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young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years

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A Deafened Bard (Stephen Strange x Female!Reader)

I can explain.

Please don't come at me for starting a new project before finishing Cult Girl Doctorate. I hit a wall and needed to take a break. I am trying not to let this one take up too much time.

Y/n is a sorceress-in-training who’s known for being hard to teach. Sensing her potential, Doctor Strange takes her on as an apprentice.

You firmly believed that shattering the urn of Fei-Amie was the best thing that ever happened to you.

It happened a year ago, but it still replayed in your head over and over again. You made a conscious effort to remember it vividly.

Sure, it was terrifying, Stephen Strange's initial look of anger when he heard the ceramic shatter. It softened when he saw that the culprit was just a clumsy sorceress-in-training who looked on the verge of tears with remorse. Still, it was a face you never wanted to see again: his teeth bared, his already sharp features accentuated under the constraints of anger.

It diluted into silent, simmering frustration that revealed itself to you in short sarcastic jabs and body language.

"Just, stop." He cut you off after a string of profuse sorries. With no disarming smile in sight, you could tell he was tense. "Artifacts get broken all the time. Don't cry. It was an accident."

His tone indicated that he was trying to convince himself more than he was you. You were a closed-off person and could hardly stand the idea that anyone out there didn't like you. The idea of the Sorcerer Supreme being mad at you, personally, made you briefly consider ritual suicide. You lowered your head. "Yes, Master Strange."

"Hey, butterfingers." He called out after you as you tried to make a painless exit. You looked back at him and he gestured to the pile of broken ceramic pieces. "You gonna fix what you broke?"

It hadn't dawned on you that an ancient relic could be fixed. Especially one that once contained the ashes of the ancient necromancer Fei-Amie. You were embarrassed to say that your knowledge of manipulating time was surface-level at best, and couldn't think of any other solution.

You wordlessly gathered the pieces up in your skirt and carried them off, striking out any plans to go into town that evening. Instead, you poured through book after book for any instruction whatsoever on repairing broken artifacts. You ran out of desk space, so books were just floating in the air, suspended on pages that briefly mentioned relic breakage.

You started to believe you were given an impossible task. Or perhaps all the resources you needed, he was withholding. Even so, you didn't want to go back to him empty-handed. You changed into your street clothes and opened a portal to the local craft store.

You returned with two types of extra-strong superglue and got to work. First, you made all the pieces come together and had them hover over the desk. Unconsciously, you began to sing as you pieced the urn back together.

Cream colored ponies and crisp apple strudels

Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles

Brown paper packages tied up with strings

These are a few of my favorite things

"Haven't heard that song in years."

You dropped the tube of glue and the few remaining pieces fell back to the desk. "Master Strange!"

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." He said, though his apology was undercut by his smug tone. "Carry on."

You picked up a piece and began to line the edges with glue.

"Aren't you going to finish the song?"

You looked up to see that he hadn't been just passing by. He was leaning against the threshold, watching you.

"I don't usually sing for an audience." You laughed, uncomfortably. "Just me."

"A man and his sentient cape should not count as an audience," he scoffed. "But, if you insist, I guess I'll have to just listen to Julie Andrews instead."

"What's wrong with her?" You raised your eyebrows in surprise.

"Oh, nothing. She's a treasure." He put his hands up. "But everyone gets to hear her sing. And I take it that only a very select few get to hear your rendition of my favorite things. I just have to be one of them."

You blushed, suddenly forgetting all the words to my favorite things.

"Girls in white dresses..." he offered, an impatient edge to it.

You swallowed. "Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes. Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes-"

"Hey, butterfingers." He interrupted again. Before you could object, he pointed to the way that the pieces floated gracefully overhead at the sound of your voice.

"I'd like to see Julie Andrews do that." He said with a wink.

"Looks alright," Master Strange said, running his finger along the tight seams that showed where cracks once were.

"Will it still work?" You asked. That was really all you were worried about.

"Beats the hell out of me." He shrugged. "I didn't know how to use it to begin with."

"What?!" You spat back. "Are you kidding?"

"I'm afraid not." He said, taking the urn and placing it back on its pedestal. "Don't worry, you did a good job. I'm not mad at you anymore."

That was really all you needed to hear. "Thank you, sir."

"You're an apprentice, right?" He asked.

"I'm..." Your voice trailed off in embarrassment. "Between masters right now."

He raised an eyebrow. "If I were to ask around, would I receive glowing reviews from your last masters?"

You admitted it point-blank. "No."

"Let me guess," he folded his arms. "Something didn't make sense to you and instead of giving you the space to question it, they insisted you follow blindly."

You wanted to throw your head back and shout in relief; finally, someone understood!

"Bingo, bullseye." You put your hands up in surrender after being read so easily. "Right on the money."

"I see." He said, tucking that thought away for later. "Could I trouble you for one more odd job before you go?"

"That depends." You folded your arms. "What is it?"

He looked over his shoulder at his cape. "How are you with sewing?"

‘Sewing' was not the verb you would use to describe repairing the tears in the Cloak of Levitation. It was taller and stronger than you and it did not want to be repaired. It was closer to performing surgery on a fully grown mountain lion that could rip your head off at any minute.

"Like putting eyeshadow on a cat," Master Strange said. It flicked its edge contemptuously, while still clinging to his shoulders for dear life. "I'm a licensed surgeon and it won't let me within 20 feet of it with a needle."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." You said, thoroughly discouraged. All he'd given you to work with was a spool of thread and a pack of needles.

He tried with sincere force to remove the cloak, but it wouldn't budge. "Of course, now it knows you're coming at it with the sewing kit and it won't leave my shoulders."

"Maybe I can work with that?" You shrugged. You threaded the needle and hid it in your hand.

You approached the cloak, only for it to shove Master Strange in your way like a human shield.

"Listen, you naughty little blanket." He scolded, turning around to face it as if it were a puppy that had just wrecked the living room. "If you don't let her fix you, you're going in the washing machine. Extra spin."

It shuddered, and, for a moment, you thought it was going to comply. You slowly took a step forward, only for it to dart as soon as your foot hit the ground. It made its escape with a large crash through the heavy wooden doors of the library.

"Hey!" You shouted, chasing after it. "Get back here!"

You caught a glimpse of it headed towards the relic room, so, without thinking, you opened a portal to make it there first. You reached it only seconds before the cloak breached the threshold, with only enough time to grab it by the edge.

"Come here!" You exclaimed, giving it a full force tug. It tugged back, overpowering you to the tenth degree. It dragged you across the room and into the foyer. You yanked on it, only for it to escape from your grip and send you flying back into the wall. You wondered for a second how such a sturdy piece of fabric could possibly be in need of maintenance.

"Bastard." You mumbled, rubbing the spot where your head collided with the wall. The pain didn't stop you, though. You were on your feet within seconds, pursuing the naughty blanket all over again.

You heard the words of one of your many, many masters ringing in your ears; "never outrun what you can outsmart". Or maybe that was from a Garfield comic. Either way, whether or not you could outsmart the cloak was still unknown, but you had to at least try.

You took a second to catch your breath and tried to remember where you saw it heading next. Downstairs, you thought. To the laundry room. The one place you would never look.

You slowly but deliberately descended the stairs to the basement where the laundry was. You turned the light on and saw overturned baskets of towels, clothes, and sheets everywhere. And then a washing machine door slammed shut. You turned your head and saw a twinge of dark red hiding in the washing machine.

You removed your shoes and socks to minimize noise, then picked up a fitted sheet that had been thrown on the ground. You mounted the washing machine and affixed the sheet to the front. The cloak would have to come shooting out the door, and you would ambush it.

You forced the door open with your heel, holding the sheet like a giant net. As predicted, the cloak shot out like a bullet from a gun, getting caught in the sheet. It thrashed around aimlessly, trying to escape, but you had a tight grip and it wasn't going anywhere.

"It's curtains for you!" You said, then laughed at your own joke. "Stop struggling!"

It flailed and fought, but eventually ran out of energy and sunk to the ground. Not trusting it quite yet, you pinned it down with your whole body weight before releasing it from the sheet. As expected, it tried to fly away, but couldn't get anywhere.

"The less you fight, the faster this will go." You said, examining the fabric for any visible tears. The rip presented itself right away. About as long as your hand, right in the center.

"What did Strange do to you?" You asked, pulling the threaded needle from your pocket. "Hold still, I'm going to fix it."

Once the needle hit fabric, the cloak stopped trying to fly away and instead writhed about on the floor like it was about to die. You fixed the tear with as many stitches as you could make, then pulled it shut. Once you knew the thread was secure, you rolled off the cloak and let it fly free.

It shot up, but froze, noticing something was different. It swished itself around, unaccustomed to the feeling of air not blowing right through its center.

"You're welcome." You said with a shrug. "It's not like I had to chase you all around the sanctum to make it happen."

Without any warning, the cloak scooped you up and squeezed you. Your initial reaction was that this was its revenge and you were taking your final breaths, but you could tell it was gratitude by the way it gently set you down on the ground.

"Happy to help." You gasped for air. "Just remember this feeling if I ever have to do this again."

"Not bad, butterfingers." Master Strange told you, though the tone of his voice conveyed he was impressed beyond a simple 'not bad'.

"Not bad?" You protested. "I absolutely crushed it."

He ran his finger down the uneven but sturdy stitching. When his face met yours again, he was smiling with genuine enthusiasm that managed to eek through his dry, sarcastic exterior. It came out as an admittedly very handsome sideways smirk as his eyes scanned you up and down.

“If you don’t need anything else, I’ll get out of your hair now.” You said, heading towards the open doors.

“Wait.” The doors slammed shut before you could reach them. You turned around to see Master Strange still examining the stitching. "You wouldn't leave without tea, would you?"

A pot of chai tea sat between you, filling the air with an aroma of spicy vanilla. You held the teacup in both hands, determined to never give him a reason to reinforce the "butterfingers" nickname he'd become so fond of.

"Chai is my favorite." You said, letting the scent waft into your nose. "Yerba mate used to be my favorite, but if I drink more than two pots of it I get sick."

"Yeah, definitely don't do that." He chuckled, bobbing his teabag up and down in the cup. "Out of curiosity, are you wondering at all why I invited you to tea?"

"Oh, definitely." You nodded. "I was just wondering about that."

"Would you believe it's just because I find you interesting?" He raised an eyebrow. "Good company, perhaps?"

"Interesting? Absolutely." You agreed. "Good company is debatable."

"I can't believe I never thought to trap the cloak in the washing machine." He rested his chin in his hand. "It seems so obvious now."

"If it makes you feel any better," you shrugged. "It was mostly dumb luck and reckless disregard for my own life, considering it almost threw me off the balcony.”

He glared at the cloak. “What did I tell you about trying to kill our guests?”

It lowered its collar shamefully in his direction.

“Don’t apologize to me!” He scolded. “Apologize to her.”

It turned to face you and repeated the somber motion.

“It’s okay.” You shrugged. “My family adopted a retired army German Shepherd growing up. I’m used to high-strung creatures that could end my life at any second.”

“Well, rest assured, butterfingers,” He said, leaning back in his chair. “This will never happen again.”

“I, uh-” You opened your mouth before you could even really pick up on the implication he was putting down. “Wasn’t aware that there would be a chance for it to happen again?”

“I suppose we should get down to brass tax, then.” He folded his hands in his lap. “How would you like to stay here?”

“Well-” You said, not wanting to come off as too enthusiastic, which you certainly were. “Not if it’s going to kill me-”

“If I could promise you that your life won’t be in constant danger, I would.” He cut you off. “But if you wanted safety, you wouldn’t have started studying the Mystic Arts.”

“Got me there.” You conceded, your made-up objection withering away. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch.” He shook his head. “I’ll help you train and in return, you help me preserve the integrity of the sanctum.”

“So an apprenticeship?” Your eyes widened. "Are you saying you want to take me on as an apprentice?"

“I know you’ve got bad associations with that title, but yes.” He answered. “If it brings back memories of your previous masters treating you like garbage, we can call it a ‘partnership’, if you’d like.”

Partners with the Sorcerer Supreme? You thought, butterflies materializing in your stomach.

"That sounds great, but-" You broke eye contact and fidgeted with your fingers. "I feel like I should disclose that it wasn't really all that one-sided. I am… notoriously hard to teach."

"And who told you that?" He tilted his head. "The ones who refused to teach you?"

You hadn't thought about it that way. "I guess."

"The way I see it, you've repaid your debt and are free to leave," he began. "But seeing how dutifully you reassembled that urn, wrangled my favorite piece of defiant outerwear, and how desperately this place is in need of some life, it might be a good idea to keep you around."

You put your hand over your chest to still your heart. "It would be an honor."

"Excellent." He nodded. "That saves me the trouble of having to convince you."

He brought you to a small but comfortable room with a bed and connected bathroom.

"There's plenty of closet space for all your clothes." He said, gesturing to an antique looking bureau set.

You dumped your duffel bag out on the bed, revealing the extent of your possessions. "Thanks, but this is all I've got."

"Travel light, huh?" He asked.

"Yeah, I moved around a lot growing up." You admitted. "Got no real roots and all that jazz."

"That changes now." He told you. "This is your home now so I want it to feel like it. Make the space your own."

“I don’t know how I can thank you for this.” You lowered your head, still feeling undeserving.

“Don’t thank me yet, butterfingers.” He chuckled. “I’ve been told I tend to be a little on the egotistical side. That I don’t work well with others.”

"It's actually [F/N], if you were curious." You said, sitting on the bed and folding your hands in your lap.

"Okay, [F/N]." he smiled. "You've been in and out of enough apprenticeships to know the drill. Early mornings, late nights. And I've got a laundry list of odd jobs for you that I'm too important to do."

"Naturally." You nodded. His dry self-awareness inspired a little confidence that he wouldn't be a complete tyrant.

"You did a good job today." He said, bluntly. "Thank you for your help. Keep it up and you'll make an invaluable addition to the sanctum."

You smiled downwards. "Thank you."

"Do you often sing when you're trying to focus?" He posited. "Just, as an aside."

You could tell the gears in his neurosurgeon's head were turning, undoubtedly trying to pin some kind of diagnosis on you as doctors were known to do.

“I guess it’s just a force of habit.” You admitted. “I used to play piano, so when I’m working with my hands, it just kind of happens. My last master was not happy about that.”

"Oh, screw him." He waved his hand dismissively. "He pissed away an opportunity to nurture a sorceress with a special gift for the sake of tradition. That's a mistake I won't make."

Special gift? You thought. Nobody who practiced the Mystic Arts had ever referred to anything you'd ever done as a 'gift'. Annoyance? sure. A symptom of ADHD? All the time. But 'gift'? That made it sound useful.

#stephen strange x reader #doctor strange #doctor strange x reader #stephen strange #doctor stephen strange #what if #what if marvel #doctor strange supreme

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rarephloxes · 3 years

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@lucienvanserraweek, free day!

I’m so happy to announce that this is a collab with my dear friend @ratabrasileira!!! Go show the beautiful drawing she did some love!!

rating: G

words: 2.2k

Elain searches the woods for flowers and finds more than she ever expected. Sleeping Beauty Au

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Elain left the cottage barefooted, the soft cushion of the grass comfortable and well known to her feet. The familiar and gratifying feeling of calm earth beneath her, steady and grounding, more than enough reason to forego any sort of shoes.

Roses, Feyre had chanted, the dreamy look in her sister’s eyes persisting ever since her chance encounter with a newcomer guard at the town square, the prettiest ones you can find, please?

Elain had not the courage to tell her younger sister that she had picked fresh flowers just the day before, funny-shaped pink blooms Elain found at the lip of the stream near the border.

So, she had picked her basket - the one Nesta had gifted her on her last birthday, handmade by her older sister herself; a beautiful, intricate thing done with the hard-earned love of the hardest Archeron - and left, a spring to her step and a tune brimming in her throat.

The woods, the townspeople said, were older than the village by unaccounted years, and therefore filled with deep, wondrous and dangerous magic.

Elain, as well as her sisters, was orphaned too soon. A wasting sickness that had scourged their village had taken away both of her parents, one after the other, leaving only a nearly of age Nesta, a doe-eyed Elain, and a tear-stained Feyre.

Many years had passed since, the nebulous, all-consuming pain of the absence of their parents soothed by time. Despite her grieving, it never escaped Elain’s thoughts how lucky she was to have such wonderful people in her life: her kind neighbors; the quaint, energized people of the village, who never missed a chance for celebration; the old grouch at the square who made wooden figures just as her father once had; Feyre’s laugh, her creativity and Nesta’s attentive strength.

The woods, magical and mysterious, were a source of peace in Elain’s little life, too. A balm made of soft sunlight, fresh, perfumed breeze, and the singing quietness of wildlife.

She walked, shawl hanging on her elbows to ward off the slightest of spring chills. Elain sang to her heart’s content, a lively lyric dancing on her tongue and bouncing on the leaves of the tallest of trees, her heart soaring with each note she presented to her loved woodland.

With Feyre’s wishes in mind, Elain followed a path towards a grove, the humidity at her destination perfect for the birth of deep pink roses which best complimented Feyre’s complexion.

She crossed the sturdy old bridge that allowed passage over the river, her cottage’s mill no longer audible from where she stood.

“Hello, Mister,” Elain greeted the white, wild bunny, its twitching mustache smelling the air twice before hurrying on fast jumps towards her, a cupped palm of berries awaiting the animal’s eager mouth, allowing her to scratch its head “You’re rather famished this morning, aren’t you?” she asked. The bunny agreed with what seemed like and affirmative ear twitch before her furry friend scampered away to a nearby bush.

Then, singing about poets and kings, Elain continued her path through the meandering trees, her basket filling with dark, juicy berries - a few of them already staining her lips red - and multicolored flowers.

A bold, red little bird landed on Elain’s extended finger and enchantingly sung with her. Its melodic chirping lacing and harmonizing to the girl’s sweet voice, their impromptu duet accompanied by the rustling leaves and the gurgling stream.

How wonderful Elain felt, surrounded by nature, connecting to the air around her as if it had birthed her itself, offering it her voice. Respectfully reaping the charming flora, she found on her way, breathing their scent, befriending the forest animals, and spinning on the tip of her toes on the soft soil.

As she stopped dancing, her skirts still swishing around her calves from the last of her twirls, Elain noticed a magnificent shrub of the blooms she had braved the woods for, jewel-bright pink petals shining under sunbeams, as if the tress had organized themselves to create a spot of light for such earthly beauty.

Right then, the strangest of things happened.

With her heart jumping to her throat, beating frenetically against her ribs, Elain noticed a beautiful horse. Saddled, with a gleaming chestnut coat, dark eyes downcast, calmly munching on the grass near its hooves.

It wasn’t unheard of, horses in the woods, wild or otherwise, they were not far from the main road, but that was not what made Elain’s skin prickle with alertness.

A well-taken care horse as such must have a rider nearby.

“Samson,” called a male voice “There’s not much left to go.” The horse shuffled his legs, huffing before turning its nose away, back onto the moss.

“There will be carrots,” the voice tried again, with a tone of simulated indifference.

Caught like a fish on a hook, the horse’s great neck snapped up, looking at its rider, as if expecting the vegetable all at once. Stoic as the pair of them seemed, Elain had the impression Samson was kindly spoiled.

Elain, who could hear the rich sound of the stranger’s voice, had not yet distinguished his form in the shade beyond the grove she entered, but following the stallion’s gaze she finally sighted him.

Oh, but what a beautiful man he was.

Stranger was tall and broad-shouldered, with an old, silvery scar marking the side of his face, slitting his brow and narrowly missing his eye - which seemed to be a disconcerting shade of brown. He had the most vibrant shade of red hair she has ever seen, dark like autumn leaves and silky like water.

He was the most beautiful human she has ever seen.

Stranger, however, had yet to notice her.

And as handsome as he was, Elain was clever enough to realize that a quick, silent escape was the safest option.

Slowly, she walked one step back.

The crunch of the branch beneath her foot echoed loudly, too loudly to be confounded by an innocuous wildlife sound.

Elain couldn't raise her eyes to look at him, attention glued to the sword holstered at his hip.

“Be not afraid, lady. I’ll take my leave in a moment,” Stranger said in a placating tone, palms deliberately upraised for her benefit.

The woods turned to music at the exact moment their eyes met.

A world-altering spark of recognition lighted in her mind.

A stranger in the woods, merry music, dancing fireflies, and singing birds, trees being led by the wind as if women in a ballroom, her vision spinning, and her body lighting up like fireworks. A hand on her waist, a choreography her body must have been made for performing, such ease it was to allow it to guide her away.

Dreams, she remembered, wonderful dreams which always kept her under her covers for a moment too long, always ending way too soon, leaving longing as a dent in her pillow.

Now he was right in front of her.

“I know you,” she whispered, words slipping through her lips like birds escaping a cage, her hands shaking.

He was dressed in well-made traveling clothes, dark pants, finely done knee-length boots she had only ever glanced upon whenever wealthier people crossed the town to check on their local businesses, but those deftly dressed gentlemen couldn’t have looked better than the man even with the priciest of fineries. Elain resisted the urge to press her hands to her cheeks, heated and pink from noticing Stranger only wore a thin, unruffled poet’s shirt, - his cape and hat using the nearby trees as hangers - its open laces revealing golden skin and wisps of red hair.

Elain had never felt self-conscious of her looks or clothes, the townspeople dressing similarly to her (even if Elain herself had one of the best sewing hands in their village). Her current outfit was a simple corset with boning made out of prepped hedgehog spikes, the plain fabric embellished with neat seams and picturesque figures Elain had stitched herself; a brown, light skirt - easy to wash and easier to hide soil stains - and, what now she deemed absurd due to the grime on her nails, no slippers.

“And I, you,” he answered as in a daze, hands falling limply at his sides.

“Do you hear it?” Elain made her voice firm, lifting he chin but with her knees slightly bent, ready to run.

