you want to know why?” You whispered, lips gently brushing over his lobe.

“W-why?” He cleared his throat, fidgeting in his seat; trying to avoid looking in your direction. If he was to turn his head, your lips would be mere inches apart. Just a simple twitch forward and you'd be kissing. No way he'd be able to keep his cool if that were to happen, so he kept his gaze forward. Not risking it.

Fine with you, you weren't done playing. Thumb rubbing circles into the fabric of his pants, mouth closing around his earlobe. You felt him shudder, making a smirk rise on your lips. “I can't stop thinking about you... all the things we could be doing instead of being cooped up in here...”

Jin was no fool, not the one to waste any time. If you were acting like this, saying that you were down there was no way he was going to pass up an opportunity like this. He'd just catch the movie when it came out on Netflix. “Should we go then?” He's mustering up all the courage he can manage to turn his head, dark eyes finding yours in the dim-lit room.

A bit surprised with his quick agreement, you're not letting it show on your face. You're grinning at his words, standing from your seat, and taking hold of his hand. Jin allows you to pull him up from his seated position, his hand landing on your hip. “Wait, slow down.” He's whispering, being considerate to the people scattered you.

“You sure?” Head nodding before you had a chance to mull over his thought process in checking up at you. Reaching for his free hand, you're wiggling out of his grasp and tugging him behind you out of the theater.

Both of you moving so fast, laughter slipping past his lips at your haste and you can't help but join in. You can feel the gaze of the people around you, but you don't care. Don't even bother to present an apology too wrapped up in enjoying yourself and trying to push away the warmth rising in your chest. Now wasn't the time for that.

Jin's stopping you the second the cool night air is hitting your exposed skin. His hand twisting in your grasp until he's able to take hold of your hand. Easily, he's pulling your body into his and flashing you that heart-stopping smile of his. Chests pressed together, breaths mixing and you hadn't realized you had been breathing so heavily before.

Your heart hammers against your chest as you stare up at him, his eyes searching yours. He's slow with the way he closes the negative space between the two of you, his hands lifting to cup your cheeks. And he's leaning in, lips finding yours... the smile breaking onto your lips before you have the chance to fight it.

He's kissing you so slowly and delicately as if you were made of glass. Hands cool against your heated cheeks and you can feel his smile over your mouth. It was all becoming too much, your heart getting too involved over a stupid kiss... this was not part of the plan!

You're pulling away at the feeling of his thumbs brushing against your cheeks, looking up at him with your lip caught between your teeth; trying to look as sexy as possible in this situation. “Come on, we'll have much more fun once we're alone...” Discreet in the way you gesture to the family of five that were making their way into the theater.

Jin's following you without a word, the grin never falling from his plump lips. He's leading you this time, quick steps are taken to his car where he opens your door for you. You get comfortable against the seats, watching as he jogs around to the other side to slide in beside you.

All giddy and smiley, excited that he was about to get some. That he was about to win this stupid bet he and his friends thought would be a good idea... boy, he had no idea what was coming.

Thick laughter leaves your lips as you stumble into your bedroom with tangled feet. Jin's lips haven't left your skin since you were pushing your front door shut, fingers gripping at your hips, eagerly drumming at the exposed skin. He's turning your body to gently push you back against the door, lips dropping to capture yours.

“Don't think... I'll... get tired, of kissing you,” He breaths out deeply, sentence carelessly strewn together his sole focus was the way he was moving his tongue in your mouth. And a skillful tongue it was, too bad this couldn't go all that far – you'd love to know how that tongue in other places...

You're kissing him back with just as much fervor, hands sliding down the front of his shirt until you can grip the hem of the shirt. Slowly you drag it up, inch by inch revealing his well worked on torso to ghosts of your bedroom. He's pulling back then, hands reaching for yours to assist you in his disrobing.

A moment is spared to admire just what he had been hiding underneath all that fabric. Oh, what a shame... Leaning on your toes, you're taking his lips in another lingering kiss careful not to push too far. Plan would go to shit if you were allowing yourself to get lost in his soft kisses.

Easily, you move from your position against the door. Jin watches you the entire short walk to your bed, body turning so he can get a better look at you. You make a show of the way you climb toward your headboard, bare legs crossed as you look up at him. Beckoning him over with your finger, Jin is quick to spring to action, all but running over to the edge of your bed.

He's waiting, noticing how you stopped him just before he was about to climb into bed right on top of you. If only. What a shame. Jin's eyes drop to your thighs, catching the way you rub them together as your teeth nibble at your lower lip. “Take your pants off,” The command coming out whiner than you had hoped but Jin's hands are quick. His eyes on you the whole time he's unfastening his belt and dropping his pants to his ankles.

You're careful not to let your eyes bulge at the sight of the size of his erection, straining against his boxers and just begging for some attention. A rub. A suck. Something. If circumstances were different, you would've been on your knees by now. Begging for a taste. What a shame.

“These too,” The finger you had began to nibble at falls from your mouth, arm extending until you're able to reach him. You trace the tip of your finger over his covered shaft because, fuck... you can't help yourself.

Jin shudders, mouth dropping and you can swear you see his dick twitch underneath the fabric. “You're fucking perfect.” He groans, quick to pull his bottoms down his legs, not even reacting to the way his cock bobs free, slapping against his hipbone. Fuck, he was huge, unbelievably thick, and beautifully veiny. Whoever said God was fair...

Swinging your legs toward the edge of the bed, you're reaching for his hip; pulling his body toward you gently. Forcing your eyes from his pretty cock up to his face. Ignoring the urge to wrap your lips around the tip, just a taste. That couldn't hurt, right? “You think I'm perfect?” There's sincerity in your voice, still not over the initial shock felt when the compliment was falling from his lips.

You couldn't lose your head now, though. Not when you were already so close to your goal. Jin is nodding his head without a second thought and you're grinning, leaning back just a bit so you can get a better look at his face.

“Worth a hundred bucks?”

His eyes turn to moons the moment your words are registering. “W-what? How do you... how do you know about that?” He's stepping back just as you're shooting up from your bed.

“What do you mean how do I know!? How could you try to humiliate me like that!?” You had spent so much time planning and re-planning your revenge that you hadn't put any time into thinking of what you were going to say once the jig was up. Mostly because you were so hurt by what he had done and you couldn't think of a way to express that without punching him a good one.

“I mean-,” You're moving around the room, collecting the clothes that he had carelessly thrown down in the mindset he was going to become a richer man tonight. “Who even does something like that!? Is making a quick buck really that important to you?” You felt yourself holding back, wanted to ask how dare he make you like him just to turn out to be like any other guy.

No way were you going to let him know that his stupid prank was working in any way, though. Keeping the little fact that you were falling for it to yourself was best. “It wasn't like that, Yn! Really.” He's half trying to explain himself to you and half focused on just what the hell you're doing with his clothes. Large hand covering his junk, no longer feeling confident in his nudity.

“Then what was it like, Jin?” You're turning, quick, not realizing that he had been standing right behind you. “Because from what I understand is that you and your friends thought it would be fun to put a price tag on my sex life and who knows how many other girls you're fucking with,” That, had been something that you forced yourself not to consider... but not the words were falling from your lips and realization was hitting.

“It's just you! I mean... please, just hear me out. There aren't any other girls, and-,” You're cutting him off with a lift of his hand. Not really in the mood to be lied to. So ready to get him out of your face so you could be alone with all that you were feeling. “I don't want to hear it. I really don't. You're disgusting, Seokjin.” Your last words are delivered slowly and with your eyes staring into his.

“Yn-” He starts, but stops when he notices your backward steps toward your bedroom window. You push it open without any strain, lifting his clothes. “W-wait, what are you doing!?” He looks panicked as you toss his clothes out of the window, slamming it shut after you see them hit the ground.

“Why would you go and do something like that!?” He's pissed, you can tell... but you don't care. You're done with him. Gave him the thirty seconds of distraught that he earned and now you were over it. For the most part. You'd work it out. It hadn't been that long since the two of you started hanging out. It wouldn't be that hard to get your shit together.

“Hm, I wonder.” You mock with a roll of your eyes, you're passing him crossing your bedroom to reach your bathroom. “You can let yourself out,” There finality in your tone and you mean it, not bothered if you never saw him again after this.

“You're not even going to let me explain?” He sure is talkative for a dude clutching his junk while his designer garments soaked in mud. “There's nothing to explain. Get out.” There's a droop in his shoulders following the sternness of your words. He's making his way toward your door with slow steps and you feel your heart crunch.

Hated that it had to be like that, that he had to be like the rest of them. That you even bothered to give him a chance in the first place. It was so clear to you in the beginning, but you thought to give him the benefit of doubt, wanted him to be different... everyone was the same.

“To think I was starting to change my opinion about you,” The words slip without your full intention. He's turning to look at you, but you're quick with the way you pull the bathroom door shut. Not having it in you to actually watch him walk out.

– rich, spoiled and a bit of a womanizer. but underneath all of that, there’s a heart of gold. and no matter how determined she is to reject him, he won’t stop trying until she sees he’s kinda sweet.

↲ masterlist ↳

taglist: @randomkoalablog @smoljams @dee-ehn @jaiuneamesolitaiire @lilacdreams-00 @sw33tnight @bangtansonyeondayyyum @okblve @jinhitwhore @tae165 @hellotherehoneybee @bangtansbun @betysotelo18 @cherriigguk @koostime @kooinluv @butterflylion @kookiesjoonies @uxwi @honeyoongles @imajiningseokjin @amoreguk @beeeb05 @tommasauras @bluefaeriefury @butterflylion @withlovestudyblr @samros95 @korkanswers @houseofarmanto @soulstaes @thesunisup-theskyisblue @jinsearth @aizuwusho @moonb0yy @tan-dulset @8sjaf @mini-coop25 @marifujioka @sunskook @elliemeetsevil @ratking101 @leovaldezisfire

A/N: timestamps are important throughout the fic!! if you want to be added to the taglist, send me an ask! also if you asked to be on the taglist and aren’t on there, it’s because tumblr sometimes doesn’t let me tag ppl for some reason.

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5-falsehoods-phonated · 4 years

Text

Parting Gift

Summary: Virgil navigates an empty world he didn't see before and he can't see now. Thankfully the modified roomba his parents left him helps in the absence of people.Just a silly little fic I thought of because we recently got a robot vacuum.

Warnings: apocalypse scenario, food mention, insinuated death (not described or shown), mild swearing. If there’s more please let me know!

Ships: background Lociet (background Logan x Janus)

WC: 2405

General Taglist (ask to be added or removed) @im-an-anxious-wreck @logans-library

The tap-tap-tapping of Virgil’s cane as he moved along the road matched perfectly with the beat playing out of the one working earbud in his ear. Whatever town or residential area he had stumbled into was quiet and barren though seemingly not nearly as destroyed as the last one he had been in. Changing direction slightly as he has started to stray into wet grass he continued along what he assumed was a sidewalk, carefully feeling for the edge to make sure he was centered before continuing to sweep the cane in front of him to avoid whatever rubble or trash or non working car might have ended up on the side of the cracked road.

Virgil didn’t know what the world had looked like before and he could only imagine what it looked like now. Everything had happened so fast he doubted he’d be able to recognize it anyway. He had never been able to see and it had never bothered him as much as it did now; with no way to know if someone was on the road other than the sound of footsteps he hadn’t heard in months and nothing to keep him company except his music and- well he supposed he couldn’t complain. Tripping slightly over a stray rock he hadn’t felt brought him back from his thoughts and into the real world once again, shivering as he realized just how cold it was getting and how truly tired he was from walking all day.

Continuing on only a couple more feet revealed a pathway leading off to what he hoped was a house or a store. As bad as he sometimes felt about it, there was no one around anymore- at least as far as he had managed to travel thus far- no one would miss a couple cans of ravioli and a few bottles of water if he could manage to scrounge them up. The walkway seemed pretty thin leading away from the main road so he assumed he was in a residential area with houses rather than near anything like a general store or pharmacy; he really hoped he came across one soon he was running low on band-aids. He could only do so much with a cane and though he wished his palms and knees were tougher by now that he wouldn’t have to bandage them every time he fell sadly his callus just wasn’t thick enough.

Long grass brushed his ankles under his too short jeans, wispy blades rustling quietly as he passed. He took his headphone out as he walked after turning on the beat up ipod and pressing where he knew the pause button was from years of the same motion. Crickets began their evening concert as the birds finished their own, the air growing cooler as Virgil imagined the sun finally dipping below the horizon. He shifted the weight of his book bag more to one shoulder as he slipped it off the other hoping to reach an entryway of some sort soon since his feet were protesting the day of doing nothing but picking a direction and walking. Hitting a step he nudged the cane up until he could judge how high it was- sometimes they were high enough to trip him and other times they were so low they were more of an annoyance than anything else- and carefully made his way up all three of them. There were plastic feeling columns on either side of the top step so he assumed he was on the front porch of a house, some careful prodding revealing one of those rubber welcome mats he was constantly getting the soles of his shoes stuck on since when he was tired he refused to pick his feet up properly. He faintly heard his dad telling him to straighten his back and walk like he was alive but he shook it off with an eye roll. Posture didn’t matter if there was no one around to see it.

Fumbling around a minute for the door handle he stopped as his cheeks reddened, reaching up to knock first. Just because he hadn’t run into anyone yet didn’t mean it couldn’t happen and he really didn't want to break into someone’s home if they were still there and startle them. He didn’t fancy getting shot after so long of surviving o his own and to have that compromised because he was a heathen who didn’t knock anymore would be an idiotic way to go for sure. KNocking, however, proved fruitless. Nothing answered but the crickets though as he knuckle raps turned to rather loud pounds on the door they began to quiet. A part of him still wished sometimes that someone would answer, it had been so long since he’d heard another voice. He knew realistically that if he was still here there would have to be other survivors and that if he kept walking he was bound to run into them.

After years of doing nothing but that had yet to turn anything up though, and it seemed that this time would be no different. His hand fell to the knob once again as he took a breath and held it before twisting and pushing open the door. Hesitantly sniffing the air revealed nothing but old, unaired house smell and dust that had been kicked up from the bottom of the door brushing the carpet in the entryway. He sneezed loudly, the sound echoing sadly as if the house had missed the concept of sound, and wiped his nose on his sleeve before sighing in relief. Sometimes he entered a house or store and there would be...different smells. Ones that would make him gag and bolt from the building so the hot, cloying scent wouldn’t stick to his cloths. Those days were declared laundry days anyway, sullenly dunking his clothes in the rivers he always stuck close to trying to rid himself of the memory with the fresh smell of laundry detergent and sunlight. The day after that was spent moving as far away as he could as quickly as he could to get away from the dark scent that hung on the streets. It was safer to scrounge out granola bars from the bottom of his bag on those days than to risk looking for anything more substantial in the buildings he might be able to get into.

As it was Virgil stepped in the house and carefully closed the door behind him, swinging his bookbag around and cringing at the sound of the zipper echoing faintly in the doorway. Grabbing a smaller, padded drawstring bag out he opened it and carefully set the Roomba down, giving it a little pet before turning it on. It beeped out a pleasant little tune before the whirring sound of it starting up and moving away filled the house and he smiled, leaving his bag by the door and getting up to explore the house with Stuart.

Stuart the vacuum, as dumb as it was, was Virgil’s only source of company and had been since he was about four. The world was already crumbling at that point and rather than risking going out and about to find Virgil a seeing eye pet that wouldn’t last his whole lifetime if he lived long, his dads had modified their small vacuum for him in the hopes that it would last. And it had. Rather than having to plug into a power source it was solar charged, which the front of the bag it was kept in and his backpack was clear plastic to allow it to charge during the day, storing hours of energy to be able to work when Virgil needed it. Instead of vacuuming it simply went about bumping into things and storing a digital map of any small area, letting Virgil then walk beside it and stop when it beeped, nudging him in a different direction so he didn't bump into or trip on anything. This of course was before he was proficient with feeling his whereabouts with his cane adn at this point it was like letting a trusted pet out for its nightly walk rather than out of any necessity but Virgil loved it as if it was a dog. His most loyal companion...who he kept in his bag all day. He snorted as he felt out what was feeling to be the kitchen; he’d take anything over the oppressive silence of an empty house.

His mouth tightened as he felt around in cabinets for cans- all smooth labels of course, nothing to differentiate the corn from the beets from the manwich spread. He hated the fact that dinners were so often a surprise just because no one had thought to universalize a system to put a bit of braille on cans. Even some raised lettering underneath the label spelling out one word descriptors would be fine, instead he could only go by smell and taste and hope to god nothing he put in his mouth had expired. He missed grilled cheese and fried chicken and french fries- all things he didn’t have the means or resources to make. He never learned to hunt or slaughter anything and he doubted he’d be able to learn when he didn’t even know how to tell what parts of an animal to eat, let alone see what he was doing to cut it out and cook it. He was lucky he taught himself how to start a fire some years ago- he couldn’t imagine actually catching a fish and knowing when it was cooked enough to eat without just burning it to a crisp. Sighing as he opened a can with his old can opened he tentatively sniffed at the contents.

Baked beans were good. He’d rather have them hot but he had no motivation to go out and start a fire right now and there was no way in hell he was going to try inside- so cold bean jelly it was. He’d had worse. He grabbed his cane from where he had leaned it against the counter and began walking back into what he assumed would be the living room as Stuart beeped to notify him he was done. Smiling as he felt a small nudge he changed direction to navigate around what felt like a dusty leather couch and settled on the floor in front of it to eat his dinner. Stuart came to rest beside him while he dug a spoon out of the smaller bag he always carried and he smirked slightly, feeling around to place a single baked bean on top of the vacuum as a reward for a job well done.

He tucked in as he thought of what his dads would say about him doing that; both of them would more than likely find it endearing but relentlessly tease him about it for the rest of his life. He imagined his father’s face wrinkling up in an amused smile, scars tugging around crows feet and wispy hair tickling his fingertips. Dad’s smile was a lot smaller but no less sincere, mostly held in his eyes that had his lower eyelid just barely lifting. He missed feeling their faces- they’d let him do it whenever he’d ask to make sure he knew what emotion they were displaying. Both of them were awkward when it came to voicing their feelings and Virgil was always terrible at picking up social cues from simply listening, so being able to read a face as easily as a book often helped put them all at ease.Idly he brushed the top of Stuart’s “head”, feeling nothing but cool, hard plastic beneath his fingers.

He cleaned up as best as he could, throwing the top of the can away in a trash bin after wiping it off and setting the actual can on the back porch with another full one for whatever might come by. His cane was carefully tucked just underneath the couch as he unrolled his sleeping bag and small pillow to get comfy for the night, placing his little vacuum by his head before snuggling down into bed and sighing quietly. Reaching out he felt for the button on the side of the roomba, a little rough and worn from years of the same routine of day. Biting his lip he pressed it in before snatching his hand away and tucking himself in completely, squeezing his eyes shut like he’d been sleeping all along.

“Is he asleep?” His father’s silky voice cut through the silence.

“I should hope so, it’s dark out and he needs his rest.” Dad was always very matter of fact, Virgil could imagine his arms crossing as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“...Do you want to start or should I?”

Virgil’s dad sighed. “I hope that you got to sleep at a reasonable hour this time, and that you had a good dinner that was as balanced as you could make it. That- that you’re somewhere safe-”

HIs father stepped in smoothly. “We hope that you’re taking care of yourself as best as you can, and taking care of Stuart as well. Hopefully there are people around that can help you when you need it and you aren’t afraid to ask for it- but if there aren’t I know you’re capable enough on your own.”

“We wish you only happiness, no matter how bad things are or get, always remember that it has the capability to get better as long as you are willing to work for it. I know whatever you’re working on or towards you’re doing the absolute best you can do, and we couldn’t be more proud.”

“We love you, Virgil. So, so much and don’t you ever forget that. take care of yourself and please stay safe.”

“Goodnight, Virgil.” He could still remember Dad brushing his fingers through his hair before the weight had disappeared from the bed.

“Goodnight, Virgil. Sweet dreams.” He felt a phantom kiss on the cheek from memory long since passed, the blankets pulled up and tucked around him. The door creaked shut and the recording ended, Stuart beeping softly to indicate he was shutting down. Safely tucked into his sleeping bag with a full stomach in the silence, Virgil let his eyes drift shut, a smile still on his lips as he fell into a peaceful sleep.

This work is also available on AO3!

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#false writes #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #blind virgil #virgil sanders #blind virgil sanders #tw food mention #food mention #tw swearing #mild swearing #apocalypse au #apocalypse mention #ao3 #insinuated death

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be-the-spark-flyboy · 4 years

Text

Darkest Little Paradise

Blue Jones Modern/Mob Boss AU ish

A/N: I have no fking clue what possessed me to write this but here we are Im so sorry for this dumpsterfire

Pairing: Blue Jones x fem!Agent!Reader

Warnings: NSFW 18+ sub/dom themes, bondage themes, orgasm denial, dubcon???, dirty talk, praise kink, THAT GIF OH GOD

Word count: ~2.5k

You were going to die tonight. You were sure of it. No one lives to see another day after double-crossing the most notorious man in the city. Let alone someone who got into his club, his lair, his bed.

Blue Jones’ strip club was just a front for his more illegal activities, money laundering, drugs and arms dealing. Youhad joined as bartender as a secondary for our colleague’s mission and you caught the eye of the head within the first week of you employment. By the next few weeks, you and Blue had christened every surface of his office. And you had gotten a good look of the ‘behind the scenes’. It technically wasn’t a part of your job but you did it just because you wanted to. And getting a look into his operations was just an added benefit.

Things turned to shit just as quickly, when your colleague’s cover was blown. You’d been forced to cut your losses and rescue your him from the man you were sleeping with. Your tactical team had caught Blue with two of his dealers and you had personally handcuffed him and shoved him into the armored vehicle. But where you had expected to see anger or betrayal, you had only seen mirth in his eyes.

That look haunted your dreams for nights. For days, you had sat in the courtroom, being forced to watch the jury dismiss every single evidence against him as circumstantial.

Today, the jury had pronounced him innocent. And Blue Jones walked out of the fire unscathed. An entire year’s work gone down the drain with absolutely nothing to tie the crimes to the man himself. But at least two of his dealers were convicted, your superiors told you. For them it was a win. But not for you.

—-

You kick your apartment door close, frustration getting the best of you. Your bag goes flying in one direction and you kick off your heels, storming into the kitchen looking for that bottle of scotch in your cabinet not even bothering to turn the lights on. You slam you glass atop the dining table and pour a generous amount of liquor into it.

“Hey there, sweetness,” you jump at the smooth voice that sounds from the dark behind you. “Oh no no, baby,” The voice coos when you try to turn around, the cold barrel of a gun pressing into the back of your neck. You freeze as a warm body presses into your back, pining your hips against the table, reaching around you for the glass. You hear a scoff, then the sound of glass shattering as he tosses it against a wall. “Drinking isn’t good for you, sweetheart,” This is it, you think. You’re going to die.

“Show me your hands,” you hesitate for a second and you feel him press the gun harder into your skin. “Go on sweets, I won’t hurt you,” he coos as if he wasn’t holding a gun to your neck. You lift both hands before you, suppressing the tremors that run through you at the thought of what he might do to you. You’d once seen him beat a man’s face to a pulp for trying to steal from him. “It breaks my heart that I can’t trust you anymore sweetheart,” he sighs into your neck, sounding.

You hear the rustle of cloth behind you as he whispers a soft good girl into your ear when you obey. You really shouldn’t be getting turned on when your life was on the line, but here you are anyways. Your thighs clench together of their own volition at his praise and that sultry tone. His hand comes into view, clutching his tie, which he loops around both your wrist and holds them together before lowering his gun.

“I hate guns,” he mumbles more to himself than to you as he carelessly tosses it onto the table and it clattered, coming to rest barely a few inches from you. Blue works the tie around your wrists forming an elaborate knot, humming when he was satisfied with the results. You know you can’t escape it no matter how hard you try. You’ve tried before. He nudges your feet apart with his feet, still clad in the expensive leather shoes he loved so much.

“Put your hands on the table and bend over for me will you?” It isn’t as much of a question as it is a command, and you do as he tells you, your body already complying before your mind comprehends. He’s always had that effect on you. As much as you had hated it at first, it always ended with you having one of the most mind blowing orgasms of your life. Now that you couldn’t resist, even if you tried.

Blue lets out a shuddering breath. You realize it’s a turn on for him, seeing you all spread out and at his mercy. “Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to concentrate on the trial with you parading around in this fucking pencil skirt?” A violent shiver runs down your spine as he presses his hips against you, his erection evident against your ass. “All I could think about was bending you over the table and having my way with you in front of all those people,” your hips buck against his involuntarily at his words. “You would’ve liked that, wouldn’t you sugar?” He was speaking to you like he usually did when you were lying naked under him on his bed. Not like you had betrayed him and gotten his men arrested.

You eye the gun lying on the table before you. Could you try to reach for it? Do you even have a chance? You could still aim a gun with your wrists tied together. Maybe if you shove Blue backwards hard eno-

You feel him ruck up your pencil skirt letting his fingers skim against yours thighs, way too close to your sensitive nub, and a wave of arousal hits you out of nowhere. Suddenly, escape is the last thing in your mind, and the gun lays forgotten before you. “I wanna feel you honey,” he breathes above you. “Can I? Let me touch you baby,” his fingers dance along your inner thighs, drawing patterns on the sensitive skin with the tips of his fingers. A hand dips into the waistband of your underwear as you nodded, rubbing circles into your throbbing clit as you whimpered in pleasure.

Blue yanks you up by the back of your shirt, leaning you against his chest as he slips a finger inside your slick folds. Your cry of surprise immediately morphs into moans as he adds another digit, pumping both fingers in and out of you. The heady scent of his cologne and the way he whispers filthy promises into your ear has you shaking in his arms.

“You want another finger, baby? You need three of my fingers in your greedy little cunt?” His voice sounds high and breathless, like he’s getting off on the sole act of pleasuring you. The obscene sounds of his fingers squelching in your wetness echoes through the small space. Blue pants as heavily as you and he rolls his hips against your ass. He lifts his other hand to wrap his fingers around your throat, pressing his fingertips into the sides of your neck. You hang on to the edge of the table with your bound hands as Blue thrusts another finger inside you, curling them into the spot that makes you see stars. Your eyes roll back and your knees buckle, but his grip around you keeps you upright and flush against him.

You feel yourself rapidly approaching your release and Blue chooses that exact moment to extract his fingers from inside you. A keening cry slips from your mouth as you feel you orgasm dissipate. You whine his name when you feel his chest rumble as he finds humor in your plight. “If you behave, I might let you come, baby,”

Blue turns you around and you get a good look at him in his crisp white shirt, just missing the usual jacket. He holds you close enough for you to feel the smoothness of his shirt beneath your fingers. You lurch forward, trying to crush you lips against his, every ounce of shame and control thrown out the window. But Blue moves faster, a hand coming up to grab a handful of your hair and yanking it back. A guttural moan slips from your lips and you don’t bother trying to smother it.

“You look a little tense, sweetness,” you feel his hot breath on your skin as he grazes the tip of his nose up the column of your throat. His voice sweeps over you, so sweet and warm like honey, at odds with the way his grip on your hair sends pinpricks of pain through your scalp. “It’s been a frustrating day, hasn’t it?”

The grip on your hair remains unrelenting as Blue coils his other arm around you, undoing the clasp on your pencil skirt. Then his fingers hook onto the waistband of your underwear, pulling it down all the way and he lets you step out of it. But he makes no move to go beyond that. You twist your fingers into his shirt in frustration.

“You want me to take care of you, sweetheart?” He nips your earlobe, grazing his teeth over the soft bone. “You know I can make you feel so good,” you squirm against him. You know he can make you feel great.

Your body is no longer in your control as he leads you to your couch, lying down on it before he pulls you on top of him, your legs straddling him, skirt bunched up around your hips. And you are grinding against him, hands splayed on his chest, trying to keep yourself upright as you frantically grinding your core against his clothed erection. It doesn’t take long for you to feel another orgasm approaching after the one he just denied you.

Until, he twists his hand into the material of your skirt, forcing you to a stop again. Tears prickle your eyes as you groan in frustration. “I wanna hear you beg for it,” Your arousal is soaking through the material of his pants, he has you all wound up and aching for him. That’s when he negotiates.

“Blue, please,” your face burns at the sound of your own voice begging for him. “Please let me ride your cock, please,”

“What would your precious partner say if he sees you like this huh, baby?” He huffs a laugh, “Begging me to fuck you like a little slut?” You growl, pushing him harder into the couch, trying to shut him up. But it only encourages him, knowing that his goading was getting a rise from you. “Whoring yourself out to the enemy like this,” he shakes his head clucking. He hisses when you dig your nails into his chest, “You’ve got some claws, kitten,”

He releases his hold on your skirt and you shamelessly paw at his belt, trying your best to make use of your bound hands to undress him. Blue lays back, watching your desperate attempts to pull his pants down and whining in frustration as you fail. He chuckles, finally helping you push it down far enough to pull his length into his hands, giving himself a few short pumps before lining up against your dripping slit.

You lower yourself onto him, watching his mouth fall open as he fills you up, inch by inch. He throws his head back, eyes rolling back as a moan wrenches out of him. His fingers around your waist tightens as your wet heat envelopes him entirely, and his face twists in pleasure. You can’t bring yourself to look away from his gorgeous face, as much as you want to hate it. He groans your name as you start rocking on top of him.

Your real name. Not the alias you used during your time undercover.

“Just like that, you ride my cock so good, kitten.” He pants. His sweet moans and filthy words only drives you on harder. You throw your head back biting back your moans as you chase your release for the third fucking time. “I know you can be a hell lot more louder than that baby girl,” he growls, thrusting his hips to meet yours halfway. “Scream my name, baby. Show me how good I make you feel,”

And so you do. Your mind goes numb with pleasure when he grabs your waist pulling you down onto him at the same him he trusts into you. The only sounds from your mouth is the screams and moans of his name along with a few choice words that would make a sailor blush.