“Yes, my lady,” he took a step, then two, until a stretch of his arm would land his hand on her shoulder.

But he didn’t move to touch her.

Elain swallowed, the breeze cooling her body, eyes downcast, legs now motionless and nearly failing her.

“Why won’t you let me see your eyes, my lady?” She couldn’t be sure, for she knew him not, but there was pleading in his tone.

“I’m afraid, my lord, that if I look at you, I’ll awake and leave this dream,” she whispered, surprised, but not fearful, of her words. “And you’ll fly away from my grasp,”

Suddenly shy of her newly found boldness, she turned her back to him.

“I’m-" She started, voice small.

“No, please.” Elain saw a shadow over her shoulder but wouldn’t dare to guess. “Forgive me for my requests, my lady, you need not give me anything, I-”

He sounded... embarrassed.

She found it endearing.

The song of the woods shifted to a village rhythm she knew well.

“Dance with me,” he called.

A gasp fell freely from her mouth, the ghost of a touch on her hand.

Slowly, she turned back to face him and realized her mistake.

His eyes were not brown, but a vibrant russet shade, complimenting his hair better. Elain had heard only the continent bred humans with the most varied and colorful bodies.

“I forgive you,” she mouthed, her throat no longer functional.

There were callouses on his palms if from holding reins or sword fighting, she couldn’t determine, but they were so gentle against her skin she barely put any mind to it.

A blast of sound surrounded them, as if the song recognized their meeting, rejoicing in their movements, magnifying their volume to ensconce the pair of them in a cloud of magic. Elain allowed her stranger to spin and lead her in the dance of her dreams.

She couldn’t help to laugh and smile and giggle as they swayed in impossibly rehearsed arrangements, his wide, carefree, delighted grin pouring sunshine into her chest.

Time turned to a growing bloom, following the natural, slow, unpreoccupied pace of life. A hundred dances thrummed with them while the small pointer of the square clock circled once.

At that time, the resounding, deep clang of the church’s bell chiming twelve times broke through the magic steering the couple.

Elain ceased her steps, the pang of reality downing on her face, awareness washing the enchanted fog in her mind.

She let go of Stranger’s hand, the melodies dimming to a quiet hum, tempting her as a distance siren song,

“I must go,” she told him, yet unable to move.

“So soon?” he asked earnestly, arms lovingly tightening around her waist, not caging, only a gentle embrace.

“Oh, please, I must have my leave. Your lordship certainly has somewhere to be. I don’t even know what to call you-“ she babbled in a rush.

Stranger pressed his nose to the sliver of skin above her neck line, as if he couldn’t help himself, as if she were a saint and he a devotee. Elain lost the breath in her lungs, head lulling back, her words cutting themselves short.

“It’s yours,” his lips brushed the slope of her neck, “My name, my heart, my soul. It’s all yours. I’m Luc-“

Hurriedly, Elain lifted his head and pressed her pointer and middle finger to his mouth, “You must not tell me your name,”

“I heard your voice,” he admitted, a portrait of hope in his face, gently grasping her wrist “I deviated from the road to look for the angel whose song I was lucky to listen. But the singing stopped, as it was never there in the first place,”

“The woods have a mind of their own” she whispered to herself, eyes roaming around as if searching.

“I found you once I let Samson rest for a moment,” he continued, uninterrupted, as though afraid she would vanish in a poof of light.

“Please, my lady. Can’t you see? One is never to deny a gift from the Gods,”

“Are you a believer, Stranger?”

“Now, I am,” he said, his gaze unfaltering, “Will you allow me to reveal my name to your Ladyship?”

“I’m no lady,” she said, taking her hand from the warmth of his, regretting it immediately, “I must have my leave,” How would she explain her tardiness to Nesta? Oh, how reckless she was acting.

“At least allow me to take you to your home, my lady,”

Elain knew deep in her gut as clearly as she knew the color of the sky and the name of her favorite flowers that he would never hurt her.

But her oldest sister warning echoed in her conscience, coiling its limbs around her, refraining her voice.

The universe, it seemed, understood her decision.

Samson let out a loud neigh, attracting her love’s attention for just long enough.

“I’ll see you in my dreams,” she promised as he turned around to watch his horse.

And ran away, deep into the woods.

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Thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, likes and comments make my day.

Special thanks to @moononastring and @silvergriff for hosting this awesome event, @separatist-apologist for being the kindest and most considerate beta reader I could ever hope for.

I’m building a tag list! If you want to keep up with my writing, let me know :))

I may or may not continue this? I really want to mesh this with a bunch of other ideas I have on my notes!!

#elucien #lucien vanserra week #lucien vanserra headcanons #lucien spell cleaver #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #elucien fanfic #elucie fic #elucien fanfiction #acotar #sleeping beauty

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thesmokingguns · 3 years

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Picnic in the Park

Pairing: Axl Rose x Reader

Word Count: 2128

Fluff

Request Summary: “Axl rose meets a girl threw slash who is his childhood friend whos also an amazing painter and just is infatuated with how pretty she is and he just follows her around like a puppy.Tan skin brown hair that goes to lower back brown eyes, wears alot of cute sun dresses and is very kind”

A/N: I am catching up on requests. So if you have requested anything in the past week or so thag oiece should be coming out soon. Thanks everyone for reading

Tag list: @ayablackwood @agroupiewhore @thenobodies-inc @littlemisscare-all

Your mind was a mixture of light and dark, complimentary colors, and images burned into your mind that you wanted to paint later. If there wasn’t a brush in your hand you were taking notes with a pencil, sketching the world around it through eyes that only you saw it from. You captured everyday life like the older woman with the mesh bag she had filled with fruit or the man with his red beard, a few weeks unkept, napping in the alley to get a break from the heat. You took these people, characters of the world and had them live forever on the canvas you painted on.

Art was your passion. You loved walking around Hollywood with a set of watercolors or a notebook to sketch in and take in the lives of others. There was some sort of poetic feeling of taking a stranger from the street and importilizing them as a character in your art. You created a narrative for them that they may not be living. It was cathartic and you’d spend hours of your day people watching until you finally found the right subject.

Sketching out a bump on someone's nose that might have come from a childhood accident or from their Freshman year of college when they drunkenly fell down the front steps of the dorm, you created their unknown life story as you placed each line of their face into place. If you didn’t infuse their story into the piece it was just some colorful person without any meaning. But you wanted to give the viewer of your art a full piece. They should be able to look at your picture and understand the life that the subject lived; your art created that life.

It was crazy to think that a few years before you were in school thinking about becoming an English teacher.It was a chance meeting at a grocery store when you ran into your old friend Saul’s mother. When you had been kids the pair of you had been so close and secretly your mothers had both had fingers crossed for a wedding that never happened. The pair of you split apart the summer after senior year to set out of a life you each wanted. His mother had invited you over for dinner, which she also invited her son to, thrusting the pair of you back into each other's lives.

Oddly enough, it was like time hadn’t passed between you. The easiness of your friendship coming back without even trying and soon the pair of you were hanging out on almost a daily basis. With your schedule up helped manage his house, buying groceries, doing some cleaning, and running a few errands he never remembered. In return you had a few rooms to yourself. Slash had wanted to make sure you had time for your art as well as a space for it.

Dressing in a white floral pattern sundress you grabbed your bag that contained your art supplies. You wanted to get to the park early and set up a blanket you could spend the day sketching and painting on. You planned to soak up the sun in your skin and use the good lighting to get some new work to sell for the craft fair this weekend. As you turned to grab the picnic foods you had made the night before you saw Axl sitting at the counter. His green eyes looked up, smiling when he saw you.

“Hey, Y/N. Slash just left. I’m going to leave in a minute. I was just finishing up some lyrics.” he was always over and you thought that he was lonely in his role as lead singer. Even though Axl put on this tough guy imagine and had a reputation it was like he needed to work for that because he thought that was what rock stars were supposed to do. Whenever he was around you he seemed lost, always making extra conversation or taking the time to go walk to the coffee cafe with you and wait in line, even if he didn't want anything.

“I’m heading out for a day in the park.” you told him, moving the wax paper covered sandwiches into a small wicker basket, along with some fruit and cheese, some water, and a bottle of wine. You could feel his eyes on you, “I’m over packing and have more than enough if you want to come with me?” you let your eyes flutter up from packing the basket to look at him. “I’ll leave you alone to write because I’m just going to spend the time working on some new portraits.” It was important to you that you set up expectations. There was no need for him to feel like he was going there to entertain you or vice versa.

“I’d love to go. You don’t mind?” he asked as you finished packing up the wicker basket. You shook your head no, letting him pick up the food you had just packaged and leading you outside, “What park did you want to go to? I can drive us there.” you told him what you were thinking, getting comfortable in the convertible.

When you had moved in with Slash you had forged fast friendships with his bandmates. Even though you weren’t at every show and didn't always go backstage you had gotten close to them in different ways. On Wednesday nights you hosted a dinner party where you made them all come by so you had an excuse to cook for them. When someone had a ripped piece of clothing at a show you’d quietly take out your sewing kit, stitching patches in jeans and repairing favorite band shirts. You liked being around them all because of how animated everyone was; they were so easy to draw. You had a whole sketchbook of black and white images from the band. Your favorite subjects were Slash and Axl, mainly because they were the two you were around the most and had the most flexibility when it came to moods.

Axl had grown close to you, drawn into the caring nature you had. It was hard for him to understand that someone would do things for him without expecting anything in return. The first time that you had been out drinking with them and insisted Axl came home with you so you knew he was safe he had thought was a come on. When you helped him drink water and gave him aspirin before tucking him into bed he was shocked. Even more shocking was waking up to find his clothes washed and folded on the guest room chair and you carrying in a breakfast tray of freshly made foods. That’s just how you showed you cared about your friends. Being the mother of the group and taking care of them helped you feel like you were contributing as a friend.

Spreading out the blanket under the Weeping Willow tree. You motioned for Axl to sit as you toed off your sandals and moved to sit down. Digging through your bag you set out your sketch pad and pencils. You could see Axl out of the corner of your eye. He didn’t seem to know what to do. You pulled him down to the blanket, settling him so he could rest his back against the tree. You pulled off his shoes and socks and handed him his notebook as you went about unpacking your picnic so he could pick at food if he wanted to.

With him settled in the shade you laid down, belly first in the sun. Picking up your pencil you scanned the park until you found an older man feeding the pigeons. Your eyes followed his movements for a few minutes before you started your sketch. The feeling of the warm sun on the back of your thighs as you twirled the pencil in your hand, capturing all the features of the man.

As you drew you could feel Axl’s eyes on you. At first it was just light glances every few minutes and then it turned to heavy long looks where his eyes were watching you. Ignoring the way his stares made you blush, chalking up the pinkness in your cheeks as just sun exposure.

A hand slid over your calf, over the back of your thighs before going over your dress and laying on the flat of your back. You turned your face upward looking at Axl watching you. His eyes flickering from your art up to your face. There was a pause, curiosity and interest in what he was going to do next. Your heart is beating in your chest even though your body is frozen, wondering what he was up to.

“Do you want to take a break and eat? You’ve been working for a couple hours.” Looking past him you saw the sun had changed position in the sky and time had gotten away from you. Sitting up you handed out sandwiches, positioning yourself comfortably besides him in the shade of the tree.

Axl had been following you for most of the spring and now into summer. He's around all the time and often comes along for days like this. But you liked having him around. You thought that he needed the quiet comfortable silence between the pair of you; so much of his life was filled with noise.

“Y/N, do you like this?” He asked, peeling off the crust to his sandwich. The action seemed to be more of a need to keep his hands busy instead of a dislike for the bed.

“Do I like this? Picnics in the park?” You didn’t know exactly what he meant. Axl sometimes seemed to talk in riddles not wanting to fully play all of his cards.

“Being with me.” He didn’t look up to meet your eyes at this, almost embarrassed to be talking about it. You weren’t like Axl. There was no need to talk in riddles or have him guessing how you felt.

“Of course I like having you around, Axl. It’s nice to be able to spend time with someone I like.” He looked up, almost surprised that someone would like to be around him. “I’ve had a crush on you for a few months and it’s nice to get to know you more and find more reasons to like you.” You didn’t feel nervous telling him this. It actually felt like a relief to get it off your chest.

He put down his sandwich, wiping crumbs off on his shirt and looking at his hands to make sure that they were clean. Before you could figure out what he was going to do he had a hand in your hair, tugging you closer to him in a soft kiss. For months you had been thinking about what it would be like to kiss him on one of your lazy afternoons together and now it was happening.

Instead of letting him pull away and think about what he had just done you slid onto his lap, letting your hands wrap around him. His free hand was on your back holding you close as the pair of you made out like teenagers under the shade of the willow tree.

Finally, the pair of you pulled away, swollen plush lips and wild curious eyes watching each other. This new change between the pair of you sparkling like wonder between the pair of you. Axl was playing with a piece of your hair, wrapping the brown lock around his finger like he had been wanting to do for months.

“Does this mean we can finally start dating?” You asked, watching the way he smirked at this question. “Because I don’t know how many more times you can just casually show up without Slash catching on. And I don’t know how many more picnics I can plan without touching you.” You admitted, his lips were on your chin and up your jaw.

“Mhhh, I’ve been waiting for this for so long and now I can have you all to myself.” His voice whispered huskily to you kissing your earlobe. He pulled away to look at you again. “You have to tell Slash.” He said, making you laugh as you rolled your eyes. If that’s what it would take to have Axl you didn’t mind telling your best friend about the relationship.

“You take care of me and I’ll take care of everything else, babe.” You promised, meaning it. This was everything that you had wanted for months and now you were getting it. The man that you had started falling for was yours. It had only taken months worth of picnics to get him.

#Axl gnr #axl rose #axl rose fanfiction #axl rose x ofc #axl rose fan fic #axl rose head canon #axl rose x reader #axl rose gnr #axl rose one shot #axl rose fanfic #axl rose imagine #Axl rose Guns N’ Roses #Axl roses headcanon #Axl oneshot #fluff #fluff writing #request #Axl rose x you

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bump1nthen1ght · 4 years

Text

Waltz of the Vampire (Vampire x Reader)

Pairing: Fem!Fat!Reader/Fem!Vampire

Genre: Fantasy (Vaguely Historical/Renaissance)

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3469 words

Summary: You forcibly attend the ball of the rich family that has just moved to town, unexpectedly finding comfort with one of their daughters.

Request: Hey!! I love your writing a lot! Would you consider an elf or a vampire whatever suits your fancy with a fat fem!reader. I try hard not to hate my body but it can be really hard sometimes and I know a lot of people go through it not just plus size folks but... idk it’s my weakness and a huge comfort. Anyway I hope you have a awesome day!!!

A/N: I really loved writing this request, and after I finish Thicker than Water, I might make a part two.

Serena has been to a lot of parties. Too many, in her opinion, even over her 326-year span of life. Her matriarch, “Mother” as she is called by her and the coven, believes there is no such thing.

Every move they make is celebrated by a grand ball, invitations sent out to every available person. Mother claims it’s the best way for them to fit in, to hide in the crowd rather than the shadows.

Serena understands this, she’s seen it work wonder for their reputation time and time again, but she still does not like them.

Tonight is especially dreadful, a bad hunt the day before and a quick spat with her “brother” enough to sour the whole get together. Serena spends most of the night eluding suitors and dance partners, embracing a mysterious persona so she can enjoy some alone-time.

As she looks around at the dance floor, Serena concludes that she is not a fan of the new fashion statements of this era. A bit too strict, too formal, with precise lacings and starchy hoop skirts. It makes the dance floor too stuffy in her opinion, no room to twirl your fabric or move your limbs.

She sips on her special red wine, eye’s lazily perusing the hall for her siblings, hoping to gain some company, when she spots you. Selena is brought to a pause, mid-drink, as your embroidered skirt glimmers, catching the light as you twirl it across the room. Her eyes widen, determination peaked when she notices you don’t have a partner.

How beautiful.

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Oooh, I love this song.

You hum, unconsciously bouncing from side to side as your favorite piano piece begins to play. It’s a piece you have on your list to learn in the future, bubbly and cheerful with a bumpy melody and the option for a fun violin accompaniment.

The energy of the music quickly translates to the dance floor, where couple’s begin to giggle and improvise amidst the strict waltz and counted-steps. It’s a shame that it’s such a good piece because for the first time of the night, you really wish someone would ask you to dance.

When the news the MacArthur’s were throwing a huge welcoming ball had reached your household, your mother quickly began throwing together preparations for you to attend. You had sighed, set your feet in a preemptive ice bath, and ready for another boring night.

As a former socialite herself, from girlhood you were forced to attend party after party. While it had done as intended and transformed your sister into a perfect lady, it had the opposite effect on you. The stiffness of the hoop skirts, the suits, and all the damn people always stuffed up your throat and flushed your face. With your sister as the shining star, it was easy for you to slip into the shadows, and avoid the preening of your mother’s etiquette lessons.

Now, as a growing woman with more and more free-time, you used all of your abilities to avoid huge social gatherings. You found your place amongst small gatherings with local friends, sneaking wine from the cellar and telling stories in the freezing cold around a fire

But as the music increases it’s tempo, with flourishing skirts and plenty of laughter, you can’t help but lose yourself in the joviality of the gathering. The fancy dresses, the even fancier alcohol, and the decadent ballroom had you wondering if you had been missing out a bit.

If only Margaret and Min-Young were here, now that would be a party.

You giggle into your champagne, heels still tapping against the hardwood and hand slightly tossing your skirt back and forth. You easily fall back into your reclusive corner to avoid embarrassing eyes who may glance upon your solitude. But a tiny yelp escapes you when your heel accidentally digs into a foot. You whip around, faced already flushed red with embarrassment.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry! I didn’t look where...I was…”

Behind you, dressed in a dark purple satin gown, is Serena Macarthur herself. She stands a solid two heads above you, hair done up in an immaculate up do and two shimmering ruby earrings dangling from her ears. Her face is serene, lips curled up in a bit of a smirk. You quickly jerk away and give a half-decent curtsy, noticing her beautiful black dancing shoes which you just stomped on. “I apologize, Miss Macarthur, I can’t believe I acted so foolishly. I didn’t realize-”

“Oh, there is no need to worry darling. I’m alright, no harm done.” She says, her voice low and musical, almost like a thrumming bass line. Her gloved hand is placed on your shoulder, the other slides up your neck and tilts up your chin to meet her eye line.

My god, she is stunning.

Her eyes are a color you’ve never seen before, not dissimilar to the sharp gemstones in her earrings. Serena’s makeup, simple yet sharp, does everything to accentuate the cardinal-red of her irises. You can feel the simmering blush heating up your skin as she continues to stare. “I was actually coming this way to speak to you, flower. It’s my fault really, for sneaking up on you.”

You shake your hands, nearly spilling over the champagne in your glass. “Oh no, it’s no problem. Like you said, no harm done”. You force a giggle, hastily taking a sip of your champagne. “May I ask what you wished to speak of?”

Serena smiles, a smirk which is just as sharp as the rest of her, though her eyes betray no slyness or ill-will. “I was going to enquire about your dress. I noticed it from across the room and was stunned by how enchanting it is.”

“Oh! Well, thank you very much.” You blush, unconsciously rubbing your finger over the embroidered flowers on the skirt. “I actually-”

“Whoops!”

In less than a second, you find yourself right next to Serena, as a drunk dancer trips and spills his drink all over the floor. You blink, brain not even fully processing what just happened, as you notice Serena’s arm on your elbow and the red wine splattered where you stood just moments ago.

Did she move me? But when-how did she-

“Sorry! Sorry about that.” The man slurs, sheepishly scratching the back of his head. His partner, a distressed young woman, grabs his elbow and forces him to stand straight. “Guess I’ve had too much.” His embarrassed partner chokes out a laugh as he continues to sway.

“Yes, it seems you have. Make sure to fix that, soon.”

Serena’s tone is barely above talking volume, but holds a command like a powerful shout, Both of the dancers jerk with surprise, furiously bowing as the female drags the man out of the hall.

Serena sighs, rubbing her forehead with exasperation. She turns toward you, smiles back on her face.

“Would you like to take this to the garden? Seems the party is getting a bit too rowdy for good conversation.”

You nod, still a bit befuddled by Serena’s quick mood change and even quicker reflexes. But you link elbows when she holds hers up in invitation nonetheless, following her outside.

---------

The Macarthur estate is beautiful, as expected, and the garden fits that image to a T. Even in the moonlight you can see the finely cultivated roses bushes which decorate it, along with the gleaming marble fountain and sitting space under an ornately decorated gazebo. The two of your heels click along the paved path as you walk towards the center, your half-empty drink still in hand.

“You were sadly interrupted, but you were mentioning something about the dress?”

You nod, taking another long sip of your champagne, hoping a little alcohol may temper your thoughts.

“Yes, I was just going to say that I made it myself.” Serena’s eyes grow wide, eyes darting up and down your attire, and you feel yourself fluster. “It’s a tradition in my family, you see. My great-great-grandmother was very diligent when it came to teaching her kids how to sew, even the boys, and it became such an insisted upon skill that all her children ended up making their own evening clothing for special occasions. It ended up filtering down that every child makes one special outfit themselves, for what occasion it doesn’t particularly matter, but something thatt is uniquely you.” You pull up the end of your skirt, pointing out the flower pattern. “I’ve always had a fondness for gardening, so I tried to incorporate that into my dress. Plus,” You smooth out your skirt, “Most party dresses I’ve found are a bit too restrictive for my tastes, I wanted something I could really get into some fun with, y’know?” You force a giggle, immediately wondering if that comment was a bit too salacious for high-society talk. Serena simply smirks, letting out a low chuckle of her own.