“I’m gonna come,” you whimper, your pace faltering. Blue flips you onto your back, pinning your wrists above your head and pounds you into the couch. The new angle finds that sweet spot inside of you making your eyes roll back as you whimpered. Blue slips a hand between your bodies, rubbing tight circles over your bundle of nerves and your vision whites out as an orgasm shatters through you, back arching skywards, breathy moans falling from your lips. You hear blue groan as your walls clenches and spasms around him and before long, he’s spilling into you.

It takes a few minutes for Blue to recover his strength and he flips the two of you over again. He holds you against his chest, stroking your hair gently as you lay on top of him, quivering from the aftershocks of your orgasm. An inexplicable ache settles heavily on your chest as you nuzzle your face into his warm neck, breathing in the scent of his worn out cologne.

“Why are you here,” your voice comes out breathier and a lot softer than you expect and you blame it on your previous activities.

Blue stays quiet for a few seconds, and then he says, “You’re not one of them,”

“What?” you look up at him.

“You’re not one of the good guys,” he repeats, “You may be fooling yourself, but you can’t fool me, baby,” he tuckes a stray hair begins your ears, “The gun was within your reach on the table sweetheart, I made sure of it. You could’ve used it to escape me, or shoot me, but you didn’t. You wanted to surrender to me.”

Blue really wasn’t someone to make decisions on speculation alone. He had a compulsive need to always be right, to always have a back up plan. You learned it the hard way, you were still learning about it apparently. Realization hits you just then, and your mouth falls open. “The gun wasn’t loaded, was it?”

“Smart girl,” He chuckles, “But not smart enough,” He traces a finger up your spine, “I just came to say goodbye, by the way,”

“Why?” you frown.

“I need to take a small vacation somewhere,” A small smile spreads on him face like he was imagining something. “You see, the people you managed to put behind bars are gonna blame me for it since I walked away without any charges. Everyone knows we weren’t just auditing the accounts alone in my office. So I need a safe place to lay low for a while. I’m flying off in two hours,”

“And you’re telling me this because you think I won’t be coming after you? Because, I want to surrender to you?” You throw his words back at him, mocking him. “I will, Blue. I’ll find a way to lock you up,” You are fully aware that you are not in the position to be issuing threats but you do it anyways.

“I know you will,” His sly smirk tells you he had one more trick up him sleeve. “But you have to catch me first,” His lips descends on your as he kisses you fervently. You kiss him back with just as much vigor, and your entire body feels heavy like lead in exhaustion.

Wait, that wasn’t it. Your breaths become shallow as you struggle to hold onto consciousness. Blue pulls away as your head lolls forwards, suddenly too heavy to hold up right. “Shh, don’t fight it baby,”

Your muddled thoughts came to one final conclusion. Leave it to Blue Jones to chose the most theatrical way to undermine you. That bastard had drugged you. The last thing you feel is blue gathering you up in his arms before your vision goes black.

---

Blue gently settles you on top of you bed, tucking you into the covers. He placed a soft kiss against your forehead, on top of the small frown you sported even unconscious. His heart thrums at the though of the chase he had planned for you.

You had fire, he’d seen it in your eyes when you cuffed him that night. You’ll go after him, Blue was sure of it. He was counting on it.

“See you soon, babygirl,” Blue kisses your cheek one final time before he leaves.

---

Tags: @yougottakeeponkeepinon @anetteaneta @darksideofclarke @woakiees

#blue jones #blue jones x reader #sucker punch fanfic

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squeeneyart · 4 years

Text

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 18

AO3

Beta reader is @thesnadger!

Communication is established.

Martin has a job to do.

After months of near constant solitude and a week of above-average social interaction, Martin had to deal with an unhappy middle: Peter, with no warning or pattern, would appear at the lighthouse at whatever time seemed to suit his fancy. Bright and early one day, late lunch the next, twice already on Thursday, all for reasons Martin couldn’t wonder aloud at for fear of seeming too curious.

No alone time meant no poking his nose around. Not that he was supposed to, keeping his head down and all that, but sitting around wasn’t doing his nerves any favors.

It was easy to imagine Peter hiring someone to tail him home, so Martin never dared to take a new path or turn for that whole week. When he got home he stayed home. When he got to work he stayed at work. And when he walked in either direction he most certainly never took the sharp turn toward the Fairchild home, no matter how intensely curious he got.

So, once the group text was actually formed early in the next week (Tim: it was a promise not a threat!), Martin had taken part in the first of many nearly identical conversations. They boiled down to:

Martin: peters been weird, cant predict when he’ll be around

Sasha: we’re still pretty locked up, will let you know if things change

Jon: Elias has been elusive but I’m working on it.

Tim: can’t keep us busy forever

Besides some scattered thoughts and jokes primarily from Tim that got Martin through the more tedious aspects of the work day, the messages were all vague statements telling him “soon, we promise” and random tidbits from him of Peter being weird. The whirlwind of progress from the week prior was over. Waiting and sitting on his hands was all Martin had left.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true.

Jon had a lot more to say over phone calls than text. That much was clear by Tuesday night as Jon called to elaborate on his frustrations with Elias and continue other topics they’d discussed the conversion prior. The burden of starting the call and coming up with a topic was blessedly off Martin's shoulders, and it made the idea of regular conversations seem more possible.

While it was a relief to still talk to someone at length, Martin knew he would run out of things to say before long. He had no stories from the university he never attended, and Jon had been witness to Martin’s strangest place of work. The more he could deflect personal questions and get Jon to talk about himself, the longer it would take for Martin to be revealed as... well. Dull.

Still, he hoped that Jon would call again soon. If Martin was around for it.

It was Thursday. Peter had been around twice already with no warning. It was getting to be mid-afternoon and he still had a duty to perform. That part of his contract hadn’t changed.

Martin groaned into his desk. It wasn’t fair to have his most mindless and daydream-conducive task twisted into something horrifying. Some little part of him hoped that Sasha’s reasoning from the week before would hold some water, that his knowledge of what was coming would somehow keep him aware of his surroundings.

There was one way to find out, as much as it made his stomach squirm, and the thought of doing so with Peter around was enough to propel Martin out of his chair and toward the cleaning closet.

He began to mop the main floor with a fervor. If Sasha was right and he managed to avoid getting sucked into a wall, Peter absolutely could not witness it. He would have to move fast, even if it scared the shit out of him. And really, was it so scary? It wasn’t something he remembered, and it never hurt him. Probably. He would at least feel pain if something had happened, right?

He had always been fine. A bit sore from lugging things up the stairs, but otherwise nothing had harmed him as far as he knew. What was he afraid of? A person that could watch him as he went about his work in a haze? Or the wall refusing to release him after he entered, trapping him without ever releasing his mind from-

Oh, no, his heart was racing, his hands shaking more by the second. Swallowing had become more difficult, dry throat and a tongue that felt three times too big. Martin walked toward the stairs, trying to keep water level in the mop bucket. The water level was the only evidence that he’d lost time, and he wasn’t going to do this without something to show for it.

Letting out a breath that sent shivers down his arms, Martin placed the mop down and took out his phone.

Martin: so im going upstairs now? to do the mop thing?

Martin: gonna try and use an old analog tape recorder like you all said. any final thoughts would be appreciated

He waited, growing more concerned by the second that he would get no answer, but finally someone responded.

Jon: Sounds like you’re all set. Be sure to send a message here once you’ve gotten back out again, or if you don’t go in at all.

Tim: yeah any situation where your feet are on solid ground really

Jon: You said before that Peter was around. Is it safe to assume he’s left?

Martin: ok will do. he’s not here now so im getting it over with so he wont see anything weird

Jon: Okay, good luck and let us know when you’re out.

Martin: thanks

Sasha: if things start to seem off, retreat back downstairs and call us immediately

Tim: ^^^

Martin: okay, talk to you all soon

Before Martin pocketed his phone, he saw Tim leaving a string of thumbs-up and broom emojis, and as he began up the stairs the occasional vibration in his pocket revealed that something was happening past his goodbye. It wouldn’t be good for the recording if he kept it on like that, but he had no intention of silencing the phone or the people on the other end. He clicked on the tape recorder, placed it in his pocket, and began his climb.

The bucket and mop were as unwieldy as ever, and for not the first time he thought about how nice an elevator would be for his knees before shaking his head. This was a time for focus. Drifting thoughts were a one-way ticket to lost time in a much more literal sense than usual.

He was walking up a rather repetitive staircase, but every once in a while there would be an imperfection that reminded him of where he was in space. A crack here, some chipped paint there. Looking around there were plenty of place markers. His feet were on stairs that were the same as they always were.

About a quarter of the way up, this method began to make his stomach flip. Once, he looked too far ahead, too much up. So he kept his eyes down. He’d been keeping to the inside of the stairs, but his gaze drifted too far and oh, no, another spiral leading down which was worse.

This building, he thought, didn’t appreciate him looking too hard. Fine. He could stay present without a visual anchor. There was still buzzing coming from his pocket, thought less often than before. At least they were still around. If anything happened, they would know quickly and be able to do something. Sure, he hadn’t seen them solve any problems yet, but there was enough confidence between the three of them that they had to have some level of competence.

Martin looked down at the bucket in his hand and held back a scream.

Instead, he hissed at the thing, “When?! We aren’t even halfway up! I let myself think for two seconds and- oh, dammit!” He dug into his pocket for the tape recorder, but it was nowhere to be found.

Martin turned toward the wall, any fear being quickly replaced by petty indignation. “Hey! I paid for that! You can’t just- as if you even need to pick my pockets when you’re a big, stupid voice recorder all on your own!”

Besides the echo of his own voice bouncing up and away from him (mocking him, probably) nothing bothered to respond. He had half a mind to toss the bucket and mop down the stairs for the sake of his aching arms, but he resumed his walk with a quickened pace. If Peter hadn’t come back yet, and it didn’t sound like he had, Martin would do something while he had the time.

At the top of the stairs, Martin opened up the group chat just long enough to type one message.

Martin: lighthouse stole my tape recorder

Then he stuffed the mobile away and made a beeline for the horrible machine he’d been faced with every day that week. His phone buzzed with incoming messages, the motion in his pocket slowly becoming more of a reassurance.

First, he took the time to look at it as a whole. The back couldn’t be reached with it pressed up against the inner wall. Did it make sense for it to be put there? Unsurprisingly, when he’d finally looked up how lighthouses were supposed to work, the panel itself was nowhere to be found as part of the process. What a surprise!

When he’d started the new order of button pushing that past Friday, he’d tried to listen for the mechanisms behind it, but he didn’t know enough about normal mechanics let alone whatever this was to make any judgments. He’d cursed himself then for not paying attention and asking more questions at the start, but there was no helping it.

Really, the fact that he’d been hired at all should’ve been a dead giveaway.

The dial that had once allowed Evan to speak was entirely cut out from the process, a disconnected thing that gave no feedback after being twisted. Did that mean the entire cause was lost? Or had its function been moved to another piece, or a series of pieces-

“Ah, Martin, thought I might find you up here.”

Martin was going to die.

It was a thought that came unbidden, the only clear thing in his head as he turned to find Peter Lukas climbing the last stair without a sound coming from his less than newly polished leather shoes. The soles should’ve made a clicking sound.

Peter looked at him and smiled. “Scared you, didn’t I? Always been told I have quiet feet.”

“Yeah, you did. Wasn’t very nice.” He couldn’t keep the slight shake out of his voice. His hand reached out and grasped the mop’s hand.

“Not for you maybe, but the look on your face is very funny.” The smile grew just a little more cheerful.

“Sure. Well, I’m-”

“Cleaning, right,” Peter said, pressing a hand to his forehead as if remembering something. “Glad to see the last smudges from them wiped away, if I’m honest. More people, more mess for you to clean up later.”

“I suppose, yeah. Need to clean anyway, though.” To emphasize his point, Martin began to clean the floor around and away from the panel. “Did you…”

“Oh, no, nothing really. Just wanted to check in a bit more after all the... disruption from before. And to make you jump a little. Need to make my own fun, sometimes. The week has been dreadful, Martin.”

And you’re spreading the feeling around. “Hm,” Martin replied, as dismissive and uninterested as he could muster.

Martin could hear the smile in Peter’s voice and knew he’d failed to dampen the man’s strange energy. “Yes, well, I’ll be off. When-” And then Peter was interrupted by a prolonged buzzing in Martin’s pocket. “Need to answer that?”

Shrugging, Martin continued to mop and kept his eyes to the ground. “Weird spam call, probably. Mum wouldn’t call my mobile.”

“Mm, good answer. Company time and all that.” With an odd stretching motion, Peter glanced out the window. “Oh, and what were you doing when I came up?”

“Stretches,” Martin replied abruptly. He coughed and evened out his voice. “The walk up is terrible.”

“And that’s why I have you do it for me!” Peter’s laugh came out rough and strangely quiet, a noise that settled under Martin’s skin. The old man’s face twisted into an unreadable smile, something that underneath the mirth felt like a taunt. “But enough of that. Don’t know if I’ll be back again today. And keep that thing quiet if you’re not expecting work calls. Nothing worse than being contacted from anywhere in the world at any time, truly.” The smile seemed to sink into a genuine, almost childlike frown, and Peter slinked back down the stairs without another sound.

After about five minutes of mopping, Martin released the hand and collapsed on the couch. Stupid, stupid, of course he would come right as he was about to fiddle with things.

The prolonged vibrations had ceased some minutes ago, and Martin finally opened the group chat to see what he’d missed. There were several messages from earlier in which Tim and the others had continued to chat. Then his message and general confusion and concern which Martin had expected. Finally, a missed call from Sasha, followed by a text.

Sasha: do we need to get over there?

Blinking, Martin considered the message. Was that an option?

Martin: no everything is over

Martin: peter came in, had to lie about it being a spam call

Jon: of course he did

Sasha: well, call when you think it’s safe

Tim: and maybe check your pockets

Immediately, Martin patted himself down, though nothing seemed amiss. His phone was of course still on him, and there was nothing new.

Martin: everything else is the same. the lighthouse wasnt nice enough to trade something for my tape recorder

Tim: :(

Jon: Sasha is right. We’ll do better if we talk over the phone later when you’re sure to be out of Lukas’ sight. Keep inventory of your things and call us when you can.

Hesitating for a moment, Martin looked down at the winding stairs.

Martin: if you had to get here how long would it take

Sasha: about two hours if i’m driving

Martin: right

Martin: okay. ill call you soon

The same conclusion was made as before, only moreso. Martin would keep his head down with exactly zero poking around. The lockscreen of his mobile would show no notifications to mitigate the risk of eavesdropping (what if his phone was stolen by his evil workplace?), and unless there was some sort of emergency no messages or calls were to be made during his work hours.

Peter certainly knew something was going on. There was no point in pretending otherwise. Martin would have to hope they were both committed to playacting their routine for as long as the others needed to get back and do something.

The thought dug a pit in his stomach. Pretending that everything was exactly the way it had been was just... being alone for most of the day. He’d enjoyed receiving random messages at work and the sudden movement in his pocket that meant someone was around. It was a normal thing for people, texting when they’re supposed to be working. Pity he’d mucked it up so fast.

Long after he’d prepared for sleep, Martin sat on his bed with mobile in hand. His contact list was so short that he didn’t even need to scroll to find Jon’s name. It was right under an old manager he’d never deleted from his contacts.