“I wholeheartedly agree. May I take a closer look?” She gestures to your skirt and you hastily nod. The two of you take a seat by the fountain, Serena’s glove accidentally brushing against your calf as she picks up your skirt. You try and control your shiver from the simple contact. She hums admirably as she runs along your work. “Such incredibly done Sunflowers, the detail you put in is astounding. And these are forget-me-nots, correct?”

“Oh yes, those are my favorite kind.” Serena’s hands continue to run along the linework, following the bumps and dips of each flower petal. “As you can see I had trouble with the lavender, what with the petals being so small.” Serena shakes her head, a fond smile on her face. She looks up at you, forcing you to hastily act as if you weren’t admiring her face.

“The work you put in makes them twice as beautiful, mistakes be damned.” You blush even harder, throwing your hand and taking a final sip of your champagne.

“Thank you very much, but I have a long way to go.”

Serena’s hand hasn’t left your skirt, now resting on her lap as she continues to look at you. You swallow the last droplets of champagne down your throat, trying to fill the silence.

“The band is incredible, did you hire them locally?” You stutter, setting down your glass. Serena continues to fiddle with your skirt.

“Some of them, yes, but the violinist is actually my older sister, Marigold.”

“Wow! Make sure to give her my compliments, she’s very talented.” Serena nods, before her eyes dart down your toes. As the music echoes out of the hall and into the garden, you had unconsciously begun to tap your toes to the beat. When she glances at you, she can see your head slightly bobbing, a content look painting your face. A small smile forces one on to hers.

How cute. She internally sighs, noting how soft the skin of your cheek looks, the nice curve of your jaw, and your adorable noise. The pulsing blood which would run down your throat, the crimson looking devine against your exposed collarbone and dripping below your breast line.

She stands up abruptly, forcing those evocative thoughts out of her mind. You were quite cute and good company, someone Serena would like to get to know. Sometimes the crossed wires of her brain confused attraction for bloodlust, mistaking the butterflies for hunger pains.. She is almost embarrassed; It was one of the common hurdles new vampires had to overcome, a bridge she thought she crossed years ago

You startle, looking up at her with innocent doe eyes. Serena holds out her hand, ignoring how she can hear your steady pulse, unintentionally matching the beat of the music.

“May I have this dance, fair lady?” She almost whispers, bowing slightly.

Your face flushes, nodding without a word, and slipping your bare hand into her glove.

Serena boldly grabs your hip and presses you against her, quickly taking the lead. Your brain fervently recalls all of your formal dancing lessons, pressing your head into her chest as she takes you along.

In her arms, following her perfected steps, that slithering self-consciousness sneaks back into your brain. Your logic tries to reason with it;

You wanted to dance, but now that this beautiful woman has gladly offered her hand, you want to stop?

But your insecurities are louder, screaming about every trip and every spare touch. This close, you can feel her firm musculature through the dress, spotting the hint of her bicep as she leads you. With her dainty and elegant hand on your side, you feel twice aware of your size underneath, every imperfection concealed by your dress.

You had fallen in love with this dress when making it, but had always been hesitant to wear it. You feared that once you put it on, that beautiful picture in your mind would shatter, leaving you forlorned of what could never be. Not with you wearing it, you had thought, avoiding your own mirror as you left.

“Something on your mind, flower?”

Serena whispers into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. Your back jerks and contorts back into position, almost stepping your foot on hers. You shake your head furiously.

“Oh no! I-I just-” You stumble, trying to find an easy excuse, but are stopped when you take a look at her face.

She’s resplendent, even up close, not a hint of makeup to be seen. But across her cheeks, slightly faded from what looks like years away from the sun, are-

“My, you have such wonderful freckles.” You murmur, without a second thought.

Unbeknownst to you, if Serena could blush, she would. But the scrunched up look of embarrassment is telling, hinting that maybe this beautiful heiress has her own things she hides away.

“W-well, thank you.” She hastily utters, eyes averting from yours. It’s uncharacteristically shy and you can’t control the giggle that escapes you.

To give her some reprieve, you take your eyes off her face and trail them around the garden. They catch on the fountain, where the contrasting colors of your dresses stand out amidst the black. In the reflection, the two of you could not look more different. Serena stands a head above you, slim-fitted dark purple dress pulled across her curves, while your bright green dress cinches at the waist, flowing out like the flower's detailed skirt. It blows and beckons with every movement, brushing occasionally against your form and showing off the contours of your body.

Damn, you think, we look hot.

Just as fickle as it’s counterpoint, confidence quickly overtakes your mind, blocking out the noise of your doubt. You hold tight to your beautiful partner, in the beautiful dress that you made, and allow the happiness of this moment to exist uninterrupted, however short it may be.

The music increases its pace, the smooth line of a saxophone bringing up the energy. With a new burst of energy, you allow yourself to improvise amidst the strict waltz. You lift your weight off your heels and try to glide from step to step, like the fast-paced tango dancers your mother once took you to see. Serena matches your enthusiasm, gripping your waist, even lifting you a few inches off the ground when a particular chord strikes. Her fingers slightly tickle your ribs, an ecstatic giggle escaping you and you falter a misstep. Your mind almost stops, embarrassed by your stumble and that insecurity sneaking back in, but Serena follows your new tempo with grace, urging you along with improvisation.

Your bodies follow the music with abandon, ordered steps devolving into impassioned stamps and twists, Serena twirling you around as the violin and piano sing from afar. Your heart and mind are running on adrenaline. It’s like when you were little, letting out your energy in any way possible. Serena’s laughter is magical and for once you don’t detest your awkward snorts and chuckles.

As the music slows, the two of you near-tumble back into the fountain, taking a seat with heaving chests.

“Whew, I haven’t danced like that in a while!” You say, brushing a stray hair back behind your ear. Serena nods, patting her stomach as she continues to laugh.

“Me as well. I forgot how fun it could be, when you’re not counting your steps.”

“Oh good, you do that too. I always wondered how no one got dreadfully bored just saying 1-2-3 over and over.” You mutter, taking in a deep breath and patting her thigh. Your other hand drifts down to the fountain water, letting your fingertips brush across the top and inadvertently catching your reflection once more.

It’s not the most flattering angle, your shoulders slump and the water slightly distorted, and those intruding thoughts try to slip in once more.

Oh shut up, let us have this.

Your logic sighs, batting it away without another second thought.

As the two of you sit, your energy eventually begins to drift back down, your muscles slightly tired from that short burst of impact. You sneak a glance at Serena.

While her outfit is still immaculate, her updo shows the smallest signs of dishelevement, curly black hairs falling down above her ears. In a way, she’s more beautiful than ever.

“Me and some friends are actually getting together next week. The shepherd's daughter, Violet, is getting married and they are throwing a little shindig at the barn to celebrate. Do you want to come?”

Serena looks up at you, slightly surprised, face furrowed with that hidden bashfulness. But she nods nonetheless, shooting you a bright smile.

Still high off your dance, you just barely miss her large fangs, which glimmer under the moonlight.

You smile back, only startled when the large bell tower from the center of town chimes. Your head looks towards it’s large face and back towards the moon position. You’d guess it was midnight. Seems the two of you had lost track of time while dancing.

“Well, I should probably be going.” You say, standing up and brushing off your skirt. “I do have some gardening to attend to in the morning, going to need a solid amount of sleep. But,” You say, eyes demure and locked on your toes as Serena stands up, “I had a lot of fun tonight. More than usual, I would say.” You giggle, twirling a strand of your hair. Serena hmms in agreement.

“Me as well, flower. Your company has been the highlight of my night.”

In a bold move, Serena grabs your hand and lays a kiss on the back of it. Her eyes radiate that power and certainty from before, crimson irises shining in the night. Your blush crawls its way back up your neck.

“I-I can say the same.”

The two of you stay in that position for a moment, Serena pulling away her lips but keeping a lingering hold on your hand. Your heart thrums in your chest, while hers is deathly silent. Neither of you wants to be the first to pull away.

“I-uhm.” You stumble, hand still locked in place.

Now’s as good a time as any. You suppose.

In a quick movement, your hand loosens from Serena’s grasp and you give a quick peck on her cheek. In another, you have pulled away, sprinting towards your carriage.

“I-I’ll see you Saturday!” You shout, nearly tripping over a rose bush.

Left behind in the garden stands Serena, cold hand pressed against the burning skin of her cheek. Your kiss shot through her body like a lightning strike, almost jolting her frozen-heart alight.

That night, Serena goes for a hunt. She barely takes the time to change out of her formal clothes, nearly tearing the delicate lacework of her dress. Her claws catch on her gloves and almost rip apart, her heels scuffing the floor as she kicks them off and to the side. Her undead body is thrumming with life, untapped energy that longs to get out.

Her thoughts run a mile a minute, forcibly distracted by the Grizzly bear she currently has in a choke hold. It puts up a good fight, but Serena is running off of pure bloodlust.

At least, she thinks it’s bloodlust. A deeper part of her knows it's something else; The sparking fire of something new and a little bit frightening.

The last time she was personally invited to a ball, an event, a ceremony was less than a couple months ago. When you hold a position such as hers, look like her, they are common occurrences.

But to a party? Not a politically motivated meetup, but a genuine, let your hair down, party? Well, she hadn’t been to one since she was a youngling of 150.

And for the first time in a while, she is excited.

#reader insert #monster romance #female reader #monster x reader #vampire x reader #my writing #vampire

211 notes · View notes

woahajimes · 4 years

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i just think that even with powers, the team of young justice in the same high school is such a wonderful concept because they’re teens and they most definitely have the potential and right now i can’t place many words together but like.. i MUST elaborate on most aspects of these little shits being high school freshmen/sophomores.

Bart literally writes everything with just a pencil and then you have Kon who just likes to write in blue/red/black pens, tim is a mix of blue/pencil/ocassional-marker -he-steals-from-cissie, Cassie writes with like.... purple and blue pens,,, Greta just has a black pen but her notes are literal heaven because she steals everything from cissie and cissie is 1000% the sorta bitch that has her markers categorized by color but then bart borrows them and mizes up the caps and also cissie has gel pens and her handwriting is pretty af so like everyone copies of of her

As unlikely as it sounds, Bart does NOT cheat at tests, because then max would like... give him SO many lectures and it’s SUCH pain in the ass so he just doesn’t (this does not limit chaos). Cassie doesn’t cheat because nO but then Cissie and Kon???? they’re buddies in that sorta thing and you know EXACTLY what i mean when i say that Kon has written answers in the skin that shows from his ripped jeans (the ones that he always gets in trouble for wearing, because as much as the school protocole just says ‘jeans’, they do NOT mean ripped jeans that have paint on them), and Cissie on her thighs and under the uniform socks, and they do the whole bandaid trick, and they even have their own weird sign language that takes WAAAAY too long to like even send the word ‘wassup’ because it goes letter by letter but its subtle so it works

fucking HOME EC is kon’s favourite subject and you’d think that kon would be in like... woodworking because most guys are in woodworking but NO kon went in home ec because ‘the chicks are there’ but NOOOO KON JUST LIKES BAKING AND HE GOT SHAMED ONCE FOR NOT KNOWING TO SEW A BUTTON ON HIS SHIRT SO NOW HE WANTS TO LEARN and guess what he absolutely LOVES it and he’s in with greta because cissie is with cassie and tim in woodworking, and besides, they don’t even have the same classes

they always make like cookies and kon hates it because he can’t eat his mf cookies in peace because he has home ec right after the lunch hour and while cassie does like to go out of class bart and cissie just eat all the cookies and leave kon to split with tim

FUCKING VOLLEYBALL TEAM BITCH but also literally all sports the school has to offer because Kon LOVES his jock reputation (that also bakes cookies and is kicking ass at home ec) and tim desperately needs to deal off anger with sports because the big bad wolf drake demands he also gets involved

Cissie quit the cheerleading team like the first month but greta loved it, and cassie just hates it SO much but he likes watching practices because girls (oh and greta gets really excited all the time and they love it)

,,,volleyball yj,,, is something i MUST HAVE OKAY PLEASE DON’T TAKE IT AWAY FROM ME I JUST SAW THIS BEAUTIFUL PIECE OF ART SO I MUST ELABORATE OKAY also volleyball’s the only sport i semi-know how to play so like bear with me but i havent played in like a year so shut up (here’s the link)

KON JUST DOESN’T KNOW A LIFE IN WHICH HE DOESN’T SPIKE THAT BOY LITERALLY WILL SPIKE ANYTHING YOU THROW AT HIM OKAY i don’t make the rules (but you know who does? cassie. cassie makes the rules because she’s scary and the rules include no fucking powers on the court--unless they’re losing then kon can use his tAcTiLe TeLeKiNeSiS)

CASSIE IS MIDDLE BLOCKER because shes TALL and also she gets front view of the opposing teams and like. girls. AND ALSO YOU NEED CORE STRENGTH FOR BLOCKING AND LIKE cassie is close to having more abs than kon i swear im not making this up

TIM SETS BECAUSE he’s the only one that can mantain that boring position also he’s good at it (also he wears fingerless gloves because iT hElPs hIm but really he want to look badass

BART IS LIBERO ALL THE WAY THROUGH OKAY BOY LOVES DIVING AND also he can heal quicker from like hits in the face (he has his kneepads that he wears EVERYWHERE and he even has a headband for his hair and his arm thingies and everything and his jersey is just written with signatures because everyone loves him

CISSIE IS ALSO LIBERO OKAY SHE LOOOVES VOLLEYBALL and she can DIVE and sometimes she forgets to bring up her kneepads so you KNOW that her knees are broken but she doesnt care (she also switches with server and her serves are literally like from fucking hell its beautiful

greta doesn’t play she refuses to play and everyone respects that but she also has like the bags with water-bottles and the jersey ones

EDIT: FUCKING DUMBASSES HERE GOT THEIR UNIFORMS MIXED UP AND TIM IS LIKE ONE SIZE SMALLER THAN KON AND CASSIE AND CISSIE AND BART ARE THE SAME (and tim but like bear with me) AND THEN ONE DAY THEY GOT THEIR UNIFORMS MIZED UP AND THERE WAS KON WITH MINISHORTS and dumbass didn’t notice but like everyone else sure did

BECAUSE they’re in the same team they just... share a locker that wasn’t used, with a little dollarama (dollar tree? idk but the dollar store) lock and then bam that’s the team locker (team as in them not the volleyball team) and there they keep like... bags of chips and chocolate bars with like... gym clothes and sneakers (which if you ask me is a horrible idea to like... place around 12 stinky shoes with granola bars and snacks and gym clothes but like hey dont ask me its them)

AND I READ THIS ARTICLE BUT I ALSO SAW A POST ON INSTAGRAM ABOUT THIS GIRL, Erin DiMeglio, WHO PLAYS FOOTBALL AND IS THE ONLY GIRL ON THE TEAM AND ALSO HER GIRLFRIEND IS A CHEERLEADER SO LIKE.,,,,, TELL ME THAT YOU DON’T IMAGINE CISSIECASSIE (or plain old cissie and cassie if you dont feel like shipping them) but like... cissie quit the team... and she doesn’t want to go back... and cassie’s like wow okay i see you AND ALSO TIM IS ON THE FOOTBALL TEAM and kon doesn’t wanna join (tbh he’s more of a football dood yk?) and bart called cissie a chicken and went cheerleader for cassie himself (skirt and everything, max was proud) so like cassie has her own team of cheerleaders and then tim is just :/// (here’s the article go read it)

my brain is crying at me to stop but i want to KEEP GOING so PLEASE add more and if you guys wanna like draw 👀👀👀👀 PLEASE TAG ME OKAY THE YOUNG JUSTICE CREW IN THEIR LITTLE OWN SAME HIGH SCHOOL IS SO IMPORTANT TO ME

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boldlyanxious · 4 years

Text

None the Wiser 6

Masterlist

All fic masterlist

Bio-dad Bruce prompt-Fashion show

Marinette was not expecting her day to go well when Rochelle stepped in front of her before they left the locker room. She had spent a few minutes reorganizing her things before heading off to lunch so she could have what she needed ready for the afternoon and now they were alone in there with not even the sound of others in the hallway.

"I need to talk to you," Rochelle said.

Her arms were crossed over her chest and she looked unhappy. Marinette tried to smile even though she was apprehensive.

"What can I do for you?" Marinette responded.

Rochelle pulled out an envelope that Marinette recognised as a response from the fashion competition, but it wasn't like the fancy envelope she received.

"I didn't do very well. I was in the lowest rank."

"I didn't know you entered."

"I didn't tell anyone. I've only been sewing for a couple years and not often."

"Are you wanting pointers?"

"I really want to model. I'll model my own but probably not be noticed. Are you modeling your design?"

Marinette was shocked. She didn't think of using another person as a model mostly because she would usually use Alya but she hadn't made it to fit Alya.

"I don't actually want to. I'm a bit clumsy and it's worse when I get nervous but I made it my size."

"I could do it for you."

Rochelle looked like she wanted to add something but she stopped herself. She stood still while Marinette eyed her then walked around her.

"I think it should work," she said tapping her chin. "I need to touch you for a moment."

She waited for a nod before she pinched a bit at Rochelle's outfit in a few places nodding.

"I don't have a measuring tape with me today. I think our measurements are similar enough aside from the obvious height difference but your additional height is definitely helpful. Can you come over after school today?"

She nodded slowly, "Are you serious? You'll let me model for you?"

"Oh yeah. I was dreading having to do it but you want to and probably already have an idea of what to do if you want to model."

"We aren't really friends though and I haven't been very friendly."

"Well I either missed it or you aren't very good at being unfriendly," she said with a smile.

After they finished with classes they met back at the lockers to walk out together. Marinette took her through the bakery and up through to her room. She was happy with her decision to change her style over the summer so she didn't have an embarrassing amount of Adrien's modeling pictures cut out and plastered everywhere.

She adjusted things so the fold-away screen was set up for changing and pulled out the dress for the fashion show.

"This should work really well. They are good colors for you."

"It's so nice. You are really talented."

"Thank you. I've been working at it a long time."

When Rochelle had the dress on, Marinette checked the fit and made notes for the changes needed. There were no drastic changes and Marinette looked how it looked on the other girl's taller frame. Marinette figured how long it would take to make the alterations and set up a time to do a fitting after that so it would be ready for the show.

---

The day of the show arrived and Marinette feeling like she might not make it. Time kept slowing down so she would dread what was coming and then speeding so fast she couldn't keep up. Her parents didn't know how to get her to sit still and eat something. Bruce would be there as well as Damian and Dick and a couple of Damian's friends. Tim hadn't been able to get away from work and from what they said about Jason she thought maybe they were hiding him until she was more comfortable.

She still hadn't told anyone but Luka about this new family she might have but she was so nervous about the show and him being there that she pulled Alya to the side and told her about meeting him when she went to change during Alya's party.

"Wait, what? That was weeks ago. Is that why you've been acting weird?" Alya asked.

"Well I wasn't sure what was going to happen. My parents thought he might get a lawyer and try to get custody."

"Can he do that?"

"I don't know. We think he probably has more money. His suits are designer and he has made several trips. He will be there today."

"I can't believe you kept this from me! It's so wild. How did he even find out?"

Marinette explained how biology class had given her the wrong results so she took the DNA test. Then relayed what had happened after.

"The boy from school is his son. I guess he's technically my brother. But neither of us are very happy about that." Marinette said.

Alya started with her the rest of the time and they went together to meet Rochelle before going to the location of the fashion show. By the time they arrived the first group was about to go on. They had multiple runways set up with seating and some standing area. The stages would be used one at a time but to keep the flow going they would move to the next stage to have time for the many entrants and to make it easier to find the information.

There was still a lot of time before the final show. After each set there would be a long break to give time to arrange everything again and allow people to come and go as needed. Many would only be there to support the person they knew who entered but for the final show everything would be set up for the big stage similar to a major Fashion show and the seats would all be there. A lot of fashion related figures and publications would be there for only that main event.

Sooner than Marinette could have imagined Marinette was hugging her parents before she headed back to check on Rochelle. Her older sister, Charlotte, was a makeup artist and had done her hair and makeup. Marinette had fashioned a coordinating hair ornament with a necklace, arm cuff and high heel covers.

Charlotte finished with Rochelle and pulled Marinette over so she could do her hair and makeup as well. Diane wanted to know more about covers for the high heels. Marinette told her all about how she loved to make jewelry and accessories. The high heel covers saved money since shoes were expensive and took up a lot of space so she started making covers to go with her neutral heels so they would be more versatile.

She didn't see Bruce and his family before the show but several people peeked out to see the crowd excited when some of the more famous people entered. She was a bit surprised to see someone taking a picture of him while Damian stood further away with his arms crossed. She wasn't sure who they thought he was. Fashion was an area she was pretty confident in her knowledge of all the major players and even a fair bit of the less known designers.

The lights all turned to the stage and the crowd hushed significantly as the music started. Rather than ranking it by type of clothing the organizers had decided the pieces by color starting with white and going through the rainbow and ending with black. Marinette's storm inspired greys and blues with a shock of bright violet put her near the end. Each model walked alone but quickly while the featured designer was named and the outfit was described.

It was over very quickly. For all the work that went into them fashion shows were not typically very long. Even with 50 featured models and designs the beginning had not even been half an hour ago. The smaller runways had already been dismantled to make space for the audience. After all the models and designers headed out the backstage area was being out away to leave only main stage for the announcement once the judges finished deliberating.

As Marinette headed towards the crowd where she could see her parents making awkward conversation with Bruce and the 4 boys with him. She took a moment to tell Rochelle to stay in the dress if she wanted for now. Hopefully it would get a little more buzz for both of them unlike the models or designers who had changed already to preserve their designs.

Marinette approached the group but she was not up for making conversation. She kept peeking nervously at the judges as they were making their final decision. She could never have told anyone what was being discussed but she knew every move the judges made until they all began to stand. Marinette watched as an envelope was walked over to the presenter and she slowly walked to the stage. Her microphone picked up the gentle swish of her skirt and the click of her heels.

Marinette couldn't hear what she was saying she focused on the hands as they worked on opening the envelope with a crinkle of paper as the seal pulled apart. She removed the 12 cards, each printed with the name of a contestant. As she told them they would be read in no particular order she demonstrated the point by shuffling and mixing the cards before restacking them to read the names of the winners.

As each name was called the winner would walk up to the stage and stand to face the crowd. They were handed a packet containing the information about the prize as the cheers died down before the next name was read. As each person walked forward to join the incomplete dozen Marinette became more and more desperate to be called.

She didn't actually think she could win. It was a large contest and she was only in her first year of lycée so many of the contestants were older. She supposed that was why they decided the groups to have all of them be able to publicly share their designs. She took a deep breath to calm herself but she just held it there as she watched the ten people being joined by one more after he was handed his packet.

The woman looked down at the last card and continued smiling as she waited for the hush to fall over the crowd before she read the last name.

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

Her parents were cheering what she looked at them and then she saw Bruce and Dick were as well. Alya was bouncing up and down holding her hands while screaming and cheering. She started pulling Marinette towards the aisle and then shoved her forward to propel her to the stage. She joined the line of other winners but she was still in shock. The crowd was cheering again, her section was definitely the loudest even though the presenter had called for another round of applause for all the winners.

Taglist

@theymakeupfairies | @emjrabbitwolf

#maribat #bio dad bruce wayne #bio!dad bruce wayne month 2020 #boldlyanxious

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swan-of-sunrise · 4 years

Text

Taking Care of Business (Chapter Two)

Summary: Din reflects on his impulsive decision and gets to know a little more about his newest crew member.

Pairing: Din Djarin X Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: It’s a little shorter than the last chapter but I hope you all enjoy!

Chapter Two The Captain (Previous Chapter)

Din Djarin wasn’t exactly an impulsive man. If given the opportunity, he preferred to approach every situation with a healthy dose of caution and strategy, shying away from brash recklessness whenever he possibly could; it was once how he’d become one of the Outer Rim’s most skilled bounty hunters and how he’d recently been able to protect the child on his quest. So, when he’d asked the ex-smuggler, his client, to join his crew after only knowing her for a handful of hours, he’d surprised even himself with the spur-of-the-moment decision. He hadn’t traveled with a crew in years, not since his days as a mercenary, but what he said earlier had been correct: if he was going to successfully complete his quest to return the child to his kind, then he needed some help to do it.

But what made you choose her, Din asked himself as he curiously watched (Y/N) sew, out of all the people who’ve helped you so far, why did you ask her to stay? Maybe it was because she confused him; her demeanor was fierce yet gentle, she could pilot a ship through heavy blaster fire better than any Corellian hot-head but could also be content with quietly sewing on the floor of his ship, and her attitude was outmatched only by her thoughtfulness. But as he observed her from where he stood beside his sleeping compartment, it dawned on him that it was because deep-down, they shared something in common: loneliness.

“You know, I may not be able to see your eyes but I can feel you staring at me.” (Y/N) quipped, looking up from her work with a smile. “What is it?”

“We’ve been flying for a few hours now and since I don’t know when you last slept, I wanted to show you your bunk.” Din explained, grimacing at the half-truth; that was originally why he’d come down from the cockpit, but then the sight of the captain peacefully sewing had distracted him. He turned and pressed a button on the control panel, the compartment’s door opening as (Y/N) got up and stood beside him. “The child usually sleeps in the hammock, but he won’t disturb you; he’s a heavy sleeper.”

Instead of thanking him, (Y/N) frowned. “But isn’t this where you sleep?”

Din shrugged. “It’s fine, I’ll rest in the cockpit from now on-”

“And give yourself perpetual backaches?” She countered, her brow raised in skepticism. “I’ll make up a cot for myself out here and you can keep your bed.” Her firm expression morphed into amusement as she made her way back to her storage container and began rifling through its contents. “Besides, as far as this crew goes you’ve got the seniority; this is, after all, your ship, Captain.”

He smirked, leaning against the wall of the ship and crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s my ship but I’m no captain. You, on the other hand…”

“So what I hear you saying is that since I’m technically a captain, I outrank you even on your own ship?”

Biting back a snort of amusement at her teasing, Din shook his head and pointed a warning finger at her. “Watch it, alor’ad, I don’t tolerate insubordination in my crew.” (Y/N)’s head snapped up and her grin instantly fell, and he quickly realized that she’d taken him seriously. “No, no, I was just…! That was…that was meant to be a joke.”

Comprehension dawned on the captain’s face. “Oh…It’s a little hard to tell if you’re joking or not ‘cause of the…” She made a vague gesture over her face before clearing her throat and turning back to her storage container, obviously embarrassed by her action. Din couldn’t blame her, though, as his own face was flushed bright-red under his helmet. “But yeah, I’ll be okay sleeping out here, Mando.”

He nodded, unsure of what to say until his gaze landed on the garment she’d been working on before he interrupted. “So, is sewing a hobby of yours?”

“More like my life’s passion; my mother was a seamstress and she began teaching me her trade when I was around six.” (Y/N) smiled fondly, her earlier awkwardness long-gone; she pulled out a collapsible cot and got to her feet. “I’ve been hooked ever since. I even make my own clothes, since loose fabric is less expensive these days, but not shoes; I buy those already made.”

“What planet did you grow up on?”

The captain unfolded the cot and secured its legs before sitting down on its end. “Naboo. On that planet, fashion is considered an art form just like painting or dancing, and the mark of an accomplished seamstress is the ability to tell a story with a single piece of clothing. I left the planet when I was twelve, before I could begin an apprenticeship, and since I was so young when I left I know very little about my people’s customs and traditions.” Din nodded in understanding, knowing first-hand how difficult that sort of loss was, and (Y/N) let out a sigh. “I’m grateful for the knowledge I have, though.” She looked over at him a small smile. “Enough sad talk; we should discuss this quest of ours. You said that your information trail has gone cold?”

“Yes. I was instructed to locate other Mandalorians if I needed assistance, but there are very few of my kind and the ones who have survived live in well-hidden coverts.”

(Y/N) bit her bottom lip, something Din inferred was a nervous tick of hers. “There might be someone who can help, but you’re not going to like what I tell you about him.”

He frowned under his helmet. “Who?”

“A man named Gor Koresh. He’s a notorious gambler who mostly bets on ring fights, but I’ve heard some rumors that he also collects beskar. And as far as I know, beskar these days mostly comes from-”

“Mandalorian armor.” Din growled, fists tightening in anger. “He harvests Mandalorians for their beskar. Do you know where this man is?”

Once Din gave (Y/N) a tour of the cockpit and they charted their course to Koresh’s last known location, (Y/N) took over piloting while he took the child down so the two of them could get some rest. The child, however, had other plans; he cooed and babbled, gesturing towards the ladder as Din opened the sleeping compartment.

“I know that you like the nice lady but we need to sleep, kid. She’ll still be here when we wake up.” Din gently placed the child in his hammock and sighed in exasperation when his protests only continued. “I already told you, buddy, it’s naptime.” Noticing the child pointing at something, Din turned and raised an eyebrow when he saw the satchel (Y/N) had made for them. “You want the satchel?” The child squealed in delight so Din retrieved it and carefully rolled it into a bundle before tucking it into the hammock, watching as he snuggled closer to it and closed his eyes.

I guess he really does like that bag, Din thought to himself as he climbed into the sleeping compartment. After turning off the lights and making sure the child was asleep, he took his helmet off for the first time that day; sighing in relief, he ran a hand through his flattened hair and took a moment to enjoy the feeling of the ship’s cool air on his face. As he laid there in his bunk, Din’s mind drifted to his earlier conversation with his brand-new crew member.

(Y/N) was from Naboo, which explained the Mid-Rim accent he’d detected when she was yelling at him during their first meeting, and from the way she’d spoken about her home planet, it sounded as if she’d had a difficult childhood that was similar to his. But how the hell did a Naboo seamstress become a smuggler for the Rebel Alliance, he silently wondered, and what exactly did she smuggle for them?

Taking in a final breath of unfiltered air, Din put his helmet back on and made himself as comfortable as he could, quickly falling asleep with the image of the captain’s curved smile fresh in his mind.

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

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! The next chapter will be a little longer than this one, I promise :)

Mando'a Translations: Alor'ad-Captain

Chapter Three

Taking Care of Business Masterlist

Tagging: @remmysbounty @sinon36 @seninjakitey @thatonedindjarinfan @ginger-swag-rapunzel @mostclevermiss @momc95 @welcometothepedroverse @sarahjkl82-blog @zukoyonce @itsnottilly

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #din x reader #mando x reader #grogu #the child #baby yoda

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ot7always · 4 years

Text

Forget-me-not

Word Count: 7.4k

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Genre: Village!AU. Angst. Seriously, it hurts.

Warnings: Mentions of war. Death, grief.

Rating: PG-15

Summary: As much as this had always been a possibility, you never thought that one day your best friend would actually be stolen from you.

A/N: This fic is part of my 1k Milestone Requests that was picked randomly out of the pool of requests I got!! Thank you to the lovely @jinpanman for sending such an interesting request in!! When I started writing this I had just come off of writing so much fluff, so I thought: I guess it’s time to write ANGST and this physically hurt me fhkfldhgf

“Y/N!” a voice called out loudly from downstairs, startling you enough to drop your sewing needle into the mess of fabric on your lap. Your sister had once again managed to tear one of her dresses running around doing whatever it was she did with the neighbour’s youngest son. Not that you could have boasted any more appropriate behaviour when you were her age.

“Just a moment, mother!” you responded, eyeing the damage. Truly, it wasn’t as bad as she made it sound when she came to you in a panic, dirt on her hands and tears on her cheeks. Surely it couldn’t take you more than a few minutes to fix.

“Come now, love! There’s a messenger from the capital outside!”

That had your brows furrowing instantly. A messenger? Here? Surely your relatively small, riverside village was of nearly no importance to the capital aside from paying the annual taxes.

“Coming!” you shouted, rising quickly and tossing the garment onto the chair behind you. The sewing could certainly wait, whereas the capital did not wait for anyone. It was possible the messenger had already started his spiel, and you were much too nosy a person to sit at home while something interesting was happening.

You slipped into your shoes quickly before rushing downstairs and out the door, hoping you still appeared as put together as you had that morning. Perhaps you should have thanked your mother before running full-speed toward the village’s centre, but it was much too late for that now.

When you arrived, a well-dressed man was already standing in the centre of a crowd, luckily only seeming to have just begun speaking.

“-sends his regards from the capital, but also his deepest apologies.”

Before you could ponder his words much, a sudden towering presence beside you stole your concentration for a moment.

Dark brown hair unruly, coat hastily done up, boots unlaced – how Kim Namjoon managed to make looking like a total mess a fashionable statement, you could never understand. But according to the whispers you heard as you went about your day, his unkempt, boyish manliness had stolen many ladies’ hearts in your little village. You would almost be annoyed, if not for the fact that he was so oblivious.

He shot a quick, dimpled smile your way, returned by one of your own before you both concentrated on the man’s speech once again.

“-army had taken a massive hit after the last war. As you know, that was only one year ago, and we have yet to recover properly after the close victory. And it appears that Reina is looking to take advantage of this.”

Reina. A country nearly 2 weeks away by horse, one who recently allied with Xenia through marriage, who your Kingdom’s army had barely defeated last year.

Unease settled over the crowd immediately. You grabbed for Namjoon’s arm instinctively, his hand raising to cover your own only a second later. This couldn’t possibly be what you thought it was, right?

“War appears to be imminent, and it can only be so much longer before tensions snap. We cannot let the Kingdom fall without a fight, and we are calling on all of our allies for assistance. But it is not enough.”

You sucked in a breath.

“The capital has decreed for all able-bodied man over 20 years of age to report for training and assignment. Women may volunteer to join the forces.”

Whispers and hushed cries of disbelief rang out through the crowd, but were quickly quieted by the continued announcements.

“You are expected to be in the capital within one weeks’ time. You may report to me for additional details. That is all.”

You turned to Namjoon with a helpless expression colouring your face, but the one on his was already one of resignation. Every man knew this could always be a possibility – hell, the same thing had happened only years ago for similar reasons, though that that time, your best friend had been too young to be conscripted.

But not this time.

“Namjoon-”

“It’ll be fine,” he cut in quickly, trying to quell the steadily rising despair taking over your features.

It seemed that the other men in the crowd felt the same sort of sad acceptance, hushing their daughters, wives, and friends in the same way.

As much as you might as joked to anyone who asked that Namjoon was nothing more than a nuisance, you hardly went a day without seeing him. His family home was only down the street – a fact you’d learned only days after you grew old enough to play with the other children on your own.

His tiny body had come barreling into your smaller one in a rush, sending your 6-year-old figure straight into a nearby bush. And as any young girl would do after having torn the new dress gifted to you only weeks earlier, to no fault of her own, you recalled throwing quite the tantrum.

You only saw more and more of him after he brought you to his home in a hurry, pushing you towards his mother in a wordless plea to fix whatever problem he caused. And so she mended your dress, urged you to return for tea the next day, and thus began your odd relationship with the clumsy boy.

You were not quite fast friends, your friendship with his mother developing much more quickly than any relationship with him. The younger you was quite adept at holding a grudge, and you didn’t dare forget that this was the boy that almost ruined your birthday present.

But, as children did, you got over it before long, especially after learning that you would be attending the same classes that same year. While a year older than you, an unfortunate illness had befallen him two years prior, holding him back several months.

After weeks of taking the exact same walk to and from school, you’d warmed up to the boy quite a bit. He liked to show you his strange collection of rocks, and in exchange you showed him your collection of fabrics you’d collected from old clothing and blankets over the years. The fact that you’d acted interested in each other's odd habits must have been a testament to your strengthening bond.

Spending your days with him became second nature over time, right up until he’d grown at least a head taller than you and become more man than boy.

You’d seen each other through almost all of life’s troubles; studying together in a harried panic, hurriedly throwing together gifts for birthdays you’d forgotten, and eventually cheering each other on in finding an occupation for yourself.

It must have been a surprise to the other villagefolk that it was you who had become the teacher, and not Namjoon, because it was him dazzling your teachers with grand speeches and uncanny wisdom for his age. Though they could not be surprised long, for it was Namjoon who spent many months of the year in neighbouring villages, and sometimes even the capital, studying to be a doctor.

There were few people in your village with the capabilities to study such a profession, but Namjoon excelled. He preferred not to boast of his abilities, but you heard frequently from your mother that many travellers sung his praises. Your best friend was a rare gem whose future appeared to span far beyond the tiny walls of your village.

Which was why you could not simply accept that he would go off to war, possibly never to be seen again.

“How can you be okay with this? How are you not panicking? Namjoon, I-”

You were unaware of your rising volume until steady hands settled on your shoulders, moving to shield you from the curious eyes now pointed in your direction. How could he possibly take care for your reputation when the country was asking him to give up his life?

“We always knew this might happen some day, Y/N. You know it as well as I do.” His words were firm, but his eyes spoke different words, pained words. Words that he could not say here, for to publicly voice his displeasure would not be taken well. Especially not when so many of the men around you had already gone to war and returned.

He was right that you knew this could happen – you would be a fool not to realize such a thing. Even your father had been lost to war when you were only a child, as is the reality for many children in your village. But did that make this any easier to bear? No person could say that preparing for a possible goodbye made the event any less gut wrenching.

“I’m worried for you,” you eventually whispered, head tipping back to stare into those eyes that had become a constant in your daily life, eyes that, one week from now, you might never see again. That thought sent a new wave of dread through your very being, a hole opening in your chest at the thought of Namjoon riding off, never to be seen again.

“Y/N,” he said, squeezing your shoulders in an attempt to pull you out of your head and back into this moment with him. “I need to speak with the messenger. Will you wait for me by the pond?”

You could only nod mutely, afraid that if you were to open your mouth, the only thing that would come out would be more words of displeasure.

“I’ll come as soon as I can okay?” he asked gently, voice filled with compassion. A part of you was ashamed that he was here comforting you when it was his life on the line.

When you didn’t make to move on your own, the hands still on your shoulders nudged you to turn around, further words of assurance falling from his lips.

It was as though you had been possessed. Your mind felt suddenly blank, your chest empty, your movements not your own. You hadn’t even realized you were approaching the pond near your home until the water was glistening right in front of you.

You stood as close to the water as one would dare, what with the notoriously slippery rocks at your feet. You stared at your reflection in the crystal-clear shallows before you, as though she could tell you how to deal with this situation. And as you watched your skirts sway gently in the spring breeze, you wondered if your eyes appeared as empty as your soul felt in this moment.

Being here only spurred up more shared memories. Summers spent playing in the water, digging up insects, even chasing each other over the wet rocks, much to the disdain of your mother.

Not only that – this place felt safe. It was where you came when you were upset, where you always were when Namjoon came looking for you to make things better. It was where you found him when he was contemplating whether he was fit to be a doctor, where you assured him that he was the most intelligent person you knew of.

Without even realizing it, you had begun digging up every good memory you had with Namjoon, as though to mourn them before you’ve even lost him.

It seemed that a part of you had already accepted the possibility of losing him forever, already accepted that as many memories as you had together, you might never have the chance to make any more.

But rather than sadness, sorrow – all you felt was a gaping emptiness within you as you stared, unblinking, unseeing, into the water before you.

Was something wrong with you, not to feel? Someone akin to family was about to be ripped away from you, yet your eyes were dry. Shouldn’t you be screaming, sobbing? Didn’t he deserve at least that?

“Y/N.”

You didn’t have the slightest idea how much time had passed before Namjoon was calling your name, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You turned slowly before meeting his eyes, the distance between you unusually large. He appeared as though he didn’t know what to do with himself, as though you hadn’t spent over 15 years at each other’s side. He looked to be brimming with words he wanted to say to you, but his eyes remained fixed on you, his mouth shut.

“So?” you managed to force out, voice sounding distant even to your own ears.

He only gave you a pained smile in response, closing the space between you and eventually sitting next to the place you stood. When he patted the ground at your feet, you joined him.

Minutes went by with both of you silent, gazes staring blankly across the water, as though failing to address the subject at hand would render it nonexistent.

However, patience was never your strong suit, and you could not hold your tongue any longer, even if you would only receive bad news in return. Though, it appeared Namjoon had the same idea.

“What-”

“I-”

As quickly as you had both opened your mouths, you had stopped talking. A slight smile finally cracked your stony expression as you met Namjoon’s eye, his expression sheepish, as though he could have known he was going to cut you off.

“You first,” you chuckled, tension seemingly broken as you watched Namjoon collect his thoughts.

“I spoke to the messenger...” he started, taking another breath as you acknowledged him with a low hum. “He told me I would be able to work with the doctors there.”

You perked up immediately at his words, hope blooming in your chest. “So you won’t have to fight?”

But the troubled expression on his face told you it wasn’t that simple.

“Not on the front-lines, but I’ll have to be close by. Wherever they decide to send me.”

“You’ll be in the camps.”

“Right.”

That coiling feeling in your gut returned. “And the camps get raided often.”

“Right,” he murmured. “I could...”

“You could die.” You cut him off with a whisper, turning your head away to hide your furrowed brows, nails digging into your forearm as though the physical pain could ease the burden in your heart. “How are you not more upset?”

“Part of me always expected for this day to come,” he sighed, hand drawing senseless patterns into the rocks at his feet. “As a man in a country at war, it’s like I was born just to die.”

“Don’t say that. Why do you accept your death so easily?” you forced out through gritted teeth, burying the sorrow in your chest that was creeping up your throat, threatening to burst at the seams. Did he value himself so lowly that it was so easy to throw his life away for his country?

“There’s nothing I can do about this, you know that,” he said lowly.

“I know,” you replied simply. You did. But that didn’t mean you could accept it so easily. You should have been more like him, should have expected that this might eventually happen to the two of you, but too much of you didn’t want to think about a reality without your best friend in it. Perhaps it was naïve and foolish of you, but you were happier thinking that the time you had with Namjoon was not defined by an hourglass that tipped at the notion of war.

The silence that followed was heavy, the emotions that laid between you more than words could express.

To think that his hulking presence in this place you grew up together – when he visited you in the classroom with treats for the children, when he ran through the village streets with your sister on his back – to think that one week from now, those might just be memories, never to be seen before you again. Was it selfish to mourn how lonely you would be without him?

You thought you could hold yourself together until you returned home, but it was the arm circling around your shoulders and the words that came next from his lips that broke you.

“Will you remember me well?”

It was as though the single thread holding you together snapped, sorrow rearing its ugly head as tears spilled from your eyes. You kept your face from him, but no matter how quietly you cried, the heaving of your shoulders, gave you away.

Namjoon didn’t comment, only pulling you closer so that your head could rest on his shoulder.

“You’re so stupid,” you sobbed, voice strained as you angrily wiped at the tears on your face. “I hate you.”

You swore you heard Namjoon snort at that. After all, he heard that phrase from you at least 5 times per week.

“I know, I know.”

You finally turned towards him, but before he could get a good look at you, you buried your face in his chest and wrapped your arms around him. When you realized that this could be one of the last times you held him close like this, another strangled cry was wrenched from your throat.

He didn’t dare comment on how tightly you were holding him, nor how wet the front of his shirt was becoming.

Another comment on how well he was keeping himself together was on the tip of your tongue before you felt the shuddering of his body beneath you.

Namjoon was a silent crier if you’d ever seen one, and if not for the breath catching in his throat, it would have been hard for anyone to tell without seeing him.

You didn’t know how long you sat there like that, half-sprawled across his body, tears falling until there was nothing more for your body to give. Namjoon’s hands trembled in their place on your back, and you wished more than anything that you could make this easier on him somehow. It was his life on the line, after all, and not yours.

“Y/N,” he whispered, the sound wrought with emotion.