His thumb twitched over the call button. He wasn’t going to do it, but it was a nice thought. They’d already spoken at length today, with everyone showing enough concern that Martin had needed the alone time afterwards to breath.

That being said, enough time had passed for him to be itching for any conversation he could get, and he wanted to talk to Jon because he still didn’t quite get Sasha, and conversation with Tim tended to run short because Martin didn’t know how to keep things going after he’d dumped all of his grievances on the guy the week prior.

And he liked talking to Jon. And maybe it was because Martin understood a topic Jon cared deeply about, but Jon seemed to like talking to Martin, too.

There was no call that night, and he was out 20 pounds for that tape recorder from the resale shop.

#tma #the magnus archives #breathe in the salt #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #sasha james #timothy stoker #peter lukas #jonmartin #fanfic #au fanfic #selkie au

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rohad93 · 4 years

Text

Worth the Fight

Medival Au, cause i am nothing if not predictable in what i like to write about. dont expect these updates as quickly as MM. im still working out the plot.

Trees, fields, and more, big surprise, more fields. Sometimes she spotted the occasional wild animal scampering through the grass, though that was the most interesting thing she’d seen so far.

”Are we there yet?” Luz asked for the third time in an hour as she and Eda trudged along the dirt road they had been following for two days as it wound through the fields and forests of the countryside.

“Do you see the city?” Eda asked as she glanced at her apprentice out of the corner of her eye.

“No…”

“Then we’re not there yet!” Eda threw up her arms. “Kid, relax, we’ll get there when we get there, I know you’re tired, I’m tired, hell, King is tired.” She gestured to the demonic dire wolf trotting along beside them, tongue lolling out of his mouth. His black fur shined in the sun but was near blinding against the white fur on the top of his head that created a distinct skull-like pattern across the top of his face.

“Poor baby…,” Luz cooed as she reached out and scratched the space between his horns, making his tail wag.

“He’ll live….” Eda rolled her eyes. “but you might not if you ask me if ‘we’re there yet’ one more time,” she grumbled, adjusting the light plate armor on her shoulders. It was the height of summer and as used to traveling in the stuff as she was, she was still baking under the sweltering midday sun.

Luz just pouted as they walked along. The leather of her boots was rubbing raw spots on the soles of her feet with each mile they walked.

Two days ago Eda had shaken her awake from where she and King had been lying curled up in a pile of hay. The seventeen-year-old had been half asleep and had missed most of what the older woman had been saying to her, just trying to keep her eyes open as Eda rambled on and shoved their meager belongings into an old rucksack.

What she managed to glean from the rapid-paced, one-sided conversation was something about a job, money, and leaving town, which did catch her attention.

They had been to a lot of towns over the years she had been training under Eda, and some were definitely better than others in terms of how the locals treated humans, but the one they had been staying in for the last year was probably the worst of them all. It got to the point that when Eda went to meet potential clients for jobs, Luz had to stay behind because they would take one look at Luz trailing behind her and decide that no matter the older woman’s reputation with a blade, they didn’t want the human girl around.

They’d see her rounded ears and sneer, glaring down their noses at her. Surely any self-respecting witch or sell-sword worth her salt wouldn’t be letting a human follow her around. Eda would say something snarky that almost always resulted in a near brawl and Luz would stick her tongue out at them as Eda stomped away, grumbling colorful words under her breath.

Eda was on her side, but it eventually boiled down to being able to eat and Luz decided it was best to just stay behind, even though it meant she wouldn’t get much in the way of training in swordsmanship or the combat magic that went along with it, not that she could actually do the same kind of combat magic that was natural to Witch’s anyway, being human.

As Eda had once explained it to her, witches had an extra organ, a bile sac, she wasn't entirely sure that's what it was actually called, she learned a long time ago that Eda had a tendency to make things up if she didn't know the answer. Supposedly it was an extra organ that allowed witches to absorb the natural magical energy of their world and use it to add powerful effects to items, especially weapons. Those that did were witch knights, the strongest and some of the most respected members of society, and Luz wanted so badly to be one, to prove that she was worth something, human or not, but without a bile sac, she was lacking the magical aspect, which left her at a distinct disadvantage. Heck, she didn’t even have a real sword, so she couldn’t even do the most basic jobs to help Eda feed the three of them, King alone ate like a horse, with Luz trailing behind him. She was a growing girl after all! Eda always said she’d get one when she thought she was ready, not before.

She’d usually just use the dull-practice blade Eda had given her to work on her stances and strikes, beating the living tar out of whatever trees she happened to come across in the woods while she waited for her to come back with King trailing along behind her.

To say she was glad to be out of that town though was an understatement, even if Eda still hadn’t told her where they were going, and as glad as she was to have left the dreary little town of Beldville, she was so tired of walking!

She pulled at the collar of her violet-colored tunic, sweat was making it stick to her clammy skin, but she knew better than to say anything, they were both hot and tired.

They continued the silent trudge beneath the sun, which thankfully was slowly, but surely sinking closer and closer toward the horizon, though it didn’t lessen the heat any. Eventually, the sun had moved to dip just below the horizon, nearly blinding her with its bright orange rays, as it sank and dark blues were starting to rise up over the horizon line in response to the waning light.

Luz shielded her eyes with a hand and glanced into the distance. The dark smudge in the distance was slowly growing into the silhouettes of buildings and she grinned.

“Is that it?” she pointed excitedly toward the end of the road.

"Nope," Eda said, popping the 'p'.

"Whadda ya mean 'nope'?" Luz whined. "That's a town!"

"It's a town, and we're going to spend the night there, but that's not where we're going," she informed her and Luz groaned, shoulder slumping.

"Where ARE we going?" she huffed.

"Patience, apprentice." Eda wagged a finger and grinned at her, making Luz grumble.

Eda always said that when she didn’t feel like explaining herself, which was often.

It was a small town, and although it was nearly dark there were still a number of people milling about the streets.

A few people glanced at her and Luz frowned, pulling up her hood to cover her distinctly rounded ears from view. There was no need to draw any unneeded trouble when they were only going to stay one night.

Eda noticed the motion but said nothing as she dug through a pouch on her belt.

"Here, Kid." She held her hand out to Luz, who held up her upturned palm as Eda dropped a handful of coins into it. "Go get yourself something to eat and I'll meet you back here at this inn." she hooked the thumb over her shoulder to the worn building behind her.

Luz broke out into a wide smile at the silver coins in her hand.

“Thanks, Eda!” She turned and dashed off down the road with King hot on her heels. Eda just smiled as she watched her disappear around the corner.

Luz trotted down the street, she didn’t know this place, but she knew most towns had pretty similar layouts and the market was always at the center of town, and sure enough, she soon found herself walking through the market with King at her side, most people gave the cloaked girl and the demonic creature a wide breadth, understandably. Usually, creatures like King were wild, bloodthirsty monsters that would just as soon rip off your arm, and she’d seen him do it the last time she’d been attacked by a villager with a human problem.

Luz had never feared him, he’s always just been Eda’s silent companion and her big baby ever since she’d started traveling with the gray-maned sell-sword.

She reached over and scratched that certain spot behind his right ear that made him let out a low growl that almost sounded like a happy hum to her.

“Hungry buddy?” she asked, smiling as they walked and he snorted.

There were days Luz was almost sure he understood every word she said. There was just a certain, almost intelligent look in his rusty, red-colored eyes when he looked at her.

“Let’s get some food then!”

She glanced around at the different shops and a few stalls before her eyes fell on a storefront and lit up.

‘Tomes and manuscripts’

“Book shop!” Luz whispered excitedly to herself and made a beeline for it. “Wait here, King.” She turned to the beast, who snorted and plopped himself onto the ground outside the shop. She pushed the door open and grinned as the smell of ink and old parchment filled her nose.

Luz loved books, though she rarely had access to them. Having to carry everything you owned with you at all times meant that you just couldn’t have some things, and books were heavy and took up space that could be put to better use, for food or supplies, that’s what Eda said anyway. Luz would reluctantly admit she was right, but she didn’t have to like it!

“Welcome!” a voice called from her left. She looked over at the old witch peering at her over his spectacles at her. “Can I help you find anything?”

“Uh, thank you, just looking.” she waved a hand.

He nodded and she walked down the many shelves packed with worn leather-bound tomes, grinning to herself as she ran her fingers over their spines, feeling the smooth, cool bindings beneath her fingertips. So many stories, knowledge, and wild adventures aplenty crammed between two hard leather covers. Luz adored books, a lifelong love affair lit aflame by her mother, who had taught her to read and write at a young age. Something uncommon among the lower classes of witches and unheard of for humans in the Empire of the Boiling Isles, who were the lowest class citizens of them all, but her mother hadn’t been from the Isles. She’d always told Luz about a beautiful place across the sea, with fine grain, white sand beaches, and tall trees very unlike the ones here, that dipped and swayed with the wind, their leaves long and few, but still perfect for blocking out the strong rays of sunlight on a clear day.

Luz sometimes wondered what it might actually be like to see it with her own eyes, she doubted she ever would, her mother had always told her it was far away and she’d left to escape a war, bringing only her native tongue and a sack of food.

Luz hummed to herself as she continued browsing up and down the dimly lit rows of books with rapt interest. She turned a corner and glimpsed a small table covered in old, worn books, and felt drawn to them.

They were all hefty tomes and she flipped through the first few on the stack, nothing of any real interest, some play scripts, and something about treaties on the great war. She set them aside and picked up the last one in the stack. It had a dark brown cover with gold inlay around the corners and spine. It’s worn leather bindings were pockmarked with scratches and divots, some worse than others. She flipped it open and found some of the pages were yellowed and crinkled in places as though they had gotten wet and been left out in the sun to dry at some point.

The pages were full of runic writing that she couldn’t even begin to guess at, but as she flipped through the pages she stopped on one with a drawing, a perfect circle with several lines that made up some kind of symbol.

There was very little text in the book that she understood but one set of runes did stand out, the symbols meaning ‘light’. She’d learned them years ago when her mother had told her that her name meant light.

She ran a finger over the crisp, inked lines of the glyph.

They glowed.

“Augh!” she nearly tossed the book across the room, it clattered across the floor with a heavy thump and she grimaced as it landed on the wooden floor. She held her arms up in defense, but the book only continued to lie there.

After a moment quickly scooped it up and gazed at its gold bindings before she flipped it back open to the page with the illustration. She hesitated a moment, hand hovering over the illustration before pressing her fingers over it, skin running across the rough parchment beneath.

The lines began to give off a pale light as she traced them, till eventually, the entire thing was awash in soft glimmering light.

Luz stared at the glowing drawing with open awe and wonder.

“Magic…,” she breathed.

She’d done magic, she wasn’t sure what kind or even what it was supposed to do, but for the first time in her life, magic!"

She needed to look through this, all of it.

"I'll be closing shop in a few minutes!" The shop keeps voice carried out through the store making Luz jerk.

A few minutes wasn't nearly enough time! Her mind raced with thoughts before finally deciding as she slapped the book closed and hurried to the front counter where the shopkeep was still standing.

“How many snails for this book?” she set it on the counter and he eyed it for a moment.

"This? Bah, ten snails, it has little value to any witch, merely theories on old magic.

"I'll take it!" She slapped half the money Eda had given her on the counter.

Only King would be eating tonight it seemed, but the chance at magic? Worth a hungry night.

He nodded and accepted the coins as he pushed the book back toward her, but as he did, got a glimpse under her hood and spotted her rounded ears.

Luz knew what happened the second it happened. His brows crinkled between his eyes and his once, disarming smile, curled into a sneer.

"A human, in my shop!?"

Luz snatched the book off the counter and bolted for the door.

"No take backs!" she squealed as she burst out the door, making King jump up as she did.

She dashed back the way they had come, the black beast loping along behind her with an excited, rumbling bark.

It didn't take long for them to get out of sight, turning the corner and ducking into an alley.

She pressed her back to the wall, clutching the book to her chest, and waited until it finally seemed like she wasn't being chased; she peeked her head out and found the street clear.

She turned back to look at the worn leather-bound book in her hands and grinned.

She couldn't wait to look at it better later.

King whined at her side, scratching at her with his paw.

"Ah, right, right. Let's get you some food, buddy." She smiled at him and snuck toward the other end of the market, spending the rest of the money Eda had given her to buy meat for the beast, who wolfed it down in record time, practically swallowing it whole before they made their way back to the Inn.

"Get some grub?" Eda asked from her place sitting in one of the beds when they walked into their rented room. King immediately trotting over to the empty bed and jumping up on it and curling up into a massive black ball of fur.

"Fed King, yea." She nodded, pulling off her cloak and kicking off her boots before she climbed into bed, shoving King over.

He growled at her but she just shoved harder till there was space for her to lay. He snorted in response but never lifted his head as she laid next to him, book in hand.

“What about you?” Eda narrowed her amber eyes at her, noticing how she only mentioned king. “And where’d you get the book?”

“Uh…” Luz stalled and Eda sighed.

You bought the book instead of eating, didn’t you?” It wasn’t really a question.

“Yeah…,” Luz mumbled and Eda sighed.

"Well, what was so much more important than eating? If it's another flowery love story, kid, I swear…," she trailed off, rolling her eyes.

"It's not!" she insisted. "It's a book about magic!" She flipped it open and opened to the diagram and ran her hands over it, creating the same glow as it had in the bookshop, which made Eda sit up.

"Well, look at that…" she tilted her head. "What's it do?" She looked back up at Luz.

"I'm… not sure yet…" She shrugged. “I need more time to read it." Eda hummed, looking at the glowing glyph on the paper before shrugging and plopping back down on her bed.

“Whatever kid, just don’t stay up all night looking at it,” she grumbled, rolling over and pulling the blanket up over her head.

“You go it, teach!” Luz promised as she snuggled back against King and flipped through the pages.

She really wished she could read any of the writing around it other than the runes for light. She flipped some more pages and found another diagram, a sketch of a sconce, or something similar with a circle drawn above it and little lines indicating rays of light. She hummed to herself.

She had only the basic knowledge of how Eda did magic. She could just kind of think about what kind of effect she wanted to apply to an object and would press her hand to the blade of her sword and it would glow for a second before taking effect, she’d made her show her enough times to know.

Luz pursed her lips and leaned over to her satchel sitting on the floor by her bed and dug out a piece of charcoal she liked to use to draw when they were on the road or she was waiting around on Eda, ignoring the angry rumbling of her empty stomach. She pulled her training sword out of its sheath and looked at the blunt, reflective weapon for a long minute before carefully drawing out the glyph across the flat of the blade.

she glanced back and forth between the book and her blade, humming to herself when the last line was completed. She hesitated a second before pressing a fingertip to it and the glyph glowed before the bright light spread across the entire length of the blade, lighting the room up.

Luz stared at it in awe, before a bright grin stretched across her face, empty stomach forgotten.

She’d done it.

She’d done magic!

#the owl house #worth the fight #eventual Lumity #Luz Noceda #King #Eda Clawthorne #toh #medival AU

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herakosmos · 4 years

Text

@dreamyjaems: “hi babycakes!! i loved your “target headcannons” and it was so enjoyable to read! i was having a rough night, so reading it brought a huge smile on my face 🥰 so if you don’t mind, could you do the “target” headcannons but with goshiki and atsumu! thank you very much and i hope you have a lovely day! i look forward to reading more things from you and good luck on your blog! 💓”

hi bb! ty for the kind words🥺 im glad it made your night <33 you’re my first request, so im kinda nervous😭

im not too familiar w/ goshiki and atsumu, so i’m sorry if they’re ooc :((( i really hope you like it tho!

going to target w/ their s/o

{hcs for goshiki and atsumu}

goshiki

“BABE!!! i’ll go get your favorite cereal brand for you!”

✰ would run all the way across the store just for your favorite type of cereal LMAO

✰ when he comes back PLS praise him 🥺

“goshiki you’re so sweet how did you know?”

✰ stands proudly, chest out and smiles ear to ear

“well..i always see you eating this type of cereal in the morning!”

✰ he would probably get really flustered from pda, so don’t do it unless you’re ready for an overheated baby

✰ pushes the cart for you the moment you guys enter target and would insist to push it until the very end of the trip

✰ IF you’re feeling a little mean today, your hand would “accidentally” intertwine with his on the handle bar

✰ goshiki.exe has stopped working

“u-um y/n what are you doing?”

✰ HIS WHOLE FACE TURNS SO RED POOR BABY

“nothing, i just want to push the cart with you” :)

✰ tries to loosen up a bit, but his heart would be pounding so much that it’s the only thing he could hear <\3

✰ still tries to suck it up and look like it’s not making him sweat at all (even though it is)

✰ he’ll get anything and everything for you

✰ no matter what height you are, goshiki would still want to grab the items on the highest shelf just to impress you. he’ll put it in the cart so proudly knowing how cool that was of him

✰ sometimes it’ll either leave him with a proud smirk or a face of defeat when you aren’t looking HABQAHBSAHS

“did you see that y/n!?”

“huh? what do you mean baby?”

✰ you’ll leave him stunned and kinda hurt tbh

✰ this won’t stop him from trying though!!!

✰ i feel like goshiki would also want to check out the sports section. his eyes would automatically land on the children sports gear and turn soft. he would get MAJOR baby fever from the sight of it and immediately turn to you about it

“BAB-“

“i know what you’re thinking goshiki and nows not the right time to talk about it”

“BUT”

“goshiki -.-”

“yes ma’am!”

✰ salutes you cutely and that leaves you in a giggling mess. he loves to do dorky actions just to make you laugh and he succeeds every time🙈

✰ probably thinks about what ushijima gets from each aisle you guys pass through. even though you always remind him he doesn’t need to BE like him in order to beat him lmao

✰ 100% pays for everything. he flexed his money and bought $100+ worth of junk food

✰ practically broke afterwards, but doesn’t really care because it was spent on you🥺🥺

✰ going back to the car, he’ll put you in the cart too with the grocery bags like kuroo, but would do it to only show off how strong he is haha

“baby are you sure this is fine?!”

✰ HE’LL BE GOING SO FAST SOMEONE SLOW HIS ASS DOWN

“DON’T WORRY MY LOVE THIS IS NOTHING”

✰ he of course would start to load the car for you. maybe roll up his sleeves just a tad for you to see his ya’know 👉💪😼

✰ you’d be so grateful to have this little bean like??? he’s so sweet :(

✰ you of course had to do something in return. before goshiki could even say a word out of his mouth, you connected his lips with yours for a light peck. his eyes would be WIDE open while receiving it omg

✰ goshiki: 👁💋👁

“thank you for everything today goshiki….i love you”

✰ AWH CRAP GOSHIKI STOPPED WORKING AGAIN

✰ the kiss made him blush 10x more than from inside the store and starts to muster up a sentence to try and say how he wants another one

“m-maybe we c-could do that a-again?”

✰ of couse you would give another one for the cutie. this time he actually lets it last for at least 5 secs before letting you go

“i love you too baby...always!!”

atsumu

✰ you being his first ever long term s/o, going out to target with his partner was a first for him. atsumu honestly just came because he had nothing else to do...or at least that’s what he told you

✰ atsumu is a man of physical contact, so expect A LOT of pda. he honestly doesn’t give a fuck😭 he’s THAT ballsy to try anything in public

✰ he would be the type to put his arm around your waist while in the midst of choosing between two snacks. this little punk would slowly start to trail his hand lower...and lower....and low-

✰*SMACK*

✰ you smacked his hand off before he could do anything perverted😭 boy would be sorta pissed at either the fact you didn’t let him do what he wanted to do or because you slapped his hand wayy too hard and its turning red now JANXNC

✰ although atsumu can be protective, you can’t be protected from his jabs of teases and pranks lmao

✰ he would purposely take an item out of the cart and put it on a random shelf until you’ll notice something is missing

✰ when he sees you getting all riled up or show some sort of irritation he can’t help but admire how cute you look all mad. doesn’t try to show any expression though and hides it with a smirk

✰ 100% only does it to get a reaction outta you😭

✰ drags guides the cart to the toy section and checks to see if they have any cool action figures (idk why but i feel like he would collect those kinda stuff)

✰ turns out there’s only those science toys

✰ (kuroo?👀)

“why is there only fucking science shit”

“HUN there’s children next to us don’t say that”

✰ looks at the children and then back at you with a lazy smirk

“ffffffuuckkk” says it in slow-motion

✰ AHAHAHAHAHSHXHCHH

✰ omg you would just roll your eyes at his immaturity and leave him there with the clueless children 😭😭

“awww come on princess don’t be like that, i'm just teasing”

✰ another eye roll came from your face at how stupid he is, but can’t hold back a small giggle as well

✰ ah how he loves that adorable giggle of yours

✰ the sole reason for this target trip was to look for furniture and it was the LAST stop you guys took from this whole time

✰ atsumu would straight up lounge on a couch even though it would say do not sit on it’s only for display

✰ AGAIN mans does not give a flying fuck he does what he wants😎

✰ if an employee tries to tell him to get off his reply would be:

“if i wanna buy it, my ass needs to approve”

“babe! i don’t think there’s anything here that’s nice we should look somewhere else”

“ahh seems like my princess and my ass doesn’t seem to approve this leather couch of yours we’ll be writing reviews on yelp”

✰ hey, his baby didn’t find what they wanted 🤷‍♀️

✰ rumor has it the employee’s jaw is dropped to the ground till this day lmao

✰ once you reach the check-out area and pay for the junks you got, you put the groceries into the cart and atsumu squishes your face to stop you

“babe, we’ll find you a pretty couch in no time”

✰ not gonna lie you were kinda bummed from not finding anything

“i know just what to do to make you happy again”

✰ debby ryan smirks 🌚🌚

✰ he immediately lets go of your face and starts jogging towards the lines of carts to get one for himself.

“lets race!”

✰ your face immediately lit up from the request of a pisshead (who wouldn’t want to wipe that smirk off of that handsome face🙃)

✰ you two both started to race each other on carts towards the car and you won. he probably would say he made you win on purpose just because you were a bit pouty

✰ laughter filled the air from how THIS was his way of cheering you up. it was so cute for him to “lose” for you

“babe you’re such a loser”

✰ your lips suddenly met his cheek for a light peck

✰ you thought it didn’t really faze him until he asked you to slap both of his cheeks till they turned red

✰ the only reason he told you to do that was to hide the fact his cheeks were burning from that tiny peck LMAO

taglist: (i’ll add more in the future!🥺)

@deadontheinsidebut @kat-writes-haikyuu @lovetsuki

want to request hcs or a matchup? here are the rules!

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu headcanons #atsumu hcs #haikyuu atsumu #atsumu fluff #haikyuu goshiki #goshiki fluff #goshiki hcs

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sourbat · 4 years

Note

“do you want me to give you advice or do you just want me to listen?” magtok or ship if your choice

This got a little self-indulgent.

and yes, it’s magtok

After their shared meeting, the psychiatrist requested that Toki leave, and Magnus stay behind for a little while longer. Neither had any reason to believe the news was bad, but when Magnus does leave the small office some five minutes later, looking a little worse for wear, Toki assumes some misgiving had occurred. Bad news? Failure to meet certain goal posts? An increase in dosage?

After a few handshakes, the required talks with the nurse scheduling the next appointment, it’s a quiet ride down the elevator, with Magnus reading the overview of his meeting in absolute silence. Toki clicks his tongue against his teeth, testing the tone and Magnus’ overall mood. The older man never voices a single complaint the ride down, and continues keeping to himself the walk to the car.

Toki refuses for the ride home to be silent, and immediately snuffs any chance of Magnus spending the next several minutes driving and moping in silence. The keys go into the ignition, and Toki stops him and asks if there is anything he can do to help Magnus. He makes sure not to guess the source of the problem, point a finger or ask any additional questions.

The question hangs above their heads. Toki waits for Magnus’ response, mentally preparing himself for the worse, only to have Magnus drop the keys he had readied for the ignition, and quietly announces that his psychiatrist wants him to consider dropping the mood suppressants.

“She wants you off the suppresscants?” Toki says aloud, taking in the news one word at a time. He falls into the passenger seat, eyes agape and staring out towards the parking lot.

“Yeah.” Magnus squeezes the keys in his hand. “Since my dosage is already so low, she wants me to–”

“Oh, Magnus, this ams such great news!” Toki reaches over to Magnus’ side, pulling him into an awkward, but loving embrace. He rubs his face against a tuft of brown waves, smiling at the tickle.

Toki waited for this day. Magnus worked so hard trying to get better. They’d been to so many sessions. Even on the best of days, Toki knows Magnus didn’t look forward to the trips. He could be in a good mood going in, but the sessions always prove to be stressful, cathartic to the point of it being emotionally overwhelming at times. It isn’t easy.

Manus wriggles underneath him. “You’re really excited about this?”

“Yeps!” Toki happily announces. “You gets to get offs another medicines!”

Satisfied, Toki relinquishes his hold on Magnus and drops back to his seat, but not before picking up the stapled, folded sheets detailing the information of their recent visit. He flips through the pages, stopping at the second to the last where he reads the summary and doctor’s suggestion. There it is, clear as day. The good news. Drop the suppressants to see if Magnus can rely solely on learned techniques and his own hindsight to keep himself in check. It’s real. This is real. It has been such a long time coming, but it’s finally here.

And isn't this one of the pills Magnus couldn’t mix with alcohol? Toki’s eyes glisten with excitement and possibilities. He thinks of the new and old activities he can reintroduce to Magnus, once he is clear, cleansed of this old prescription and off the blasted pills. They can go out and drink more, and Magnus can get drunk again! Maybe Magnus can take other things, too, and Toki wouldn’t have to worry about it getting in the way of decision making, Magnus making rash decisions, or Magnus going from one extreme to the-

Toki notices how quiet it’s gotten, and when he turns and checks on Magnus, sees that he is still fiddling with the keys. His eyes shift between the collective sheets in Toki’s hands, and the many keys and chains he entangles with his busy hands.

“Ims there something wrongs?” Toki asks, not quite catching on to Magnus’ silence.

A frown. “Nothing,” he answers, still eyeing the keys. “Just…didn’t think you’d get so excited.”

Toki folds the sheets messily on top one another. “You ams getting off the medicaskons. Beens a long times since that happens.”

It’s been over a year since dropping another medication. Toki remembers it clear as day. Like now, Toki had been just as excited, but so had Magnus. They’d both been so relieved to know there was one less thing holding Magnus together.

Why isn’t Magnus happy right now?

Toki’s hand crushes the sheets. “Magnus?”

Magnus grips the wheel. “Toki, I don’t think I–”

The leather groans under his hold. Toki grits his teeth against the sound. A nasty weight piles in his stomach the second Magnus tears away from the window to meet him.

His stare lets Toki know it’s dread.

“I don’t think I want to get off the suppressants,” Magnus announces, voice unwavering, but it’s clear he’s upset. Toki can hear the sharp cadence, the hidden snap that was already gathering on the defense. “I… don’t want to stop taking them.”

Toki’s silent. He stares at Magnus, watches his expression turn from nervous to dejected at what Toki assumes is his own disappointed expression. Toki can feel it reach into every fiber of his being. The shock. The sudden turn of events. He must look so surprised, he thinks, but can’t bring himself to check in the mirror. He can’t even get himself to look away from Magnus who keeps eyeing him, waiting for a change, a smile, a supportive line. Anything.

Toki’s head fills with questions. He tries reaching for one, the most obvious “but why nots,” but as he parts his lips, Magnus jerks in seat.

“Like, I know you’re really excited” he says, voice picking up volume and a distinct uncontrolled shakiness. Magnus smiles when he says it, too, though Toki can detect its inauthenticity the second Magnus tries offering it to him. “I was, too. But then she kept talking about the cleansing period, and the initial swings, and I don’t know, man.”

Magnus hands leave the wheel and start swinging, moving with frantic words and expressions that carve deep into Toki. He sees Magnus shake, go pale as he fights to defend a decision Toki cannot comprehend. The fake smile leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

“I know it’s been a while, and I know I see it all through black and white, but I don’t want to say or do anything like I remember,” Magnus says through the silent strain. Toki blinks, witnessing past acts of blind or misdirected rage. He sees Magnus hiding under the covers for days, only leaving to use the restroom or rehydrate. He watches Magnus right now, shaking his head at himself, disbelieving his own strength. “I don’t want to snap at people. I don’t want to feel like I’m choking on my own thoughts.”

There’s anger sitting at the edge of every word. Toki hears it lingering, feels its weight settle around him, but never aimed directly at him.

Magnus coughs false laughter. “Am I overreacting? You think I’m overreacting, don’t you?” He points a finger at himself. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I? I’m being stupid, making this more than what it has to be…”

He falls into his seat, hands dragging across his face. Fingers get caught in his hair, curl and writhe and purposely get tangled. Toki stops it with a hand resting on top of Magnus' leg. The simple gesture is enough for Magnus to fix himself up, though avoids looking in Toki’s direction until he’s able to tolerate his own reflection in the rearview.

“I’m over-fucking-thinking it, again.” He sighs. Toki squeezes Magnus’ thigh, calling for his attention. It takes a few seconds for Magnus to relax, for shoulder ease into place and frown shift into a defeated grin, before he finally secedes. He stares solemnly at Toki. “I need to stop doing that. I really should’ve just asked you from the start, huh?”

The hand shifts from the thigh to Magnus’ hand.

Toki peers close. “Do you wants me to gives you advice or does you just wants me to listen?”

There’s a pin that burrows into his chest when he utters it, because he knows it’s far from what he wants to tell Magnus. But it’s what the man needs to hear, and once it's out there, Toki sees Magnus’ chest heave, and eyes go dark before being covered with his sleeve.

“…I don’t want to be angry all the time,” Magnus confesses. The answer doesn’t immediately surprise Toki, but the fear riddled in Magnus’ eyes, the dread in his voice keeps Toki alert and listening. “I don’t want to feel like I need to look over my shoulder. I don’t want to hurt you. I know you think I won’t, but I can’t shake this feeling I’ll do something awful if I don’t keep myself in check. I know you trust me, but I don’t know if I’m quite there yet, with you. You trust me, but… I’ve done it to you on meds, and now she wants me off of them? What if say something I can’t take back?”