You pulled from him enough to meet his eyes, the pain you found there a reflection of your own. His hand rose to wipe at the wetness on your cheeks before moving to lace his fingers with your own.

“Take care of my mother for me. Please.”

You nodded gravely, reaching for his other hand as well. “Of course,” you replied, breaking eye contact lest you fall apart all over again. “Only until you get back.”

“Only until I get back.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noted the setting sun above the tall trees surrounding you, though you still had no grasp on how long you had been here together. Everything felt to be a blur of fear and despair.

“When do you leave?” you asked.

“In five days.”

You nodded. Five days left with your best friend before you had to send him off to a war he might not return from. You were certain those days would be spent busy right from dawn until dusk, but you would steal whatever moments with him you could.

You eventually returned to your original position sitting beside him, facing the water as a slight breeze sent a shiver through you.

“We should head back soon,” he said, but he didn’t sound to want to leave very much. “It’s getting dark.”

“Stay with me a while longer,” you murmured, reaching for his hand.

So he did.

The days following passed in a whirlwind. Despite your dedication to spending as much time with Namjoon as possible before his departure, it proved difficult with the preparations he had to make. Writing letters to his colleagues, saying goodbye to old teachers, securing a horse, packing his belongings – there was unfortunately not much time left for the two of you to simply spend with each other, though you stole what moments you could.

It was almost surreal, what you felt in that time. You couldn’t help the tears that came that night after the pond when your mother held you. Since then, it had almost been an endless cycle of sorrow followed by emptiness, over and over and over.

But the morning before Namjoon would set out on his own, you were determined not to break down again. You were determined that you would send him off with a smile, no matter how difficult it would be to manifest one. He deserved to leave on a good note, not having to comfort you yet again right before he left. You should be the one making him feel better, not the other way around. You would support him as best you could, and momentarily put aside the worst-case scenarios that had been circling through your head ever since the words came from that messenger’s mouth.

“Were you waiting long?” came a voice from behind you.

Turning around, you smiled as you met Namjoon’s eyes, his body already clad in a riding outfit and sturdy boots. It looked good on him.

“Not at all.”

The two of you had decided to spend the last of his time in the village together at the pond. It felt fitting – it was a place ever-present in your childhood memories together, a place you felt a strong emotional attachment to. Not only that, it was peaceful here. Quiet. Perfect.

“Sit with me,” you said, settling yourself in the grass beside a basket you brought with you.

“Is that what I think it is?” he questioned, clearly trying to keep the childish excitement from his voice, though failing.

When you removed the cloth covering what laid within, you had to keep yourself from laughing at Namjoon’s sudden intake of breath.

“Apple pie, fresh from the oven about... an hour ago?” you hummed nonchalantly, not bothering to hide your grin at his excitement. “It’s not exactly breakfast, but I thought you would appreciate it. You can take what’s left with you.”

“You really know how to cheer up a guy, don’t you?” he breathed, sending a reverent ‘thank you’ as you handed it over to him.

As he distracted himself with the pie, you took the chance to study him.

You quickly dispelled the thought that you had to memorize his face now, burn the picture into your memory while you could.

What startled you was that he looked... happy. Well – as happy as he could be considering the situation, but truly, he looked content. As though accepting his fate was no difficult thing, as though he wasn’t leaving his family behind within hours.

Perhaps you should not have been so surprised, though, as Namjoon had always been someone who adapted well to change and thrived wherever he went. All you could do now was have faith that that would hold true now.

“Something on my face?” he teased, snapping you out of your thoughts before darting a slightly embarrassed glance his way.

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

“How much I’m going to miss you.”

A flash of pain went through his gaze before he snapped his head down to hide it. A pang of guilt shot through you at the sight.

“I’m sorry,” you hastened. “I promised myself not to be negative today, I just...”

“Can’t stop thinking about it, right?” he mumbled.

“Yes,” you whispered, reaching for his hand as you pushed the leftovers of the pie out of your way. “But it’s okay. You’re so stubborn I know you’ll come back.”

Your words had their intended effect, those dimples you’d come to grow and love making their appearance again as he exhaled a laugh. The momentary joy you saw there, though, was quickly put away and replaced by an expression you couldn’t quite read.

“Y/N,” he said, his tone sounding unsure and entirely unlike him. A furrow worked its way between your brows immediately and you were about to comment on his apparent nervousness, but he spoke up before you could. “I need to tell you something.”

“Hm?” you responded, caught off guard. “Okay, sure. What is it?”

“I... This is – Well...” he stuttered, taking you off guard even more. Anything that rendered Namjoon an ineloquent speaker must have been weighing heavily on his mind.

“Namjoon?” you prodded, tone laced with concern. You had never been one to mince words with each other, and so his inability to come out with what he was thinking was unusual.

“I’m sorry for doing this to you right now,” he blurted out in what must have been half a breath. “But I don’t want to leave here with any regrets, you know? In case... well, you know...”

“You’re scaring me,” you said, your heartbeat increasing already just from watching him fumble around with his words.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he breathed. “But before I go, I just have to tell you that I...”

He took a long pause then, several moments passing as he gathered himself. Just as you were about to cut in again, he said the words all at once, almost too fast for you to process.

“I love you.”

You spent a moment staring at him blankly as you registered what he said.

But once you did, you were left no less confused than you were before.

“I love you too, Joon, you should know that-”

“No,” he interrupted loudly, wincing slightly in apology when you jumped in surprise. “That’s... that’s not what I meant.”

That’s not what he meant? What else could he have possibly-

Wait.

Namjoon spotted the exact moment you realized exactly what he meant by his words, confusion, realization, then confusion again flashing in your eyes.

It was silent for several moments as you simply stared at him, no part of you knowing what to do with this knowledge.

“What?” was what you settled on, and you inwardly cursed yourself for not having anything better to say.

He gave a bit of a self-deprecating laugh then, and something in your gut wrenched knowing you were the cause of that sound. He broke eye contact, bravery seemingly used up, instead staring blankly into the water.

“I know it’s unfair to tell you this now, and honestly,” he paused as his lips upturned in a mirthless grin. “I don’t really know why I did. It doesn’t change anything.”

You wanted so badly to be able to comfort him, but you couldn’t tell whether your touch would just make it worse.

“I-I don’t know what to say, I never-”

“I know you don’t feel the same way. I just had to get it off my chest since...”

He let his words trail off, both of you already knowing what he was referring to. There was no use saying the same thing again and again.

“I never thought about it,” you whispered, glancing over at Namjoon in a new light. In love with you? You couldn’t say there was never a moment where you thought you and him could be together like that – you'd spent much of your life together, after all. But it was never something you’d entertained seriously, never something you allowed to linger in your brain.

“I know,” he said, and you ignored the way his voice cracked at the end of the phrase. “I just didn’t think our story would end like this, you know?”

“Namjoon...”

“I thought I’d have time to muster up the courage, time to make you fall in love with me too,” he continued. “You always told me I was naïve.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. I should have said something earlier, stopped hiding, stopped pretending...” He sighed. “There’s no use dwelling on it now. Find someone who makes you happy, okay?”

It was as though all of the words had been stolen from your body. You didn’t know what you could possibly say to him, how you could possibly ease his pain. And despite not having known, you couldn’t help the guilt that washed over you. You were the one causing him this pain, you were the one somehow too oblivious to see something in the man you claimed to know everything about. And at the same time, you wished he said something before, because now was too late – whether you could have been happy together didn’t matter now. Fate was cruel with her strings.

“Y/N.” His stern tone broke you free from your thoughts. “It doesn’t bother me now, okay? I just... couldn’t leave with secrets.”

“I understand,” you responded, though you could not stop thinking on the notion. What you might have been together had he not been called to war, had he had time to enact his grand plan to win your heart.

But none of that mattered now.

After several minutes of heavy silence, his voice startled you out of your melancholy.

“I need to say goodbye to my mother.” He stood, offering you a hand to join him.

“I’ll walk you,” you offered quietly, not letting go of his hand. He didn’t comment on it.

You felt almost dazed after his confession, the two of you arriving at Namjoon’s family home within what felt like seconds.

When you looked up at him he was staring at you quizzically, and you quickly removed your hand from his own.

“Will you meet me at the gates in a half hour?”

The gates. The place where you would say goodbye to your best friend, not knowing if or when you would hear from or see him again. You pushed down the dread once again, determined to show a brave face.

“Of course,” you replied weakly, sending him a smile that surely didn’t meet your eyes.

Before he could express his worry at your behaviour, you patted him on the back as you set out for the gates.

The entrance to your village was a beautiful place – surely the most beautiful in the entire area. One of the village teachers had a special gift for horticulture, tending to the hedges and flowers almost every day. You had tried your best to help him when you were young, though it was quickly proven that despite your love for flowers, you lacked the ability to care for them properly.

The primroses were in full bloom, the array of colours surrounding you from where you sat in the grass. The butterflies were rampant this time of year, enough that some of the grumpier citizens likened them to pests. But you had always admired their beauty, silken wings of white, yellow, and orange fluttering gently through the warm breeze.

Perhaps such painful goodbyes could be made slightly easier in scenery such as this.

The grass was soft where you sat waiting, nothing like the thick, pointed blades near the pond. You allowed your fingers to trail through the greenery on either side of you, closing your eyes and tipping your head back to greet the warmth of the sun, only having just taken its place in the morning sky.

You didn’t move even as you heard the clacking of hooves on cobblestone, as footsteps approached and arms wrapped around your shoulders from behind.

He was warm, and safe, and alive, and you would give anything and everything to keep him that way.

But sheer will and sacrifice could not win a war, no matter what the folk tales claimed.

You allowed yourself to relax into his hold, despite the awkward position of Namjoon hovering above you.

You didn’t remember doing it, but at some point, you must have pulled him down with you. Because the next thing you knew you were in his lap, face hidden away in his chest as you trembled, holding back tears.

The hands on your back and on your head almost hurt in the way they were crushing you to him, but you didn’t dare complain, not when you were doing the same to him. Not when this one moment needed to last you until you could see him again.

If you could see him again.

But now was not the time to explore that train of thought once again.

Pull yourself together and be strong. For him.

Forcing yourself to take several deep breaths, you eventually pulled away from him enough to look into his eyes for the first time since he walked up.

You didn’t know whether to be happy or sad that the deep brown of his eyes held only a resigned acceptance, lips upturned in a smile that looked more self-deprecating than anything.

Neither of you dared to break the silence, and it dawned on you then that to anyone else, you might have looked like lovers, wrapped together amongst the flowers, gazes locked.

Yes, fate was cruel with her strings.

The bell from the clocktower several blocks away was what broke you free of the moment, your heart dropping in your chest when you processed what you’d heard.

The seventh hour.

He had to leave now.

You stood up wordlessly, almost as though you were in a trance. You couldn’t bring yourself to lift your head up, staring intently at your feet.

“Y/N.” His voice came with a gentle hand on your cheek, tilting your head up to keep you from hiding any longer. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Don’t make promises you can’t keep.

“Okay,” you whispered, covering his hand with both of your own.

A moment passed before you led him to where his horse was waiting. You managed to crack a smile at the sight of the remnants of your pie bagged and tied messily to the saddle. With a knot like that, you were dubious that it would make it to the capital in one piece without being left behind.

You clung to his bicep the entire time you walked the horse past the gates, your fingers digging into the flesh as though you had the power to keep him there.

His hands moved to cup beneath your jaw, tilting your head up to meet his eyes one last time before he left.

You didn’t even blink as his gaze darted across every inch of your face, memorizing it as if he didn’t see you in his dreams every night already.

“I guess this is it,” he murmured, allowing his thumb to stroke mindlessly along the soft skin of your jaw.

It wasn’t often that he got to touch you like this, and he would make this one moment last a lifetime if you would let him.

He gave you a smile then that was small but as genuine as you’d ever seen it, and your face was lighting up in return before you even gave it any thought.

You only nodded, afraid in that moment of what would leave your lips if you dared to part them.

His hands left you slowly, leaving warmth in their wake. When he turned his back to you, about to climb atop his horse, you didn’t know what came over you then. The warmth, the pain, emotion you couldn’t put into words – something in you snapped.

You saw the breath leave him in a sigh, and right as his leg begun to raise from the ground-

“Wait!” you yelled, yanking his arm to turn him back around, a yelp leaving him as he almost lost his balance.

His eyes were wide with alarm, but you didn’t give him the chance to ask what you were doing before you threw yourself at him.

When your lips met, sparks didn’t fly, nor did time slow to a pause.

But something within you blossomed at the touch, a hand raising to rest against the nape of his neck even as he stood frozen with shock. His hands hovered in the air as his mind struggled to catch up, struggled to process the fact that you were kissing him.

Just as you were about to spring away from him, concerned by his utter lack of reaction, he groaned into your mouth, arms circling around your waist.

You’d clearly awoken something in him, his lips responding to your own with vengeance, pulling your body as close to his as possible. Your neck ached fiercely at the harsh angle, but that was the last thing on your mind.

You couldn’t pinpoint what this feeling was – you only knew that you didn’t want to let it go. This warmth, this safety, this moment with the sun warming your skin, his hands clutching you, his lips soft, patient against your own.

What started out hurried and desperate soon became slow and calm, but your heart was pounding in your chest regardless.

It was the horse’s whinny at your side that broke you from your daze, your lips separating as you looked at him wide-eyed.

“Y/N-”

“Come home safe,” you cut him off, finally disentangling yourself from him and stepping back.

He looked like he had so much he wanted to say to you, and you shared the sentiment.

But there was no time if he wanted to reach the capital before sundown.

He would just need to come back.

With a sombre nod and a quick touch of his fingers to his lips in disbelief, he turned to finally mount his horse.

You locked eyes once more, forcing your mouth up into a smile as you weakly waved farewell.

But your heart hurt, your eyes stinging.

All he could do was try his best to return it.

And with one last tilt of the head from both of you, he set off.

Come home safe.

Please.

It was a long and grueling six months.

You were beside yourself once Namjoon left that morning. It must have been days before you felt well enough to leave your bed, but time was a blur then. Your sister did her best to comfort you, cuddling her much smaller body into your side until you both fell asleep.

But you could not spend all of your days moping. Not when you had your own responsibilities in your home and with your students. Not when that would be the last thing Namjoon wanted, either.

Each time a letter arrived from Namjoon, your hope renewed. They came every few weeks, one for you and one for his mother.

You always ran excitedly to her house when a letter came for you, eager to share what words he was able to put down in a rush at the camp.

He was clearly a busy and well-needed man, stationed at one of the more populated camps on the edge of the battlefield, tending to the wounded at every hour of the day.

Despite his short letters and scribbled words, he always included petals or pressed flowers in his letters to you.

It made you giggle when you opened the first one to find a badly-crushed hyacinth stuffed into the sheets.

It was no secret that you went through a phase in your adolescence in which you loved to collect flowers in notebooks. You’d had many short-lived passions, but this one lasted for years. Books and books of dried, pressed flowers, enough that your poor sister sneezed whenever she entered your room.

It became routine to find flower after flower in his letters to you, and you had to admit that your heart fluttered each time, excited to see what he included for you that time.

The flowers on the other side of the country were much different from your own, and it was no small thrill to see what beauty was in store for you with each letter.

Stretching your arms far above your head, you sat up in bed, having been woken by the sunlight streaming in despite your closed curtains. Perhaps you would soon need to invest in buying some heavier, darker fabrics.

Hopping out of bed quickly and tossing on your skirts and apron, you gave yourself a quick once-over in the mirror before heading out to wash up and make breakfast.

You were often the first one up, your mother much preferring reading or knitting until late at night, lit only by lanternlight. Your sister, on the other hand, slept early and woke up late. The girl got an obscene amount of sleep, though you supposed her growing body must have needed it.

You didn’t mind the quiet, your hushed footsteps and soft humming only ever interrupted by birdsong and crickets chirping.

You were in a particularly good mood as of late, constantly receiving news of battles gone well and your country’s forcing advancing. The village elders had told you that with the way things were going, the men should be back in about a month or two, perhaps even sooner should your opponents surrender.

The thought of seeing Namjoon again in only a month had a soft smile spreading across your face before you had realized it.

You didn’t know what you were feeling for Namjoon, didn’t know if it was love, but you knew that with every letter, he wrapped himself around your heart even more.

Reaching the kitchen, you reached for a hair bandana before turning in search of flour. Perhaps you could make pastries before your family woke up?

But as you turned, a flash of white in your peripheral caught your eye. Spotting an envelope on the near the front door, the bandana fell forgotten to the floor, feet racing across the room.

Scooping the envelope from the floor, you hurried over to the table, setting yourself down into a wooden chair in preparation for another of Namjoon’s letters.

But when you examined the letter closer, you frowned.

It was addressed to you, but the handwriting wasn’t one that you recognized. Who else ever sent you letters? Who could you possibly not recognize despite them knowing where you lived?

Doubt and dread rose in your gut, but when you turned the envelope around, you could have sworn your heart stopped.

A military seal.

Bright red, and clear as day.

With trembling hands, you reached for a nearby knife to cut the envelope open.

Pulling the paper from inside, you had to muffle a cry when you unfolded the letter, a flower falling into your waiting hand, Namjoon’s writing covering the page.

Unlike his normal, scribbled, rushed handwriting, this was meticulous. Neat.

It made you feel sick.

Already feeling like you were sinking, you begun to read.

My dearest Y/N,

I pray to anyone who may be listening that your eyes never see the words written on this page, that I return to you a stronger man, prepared to do anything to have you kiss me again.

In the event that you are reading this, I’m sorry.

I asked my commander to send you a letter in the event that I do not make it out of this war alive.

It pains me to write this, and I fear staining the paper with my tears as I do. There is nothing I want less than to leave you alone, than to leave you behind as I leave this plane.

There was something you said to me once when we were perhaps 11 or 12, I’m not sure if you remember it. It was after we got into one of our silly, petty fights, and I ignored you for a several days.

When we met again, I remember that you were crying. Your eyes were wet and red, and my heart hurt then. You told me, “Never leave me alone again.” I told you I wouldn’t, and I never did something like that again. From then on, I promised myself that I would never leave you. I would stay by your side in whatever capacity you let me.

I'm sorry. I’m sorry I broke my promise, and I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to come back to you.

I love you more than words can say, and I’m sorry.

I never want to cause you pain, and it kills me knowing that if you ever have to read this, I won’t be there to ease the hurt.

I want you so badly to be happy no matter what, and I want nothing more than for you to look back on our moments together with joy. Please don’t let my death take that beautiful smile from your face forever.

I’m sorry.

With all my love,

Your Namjoon

You didn’t know when you had started crying, but fat teardrops covered your hands, splashing against the ink on the page.

Why?

Why did your story have to end here?

You tried to quiet your sobs, but it was no use. You were lost to sorrow, overcome with pain, your vision blurry with tears.

As you balled up your fists in rage and agony, you felt something poke into your palm.

The flower.

Wiping the tears from your eyes, you looked down into the palm of your hand, and another gut-wrenching cry was pulled from your throat.

Because there laid a browning, wilted, crushed, forget-me-not.

Tagging: @jinpanman @ezralia-writes @wwilloww

#houseofddaeng #btsgoldnet #btsguild #ficswithluv #heartsforbts #hyunglinenetwork #magicshopnet #mikrogalaxynet #namjoon x reader #bts x reader #bts angst #namjoon angst #bts fic #bts fanfic

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holylulusworld · 4 years

Text

Hated Love 3 - Post-wedding apocalypse

Summary: Will your wedding become a dream or a nightmare?

Pairing: Mobster!Dean x Mobster!Daughter!Reader

Characters: Sam Winchester, Ruby

Warnings: angst, love-hate relationship, Dean hates the reader, and she hates him, language, snarky comments, arguments, smut, public sex, unprotected sex, arranged marriage, food play, anal play (not really; does eating pie off a butt count?), implied threesome (mentioned/and implied)

Kink: Foodplay

A/N: Y/F/N = Your father’s name

Catch up here:

Part 1 - Hated Love

Part 2 - Hated Love – The Reckoning

Kinktober 2020

Wedding days should be filled with laughter, cake, white dresses, and people crying as they watch the bride and groom confess their love for each other.

Wedding days shouldn’t be filled with odd noises coming out of the bride’s room right before the ceremony.

“Look at you, filled to your limit,” Dean purrs, holding your body against the wall.

He’s driving wildly into you, not caring anyone who passes your room can hear he broke your fathers’ rule to not see you before the wedding.

“Missed this tight little pussy. Your father is an idiot for believing he can keep me away from my girl.”

“I’m, fuck me, not your girl, Winchester,” your eyes roll back at the way Dean grips your ass to fuck up into you. “Did you forget that I’m your fiancé?”

“Never, sweetheart,” Dean grins, rolling his hips faster. “How could I ever forget I’m allowed to fuck you anytime I want to from now on.”

“Already daydreaming?” you laugh when someone knocks at your door, to tell you that the ceremony will start in ten minutes. “Faster, Dean. I want to cum before I agree to marry your sorry ass.”

Dean tries to fix your dress while you fight with your hair. “The zipper, I think it’s ruined,” you groan at Dean’s words, adding another bobby pin to your hair. “Do you have a clasp pin?”

You would laugh about Dean, even find it adorable he tries to fix your dress but not three rooms away your families wait for you to attend a wedding – your wedding.

“Dean, you can’t use a clasp pin to fix my wedding gown! Why did you have to rip it down my body? Jesus, I swear you’re a kinky bastard,” Dean grins, nodding eagerly whilst his hands creep toward your ass to squeeze it tightly.

“Guys, you should stop doing whatever you are doing and move your asses outside. Y/N’s father is close to starting a war. John is no better. I can tell, I never saw Y/F/N that mad,” Sam calls from outside the room, snickering. “Dean, stuff it back inside and hurry.”

“I ruined her dress,” Dean curses, still fighting with the zipper. “Do you have a safety pin? Or a jacket she can wear?”

“Wait, I’ll ask Ruby. Maybe she can help Y/N out. Just wait here,” you roll your eyes at Dean when he tries to repair your dress with a bobby pin.

“Dean, stop trying,” a deep sigh leaves your lips, realizing this could be a sign. “Maybe we shouldn’t marry. For years we hated each other and now you want to marry me.” Dean has the guts to smirk at your words.

“Oh sweetheart, you are mine and I intend on collecting,” he husks, grabbing the back of your neck to kiss you fiercely. His tongue slips inside your mouth to explore every inch of your wet cavern. “I will not let you slip through my fingers again, Y/N. Now be good, get out of that dress and we will try to fix it.”

“If not,” you grin, sliding your hand over Dean’s chest, “I can still marry you in nothing but my underwear…”

“Perfect, Ruby,” you smile, checking on your wedding gown. “Where did you learn to sew? I never thought you would be the one saving my dress.”

“Let’s say Sam likes to rip my clothes off my body too. I hated that I had to explain why my clothes got ripped open almost every week,” Dean snickers, watching Sam’s cheeks turn pink. “Don’t act all shy now, Winchester.”

“I know you would like to talk about my sex life some more, but we should not wait any longer or Y/N’s father will lose his patience. I think he already checked on his gun,” Sam tries to turn your attention back toward your wedding.

“I guess it’s time for a wedding,” you smirk, holding out your hand for Dean. “Don’t you think I’ll let you out of sight, Winchester. I don’t need a runaway groom.”

“Damn, I forgot my sneakers,” Dean grins, taking your offered hand to squeeze it tightly. “No one will stop me from marrying your cute ass, sweetheart.”

The ceremony is short, honest, and filled with insults. Which means you called Dean a humorless jerk. He called you a frigid bitch. You exchanged rings and swore to each other not to stray.

Whilst John grinned throughout the whole ceremony, even dared to laugh, your father remained stoic. He didn’t like you acted as if the ceremony or rather the whole wedding is a joke to you and Dean.

Your father’s mood didn’t get any better when you insisted that the wedding was perfect to you. Even though you laughed, joked, and threw insults at your husband, it was the wedding you wanted.

The after-party, or as you liked to call it, the desperate people buffet who look for someone to fuck after a wedding, went on until 2 am. Your father grumbled the whole time, not missing John was in a good mood.

When the last guest finally left the ballroom you kicked your shoes off, grabbed the last piece of cake, and pushed it into Dean’s face.You laughed your ass off, he wasn’t amused.

That’s how you ended up, bend over the table with the cake, hands tied tightly behind your back with Dean’s tie whilst your husband smears the cake all over your ass.

“You should see your ass, baby. Ready to get eaten,” you gasp, feeling his teeth sink into your left cheek to leave an angry bite mark. “What will your daddy say when I send him a copy of the video?”

“He’ll believe I married a kinky bastard who likes to smear cake onto my butt,” you giggle, feeling his fingers slide through your folds. “No cake on my pussy or you’ll lose your dick.”

“Shhh…, sweetheart,” Dean smirks, licking more cake off your ass, moaning as you press your butt into his face. “I’d like to take your ass.”

“No,” you grit out when Dean’s teeth leave another mark on your right cheek. “Not now, Dean. I want you to fuck me on that table. Give me the perfect ending.”

“Babe, you’ll get anything you want but I already chased you through the ballroom. We had a food fight and now I’m going to fuck the life out of you,” Dean smirks, feeling wetness coat his fingers.

“I want your dick, Winchester. Give it to me,” you complain. “I’m your wife, fulfill your duty,” laughing at your words Dean gets up to slowly unzip his pants. His dick slaps against your ass and you whine feeling Dean step away from the table to take another picture.

“I must admit I never imagined our wedding like this,” Dean is back on you. This time he slightly lifts your butt to slide into you with one forceful snap of his hips.

“Dean,” you cry out, walls clenching tightly around his thick cock. “Fuck me, please.”

“Love it when you beg me, Y/N,” if not for the pressure he builds in your core with every sloppy thrust, you would gladly slap his face. “Love it, even more, when you moan my name.”

“Dean, fuck,” one hand cups the back of your neck to hold you forcefully down, the other grips the edge of the table. Dean speeds up, ignores his phone started to ring moments ago. “Dean, the phone.”

“Later, sweetheart,” his moans turn louder, and you swear, it’s the most erotic sound you ever heard. You don’t know how the sex feels to Dean but the way he calls out your name gives away he enjoys it as much as you do.

“It won’t stop ringing,” he’s angrily grasping for the phone, to yell at anyone who dared to disturb him. “Dean…”

“Shit give me just a minute,” you feel the knot tightening, ready to snap anytime when Dean speeds up once again. “I need to tell you something,” he pants, dropping the phone onto the table. “I guess you’ll not like it.”

“Make me cum and we can talk about anything, Dean,” falling hard you rest your head onto the table. “Come on, Winchester. Give it to me good.”

Dean groans at your words, not needing more encouragement to fill you with his sticky cum. He’s fast to pull out.

“Promise me to not get mad.” You cock a brow when Dean removes the tie, offering you a sly smile.

“What did you do, Winchester?” He’s grinning cheekily whilst he hands you his jacket to cover your modesty. “Dean?”

“You see…erm-uh,” he coughs, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you remember Vegas a few years ago?”

“Vague. I know we woke in a bed…with Sam,” you hum, closing your eyes. “I think it was a hot mess back then. Why do you bring Sammy up?”

“Well, it’s kinda – whew, there is no good way to tell you,” eyes narrowed you fist Dean’s shirt to bring him to your eye level.

“Jesus, tell me what’s wrong. I’m freaking tired and want to drive home, maybe smear more cake onto my husband and lick it off,” Dean huffs, glancing at you. “Dean, you are scaring me.”

“Okay…let me tell you what happened in Vegas didn’t stay in Vegas. Somehow, and I don’t know how it happened, you did not only fuck me and Sammy, but you also married my brother. The marriage never got anulled, and this means you are still married to my brother,” Dean gasps for air when he finally stops talking. “Sorry.”

“What the…?” you blink a few times. “Wait…what? I’m married to Sam?” Dean nods, not missing the dirty grin on your lips. “Does this mean I can have both of you? I always dreamed of having a harem…”

Dean’s jaw drops when you grasp for his phone to send the video he made to Sam.

“Ruby said he can go to hell. I think my baby brother is lonely and heartbroken. Sammy is at your daddy’s house. Imagine, having us both in your room for daddy to hear…” Dean can barely end his line before you drag him out of the ballroom.

“This is the best wedding ever…”

SPN Forever Tags

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

Dean/Jensen Forever Tags

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#Hated Love 3 - Post-wedding apocalypse #mobster au #MOBSTER!AU #mobsterdean #mobster!dean x reader #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x you #dean winchester SPN #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester smut #mobster!dean x you #mobster!dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean x you #angst #smut

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crowtrinkets · 4 years

Text

Eyes, Lips, Face

Word Count: 2,322

When you get thrown into a different world, you kinda forget to mention that the wig and contacts you're wearing are not your natural color, or that you're cosplaying their knightly order because this is actually a video game and shouldn't be real. But at least you get to share makeup with your new-found buddies.

I tried to keep this fic as reader/gender-neutral as possible. Ty to @alexaplaysgames for giving me pointers! Ya'll should check out their fics ;)

---

I let out a stretch as Anisa walks back into her office, carrying more than enough blankets for my one person. I spy Felix swatting Sage’s hands away from ruffling his hair as they walk out the door to find sleeping accommodations. What a wild day. I never really wore a costume that required more physical activity other than walking around a convention for a few hours. I never intended to get into a bar fight while wearing a wig, contacts, and a decked-out costume I spent months on. Then again I never intended to be transported into the world of my favorite video game...

“Here are some blankets to keep you warm,” Anisa plants the blankets on the couch that would be my bed for tonight. I sigh with exhaustion at the thought of falling asleep, I heard Felix and Sage still echoing in the halls as they left. I thanked Anisa for the hundredth time that day and she left me alone to sleep. Alone yes. I yawn, taking in the room. At least there's a fire going, I wouldn’t be able to see without it. And thank god my backpack made the trip with me I wouldn’t know what to do if I didn't have somewhere to put my cosplay supplies. I reach into my bag and pull out a contact lens case. I thought it would be cool if my eyes had a more alluring color for this costume, hoping the color of the embroidery on my costume would be brought out because of them. Carefully removing my contacts I placed them into their case and tossed them back into my bag. I then reached up and unpinned the seemingly endless amount of hairpins I placed in this wig so it would stay put. It stayed in place in the Saucy Gull so I must’ve done something right. I remove my wig and wince a little when I realize it’s just going to become tangled in my backpack. Oh well, what can you do? After removing my wig caps and giving my scalp a much-needed massage from being confined all day, I go to remove parts of my costume. Thankfully the base of my costume is comfortable and inconspicuous enough to not draw attention to the fact that I'm an outsider. I keep my costumed cloak out, in case I get cold. I do wish I had better shoes however, $20 Amazon boots probably won't last out here.

After removing said shoes I plop down into the couch and pull some makeup wipes from my backpack. I never go without these, and I am especially glad to have them after the day I had. I remove my makeup, allowing the cool damp cloth to soothe my tired face. I’ve been running around all day, going through portals, being told I have a magical relic inside me, being flirted with by a cat boy. What I wouldn’t give for a year-long nap, or maybe just some coffee. After cleaning my face and putting my items away I take one look in my compact mirror, yup just my plain old self. Tossing the mirror away I get comfortable and lull into a dreamless sleep.

—-

I can feel the bitter cold outside the warmth of my many blankets, stirring a little I snuggle into them, nuzzling my face in the fabric to warm my cold nose. I’m half awake but can’t be bothered to open my eyes. Five more minutes. But then I hear... whispering?

“Oh my god, they moved,” Anisa’s voice.

“Relax Annie; if something happens, I can banish it,” Felix, sounds slightly shaken while trying to put on a brave front. Wait did he say banish. I decide that I’m now too awake to fall back asleep. I sit up, eyes blurry from sleep, and look at the two indistinct figures who I am assuming are Felix and Anisa.

“Good morn-” Suddenly I hear the sound of Anisa’s sword come unsheathed, and, I think, it’s pointing at me, for the second time. I blink trying to will my eyes to adjust, then rubbing them to reveal that Anisa is definitely pointing her sword at me, with Felix behind her, arms up in defense.

“A-Anisa, what are you doing?” It's too early for this, my voice is scraggly from sleep.

“What are you some kind of Changeling? Poor job imitating in my opinion, MC doesn't even look like that!” Felix states approaching me, a flurry of green flames forming in his palms. Oh shit.

“What? It's me!” I raise my hands in defense. I clear my throat trying to sound convincing. I’ve barely been here for 24 hours and I have been in more life-threatening situations than my entire life combined.

“Then how do you explain your changed appearance?” Anisa says accusingly. Changed appearance? Oh!

“I was wearing cosplay! You don't think I actually looked like that do you?” I lower my arms slightly, laughing awkwardly. I know Sage has weird eyes and hair but why would someone from Earth look like an anime character? Both faces before me twist in confusion.

“Cosplay?” They question in unison. I nod reaching for my backpack slowly. Anisa flicks her sword and I pull away.

“I-if you look in my bag there's a wig and contacts, and other stuff. I was wearing a costume and I thought it would be more fun if I didn’t look like myself,” I point to my backpack. Anisa nods at Felix who approaches my backpack, kneeling down to open it. He pulls out my surprisingly untangled wig, and yelps dropping it in my lap. I lift to wig onto my head poorly fitting it.

“See?” I then remove the wig and place it in my lap. Anisa's eyes go wide, she sheaths her sword and approaches me.

“Oh MC! I am terribly sorry!” She shoots Felix a look who flinches. “Felix had me convinced woodland creates replaced you with a clone,” she turns her attention back to me and Felix blushes with embarrassment.

“Clone?” I question. Felix stands.

“N-no matter, we both apologize for waking you with such an unsettling greeting,” I nod in response. I unwrap myself from my blankets and run a hand through my hair trying to look a little more presentable. Letting out a sigh, as I put the wig back in my bag.

"I-it's alright, I guess I should have said something earlier," I shrug innocently. Anisa looks down at my bag and then back at me.

"Do many people on Earth change their appearance like this?" Anisa looks at me, eager for information.

"Um not usually, well I guess it depends. I just did it for my costume, I thought it would look more interesting," I shrug.

"You said you were wearing a costume? Then why dress as a Starsworn knight?" Anisa questions. I am about to answer her but I hesitate. How am I supposed to explain that on Earth none of this is real? That this is a video game?

"Uhhhhm," is all I can muster to say but my train of thought is interrupted.

"Gods Anisa! Why did you insist on us being here so dammed early in the mor-“ they stop in the doorway. “Who is that?" It's Sage. He burst into the room without even so much as a knock.

"It's MC, apparently they were wearing a wig and other cosmetic adornments to alter their appearance," Felix chimes in. I suddenly feel insecure about how plain I look. At least Felix looks somewhat normal, well from the neck up. I just wave awkwardly in response.

"But I could've sworn their eyes were a different color, and why do they look so tired did they not get enough sleep?" Sage walks over leaning over the back of the couch. I cringe at his comments.

"No, I was wearing a costume, so naturally I wanted to look less... Natural," I attempt to explain. Who knew cosplay was such a foreign concept here.

"Why were you wearing a costume?" Sage squints at me. Oh god this question again, but just like last time, I am interrupted.

“Ouch! Hells,” I look over to see Felix with his finger in his mouth. He takes it out to speak. “Why do you have needles in your bag?”

“Oh! Sewing needles,” I reach into the bag and pull out a container of needles and the spare thread. “I uh, I packed these in case a bit of my costume came undone, sorry Felix,” a thought then occurs to me. “Why were you rummaging through my bag?” Felix suddenly flushes and avoids the eyes of everyone in the room.

"I um, was merely curious about your items," I decide to brush it off as I put my "items" back, I would probably want to examine inter-dimensional foreign objects as well.

“Snooping through MC's bag aye Felix? What were you tryna find?” Sage’s eyebrows waggle.

“Nothing! Nothing in particular I just… saw something that looked interesting,” Felix looks like he's pouting now, to save his dignity I ignore it. I reach into my bag and pull out the even smaller bag full of makeup. I don’t have much with me, just the ones I used for my cosplay in case I needed a touch-up.

“Was it this?” I hold up the clear plastic sachet. Felix nods in response. “This is just some makeup,” I open the bag and pull out a compact blush and hand it to Felix, then I pull out two eyeshadow palettes and hand them to Anisa and Sage, who has now joined me on the couch. Felix and Anisa sit on the floor and observe the items I handed to them. Felix opens the compact and eyes it curious, he runs a finger along the powder and rubs it between his fingers inspecting it. Anisa knocks on the closed eyeshadow palette.

“What is this material? And why have they spelled “elf” so terribly wrong?” She almost looks insulted. I hold back my laugh.

“It’s plastic, lots of stuff on Earth is made from it. It's cheaper than metal and sturdier than cardboard or wood,” I decide to not bring up how problematic plastic can be, no need to bring up the fact that the Earth is slowly dying.

“Sage that looks terrible,” Felix remarks. I look over to Sage who has rubbed bright blue eyeshadow all over his eyelids. Oh, that is SO not his color. I reach into the bag and pull out a brush.

“May I?” I ask, Sage looks at me suspiciously and nods. “Close your eyes,” I run the brush over his eyelids and blend the color out a little more, it’s difficult with all of his squintings but I manage to finish. Pulling back, I hand Sage a mirror.

“Oh… I look terrible in blue!” Sage laughs. But he continues to admire himself in the mirror. Anisa laughs as she watches Sage tilt his face in the mirror staring at himself. From the corner of my eye I catch Felix looking at me, I turn to him and he has an almost, hopeful look in his eyes.

“Do you want me to do your makeup?” I ask, as innocently as possible. Felix flushes and looks away.

“I-if you insist,” he mumbles out. I chuckle and slide off the couch to sit in front of Felix, I grab a large brush and the compact from his hand.

“Do you mind if I?” I hold my other hand close to Felix’s face, his eyes go wide as he nods slowly. I grab his chin gently and apply blush to his face. It's hard to tell just how much I am putting on considering Felix’s face is about as hot as a fried egg on asphalt, but I make do with what I got. I finally finish and pull back.

“Oh, Felix you look adorable!” Anisa chimes in with a laugh.

“You look like a baby,” Sage teases. Felix snatches the mirror from him, grumbling, and inspects his face, his eyebrows are furrowed.

“I think I look like I've had too many drinks, why is it on my nose?” He looks up at me, I half-shrug.

“That’s what's popular on Earth,” I try not to tease too hard, but Felix really does look much younger with his cheeks pink and rosy. Anisa taps my arm, I guess she wants a turn. I give her a nod and allow her to pick a color she likes. She chooses a nice purple and I apply it on her lids as well. She sits perfectly stoic and still allowing me to apply it gently. Once I finish with her I hand her the mirror and she smiles brightly.

“Oh thank you, MC! I say you did a very fine job,” she gives me a nod and goes back to admiring her eyes.

For a good few hours we end up swatching a lot of the makeup, Sage proceeds to put on the absolute worst colors for his complexion, yellows, oranges, and greens which I didn’t even know I had. Felix keeps his blush on for longer than I thought he would. Anisa asks to do my makeup and she does a surprisingly good job at blending. Eventually, everyone has to go back to business and I hand out makeup wipes to each of them. Anisa is a little amazed at how they work. Sage decides to keep his disgustingly green shade on much to our dismay. Felix cleans off his face carefully but his real blush remains for a while. Everyone eventually leaves me to actually get myself ready for the day. It’s when I'm folding my blankets up that I realize.

I just did the makeup for characters in my favorite video game franchise, this really feels like a fever dream. I laugh to myself, I will remember this day fondly.

#fictif last legacy #fictif #fictif fic #fictif anisa #fictif felix #fictif sage #crow writes

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hermannsthumb · 4 years

Note

Could you please write #43 grandparents/neighbors one?

43. we’re having our family meal at my grandparents’ house this year so fingers crossed your parents still live next door and you grew up to be even hotter

from winter writing prompts here

oh god this one got so long. sorry everyone! thank you to @k-sci-janitor for the alien bit because it was so fucking funny

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

Holidays have gotten a little weird to manage since Newt transformed into a fully-fledged adult with an apartment and a job and stuff, so while he hasn’t made it to the big Geiszler celebration in Germany every December since starting college out of elementary school, he still tries to make a point of dropping by his dad’s for dinner and a movie or something to fill his holiday quota. It’s fine by him; he loves his family, but they’re definitely overwhelming, and trying to submit final grades and work on syllabuses for the next semester all while distant relatives ruffle his hair and ask him when he’s going to hit his growth spurt is not his idea of a relaxing time. It’s a constant point of contention between him and his dad. This year more than most, apparently.

“Your grandmother misses you!” he tells Newt sadly over their Chinese takeout. “She calls me every week to ask how you are, and why you never visit with them. Every week.” He waves a fork at Newt. “You’re breaking her heart.”

“I’m in the lab, like, twenty-four-seven, dad,” Newt sighs. It’s a well-rehearsed conversation at this point, but it doesn’t get any less tiresome. Especially because he knows his dad is lying about the phone call thing—Newt is a great grandson and texts his grandmother plenty, thank you very much, he would know if he was breaking her heart. “I’m working straight through winter break this year. Seriously.”

“That’s what you did last year,” Newt’s dad says. “And the year before that…” Newt turns the volume up on the TV to cut his dad off before he can segue into the next part of his argument, which is (usually) that Newt needs to work on his personal life, maybe settle down, produce some grandkids of his own. Or at least adopt a cat. Also well-rehearsed.

He’s not sure why he says what he does next—maybe in a desperate attempt to distract his dad further. Maybe because of the sudden onslaught of childhood memories the mention of his grandparents’ house brought on. “Hey, do you remember that boy who used to live next door to grandma?” he says. “He had the weird haircut and always dressed kind of funny?” Old-fashioned, and a little too formal for the sort of things that little kids tend to do, climbing trees or playing in the mud—sweatervests and polished loafers and starched-white knee-highs.

Newt’s dad blinks at him. Newt half expects him to declare that Newt is nuts, and that he has no idea what he’s talking about, like this is one of those horror stories where the childhood friend turns out to be some ghost who died fifty years prior. The clothing would match up, he guesses. But he smiles in recognition a moment later. “You mean the Gottlieb boy?” he says.

“Gottlieb,” Newt echoes. It sounds familiar enough. “Hermann, I think. When I’d stay with grandma for the summer we would play together every day. I wonder what he’s doing now.” Hermann was a smart guy, a real geek like Newt; he used to carry a graphing calculator around in his pocket and build the most goddamn pristine model spacecrafts Newt had ever seen. Hermann’s dad shipped him off to a prestigious boarding school the last summer Newt spent there, when they were around twelve or so. Newt started at MIT not long after. “Dude’s probably designing rocket ships by now or something.”

“You could ask him yourself if you came with me,” Newt’s dad laughs. “The Gottliebs never moved away, and their children actually visit. I’m sure your Hermann visits, too.”

“Ha,” Newt says. “Yeah.”

It’s snowing by the time Newt and his dad finish their movie, and Newt (fearing his dad’s driving even in ideal conditions) declines the offer of a lift home to trudge his way through it to his T stop instead. It’s nice to have the chance to be alone with his thoughts, anyway, because he can’t seem to get funny little Hermann Gottlieb out of his head. What is he doing now?

A quick Facebook search on the train produces a few Hermann Gottliebs, but none of them promising—none of them have the brown eyes or strangely angular face (devoid of any baby fat even that young) Newt remembers, none of them are from the right German countryside, none of them went to a preppy English boarding school. Google (utilizing the information Newt does have) is a little more rewarding, and by the time Newt presses the button to request his stop, he’s scrounged up a decent amount of info: Hermann Gottlieb has a doctorate in astrophysics, Hermann Gottlieb publishes papers at a slightly terrifying rate, and Hermann Gottlieb turned out kinda hot.