The pin pushes further inward. It hurts because all Toki can hear is how much Magnus thinks about him, how considerate he’s trying to be. It’s so sweet. How nice of him, but he was being so mean to himself in the process. That also hurt, because Toki knows Magnus is better than he thinks. He’s stronger than he gives himself credit for. And it hurts the most because it means the day hasn’t yet arrived, and Toki is going to have to wait a little longer for it to come.

“Okays.”

“What?”

Toki pulls in his lips, fighting past a sigh as he fishes for the right words. They come sooner than predicted, and with them, a gentle warmth. Acceptance. “If you don’t think you ams ready, then you ams not ready. I trusts you. And when you ams, we can celebrates then, okays?”

There’s a smile near the end, and when it forms, the pain lessens. Toki feels it spread across his face, and with it the sense that he still needs to reel Magnus back to him.

He goes for the shoulder. “You okays?”

A despondent frown. “You’re not upset?”

There’s no point in lying to Magnus, not after being so blatantly disappointed after hearing the news. He can handle the truth, Toki thinks, and the more he dwells on it, the more Toki realizes it’s better they both hear.

“I knows I was exciteds about you drinkins and havins fun with me, but we does that anyways,” Toki starts cautiously, and watches as Magnus gives a short, but confirming nod. He tucks his hands between his legs. “And you said you don’t trusts yourskelves, so…Toki will just have to works on that. Helps out my bestest friend believes in himself more.”

He looks up hopefully at Magnus. Toki unbuckles his seatbelt, leaves his seat and takes Magnus into an embrace.

“This ams your therapy,” he says, and feels Magnus’ arms fold around him. “You gets to decides when you ams ready, not me.”

Magnus shuts his eyes. A sharp intake of breath. “Thank you.”

The words hit just right, because once Toki hears it, the pain starts to vanish. They remain that way for some time, with Magnus selfishly pulling Toki as close as their limited space will allow, and Toki listening in on the occasional sniff, the skip of a rapid heartbeat desperately working to convince itself this wasn’t a failure, but something else.

Eventually, the discomfort of his potion forces Toki to part with Magnus sooner than preferred. He catches a relieved sigh once he does, but notices Magnus wiping his face once he does return to his seat. The man hasn’t quite recovered yet.

Toki spots the keys resting between Magnus’ legs. He swallows.

“Wants me to drive?”

Eyes still closed, Magnus stubbornly shakes his head. “You hate driving.”

Toki openly challenges the remark with a slight drop of his voice. “Do you wants me to drive us homes?”

The steering wheel groans, and Magnus’s head sinks against the growing silence.

Eyes open, and tears fall. “Yeah…”

Smiling, Toki reaches for the keys.

#wxcked-fc #thank you #fic ask thing #magtok #hammertooth

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cullxtheherd · 3 years

Note

oh my god I haven't thought about BtVS in so long fdjsaio tell me some of your Angel/Angelus headcanons (insert eyes emoji here)

jhbjghljkghkfgl; oh my GOD i honestly never stopped loving AtS or BtVS!! bgut i did stop watching originally when Doyle perished cause?? sorry but he is babey and though i do understand why the actor was let go from his role, it's still super upsetting. i hate the episode Hero and also love it to pieces- just watched it yesterday and screamed ALLEN FRANCIS NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO for just. so long. tbh i was thinking about adopting him as a muse but tbh with you Angel and older 90s/early 00s muses don't get much attention anyways so i haven't yet skdjksds maybe after Harry from Resident Alien later tonight gets added I'll think about it again ksjdksjd. ANYWAYS THIS ISN'T WHAT YOU ASKED FOR KSJDSkfsd ON WITH IT!! just be aware there is no way i can include all the headcanons here so i'll just hlglhkglkhlgk about the ones i can think of asap

𝓐𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵

in the show (both buffy & angel) they are constantly telling us through dialogue, scene setting, etc that the reason Angel and (later) Spike hate killing and feeding suddenly is because "killing humans = bad ☹ grr, arrgh." i think it runs deeper than this. i think they are not solely repulsed because it is the morally wrong thing to do. i think they are disgusted in?? an almost obsessive way because of how badly they'd still like to do it despite knowing better and having control over themselves. certain episodes the way Angel and Spike's portrayals go: yes definitely they are giving us that and barely highlighting it. but i really. i don't remember either show ever coming out and saying it outright.

personally i think that the Buffy/Angel romance seems waaaayyy super crazy rushed in the show and i'm not really sure if they/joss even meant it like that! it just really be seeming that way af!!! logically the whole affair lasts about/just shy of three years if we are doing the maths and technically?? it really took 1.5 years before they even did the ol squelchy welch. which lmaooa jksdhkdjsfd can you imagine?? any young adults in a consenting relationship actually waiting that long?? yeah ekjnbswedsdxfks anyways. i just? idk. loved AtS and BtVS very much but his departure seemed super rushed and so did their romance bye sjhdbfs

speaking of?? while i am very much a buffy/angel ship supporter as an adult i do find it so freaking weird he?? was made by Darla in 1898 and theennnn spent 171 motha fuckin years parading around as Angelus- didn't even know about Buffy Summers until he was already 269 (nice) and when acathala SHAT his ass back out he was already 371, she was a juNIOr in higHSCHOOOLPLK ANNNDDD i have a hEAdache i gotta goooOO

no but really i. skhjfjhgf as an adult i am weirded out but?? idk it's one of my childhood ships i gotta pry it from my OWN cold dead hands i guess smh

personally i think Angel keeps trinkets from the people he's saved over the years. and i don't mean at random Investigations via his detective agency or, later, Wolfram & Hart. i mean?? the cases we see like?? the episode 'are you now or have you ever been' that takes us back to the 1950s and the Hyperion Hotel in it's heyday. angel aided a woman named Judy Kovacs- albeit rather reluctantly to try and escape and THEN a literal MOB beat and lynched his ass and thennNNNN, in present time, he fights against the same life-sucking chaos-causing Thesulac demon with his friends/colleagues. after all of this he finds Judy somehow still in her room (214) surviving just a few doors down from his (217) so many years ago just?? waiting. and while canonically the show has Angel in room 312? I disagree. i think he would have taken up residence in 214 or 217...... 214 cause i'm feeling sappy. check his bathroom cabinets i bet you it's got at least a few of her accoutrements living inside.

i think?? despite?? darla not being able to take his soul via the big squelchy that he and Angelus really did care about her- heck!! in the early?? 1900s he DID try to return to her and adapt to her violent way of life he just couldn't do it

while i am?? verryyy willing to write buffy/angel ship stuff i really do think after the events in I Will Remember You it would take a literal set of miracles to get him to even attempt being with Buffy again. i think that while he will always love her no matter what that he has learned that?? things that are or seem too?? good or pure for a creature like him genuinely are. though he is/was the Powers That Be-s-es-es?? ES favorite ensouled boy-toy i really, genuinely do think that a happy ending is just NOT in the cards for our boyo

if buffy wasn't evidence enough of that fact?? cordy. Skip really came and took her just like that. then the whatevers that WHOEVER shat her back out to really just give birth to jasmine and connor and i rrepwsrenbjhdfbskdjnsf worst. season. EVER. i refuse i fucking REFUSE TO EGHV ADBAKJSDFALKFNKSADJF???!?!?!?! i hate it so much. i hate it. so. m u c h. connor and cordy should have never EVER been a thing and i will erase it from history if i have to give birth to myself to do it

𝔸𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕝𝕦𝕤

hoo babey. while angel is?? reserved and doesn't?? really mention any kind of explorative or wild side with any regularity in the show this wild child leather-pants-wearing abomination gives NO shits. he is very, VERY pansexual and you can fight my spirit on top of my grave about it.

regarding the last thing i said: there was definitely a polyamorous relationship happening between Angelus, Darla, Spike and Drusilla in my book. there are certain... jealous scenarios- heck!! just LOOK at episodes with Spike where he's being pouty about not getting the proper attention he deserves. if you think this is just about Dru i am begging you to reconsider

also?!?!?!?! PENN?! Penn was so obsessively and grossly in love with Angelus his sire I can not EVEN BEGIN TO FIUBNFDAKJSDFN

i think?? there are times in Angel's day-to-day where he not only misses but craves the presence of Angelus and visa versa. Angelus obviously seems a bit more openly repulsed by his softer side cause like?? each half is SO strongly suited to one extreme and?? as much as Angel and Angelus would both loathe my next statement: two halves do make a whole.

i think that while?? Angel may be cursed with a soul, that's not all. Angelus doesn't have regular control any longer, for sure, but i really do think it is oftentimes a daily battle to tune him out. why?? the orb of thesulah is only used to summon and store a human soul until it is re/tethered to a body. the ritual that the "Gypsies" and Willow performed didn't?? do anything with the actual demon. it didn't send it back to whatever Hell dimension it came from it just?? gave angel a soul- it gave what was left of Liam (O'Connor if you follow fan-lore) control over himself and the demon inhabiting his body. though the show never depicts or portrays this i am willing to bet real money that somewhere, deep down Angelus is on the inside rattling his mirror against the bars screaming: IM HENRY THE EIGTH I AM I AM!!! over and over an over and ov-

angel, however, when not in control seems to go into some semi-mostly dormant state as evidenced by the fact that he was entirely gone during their time in Acathala and relied on solely the demon half to get him through, but?? i'm 56% sure he is there sniveling in the ether when Angelus is driving he's just?? clearly not as strong mentally.

while?? Angel is a very respectable creature who cares about and loves his friends/found family i really do think that Angelus loves NO ONE. i think he cares about a few entities but i do not think he is capable of love proper as we think of it- both shows continuously remind us that number one in Angelus's world is, in fact, Angelus which means...

i doubt he really cares about pleasing his partner/s where that is likely Angel's main objective and lskjdnfjd i really have to go before this gets super raunchy

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wordfires · 4 years

Text

zoril & ildien

this is eventually going to be a larger project but for now this is some character backstory for two of the dnd characters im currently playing! for some frame of reference zoril is a tiefling eventual warlock of the fiend (his patron is a plotpoint that hasn’t come up yet in what i’ve written bu o do know who it is) and ildien is a fallen aasimar shadow sorcerer and yes the “lore” gets a bit weird but they’re both for one shots its about fun not accuracy

anyway both of these are on the longer end and the format is a bit weird so im putting the first section of each character above the cut, but they’re separate in their (almost) entirety below the cut

Zoril was never a truly quiet child— he was never going to be anything else. In a different life, a different time, perhaps. But in this one, his life was chosen first by his mother when she left him to be raised alone by his father.

It was no fault of hers, really. It can be difficult to co-parent a child when the other parent in question is one of the kings of the nine hells.

But this is not a tale of unlikely parents. It is of unlikely children. And first, is Zoril.

Zoril was raised bouncing between the hells, never staying particularly long in one before he was passed to the next, although his time in his father’s domain was always the longest. The other rulers didn’t quite understand why the tiefling child was left to live very long, much less run amok among the denizens of the underworld.

Ildien had often wondered why his parents had left him. Many would have been grateful to have the celestials near. He often came to the conclusion that he had never looked precisely good-bringing. He had never really looked precisely human, as far as he could remember. Not that he was, but he had heard of others like him who could blend in with ease.

He had been told by those that had raised him that his parents had come to the church stammering and clutching at themselves like madness had overtaken them, muttering strange things about their child. The church Elder had asked to see the child, only for it to be thrown into her arms as the couple backed away and never returned.

Of course Ildien was only told this when the Elder had died.

It was no fault of hers, really. It can be difficult to co-parent a child when the other parent in question is one of the kings of the nine hells.

But this is not a tale of unlikely parents. It is of unlikely children. And first, is Zoril.

But Zoril’s father had his reasons. Zoril hoped this was the case, anyway. His father was the only one who never seemed to, at least overtly, cast him away. And so, despite bouncing between others, he was always Zoril, Prince of the Hells and Heir to Mephistopheles’ throne, should he ever leave it.

He had his tutors in the form of the souls who had made bargains with his father, though they always seemed to be removed whenever they attempted to reveal any regrets they may have had about the deals they made. He made friends with the passing imps and quasits, coercing devils into joining his games.

But there were also the lessons of his father, beginning as Zoril grew into his horns. Lessons taught within the palace walls. Never to perform a task without proper payment, to always know when respect and treachery are due. To know that even though his mother had given Zoril fire when he lived in a realm of ice and his nature was freer than the strict hierarchies of the hells, he was a Prince of Cania, that he was owed his rights to the world. But also to know that these rights must, at times, come second to the end goals of ambition.

And as Zoril continued to grow into these lessons and his adolescence, he was allowed and encouraged to begin to venture into the material planes, however he could. To witness the mortal lifespan he was left with, and the mortal souls he may one day be able to take.

His time on the surface was yet another teacher. Of want and desire by those who were raised with mortality. Of the passion it brings. As well as how to remain in the shadows, and when to leave them. How to grow close to another and leave them behind, desperate and ready to make a bargain.

But many of these required quiet, and as he grew taller into adulthood, Zoril found that endless energy again boiling underneath his skin, tired of being taught.

And so he found what he considered the second-best thing mortals had ever dreamed up: brawling.

He was always faster than he was strong, charming more often than fighting, but he could never argue against an adrenaline rush.

His trips into the material plane began bringing him more scars than potential souls for the devils of his home, and as he marched, smiling, into the palace of Cania, Mephistopheles had laughed, a great deep thing, gesturing with one clawed hand toward serving devils. And so his weapons training finally began.

It was not too many years after this that he was one of the top fighters at a ring he had come to frequent. Despite its allowance of magic, Zoril had taken to maces and flails rather than learning spells, letting the illusion of strength and slowness keep his opponents surprised.

It was a night like any other at first. He had been on a roll, undefeated for a week. But the whispers around the room as he readied himself spoke of a newcomer, some challenger from out of town, apparently desperate to fight someone who could pose a threat.

He wanted to laugh as he checked the leather grip of his favoured weapon. Instead, he volunteered to be the one to graciously defeat whoever this mysterious newcomer was. Then he laughed, joining the others around him as another fighter clapped his back and Zoril stepped into the ring.

If he had any less composure he was sure the newcomer would’ve knocked the grin right off his face as his laughter trailed off and he swung his flail up over his shoulder, barely thinking enough to not himself.

They were tall, towering even over the elaborate spines and curls that Zoril’s horns had grown into. Long dark hair tumbled onto pale purple-grey shoulders that sloped gently up into a set face and bright-burning purple eyes. Elaborate red acolyte’s robes draped over their frame, giving away their origins.

At least to anyone watching— Zoril himself was utterly lost in the newcomer, looking them up and down, barely catching himself as a wave of fire was hurled in his direction.

---

Of course Ildien was only told this when the Elder had died.

He had been 12 at the time. Until then he had been told that the elder, Elder Calla, was his mother. Then another acolyte had snidely commented that he didn’t have the right to mourn, after all, she wasn’t even really related to him. He had been told the real story later that night.

It was not long after that when Ildien’s magic began to change. It had always been something they could do, it came naturally. But light grew to darkness, the blossoming healing abilities seemed to wither away as he began to drift farther from human, even away from the celestial blood in his veins.

It was then, too, that Hadrariel became as distant as the light that once surrounded him.