As Newt stares down at a slightly grainy current photograph of his old friend—haircut and clothing unchanged, a cane in hand, some round librarian glasses perched on the end of his nose, wide mouth twisted into a scowl—he suddenly recalls another thing about Hermann Gottlieb: the summer Hermann was sent away to boarding school was the summer that Hermann kissed Newt goodbye, shyly and tearfully, under the shade of the tall maple tree in his yard. It was the last time Newt ever saw Hermann. It was Newt’s first kiss.

“Oh, boy,” Newt says.

He texts his dad when he gets back to his apartment. When do we leave?

Newt feels like the belle of the fucking ball when he steps into his grandparents’ house a week later, snow dusting his shoulders, small suitcase clenched in his hand. His cheeks are kissed; his scarf and hat and leather jacket are brushed off and tossed onto a coat rack; his hair is in parts smoothed down (too messy!) and ruffled (too flat!); he’s hugged more times than he has been in the entire last year, probably. “Still playing around with bugs in the dirt, eh, Newt?” his grandfather booms, tucking Newt into the crook of his arm with enough force to knock Newt’s glasses off.

“Actually,” Newt squeaks, scrambling for both what he remembers of his very rusty German, and his glasses before they can hit the ground, “entomology isn’t really my main focus at—”

“Newt’s studying jellyfish now,” Newt’s dad declares proudly. “He went on a diving expedition this July.”

“Diving? How exciting,” Newt’s grandmother says.

“Yeah,” Newt says. He pushes his glasses back on. “Yeah, it was fascinating, I was lucky to get the funding for it. You wouldn’t believe the sorts of—”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Newt’s cousin says.

“My little Newt’s a daredevil!” Newt’s dad says.

“It’s not that dangerous,” Newt says. “As long as you’re—”

“What happened to that nice man your father said you were dating?” Newt’s grandfather says. “With the, the what was it, the poetry? The poet? We thought you’d bring him!”

Newt flushes. Trust his dad to talk up some random guy Newt dated in March like it was a long-term affair and not an elongated one-night stand that fizzled out after three weeks. Though maybe that one’s on Newt—it’s not like he mentioned the one-night stand part to his dad, after all. He definitely didn’t mention that the guy ended it with a poem, too. “We broke up,” he says, weakly. He wriggles out from the throng of the crowd. “Look, it’s so great seeing you all, but I’m actually, like, really tired, soooooo…?”

“Oh, of course you are,” Newt’s grandmother says. She pats his head. “What a long flight you must have had! We’ll send someone up for you for dinner—you can have your old guest room.”

“Cool,” Newt says.

He scurries up the stairs.

The guest room he slept in during those summers is almost exactly the way he remembers it, but a little dustier—the floral quilt on the bed, his grandma’s sewing table crammed into the corner, the bookcase stocked with a weird combination of kid’s books and illustrated encyclopedias that Newt used to pore over for hours as a kid, often with Hermann. Newt draws back the embroidered curtains and peers out the window at the Gottliebs’ snow-capped house next door. Hermann’s window was directly across from his. It still is, technically, though the curtains (these navy blue and embroidered with little constellations) are pulled tight, and Newt has a feeling that Hermann hasn’t set foot in his old room in well over a decade. Two decades, probably.

He remembers the one summer he showed Hermann how to make a soup can telephone, and they managed to string it all the way across between their windows before discovering it kinda didn’t work as well as Newt said it would. He remembers when Hermann’s dad banned him from the Gottlieb house for tracking water all over their front hallway after he and Hermann went wading in the creek, but it was really Hermann who did it, because he forgot to take his shoes off and they got soaked, and Newt just took the fall for it so Hermann wouldn’t get in trouble. And when Hermann asked Newt to play astronaut with him, and Newt insisted on being an alien and mimed the chestburster scene from Alien, and Hermann freaked out so bad he fell in a mud puddle and got grounded for ruining his clothing, and Newt got grounded for that and for watching Alien when he wasn’t supposed to, and they spent the following few days staring sadly out across at each other before Newt’s grandma finally got tired of his moping and sent him to work weeding the garden. He remembers knotting a little friendship bracelet for Hermann out of embroidery thread he found in his grandmother’s sewing basket and Hermann vowing to keep it until he died.

Newt’s half of the soup can phone is still on the windowsill, though the string snapped and crumbled apart years ago. He picks at the peeling Chicken Noodle label, so distracted that he almost doesn’t notice the light suddenly seeping through at the edges of Hermann’s curtains, or the way they’re pushed open—almost.

Hermann—real, live, adult Hermann, botched haircut and round glasses and all—stares out at Newt with a shocked expression on his face. Newt drops the can with a clatter.

Then he waves.

“Hey, Grandma?” Newt says, poking his head into the kitchen. Tonight’s dinner is a massive pot of soup boiling away on the stovetop, dessert a mountain of cookies and tiny pastries on serving platters on the counters. Newt hasn’t had food that looked this good since he moved out, to be honest. The intersection of Newt’s sad lack of cooking skills and his attempts at vegetarianism means he eats a lot of boxed mac-and-cheese and frozen Vegetable Lovers’ pizzas. “Are you—?"

“Oh, Newt!” Newt’s grandmother says. She sets down her wooden spoon. “Are you feeling rested, then?”

“Yeah,” Newt says. “Grandma, I was wondering, could I—uh—maybe run some food over to the Gottliebs? To be…neighborly? We just have so much, and—”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Newt’s grandmother says. “They keep to themselves, mostly, but I can’t imagine they’d turn it down. You might even see your little friend again! What was his name? You were so fond of him.”

“Hermann,” Newt says, quickly shoving cookies into a red-lid plastic container. “Thanks, Grandma.”

He tucks the tupperware under his arm and nearly wipes out on the icy front path he runs to the Gottliebs’ so fast. Before he can so much as catch his breath and knock, their door swings open; Hermann, dressed in a tacky Hannukah sweater, arches an eyebrow at him. “I saw you sprint over here like a bloody madman,” he says, in blessed English. He must’ve remembered how shitty Newt’s German was when they were kids. “Hello, Newton. What’s so terribly important?”

His voice got deeper—expected—and he swapped out his German accent for an English one somewhere along the way. Probably at his stuffy boarding school. He also got taller—he’s got a few inches on Newt now, but Newt admits that’s not exactly hard. God, he’s even hotter in person. “Uh,” Newt says. Why is he here? Oh, right. He thrusts out the tupperware. “I brought some cookies over for you?”

Hermann peers down at the offering over his glasses. His forehead wrinkles. “How considerate,” he says. He pulls an olive-green parka on and steps out onto the porch, tugging the door shut behind him. He taps at a peeling porch swing with the end of his cane. “Just leave them there. Would you like to take a walk?”

It’s freezing, and snowing, but for some reason, a walk sounds like the best idea in the world right now. “Yes, please,” Newt says, and chucks the cookies onto the swing.

“I must say,” Hermann says, after their meandering walk around the Gottliebs’ yard takes them to the old maple tree. The branches are bare, but thick, and shield them from most of the falling snow. Hermann’s breath puffs out white in front of his angular face. The last time I stood here, Newt thinks, he kissed me. “I really did not expect to see you.”

“I didn’t expect to see you, either,” Newt admits. “From what I remember, you and your family weren’t—uh—well, very close. I didn’t think you’d be coming back to share in the holiday cheer with them, is what I mean.”

The corner of Hermann’s mouth twitches up. “That’s certainly one way of describing it. Yes, I suppose you’re right—my father is a bit of a bastard, isn’t he?” Newt laughs awkwardly, unsure whether to agree or attempt to weakly the defend a guy who openly hated him for being a bad influence on Hermann most of his childhood; he’s grateful when Hermann continues and saves him the choice. “This is the first year I’ve come home in a long while. My brother’s just had a daughter, you see, and I thought I should start getting used to playing uncle.”

“Oh, congrats,” Newt says. Hermann shrugs, and Newt has the distinct feeling that this is Hermann’s older brother, who used to dissemble Hermann’s telescope and hide the pieces around the house when Hermann annoyed him, and tattled on Newt and Hermann to Hermann’s parents the one time Newt snuck in to see Hermann after he got banned. He always made Newt thankful that he was an only child. “Same here, actually. Not the uncle thing—I mean I haven’t visited since I was in college. Too busy.”

“I know,” Hermann says, and then adds teasingly (in a way that makes color flood Newt’s cheeks and his heart beat just a little faster), “I’ve looked you up online. Er—quite a bit recently, in fact. I was curious. You’ve made quite the name for yourself, haven’t you, Dr. Geiszler?”

“I,” Newt squeaks, and then coughs. “I mean, I guess? I like…science.”

“I oughtn’t be surprised,” Hermann says. “You were always giving me bugs, and salamanders, and funny little frogs—”

Newt liked bugs, and salamanders, and frogs, but he liked Hermann more, and the gifts had a lot more to do with the latter than the former, because what kid wouldn’t want bugs or salamanders or frogs, right? Not that Hermann ever appreciated them—especially not the worms Newt would pluck from the sidewalks after rainstorms. He thinks he got grounded for that one, too, because his grandma wouldn’t believe that he really wasn’t trying to terrorize the poor Gottlieb boy. “And what about you?” Newt says. He pokes his elbow into Hermann’s side. “Dr. Gottlieb? Guess those model rockets paid off.”

(“No, Newton,” Hermann would snap at him on the rare occasions he would allow Newt to watch him piece one together, “the glue hasn’t dried yet. You have to be patient, or else it’ll fall apart.”)

“Not yet,” Hermann says, “but I hope soon.”

Hermann smiles at him. A snowflake catches in his eyelashes—his long, pretty, dark eyelashes. “Do you remember when you kissed me here?” Newt blurts out.

“It’s hardly the sort of thing I’d forget,” Hermann says. He reaches out and tucks a piece of Newt’s hair up into his hat. “I like your tattoos—I saw the photographs on your social media accounts. They suit you.” Newt wonders if this means Hermann saw the shirtless selfie he posted on Instagram. “I’m also pleased to see you’ve gotten your braces removed. It wasn’t a very pleasant experience last time.”

Then he leans in and kisses Newt. Again, technically. It’s so light and brief Newt hardly believes it even happened. Their glasses clack together, and when Hermann pulls away, he straightens out Newt’s.

“I confess,” Hermann says, “that I’m wholly pleased to see how you’ve turned out. I hope that wasn’t too forward of me. I’ve been thinking about doing it all night.”

“Jeez, dude,” Newt says, blinking at him, his head swimming just a little. Hermann looks smug. “Not, uh, not too forward. So. Uh. You wanna get dinner or something this week and catch up?”

Hermann snorts, and nods.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous

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poison--ivory · 4 years

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Uninviting Cataclysm(Alastor x Reader) Chapter 1

Daily routine isn't always good

(You call the old couple mom and dad) *Also sorry I didn't mention until now that you have really curly hair and your biracial(so you can decide what your skin color is)* •You were also raised up north and still kind of speak with that dialect•

June 6, 1915 Age: 20

The morning sun pushing through the curtains along with the sound of dogs barking slowly woke you up. Forcing yourself up and managing to bear from the comfort of your bed and it's still warm sheets. First, tidying your bed spread neat before mom could scold you.

Making your way to the wardrobe to gather clothes for today's venture, you grabbed a (f/c) V-neck, short flutter sleeve dress that hits mid thigh. With matching flats to best match your dress. Oncing over the choice for today you thought it was best enough. Setting them on the bed and quickly making your way out of your room and into the hallway.

Swiftly moving down corridor to the bathroom to freshen up before breakfast. Seeing that your old mom already set a nice bath for you. Letting your gown carelessly fall off your frame and removing your undergarments. Mindlessly going into deep thought about your day.

You usually go to the library to read or grab a book. Maybe chat with the sweet old lady and her seven year old grandson who run the place. Then, possibly taking a stroll around the fair that just open for the summer. By that time your already bringing your twin something for lunch.

Later, you either stop by the market to pick up groceries or you help your mom take care of wealthy white kids. Their parents pay mom a great deal to care for their children. She does literally everything for them from making meals to sewing dresses or little suits. But, some clients left after my brother and I showed up I guess they didn't want their children to be near a person of color for too long. The ones that stayed seem nice enough. My personal favorite being a middle aged man, Henry Bourgeois, who always said, 'hello' and gave me small tips for caring for his daughter Sally.

Your skin started to prune sitting in the water for too long. Stepping out of the tub and snatching a towel from the rack you started to dry off. Starting with hair and slowly making your way down to your toes.

Wrapping the towel around your womanly frame you crept back to your bedroom and got dressed.

__________________________

Once downstairs the smell of bacon and spices hit your nose and triggering your mouth to salivate. Walking into the kitchen you found your mom just about done with her last plate to place at the table with the two others. You greeted her with a warm hug and a 'Good Morning, Mom'. She smiled back and gave your cheek a quick peck. Then went to sit in your chair and wait for your plate.

"Good Mornin', sweetheart. How'd sleep?" She asked, turning back around to slide the eggs on the plate.

"Better than yesterday I can tell you that for sure. The dream I had was so realistic with the flames of hell melting my flesh. I could of sworn that my eyes busted through my soc-" You were cut off by a plate slamming down in front of. Looking up mom had a stern look to her aged face.

"Now ya need ta stop talking 'bout ya dreams like that. Really unladylike especially in public," She spoke with a slight authoritative tone. Lightly limping to her chair she spoke again, "it's just a dame should stay in her own lane. Not that I don't wancha to get a little fire on me now. Men just don't like that talk ya know."

Nodding to her response she took the answer and went on her to turn up the radio for the daily news.

Good Morning, ladies and gentlemen and welcome back to the radio show.

Staring your favorite radio host, I Alastor, to brighten up your morning with a few songs, but let me darken your day for just a minute with such sad news. Another body was found by an egg last night floating down the bayou.

Coppers have yet to capture this Button man. This tallies up to over twenty people in a span of two years. Now what most of you fine folk want to listen to here we have, Mr. Artie Matthew's play the 'Weary Blues'

The piano playing filled in the silence that would have been forks hitting plates trying to pick up flimsy fried egg.

The killings haven't been new and have been the norm for awhile. You can hear people talking about it at every street, alleyway and bar.

The coppers haven't caught the guy yet and it puts lots of people on edge. Especially people with families.

Nearly shoving food in my face causing mom to tell you to slow down. But, hardly listening you shove the rest of the bacon into your mouth and make your way to the sink to scrub your plate and placed it on the drying rack.

"Bye, mama. I'll be back before you know it!" You yelled from the front door way and before you could venture outside she yelled back.

"Pick up some milk and bread before ya get home, would ya?"

"I will, mama."

"Have a safe trip and the cabbage on the table for ya." She slightly limped over and gave both of your cheeks kisses.

Checking the table you hurriedly snatched the money and skipped out the door. Slamming it shut behind you.

Walking down the curvy road that leads into the city. The walk leads you through a small, little wood patch and into a small clearing that slowly shows small businesses and shops. The library is located near the school which is pretty far off from other buildings.

Reaching your destination, the library stairs are long wide, and white cemented staircase with two pillars on each side with the big doors that lead into the actually building. Pushing pass them you nearly run into a little boy, Joseph Bonnefoy.

"Oh, where are in such a rush to?" Smoothing out your dress asked in a slight taunting tone.

"Granny said I could go out for a short break. I'm getting myself a few chocolates as a snack." The words rushed out of his tiny mouth. Hardly catching his breath when he was finished.

"Well aren't you grown now, Joseph. Next thing you'll tell me your getting old enough to get your own house." Jokingly ruffling his hair, he smiled and waved off vanishing from sight once down the incline.

Sauntering into the building you noticed that Claire Bonnefoy wasn't at the front desk where she usually was. Probably in the back.

Making your way down the aisles of books you traveled around for a good five minutes passing books you didn't find interesting or they didn't have good covers. Coming across a couple of good ones you touched 'The Good Solider' reading the summary you decide to give it a try. °°It's set just before World War I and chronicles the tragedy of Edward Ashburnham, the soldier to whom the title refers, and his seemingly perfect marriage plus that of his two American friends.°°

Strolling around the aisle for a bit more you grace yourself with some dark writing. Traipsing on to some dark fiction you grabbed a fairytale book of the 'Grimm work original fairy tales'. Walking back to the front, Mrs. Claire was already their and ready for me. Smiling I greeted her and handed the books over. Smiling she rung them up and complimented the choice for this week.

" How have you been, Mrs. Claire. Not to intrude on your personal life, but is it true that the last person who died lived close to you." You questioned.

"Sadly, yes 'n I've been thinkin' of sendin' little Joseph up state with his aunt 'n uncle in Arkansas for awhile 'til this calms down." Her shaky hand clenched around the book harshly, "Or if they finally catch the bastard whose doin' all of this maybe mah little boy can stay. 'Til then mah old joints can't move like they use tah."

" Lititle Jo 's gonna feel so sad, he really likes New Orleans."

"Yes, I know dear. But, I'd sleep betta at night if he was somewhere safa." She slide the books in a paper bag and handed them over. A melancholy smile on her sweet face. "Been saving up on a train ticket for some time now. Most folk don't come by tah rent out books anymore. So, it took some time 'n hard work tah earn the money."

The killings have did put everyone at alert. Well, most people still hang out past sun fall just to watch the city come to life. Which I won't lie it is gorgeous to witness the night come to life. But, for old bims like Mrs. Claire she's dang plum tire and could use the time to calm her nerves. Maybe I should visit more once Joseph''s left.

"Thank ya, Miss. (Y/n). I'll see ya next week or so."

"The pleasure's all mine and I'll give these books back in no time."

Waving to the old bim you make your way back out the library and on tour way to your next destination.

Making your way back to the house to fetch Issacs's lunch you had to maneuver your way through the crowd of busy people scrambling around to get out of the sweltering heat and catching up with friends.

Your brother works at a boiler repair shop. Fixing cars and getting scraps of cabbage to make up for the bills that weren't paid. He's always been a hard working guy, he's selfless and protective. I still remember when we were kids and father used to hit him, so hard, but came to my defense whenever I was in trouble.

Traveling down the dusty road you made it to the repair shop where two boobs stood out front. One was always silent and the other was a continuous flirt whenever you came around.

As soon as they could hear your shoes hitting pavement the flirt Clay shot up to welcome you.

"How are doing this afternoon, (y/n)." His hand went out to grab your, which you quickly pulled back, "you know that offer still stands that if you wanna get tonight."

"I would, but I'm pretty sure your wife would raise all hell." Walking past him to look further into the garage. "Where is my brother, is he not here?"

Floyd spoke up, which startled you. His voice is pretty deep and gravely for a man only four years older than yourself. Blowing the smoke from his mouth he tapped the ash upon the ground to stare at you.

"He left early to go out with his dame. Told us to tell ya not to worry too much and that he'll be back home later tonight." He stole another drag from the cigarette.

"He could at least gave me heads up before I came all the way out here. What I'm supposed to do with this now." Dangling the bag of food from side to side.

"I'll take it off ya hands for ya." Clay swooning in to steal the bag and retreat back to standing next to Floyd. "Wish my wife could cook like your ma."

Huffing you said your good byes to them both with a very excited 'see ya' from Clay and a small wave from Floyd.

Once far away enough you groaned louder to reduce some irritation of making this heart felt trip. Pulling on your face to stop tears from forming you sighed and kept walking to your next venture.

The scratch mom gave you was enough for bread and milk. But, she also gave you enough to get something special from you little trip. You decided on a cup of coffee at the nearest restaurant with a beignet. It sounds so good right now and with more pep in your step you made it to the store in no time.

The corner store was full of people that day bustling around to grab what they need and storm out. You being the small self you are you tried to cram your way in and failed miserably. You tried this process several times and came out with the same results. Someone bumped into your small frame and sent you falling backwards. Gloved hands snatched you up before you could hit the ground.

You were in a state of shock before being knocked out of your stooper by a young man who you realized pulled you off to the side. With eyes wide you tried to make conversation, but no words would come out the only thing you could look at was his face.

"T-Thanks for helping me." You tried to mustard a smile, but it came out weird.

"You look like you were in quite the pickle their, my dear." Hands still on your waist he motioned with his head down the street. "You know there's a nice restaurant around here that serves the best venison. I think you would just adore it. Could possibly calm your nerves my treat."

Mouth still dry you tried to speak, "I don't want to impose on your lunch regimen." Shaking your head and slowly moving backwards.

"Oh, but I insist my dear I did invite you didn't I." Pulling you closer by the hip, your face heated up more than normal. Now following the man who you didn't even pick up the name you two made your way around the corner and down the street.

Stepping inside the small business you noticed only about six or eight people in here. Nicely decorated with bar stools and five booths along the wall and a bathroom across from the front entrance. But, it did smell really delicious in here maybe it won't be, so bad to have just a bite to eat. He did say he was paying. He lead us to a small booth in the back and waited for me sit down first before taking his seat across from me.

"Why did you bring me here I barely know you, sir?" Playing with your fingers to ease your nerves by making your fingers stretch and squeeze together.

His eyes looked off to the side in deep thought before he shrugged. "You looked interesting, my dear." Reaching over he scratched under your chin and his smiled covered more of his face. "Smile my dear you know your never fully dressed without one."

Making a smile fall upon your lips you smiled back. His eyes slightly narowed and his smirk stretched a bit. Suddenly, a very curvy and thick lady stood in front of our booth.

"Oh, Al are here to hear me sing again tonight. If you are your way too early, hun." She giggled.

"Oh no my dear, Mimzy. I'm here with a new friend of mine. She's going to have seasoned venison." His arm motion towards me and I froze on the spot.