Until that point, Hadrariel has been a constant companion, whispering kind words and gentle guidances, a second parent. In young Ildien’s eyes, another liar.

Truly it was not Hadrariel’s fault— though perhaps it was not Ildien’s either. It had been a long day, the day of Elder Calla’s funeral ceremonies. The loss was still sharp, and the leering gazes of older acolytes and unspoken words were constant needles, pressing into his skin. He had been the last to speak to the Elder, and was, therefore, the last to bid his farewell before the body was burned.

The memory of it was still a burning sear. The peace in the lifelessness of the corpse, another deception. The pitying eyes of her replacement. The ever-pressing gazes around him, narrowed eyes and silent laughter. And then the faint weight of Hadrariel’s gaze, an invisible hand on Ildien’s shoulder.

Shadows had lashed out of him, tipping the room into the grey of twilight, before the sudden pitch black of night as pain had ripped through him, tearing him to pieces.

Then as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The shadow fled from the room, slinking back to the soles of Ildien’s feet as he gazed at the skeletal remains of his wings, on display of their own accord. The absence of the weight of their feathers echoed in the void left behind by Hadrariel’s flight and the strange stillness in his chest.

He had looked on, to Calla’s body.

It was the last time he cried.

The following years were long— Ildien was yet an acolyte of the church of [], he had his duties and still lived within the church. But the laughter that may have turned to friendship instead turned to fear and quick glances. The new Elder was not kind as Calla had been. Ildien was labelled a bad omen, banned from certain ceremonies.

Most ceremonies aside from funerals, in fact. At these he was allowed, if only so no one else had to be near the corpse.

When not being put to the undesirable tasks, Ildien remained in his room, watching the torch fire make shadows dance across the wall as he read himself to restless sleep. Time seemed to pass slowly and quickly all at once, slipping through his fingers as he gazed on, indifferent.

He knew the church would release him once he was of age, no longer obligated to keep him as their ward. The only thing that had stopped them from throwing him out sooner was the new Elder’s idea of image.

But as he grew closer to this release from the church, it grew impossible to passively be feared. To allow the world to pass him by.

So rather than read himself to sleep watching the shadows, Ildien looked at what cast them, studying the flames licking at the air. He let his magic follow it’s new call into fire and shadow, falling in love with it. He let himself smile for the first time in years as fire danced across his shoulders as his feet moved in the rhythm of the shadows below him.

Ildien had not thought the new Elder, Varif, cared enough to pay him mind outside of when necessary, but when he was called to speak in front of him it was not long before the Elder’s intentions were revealed.

Varif had, in fact, been watching Ildien, and he had deemed worthy of the grand gesture the church needed to make to bring the community back into the fold.

Ildien only learned when the gesture was as it was happening. He was kept in a room away from his own, with only his shadows for company in the weeks leading up to the event.

When the door to his chamber opened as his eyes adjusted, Ildien was pulled and shoved into flowing ceremonial garb layered with dust, a uniform he hadn’t seen before. A scroll was pressed into his hands as he was pushed to an altar.

He remembered blinking the setting sunlight out of his eyes, looking to Elder Varif, grinning, and to a figure opposite him on the altar, decorated in the bones of an ox, eyes closed. The face of one of the newest acolytes in the shadow of the ox’s skull.

Ildien had looked down at the words on the scroll, the idea of this gesture clicking place in his head. He glanced once to the other acolyte, their eyes blearily opening, panic raising their eyebrows. He glanced to the Elder, grin settling into smug satisfaction.

He stepped towards the acolyte, putting them within arms reach, letting a smile of his own stretch across his face as he snatched the ox skull, planting it on his own head and swinging to face the Elder, outstretched arms coming together to hurl fire at the Varif.

It really was only meant to maim, for the most part. But as the Elder’s body hit the floor, the spark that had ignited his rebellion quieted, and there was an utter silence the same as Calla’s funeral.

He felt his heart beat once in his chest.

And he ran, the air on his face reigniting him— a grin stretched across his face as he threw layers of the constraining upper garment off and let the flowing skirts fly in the wind as his feet pounded stone and dirt.

He ran through the city, taking unfamiliar turns, whooping as he clutched the stolen skull to his head, not even quite sure why he took it. He did mean to stop before he ran into any buildings, but he was looking over his shoulder as his feet carried him into a small, dimly lit tavern, tumbling through a swinging door on the back wall into a somehow much larger space.

He was only able to pull himself to a stop just before he would have slammed into a wall of muscle glowering up at him.

A blur of questions were asked, lies flowing quicker out of his mouth than he could think about what he was saying and the next second he stood in a ring with wooden walls and a packed sand floor, the most stunning tiefling he had ever seen standing across from him. Their skin was dark red like deep flame, pitch coloured horns reaching into the shadows above their head, a flail was swung over shoulders covered only by a light tunic, black sleeves billowing ever so slightly as Ildien’s eyes were drawn down to the tiefling’s cloven hooves and then back up to gleaming eyes and sharp fangs poking out of a rakish grin.

Ildien felt his breath rush out of him, fire leaping out of his fingertips, his instincts remembering that this was meant to be a fight seconds before he remembered he hadn’t said he was here to gawk at the fighters, instead he had let himself lie that he wanted to be one of them.

#wylan writes #character sketch #dnd character #character backstory #short story #anyway as always i do appreciate any and all feedback #specifically right now bc most of my dnd friends are players in one or both one shots so i cant reveal a n y t h i n g #and its t e r r i b l e #plus i didnt even get to half the fun stuff in these sections so i can't even talk about it yet bc these end 7-8ish years before present day

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alkali-is-sleeping · 3 years

Text

The Dog Star 2

[cw: some shouting, anger, could be triggering for some]

If my little brother — a Death Eater who made Walburga, our mother very proud — had not gotten himself killed at the hands of the Dark Lord, I most likely would not have inherited my family’s home. Twelve Grimmauld Place loomed below us. The House of Black had never been welcoming, but I needed to make this Hari's home; its needed to welcome him.

I revved again as we made our descent, careful to make sure that Hari was still safe as we landed.

But there was a shadowy figure at the door. I wrapped Hari with my jacket, separating his sleepy head from what may lay ahead, panicking at the thought that he may be taken from me, or worse...

I neared cautiously, I daren’t say fearfully, my life had overflown with it for too long and I needed my courage more than ever now. The closer I got, the more I became certain that this was someone I knew, but the pressing fog in my head made it impossible for me to say who until —

Fearful amber eyes turned to me, lowered on the slowish breathing lump in my jacket and glistened under the light of the street lamps and the stars — I was named after the brightest one — and the no longer full moon.

Remus teared up more and more the closer I drew. He reached his hand out, once I was near enough, as if to touch Hari, but retracted it just as quickly, thinking better if it.

I did not want to let go of the baby. He was a lifeline then, keeping my head over water, stopping me from drowning in the grief and the mess and the truth and —

Remus had always been the best at gauging my emotion, my confusion radiating to him perhaps, permeating his ever calm demeanor, telling him that my hands and this baby were, at least for now, surgically attached. He tapped his wand to the door causing it to clunk painfully through the soundless night, and pushed it for us all to get in.

He lit the fire in the drawing room, all the candles and lamps and eventually took to standing in a far corner of the room staring at sleeping Hari, occasionally wiping his eyes with his tatty jumper sleeve.

“W-why didn’t you tell me you weren’t the Secret Keeper?” I started at the sound; it was the first voice I’d heard all night aside from Hari’s cooing and babbling.

I lifted my eyes to Remus’s; red and bloodshot, just like mine probably.

“Forgive me... we didn’t think we could trust you... Voldemort had so much he could have offered you in exchange for...” I gulped. The mistake I had made, it cost my best friend and his wife their lives and I could hardly bring my self to telling Remus.

“I went to Peter’s hiding place,” I continued, “I was supposed to check if he was still ok, but he was gone. No struggle, nothing to suggest he left against his will even... it was my idea to make him Secret Keeper...” I whispered the last bit, tears rolling down my own cheeks, landing on Hari’s little blanket.

Remus hurried next to me, wrapping his arms around me and the baby, his tears mingling with mine.

“No one blames you,Sirius. Peter, well he...”

“Talentless rat,” my voice filled with anger suddenly, burning and smoking just like the Potters’ cottage... “Must have been his proudest moment, selling out his friends and their baby son...” I sobbed drily. “Lily was pregnant again... she and James told me last week, while you were recovering from the moon. They were going to tell you, once you were better and... and...” I trailed off. I didn’t want to stop talking, not when there we’re still so many truths wanting to get out, squirming and rioting in my stomach. I wanted to let them all out, to talk and talk until this was all a distant memory. But Remus’s eyes. His eyes were wide and they had stopped leaking. They were staring at me and for a second — perhaps it was my own paranoid mind, perhaps I imagined the contempt — he did blame me.

I think he was going to say something else before the fire had glowered iridescent green. We both took out our wands and and stood abruptly, Remus in front of me, me covering Hari. Ready for the worst.

A purple wizard’s hat, followed by a great mass of flowing silver-white hair which hid a benevolent old face and then the rest of the purple clad body. Dumbledore.

"I thought I might find you all here." His voice, a seemingly perpetual tone of casual amusement, irked me. My best friends were dead and he had the nerve to stand in my house and tell me, matter-of-factly, he knew he'd find me here? "I'd asked Hagrid earlier tonight to bring young Hari to me," he said, sitting, uninvited, on the nearest armchair. I was shooting daggers at him, but he seemed not to care, looking only between Remus and the baby I held. "But by the time he got there, the baby was gone, taken, the locals told him, by a man in a leather jacket and a flying motorbike... I knew, instantly of course, that his godfather must have taken him to safety."

I shifted my feet uncomfortably and redistributed Hari's weight in my arms. Why was Dumbledore here? What did he want?

I looked at Remus, who was in turn looking at Dumbledore, who was finally looking at me.

"I'm not sorry," i said, chin lifted in the airin defiance, daring him to make me apologise for having gone against his will.

"No one is asking you to be bu--"

"And I am not giving him to you."

My interuption was punished by silence, broken only by a dry cough from Remus. Dumbledore's eyes, bright moonstone, penetrating to the depths of my soul...

"Sirius, from what I gather, as Hari's guardian, you wannt what is best for him. However, you do not seem to have the full measure of things," Dumbledor was now making a dome with his hands, leaning forward on his seat. "I have good reason to believe thathis mother's sacrifice, Lily'sbloodshed for her son, has formed an unpenetrable protection on Hari. This is little understood magic, magic which is the sole reason Hari got away from Voldemort's attack with only a scar."

It was his turn to shoot me daggers; he most likely didnt mean it, but his gaze made me want to run and run. I didn't want to hear about what really happened, I'd seen enough, endured enought, I did not want anymore.

But he did not care, he kept talking, telling me everything, feeding me more and more dark, worm like truths.

"This is why i believe Hari needs to live with his aunt and uncle, blood relations of Lily's." I stared.

"WHAT?!" I bellowed, unable to control the sudden influx of anger bubbling over the surface. Hari woke at the sound, fussing and sqirming. remus made to take him from my grip, but I pushed him away, making him nearly-stumble back,eyes wide.

I rocked the baby slowly, allowing him to ease back to sleep.

Instead, I took to a menacing whisper; "You mean to send him to live with Muggles? People who dont even know him? Did you know Lily never wanted him to meet Petunia and..." I struggled for a name, "Whats-his-face? You want to send him to a place where, perhaps for most of his life, he won't know who he is or where he came from? A-and can't ypu imagine what that'd do to him? That no one will have bothered to tell him about his parents?" I panted as if I had shouted; I said all of that in one angry breath.

"I suppose I'm an easier book to read than I imagined." He was wiping his glasses with the hem of his amethyst robes and, my, did I want to throw stones at him just then, to watch him and his stupid, calm face, shatter into a million pieces, leaving only his delicate, half-moon glasses.

"I'm his godfather. I was the one James and Lily appointed as his guardian if they..." I couldn't say it. Maybe tomorrow could wake up, take some Fire Whiskey down to drink with James as we laugh loudly, like we did in schoool, before the war, laugh about the pathetic dream I'm having...

"Isn't... isn't there some magic in that?" I pleaded, finally defeated perhaps. Dumbledore paced the room twice round, Remus' eyes on him the whole time while i closed mine and imagined James grin, full of laughter and love and... life.

"Perhaps... But more than anything, I think I am to trust the Potters' judgement and their own trust in you, for now. I will decide if this is really a good choice after I have gathered enough information. Until then, you are not to leave this house under any circumstances. Not until I have good reason to believe he will be magically protected from teh Death Eaters out to avenge their fallen Master. And, I am also to understand, given that you are both here, that Peter Pettigrew was the spy the Order had so many whispers about, correct? You are not to search for him either, as I am sure you might be tempted to."

Remus and I just nodded deftly. I could not have cared less about this sentence at Grimmauld Place, though the fleeting urge to go after Peter, to throttle him and rip him limb from limb, did possess me for seconds. But Hari was just so much more important to me, and every second with him was precious, like little glittering pearls gathering in my hands.

"That concludes my bussiness here, and my welcome has been long over stayed, so I shall leave you to it." He Dissaparated.

The next moments all blurred into one,and i cannot say how, by sunrise; the pale greenish orange promisisng a cold, summer's morning, we found ourselves laying in the guest bed, Hari between us, still fast asleep. The both of us staring into space, our pillows damp and salty.

Despite the growing sunlight, Sleep's teder fingers caught up to me...

[A/N: gods this one was long, im sorry it took so long to post, ill try to be faster with chapter 3 (which mind you is longer still than this). i hope dumbledore moral ambiguity shows, dont worry if it doesnt, it really will further on. hope you enjoy and thanx for reading!!]

#sirius black #remus lupin #harry james potter #indian harry potter #padfoot #james potter #lily evans #lily potter #voldemort #hp fanfic

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theunmappedstar · 4 years

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I dare you to give some random badboy au headcanons

so, i’m sorry, but “random headcanons” turned into “here’s the beginning of highschool badboy au plot that i have stuck in my head”... so... enjoy.

Sophie meets them because she joins Foxfire’s photography class as an elective. She has a group assignment that she has to complete, which requires her to take some photography scavenger hunt. She’s given a piece of paper with a list of different prompts she has to use to take pictures. (She’s mostly intrigued by the “street photography” bullet point).

Sophie gets paired up with Biana. They make quick friends and decide to divvy up the work - but this is also how Sophie learns about the boys.

She’d heard a little about them prior, but Sophie tended to only dip her toe into the gossip sparingly, so she doesn’t know exactly what’s up with these dudes

Sophie finds out that Biana is related to Fitz. Biana’s actually a real chatterbox when it comes to her family, so over the next week Sophie’s filled in on the majority of the timeline. (Also, the fact that everyone seemed to know of it, but her made Sophie feel really out of the loop and unpopular, but.)

The Vackers are a very wealthy and influential family. Biana’s parents naturally expected the most of their kids. Unfortunately, that only ended up dividing them. The three siblings weren’t very close when they were younger, but at least they talked - they barely interact normally anymore, according to Biana, focusing solely on their own lives and work. Alvar’s long since graduated, but Fitz and Biana are still held to their parent’s high expectations; they feel pressured to somehow reach above Alvar’s already-tremendous feats. Biana says even though it was rough, she never really saw it as a competition like her two brothers did. But that doesn’t mean she liked it, either.