Sticking your hand out for handshake, "HI, my name's (y/n). Nice to meet you."

She stared you up and down before slowly taking your hand and managing a small smile on her face. "You must be a fan, Al here, right. A lot of dumb dora fall head over heels for this man."

I guess she read the confused look on your face and answered for you. "Alastor, the radio man of New Orleans."

"Oh, sorry I guess I didn't notice." Turning your attention to Alastor, "sorry I didn't recognize a popular figure like yourself."

"It's fine dear a lot of people don't recognize the voice with the look." I'm guessing he's talking the creole look. To be honest a lot of people don't sound like the ethnicity on the phone until you see their face. But, I can't really judge I get turned down in person more than on the phone looking for a job.

"Well I'll go tell the servers the usual for you, Al." She looked you over, again. "What will you have?"

"She'll be having the same as me, mim." Alastor strong smile had her face painted in a light pink. She straighten her posture and cleared her throat and told us it it'll come out in no time. Once she gone I asked how long they've known each other.

"Mimzy and I go way back when she was a small singer. Know she travels from time to time to spread that lovely voice of hers." You just took noticed he speaks with hands a lot more than most people. But, you seem to like that.

Smiling back you told him that really amazing. It was you mothers goal before she stated using. He asked you about your occupation.

"Well, I really wanted to be a baker, but no plots are open, too expansive or I'm not the right skin tone for this establishment." Looking up for just a second you could have sworn the smile on his face fell and quickly went back into place.

"Isn't that just dreadful." He focused up at the ceiling for awhile and shot his head down to smirk at me, "How would like to work for me for a fair price a hour?"

"What?"

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #1920s #human alastor #hazbin hotel mimzy #toxic family #foster family #alastor being a jerk #period typical racism #hazbin hotel au

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wickedobsessed101 · 3 years

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"Sewing It Up" Oneshot #13: "Guiding Light"

3.9K words of more mother-daughter fun fluff with Villy & Nyris ‘cause I was in the mood.

This was supposed to be the final oneshot in the series, but I’m writing one more after this!

~~~

“Nyris, the bus is coming in fifteen minutes, whether we’re at the stop or not,” Villy sighed from the doorway. “Personally, I’d like to be there.”

“Where’s my bag?” the ten-year-old groaned as she ran around her room.

“Wherever you left it. Maybe you’d be able to find something if you cleaned your room.”

“It’s not a mess. It’s organized chaos.”

The blind seamstress rolled her eyes with a huff. “There’s no such thing, especially in this house with me.”

“Found it!” Nyris giggled triumphantly. She made sure she had her allowance (she had been saving for almost three months), slipped her plastic cat ears headband onto her head, and fixed the long strap over her shoulder, matching her stepmother. “Let’s go!”

The two had been looking forward to this special day all week: shopping together at the Sheplin Mall. It was something they didn’t get to do as much, since Nyris was busy with school and ballet, and Villy was busy in the boutique. But the dressmaker had taken the weekend off, leaving Scarly and Maven in charge of the shop, for some much-needed quality time. She remembered teasing her former-employee-now-princess about being a workaholic, and didn’t want to slip into that hypocrite area.

“Put on a sweater. It's getting cooler.”

She went into her closet and grabbed her sky blue, button-up cardigan. “Okay! Let’s go!” She bounced past her stepmother and down the steps with her in tow. “C’mon, Mimsey! We’ve gotta catch the bus!”

The dressmaker reached for her cane on the hook by the door and unfolded it. “I don’t know why you’re rushing me. I’m not the one who spent twenty minutes trying to figure out which skirt to wear.”

“I had to make sure it matched my leggings!” she said like it was obvious.

Villy couldn't blame her, knowing she picked up the fashion tips from her, and locked the door behind them. The two walked down the street to the bus stop hand-in-hand, Nyris excitedly swinging their arms. They made it with five minutes to spare, and Villy got out her wallet for the bus fare, mimicked by Nyris.

“I have my own bus money.”

“I thought you wanted to use your money at the mall.”

“Big girls pay for themselves. I wanna use my own money.”

Villy gave her a light hand squeeze, knowing she wanted to feel grown-up, and nodded. “Okay.”

Once the bus arrived, the young girl proudly paid her fare with a wide grin, then led her stepmother to a two-seater near the middle. “Mimsey?”

“Yeah?”

“No seamstressing.”

Her eyebrow quirked. “What does that mean?”

“You don’t have to talk about fabrics or hemstitches or anything seamstressy. No work talk.”

She nodded. “I promise not to stress over seams.”

“Mimsey.”

Villy had been dreading the day her stepdaughter’s love and interest in her profession would diminish. Now ten, Nyris was starting to develop her own interests, and Villy saw she was starting to lose her “magical dressmaker” persona. But she had to appreciate her honesty. “Okay, Jellybean. This is our special time together, and I’ll make sure my seamstress side doesn’t take over my mother side.”

She snuggled closer. “Thank you.”

Since work-talk was off the table, Villy asked about school and extracurriculars. Nyris indulged her excitedly. The young girl was more than happy to talk about her best friends, how much she liked her music teacher, the boy she liked, and the boy she didn’t.

“I’m ready for my vocabulary test next week, but there’s one word I’m having trouble using in a sentence.”

“What word?”

“Innuendo.”

She thought for a moment. “Okay, here’s one: As long as you’re living under my roof, you better not let me catch any boys sneaking in-ya-window.”

Nyris burst into a fit of giggles. “You’re silly, Mimsey!”

Villy immediately joined her, hugging her close. The driver announced their destination and the bus stopped down the street from the front entrance to the mall. The young girl led her stepmother through the double doors and excitedly looked around at all the stores.

“Let’s get a map. There should be a large board map with little maps inside a pocket near the door.”

“Over here.” Nyris took her hand and lead her towards the large map. She pulled one out and unfolded it. “Got one.”

“Let’s start on the ground floor first, then work our way up. How does that sound?”

“Okay,” Nyris said. She took her hand, this time intertwining their fingers, before she began to walk with her through the mall.

Villy tried to identify a few stores based on smell, or by the context of conversations she overheard. Some stores played music, while others didn’t. She knew when they passed a shoe store and a perfume store by their different, distinct smells. Nyris seemed to sense what she was trying to do and began to describe the stores as they passed them, which made Villy smile.

“This is Tessy’s,” Nyris said, leading her into a store.

“What do they sell here?”

“Mostly dressy clothes, like blouses, dress pants, business suits, skirts, and dresses.”

“Is it a big store?”

“Um… I guess so,” Nyris said, already half-distracted by a rack of pink skirts.

Villy nodded and followed her around the store. The aisles in between the racks of clothes were wide, not creating much of an obstacle. She followed the sounds of her stepdaughter’s giggles and contemplation hums. She knew she wasn’t actively thinking to hold her hand and lead her through the store, so she used the other skills she had to make sure she didn’t get lost or lose her. “What’s the golden rule?”

She looked up from the table of collared sweaters. “Stripes never go with plaids or florals.”

“And who taught you that?”

“You did, Mimsey.”

The seamstress grinned. Those were the only work-related words of wisdom she offered during their trip.

“Look at this!” Nyris smiled, gently pressing a piece of fabric into her hands.

Villy took the fabric and examined it. It was a silky material with sleeves that felt like they would stop at elbow length. She felt the collar and the buttons of the front and realized that it was a blouse. “This is nice,” she commented. “But it’s so light. It feels see-through.” Her stepdaughter hadn’t started wearing a bra yet, and a see-through blouse wouldn’t be ideal.

“I can wear a camisole underneath it,” Nyris said logically.

Villy shook her head and gave it back. “Find something that’s not see-through.”

“Okay,” she said glumly as she put the blouse back.

A few minutes later, the ten-year-old decided on a cotton candy pink, non-see-through blouse, a navy, gathered, mini-skirt (that Villy made sure wasn’t too mini), and baby blue maxi dress with a smocked bodice, ruffled tiered silhouette, and little hearts all over, before they made their way to the checkout counter.

“Your total is twenty-two dollars and fifty cents,” the cashier said.

Nyris pulled out her money and handed it to the cashier. “Thank you!”

“Ready?” Villy asked.

“Uh-huh!”

They made their way to the second floor, where Nyris wanted to go into another clothing store. Villy suspected that it was like the previous store since she recognized some of the fabrics that brushed against her arm. She found her way to a rack of skirts and felt through the items.

“What about this one?” she asked, pulling out a wool skirt and holding it up to where she thought her stepdaughter was standing. “Nyris?” When she didn’t get a response, she called her again. Still nothing. Taking a deep breath, she tried not to panic. She couldn’t have left the store, but then where was she?

“Is everything alright, Miss?” a sales associate to her left asked.

Villy turned towards her. “I seem to have been separated from my daughter.”

“What does she look like?”

“Um… she’s ten, wearing a cat ears headband, and –”

“Mimsey!” Nyris exclaimed, hurrying towards her.

“Found her,” the associate chuckled before excusing herself to help another customer.

“Nyris, where were you?” Villy asked, relief evident in her voice.

“I found this really cute blue dress and wanted to try it on.”

“That’s fine, but you need to let me know where you’re going before you go off like that.”

Nyris quickly realized her mistake. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

Villy sighed, rubbing her face. “It’s okay. Do you like the dress?”

“Yeah. It’s nice,” she said, handing it to her to feel.

After inspecting it, Villy gave her approval and showed Nyris the wool skirt she found. Nyris took a clear interest in it and held it up to her body.

“It looks like it’ll fit.”

“You wanna buy it?”

Nyris hummed in consent, and they went to the register. As they walked out of the store, the young girl continued to chat happily with her stepmother, happily walking side-by-side. They went inside a few more stores, but didn’t buy anything, since Nyris didn’t see anything she was interested in.

Carousel music in the distance caught the dressmaker’s attention and she stopped. “Do you remember riding the carousel?”

“A bit. It was fun, but you weren’t feeling well afterwards.”

The seamstress fought to keep the smile on her face. “Do you wanna go again? You’re ten now. I think that’s old enough to go by yourself.”

“No. I’m okay.”

She swallowed. “I’ll go on with you, if it would make you more comfortable. You used to love carousels.”

“I don’t want to now. Carousels are for little kids.”

She could tell she didn’t believe what she just said, but was led away from the music before she could comment further.

“Can we go into the sweets shop?” Nyris asked, stopping in front of a sweet shop.

Villy turned and smiled at the strong scent of chocolate. “Okay.”

“They’re having a truffle sale. We can fill a gift bag with fifty pieces for fifteen dollars.”

The seamstress had no idea what they were gonna do with fifty truffles, but Nyris led her around, telling her all the chocolate flavors on the wall.

“There’s cappuccino, coconut, red velvet, almond, strawberries and cream, caramel, and white peppermint.”

They worked together to fill their bag (Villy’s selection consisted of mostly red velvet, and Nyris’s got coconut) with the assorted flavors.

“Let’s have some lunch before snacking of truffles,” the dressmaker said as they left and Nyris reached into the bag, sneaking a snack.

After salads in the food court, followed by a few pieces of their treats, they made their way to the top floor. They walked around, mostly window shopping (with descriptions of the window displays), then Nyris found a tween clothing store and picked out a denim jumper and pink plaid overall dress. As they walked out, Nyris gasped loudly, and Villy stopped abruptly.

“What is it?”

“You need new clothes, too!”

The seamstress relaxed. “Alright. Let’s go to Keada’s. It should be down this way.” She turned and led Nyris down the way they came. She recognized the store by the soft music and led her inside.

“What are you looking for?” Nyris asked.

“Um… something for fall, that will be warm without trapping body heat. They should have their fall clothes out.” She found a table and felt through the blazers and skirts, feeling for fabrics and shapes she liked.

“Look at this!” Nyris took her hand and guided her to a nearby mannequin.

Villy examined the dress. It was a polar fleece dress with an elbow-length cloak over the shoulders, short sleeves, and midi length, swing skirt that billowed out. “Okay. What color is it?”

“Magenta. And it has little, light pink roses on the skirt.”

She groped around for the dress rack. “Is it on this one?”

“Yeah. It comes in magenta, red, and dark green.”

“Which one’s the magenta?”

“The ones in the front right side. And they’re in size order.”

She sifted through the dresses, figuring the mediums would be in the middle. She pulled out a dress and held it against her body. “What size is this?”

“Medium.”

“Great. Let’s find the fitting rooms.”

Nyris saw the large fitting room sign on the other side of the store, followed by Villy. She played a game of invisible hopscotch as Villy tried the dress on.

“Nyris?” Villy asked, emerging from the room, smoothing out the skirt, which stopped at her knees in soft pleats.

The young girl turned with a wide grin. “Wow! You look spectaculary, Mimsey!”

“Thank you. I like the way this feels.”

“Buy it! Buy it!”

She smiled and disappeared back into the fitting room, reemerging in her regular clothes and the dress in her free hand. As they left the store, she checked her watch. “We have time for one more store.”

“Why one? I thought we were gonna spend the day together.”

“We are. It’s a surprise, so pick your final store.”

She glanced down at the map in her hands, then grinned and led the way down the path.

“What store is this?”

“Klaire’s!”

The dressmaker braced herself for the over-excitedness of a ten-year-old girl surrounded by sparkly accessories. She knew exactly what to expect, and Nyris didn’t disappoint. She wasn’t surprised when Nyris made her hold the bags as she flitted around the store, looking at all the accessories. The sparkly accessories caught Villy’s attention, and she suggested a glittery, heart-pendant necklace, which Nyris immediately fawned over.

Nyris declared their shopping day a success as she exited the store with her bag of new headbands, silk scrunchies with long ribbons attached, sparkly hair clips, and the heart-pendant necklace. “Where are we going now?” she asked once she and Villy exited the mall.

“The Peach Oasis.”

The little girl gasped. “The fancy spa?”

“I booked the mother-daughter twinning package, complete with facials, massages, and mani-pedis.”

“Really? Thank you, Mimsey!” She threw her arms around her.

Villy eagerly returned the hug. “You’re welcome. Our appointment’s at four. It’s across town, so we have to take the bus, then walk.”

“I like walking with you.”

She chuckled. “I like walking with you, too. Let’s get going. Can you put your bags in mine?” She was given a big bag at Keada’s, despite only buying one dress.

Nyris’s multiple purchases easily fit in the big bag. They made it to the bus stop just in time, taking it a few stops to the other side of the city. Once they got off, Villy took the lead as they headed down the street. With one hand holding the bag and the other maneuvering her cane, it left no free hand for Nyris to hold. Instead, the younger girl looped her arm with her stepmother’s bag arm, falling in step beside her.

Villy chose to think that this was a mother-daughter thing, rather than a guiding thing. Nyris was at the age where she was very eager to help everyone do everything. Whether it was stapling papers for her father, helping Chozon learn his colors and numbers, or leading and handing her stepmother things, she was always in ‘all hands on deck’ mode.

While the seamstress appreciated the help (since she knew it would probably vanish in her teenage years), she had to gently explain to Nyris that she didn’t need help with everything all the time. The little girl was very sweet and caring, with her heart in the right place, and didn’t want to discourage her, so they had to work on finding that balance together.

Now that she was more susceptible to outside influences, that’s where it probably came from. But at the end of the day, she was still a child, albeit a naturally precocious one, and Villy didn’t want to throw the extra responsibility onto her.

“There’s a sign up ahead,” Nyris pointed out.

“What does it say?”

“‘Contortion Ahead’.”

Villy’s eyebrow rose. “Contortion? I don’t think –” Loud banging noises and drilling grew louder, and she abruptly stopped. “Construction ahead,” she corrected.

"Oh. The sidewalk's blocked off."

Villy bit her lip. She hated approaching a surprise construction zone. It made traveling independently more challenging than normal, since she couldn’t hear the traffic flow. “Um…” She paused to think of a solution. It was loud, but sounded a bit far off, towards the end of the block.

“We can cross the street. They’re working on just this side of the sidewalk and street.”

She hated crossing the street outside a crosswalk. Crosswalks were safer, since cars had to slow down and had the chance to see that she couldn’t see them. “Okay. We can go back.”

“There’s a crosswalk in the middle of the street, so we don’t have to go all the way back.”

She wasn’t aware of this mid-street crosswalk, but led the way back, her cane sweeping and searching for the dip in the curb. Her cane hit something metal, and she reached out her hand, feeling the hard octagon. A stop sign signaling the pedestrian crossing, but the curb didn’t dip, nor did she feel the tactile ground marking. She listened for traffic, still a bit harder due to the construction noise, and took Nyris’s hand, looping the bag around her wrist.

Safely across, the seamstress let out a silent breath and turned to go back down the street. She held back a wince at the noise as they approached, but knew they weren’t walking towards the blocked-off path. They rounded the corner and she relaxed, letting go of Nyris’s hand.

“How much farther?”

“We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“How many minutes is ‘a few’?”

“Seven.” An arbitrary number, but it satisfied her. She just hoped Nyris wasn’t keeping track of the time to a ‘T’ and wouldn’t ask why they weren’t there in seven minutes.

Their walk was quiet, and she heard Nyris jumping beside her, probably playing a game of invisible hopscotch. Suddenly, she stopped and took her arm. “There’s a crack here.”

“Sweetie, you don’t have to warn me about every little obstacle.”

She gently pulled her out of the crack’s path.

“No, Nyris.” She gently pulled her arm away and turned to her. “You’re walking with me. I’m the one leading the way.”

“But you’re –”

“The adult and the protector in charge of making the decisions. I prefer it when we walk together. I…” She took a breath. She knew Nyris knew she was more than capable of doing these types of things. All those times when she was little, and they went to the playground, or when she stayed with her in the boutique, or when they went to the ice cream parlor, Nyris would just hold her hand and follow her without question or hesitation. “I can find where things are and ways around them. I don’t need things handed to me unless I ask. And I don’t like being pulled and dragged. It’s not your responsibility to always guide me because I don't want it to be.”

“Okay,” she agreed softly. She locked her hands behind her back, hanging her head.

The dressmaker missed the subtle body language change and continued walking, feeling her stepdaughter fall in step beside her. She was able to maneuver around a bike in the middle of the sidewalk and a car parked over the curb without her stepdaughter’s assistance. “We’re almost there,” she announced to break the silence. “Has it been seven minutes yet?”

“I don’t know.” A pause and she grabbed her arm.

Villy frowned. Could she not even try to be discreet after what she just said? “Nyris –”

“There are tree branches hanging down.”

She stopped. Low-hanging tree branches were undetectable with her cane, and a danger to her getting scratched in the face. “Okay. Wait,” she quickly added when Nyris started gently pulling her. “No pulling.” If she was so insistent on doing this, she was old enough to learn to do it properly. She placed her hand on her shoulder and stepped behind her. “Let me know when we’re past it.”

Nyris looked up at her, but walked around the sharp, protruding nature. “Okay. We’re good now.”

“Thank you, Jellybean,” Villy said, stepping beside her. She took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

She hurriedly wrapped her arms around her in a tight hug. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart.”

Once the tension of the moment released, they continued their walk. Villy checked her watch, discovering they had five minutes to get to the spa and check-in before their appointment.

“I see the spa!” Nyris smiled, bouncing as she pointed across the street.

“And we’re right on schedule,” Villy added, about to lead the way across the quiet street, but stopped short.

“We can cross now.”

“Wait, Nyris.”

“But we have the green person.”

“I know, but wait.”

“Why?” Nyris looked down the street. “I don’t see any cars coming.”

Villy squeezed her hand to hush her. Sure enough, a distant siren soon reached Nyris’s ears, and she looked up just as two police cars turned the corner and sped in front of them, bypassing the red light.

“You knew the police cars were coming?” she asked once they safely crossed the street.

“I heard the sirens getting closer, but wasn’t sure if they were turning this way.”

The path leading to the front door was cobblestone, and she felt the terrain change from the concrete. She felt for the door handle and opened the door for her daughter, following her inside.

“Welcome to The Peach Oasis Day Spa. Do you have an appointment?” the receptionist behind the counter asked.

“Yes. Moxx for four o’clock,” Villy said, walking towards the voice and stopping when her cane hit the counter.

She checked them off her list. “Wonderful. Your personal masseuses will be out when your private room’s ready.”

“We’re ready for the Moxx party now, Aysmin,” one of the young masseuses said, coming out with her co-worker.

“Yay!” Nyris clapped, her excitement bubbling over.

The masseuses introduced themselves (Uilia and Eshlin) and instructed them to follow them to the locker room to put their bags away.

“May I take your arm?” Villy asked.

“Of course.” One of the masseuses stepped forward and brushed her arm against Villy’s.

The dressmaker lightly gripped her arm right above her elbow and followed them to the locker room. “You’re Eshlin, right?”

“Yup. I’ll be your personal masseuse, and Uilia’s with your daughter.”

Once their bags were safely away, they were led to the changing room to change into fuzzy robes and soft headbands. Their private room was quiet, save for the soft trickling of water from a small fountain. The full-body massages were first, followed by the facials (Nyris couldn’t stop snacking on the cucumbers), then the mani-pedis. Villy chose lavender polish, while Nyris chose a sparkly dark blue.

After two hours of pampering, the two left feeling super relaxed and rejuvenated. Nyris stayed in step with her stepmother, letting her lead and navigate around obstacles herself. She made sure not to grab or pull, settling for occasional hand squeezes. It took the seamstress a moment to realize the hand squeezes weren’t discreet warnings, but affectionate pulses, and she squeezed back every time.

“Thank you for today, Mimsey,” Nyris smiled, snuggling closer to Villy as the bus approached their home stop. “I had lots of fun.”

“You’re welcome, Jellybean. I had lots of fun with you, too.” She rested her chin atop her head. “And I appreciate your help.”

The young girl’s smile widened and she kissed her cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

#sewing it up #guiding light #stepmother #family fluff #ocs #ocfairygodmother #blind character #shopping spree #ocappreciation

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