Anyway, Fitz got so fed up with it and after a blowout, he managed to fall into what the Vacker parents love to call the “wrong crowd.”

The “wrong crowd” happens to be two kids - one from Foxfire Academy and one from a neighboring not-so-pristine school called Exillium.

Sophie’s interested as to who the two kids are, naturally, so she asks.

She almost immediately regrets that decision because as it would turn out, she knows those two kids.

Or, at least, she used to.

The first, Keefe Sencen, was surrounded by a lot of talk in her grade because of how he’d managed to skip a year when he was younger - and now Sophie finds that he’s apparently close to having to retake a year, since his grades have started to slip. She’d only seen him a couple times in elementary and had been paired with him for projects a staggering record of two times, but that didn’t mean he was one she would forget. (Those two group projects had been hell for her. He’d messed around with her so much and made her so frustrated and flustered and urg she hadn’t known how to act around a boy so obnoxious-but-cute).

Sophie doesn’t know if she’s surprised or not to find out that he managed to flip into the resident bad boy

The second one, Tam Song, happened to be a childhood friend (or she assumed that was the same Tam Song. There couldn’t be that many Tam Songs in the world, right?). She’d had a couple playdates with him before his parents had moved him and his twin sister away. She found out years later from her parents that the Songs had been having financial troubles and could no longer afford to be in the neighborhood/attend the academy

Sophie is baffled that the three managed to get together and start a reputation for themselves, no less

Sophie’s also baffled that they’re so well-known and yet she hadn’t really heard a thing about them; seriously, how unpopular was she?

When she relays the info to Dex and Marella at lunch, they tease Sophie that they’ve been waiting for it to hit her for years.

“...Why do you think we sit alone?” Dex asks.

Honestly, Sophie never really bothered to think about it. “I don’t know.”

Marella just snort-giggles. “Listen, you’re really smart, Sophie: you could build an entire AI system if you put your mind to it. But sometimes you lack a little thing called common sense.”

She doesn’t know whether to be offended or flattered.

She chooses to be flattered.

In the following days, Biana and Sophie get to checking off the to-do list for the assignment. Sophie’s first one requires her to take pictures of the interior of the school. She knows full well she could use her press pass to take pictures of the empty hallways during school, but that would require setting a time up with teachers, which would mean talking to teachers, which required basic social interaction... which.... was not very appealing and definitely not on Sophie’s list of Things I Want To Do.

She instead decides to stay after school for half an hour and take pictures.

She’s meandering around, snapping pictures here and there, trying to find out which angles would make the pictures less boring when she’s startled by a voice.

Sophie nearly drops the camera and whirls to find a boy sprawled across the bench outside the principle’s office. It takes her a moment to recognize him, but it eventually floods her brain.

Surprise, surprise - it’s Keefe Sencen.

He’s changed a lot since she last saw him. Granted, she last saw him when they were, like, six, but she lets herself be shocked.

Keefe’s got the whole getup. Ripped jeans, black tee, jet-black leather jacket... And he wears curiously, Sophie notices, an abundance of chains. Specifically, those rapper chains that dangle around your neck.

Sophie doesn’t realize that he’s called for her until he does it again. He’s asking what she’s up to, walking around with a camera like that after school.

She doesn’t know why, but “Yearbook” stumbles out.

She is not in Yearbook. She’s in Photography - close, but not quite it.

Keefe seems to feed off of her being flustered. It looks like he seriously enjoys it. he goes on to ask her what she’s got to take pictures of

She can’t really speak when he stands, hands shoved in his pockets, looking like that, so she just... hands the list over to him.

He quirks a brow and muses about the student/faculty box that has yet to be checked and he asks why she’s saved that one, since she’s been at school all day.

“Well, I... don’t really know how to casually approach someone and ask for a picture.”

It’s true. Everyone’s moving so fast and about their day during school hours and it’s especially hard to catch anybody after school.

Keefe just shrugs. “Then, you don’t have to.”

It takes her a second to realize what he means. He’s offering to let her take a picture of two of him.

It seems like a good idea. He’s right there and she can get it done and over with, but something about lifting the camera and snapping some shots of Keefe Sencen... Having to go home and know that she has access to pictures of him that she herself got to take...

He seems untouchable, is the thing. It seems like this is something that shouldn’t be happening - like he should have shooed her off like she was some human scum. It seems like they’re on two different levels. She’s the weird kid nobody really strives to talk to and he’s the boy that everyone’s terrified and annoyed (but secretly impressed) of.

“Oh, you don’t have to-”

Keefe interrupts her to assure her he doesn’t mind. He does ask if it sounds a little too self-centered, though, the way he just offered himself up for grabs.

Sophie’s not really listening because she’s too mesmerized by him combing his hands through his hair.

She kinda just blinks and mumbles some incoherent reply while trying to set the camera up. Her hands are super shaky and Keefe notices. Sophie stiffens when he outstretches a hand and asks if he can see the camera

“Um,” she starts, forcing herself to look at him, “I don’t think I should. I don’t own this and if it gets damaged-”

“Relax,” he murmurs. He retracts his hand instantly. “I was just asking. I took photography - I’m interested what camera they’ve given you. It looks different from the one I used; which seriously sucked, by the way.”

He pauses for a second to look her up and down. It makes her squirm, feeling on fire.

“And the pictures don’t have to be of me, right? They can be of students, if I’m remembering the guidelines correctly.” He waves the paper in his hands before reaching out to give it back to her. “And you, Miss...”

When Sophie recognizes he’s asking for her name, she blushes. “Sophie.” She plucks the paper from his hand.

He gives a swirling hand gesture, like he’s prodding for more.

“Foster,” she contends.

He nods, satisfied once he has her last name. “Foster,” he repeats, then continues, “Well, you’re a student, if I do say so myself. So, that means...” He lifts up his hands, pretending like he’s holding an imaginary camera. He pretends to adjust the lens and focus on her, finger hovering over the imaginary button that would take the imaginary picture.

He smirks. “Need a smile there, Foster,” he beckons.

She’s pretty sure she can’t get any redder. “I’m not really photogenic,” she argues, reaching forward to beckon his fake camera down.

He relents and let’s his hands drop, but his smirk remains. “Sure.”

She doesn’t really know what to say after that, so she hands him the camera with a mumble. Keefe eagerly takes it in his hands (which makes her notice the rings he has littered on his fingers) and he starts flipping and fiddling.

He says some random model name to her which she doesn’t really pay attention to. She only snaps up when his meddling ends and he asks, “Hey, by the way, how’ve the group projects been going?”

His smile seems more tender. More reminiscent. There’s a teasing lilt to his voice, which makes Sophie realize he remembers her. And, in turn, he remembers those god-awful projects they were forced to endure together.

She’s pretty sure she turns redder than her rosy skirt. “You remember that?” she mumbles.

Keefe chuckles. “Remember? Can’t really forget.” He taps his temple. “Also, anything that involves a cute girl is immediately filed to the front of my brain.”

Sophie’s so struck by the compliment that she nearly grazes over his first fact. How had she managed to forget he had a photographic memory just like her?

She doesn’t quite know how to respond, but she manages to pull a smile and mumble something about needing to get to work if she wants to finish the project. Surprisingly, Keefe just smiles back and offers her the camera. She makes sure not to graze too much of his skin as she takes the camera from his hands, shaking. She thanks him and turns to bolt away as fast as her legs can carry her (because she knows she’s on fire and she knows he can see it and oh god-) when his voice slows her down.

“I’m serious about that picture thing, Foster. If you need any help, I’ve got time.”

She stops in the hallway to look at him. Sophie raises a slow eyebrow and gestures to the office. Her hand is unsteady, but she’s proud when her voice doesn’t shake. “You seem pretty busy to me.”

Keefe laughs. “Nah, this is normal. But I can find a way to make some time for you.”

Sophie’s sure he says something more along the line of, “All you need to do is ask,” but she’s pretty sure the entire world has become a blur. in a flash she’s said her goodbye and she’s speed walking out to Dex’s car (he offered to drive her home after school, that day. He does it whenever he has time, actually. They live in the same neighborhood, which is pretty convenient, given they’re best friends and adoptive cousins).

Dex can see she’s off her game, but he doesn’t delve into it. The car ride home is pretty quiet.

Also when Biana and Sophie see each other in class the following day, it’s pretty hard for Sophie to come up with an excuse as to why she doesn’t have that many photos. She promises that she’ll stay after school again to try and make them up.

She does.

And that’s when she meets Fitz.

Sophie doesn’t really know how it happened. She avoided the area she’d seen Keefe in at all costs, snapping pictures literally anywhere else she could find, but somehow she wound up outside on the curb. And somehow she ended up wandering through the mostly-empty parking lot, snapping pictures of the parking spaces that the seniors had decorated (every year the graduating class got to customize their parking spot with spray paint). And wandering through the parking lot taking pictures led to her spotting a few sleek bikes.

In hindsight, Sophie thinks she finally understands what Marella meant by “you’re smart but you have no common sense,” because she walks up to the bikes. They’re against the curbside parking spaces, so Sophie steps up on the sidewalk and begins observing the shiny vehicles.

She’s never really been keen on motorcycles (the idea of getting one kind of terrifies her) but she has to admit that they look good.

And Sophie, lacking that beautiful common sense, snaps a picture.

She barely holds back the squeak when someone behind her asks what she’s up to. Sophie turns around to meet two boys in leather jackets. They’ve both got dark heads of hair, but one is noticeably lighter. And the darkest sported silver-dyed bangs.

She’s pretty sure her insides shrivel. It’s them, there’s no denying. Her photographic memory compares Tam’s aged features with the ones from his youth, seeing how his soft face had turned to hard-and-handsome lines. And she can see the resemblance to Biana in Fitz’s equally-charming face.

(Also, the more that she thought about it, she’d actually been put against Fitz during one of the stupid elementary spelling bees. She severely prayed he didn’t remember her as spelling bee girl.)

“Sorry,” she apologizes sheepishly. She lifts the camera. “Photography. I can delete it.”

She should have asked before doing that. She seriously should have asked. She feels like she’s been caught and she’s considering turning tail and running when they shrug and tell her it’s fine. She’s pretty sure she’s dreaming when she gets asked if she at least liked the bikes or if it was just for the assignment.

She says it was for the assignment, but she does like them.

Fitz smiles at her for the first time and Sophie’s legs become jello.

Shit, how can someone look that nice while smiling?

But it doesn’t last too long because Tam asks who she is and where he’s seen her before. His head is tilted at her, dangly earrings twirling with the motion. Sophie can tell he does recognize her, at least a bit. All eyes are on her, so she feels a bit squirmy mentioning how she knows Tam, but once she does, his eyes light up and his eyebrows launch.

“Oh, Sophie. Shit.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Shit.”

Years later, it looks impossible to imagine that they’d ever been friends. They were so... different from each other, now.

They all start making semi-awkward conversation, discussing the school year and Sophie’s photography anything random they can come up with when Keefe rolls out of the school.

“Foster?”

She waves. “Oh, um. Hey.”

Keefe reaches his friends and his eyebrows crunch. He asks if they know her. Tam shrugs and says they knew each other when they were little, but they haven’t seen one another in years. Fitz admits Biana’s mentioned a Foster girl, but he doesn’t know her (Sophie’s pretty sure she’s dead. She didn’t know Biana talked about her at the house, even if it was something like measly dinner small talk.)

Keefe turns and grins at her, seeing the camera in her hand. “Yearbook again?”

She flushes. “Photography, actually.” Seeing his confusion, she continues, “I don’t know why I said Yearbook, yesterday. I’m in Photography, not Yearbook.”

Shockingly, Keefe just snorts. He muses that she’s something else before waltzing over and outstretching his hand. Sophie hands him the paper chock-full of guidelines again. Keefe starts muttering that she has a lot more crossed off than yesterday.

“You’ve still got a bit to go,” he points out.

Sophie just kinda nods. She’s mostly focusing on not letting her knees buckle in front of all of them. Her hands on the camera are sweating. It’s weird, how she’s managed to get caught in this situation. Everyone steers clear of these three, she knows, but now she’s somehow stuck in normal conversation with them. About photography, no less.

Keefe spots the street photography point and hums. He points to it, showing her the paper. “That seems interesting.” He meets her eyes. “Gonna take me up on my offer, yet, Foster?”

She swallows. “Oh, uh, street photography isn’t here, it’s-”

“On the street,” Keefe agrees, handing her back the paper. He shares one glance with his friends before meandering to his bike, slinging his leg over the seat.

Tam huffs a short laugh, grinning like he understands before he goes to hop on his own ride. Fitz is the last one behind, hands shoved in his pockets, just standing and smiling in amusement.

“You’re free, aren’t you?” Keefe implores. “We can make it quick. Drop you off back here - or wherever.”

Sophie chews on her lip. It is a tempting offer. She doesn’t really have a ride into the city planned, so it seems like the perfect opportunity. One quick ride, a few pictures, and she can leave. But that also means getting on a motorcycle. Which. . . kind of terrifies her.

“One ride, Foster,” Keefe promises, seeing the way she’s staring at the bike. “Does fifteen minutes sound good?”

Fifteen minutes is definitely enough time for her to get in a crash. Fifteen minutes is also definitely enough time for them to murder someone, but Sophie tries hard not to think about that.

Especially not when Keefe shrugs off his jacket and tosses it to her. Sophie catches it with a gasp, thankful that she doesn’t drop the camera. “Um,” she starts.

She cuts herself off when Fitz goes to his bike and pops open a back storage compartment. He snatches out a spare helmet, then waltzes back up onto the sidewalk next to her, reaching out his to trade the camera for the helmet.

Sophie swallows.

Seeing how nervous she is, he smiles, making a short nudge with his chin in the direction of the bike. “It’s up to you,” he promises.

“You won’t get hurt,” Keefe also assures. “You’ve got jeans on. And you wear that jacket and the helmet, you’ll be fine.”

She doesn’t like the fact that she has to take those precautionary measures in the first place. But, she guesses it’s just what one has to do. It’s like wearing a seatbelt in a car. This is the motorcycle’s seatbelt.

Sophie hands Fitz the camera and takes the helmet. She slips on the jacket, ignoring the heat that runs through her body at how nice it feels - and how Keefe looks at her.

Sophie clears her throat and puts the helmet on. Her fingers fumble horribly with the straps around her chin and no matter how much she tugs, she can’t get it right. Fitz has to come back over and help her, laughing gently. He narrates to her how to do it as he cinches it up for her with diligent fingers, smiling.

Sophie, however, is anything but smiling when he pulls away. There’s only one step left - to get on that bike with him, hold on tight to his waist, and pray that they don’t take her to some secondary location.

Sophie makes sure to look him in the eyes to know she’s serious. “You kill me, I kill you.”

Fitz chuckles. “Noted.”

#this is REALLLLY rough and just a concept #but #here you go #sokeefitz #sophie foster #keefe sencen #fitz vacker #tam song #marella redek #dex dizznee #anonymous #headcanon #kotlc headcanon #kotlc headcanons #sokeefitz headcanon #keeper of the lost cities #badboy au #kotlc badboy au

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