#so i’ve opened the window for her but she’s just chilling on the cabinet door now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yeojaa · 3 years

Text

( NEVER LET YOU GO. )

You do things without thought, making impulse decisions that’d make Freud proud. Sometimes they pay off, sometimes they don’t.

(or: Jeon Jungkook’s just as impulsive as you.)

pairing. tattoo artist!jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating. slice of life fluff, light smut. explicit (but only at the end).

tags / warnings. mentions of heavily tattooed!JK, casual drinking, tender lovemakin’, JK with the bad jokes, honestly just him being funny and chill like that one guy you never get over...

wc. 7.6k.

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif, @papillonsgf, and @yeoldontknow 💛 ty for always indulging me and most importantly, supporting me when i begin to spiral. 🤠

author note. i got this idea into my head one evening in the shower and now... it is this. it’s not your usual bad boy tattoooist!JK fic but i hope you enjoy regardless. as always, feedback means a lot!

You and forethought aren’t close friends. You really aren’t even distant cousins, or part of the same family tree. You consider it a stranger, wave loftily as it passes you by, squinting like you can’t properly make out what it is. Careful consideration? Thoughtful patience? None of that exists for you. At least, not when you really, really want something.

It’s what has you here now, bumbling your way into the tattoo shop like a newborn baby bird.

You wonder how it must look, whether the shop assistant is used to this. Random girl shows up on a Sunday afternoon looking like a fish out of water, eager yet afraid. By how she greets you - with a curious stare and not quite a smile - you’re sure she is.

“Do you take walk-ins?”

You’d meant to make an appointment. Had sat for hours on the shop’s Instagram page, combing through the residents’ portfolios, trying to decide who to reach out to. When you’d finally decided, you’d realised books were a thing and most of them were closed. (Just your luck.)

Still, it never hurt to try, right?

“Everyone’s fully booked.” The girl sounds bored, apathetic yet genial. (You don’t blame her.) By the way her stare swings over you, it feels like a dismissal. You’re ready to admit defeat - head half-bowed, words draped over your tongue. “But our apprentice might be able to squeeze you in.”

An apprentice? Well— that’s not exactly what you’d been hoping for, but this shop is reputable. Well-known. Considered one of the best in the city. Surely their apprentice would be fine. Just less seasoned, not as experienced.

You all but snap your neck nodding along, gratitude tumbling out in the form of awkward laughter. “That’d be great!”

The girl passes you off with a nod of her head, gesturing down the hall. “Last room on the left. His name’s Jungkook. His schedule says he’s all clear, but maybe knock before you go in.” It’s not the sunniest smile you’ve ever received, but the small thing she offers helps with the nerves. Stills them beneath your skin as you do as you’re told.

“Jungkook?” There’s not really anywhere to knock, every wall neatly frosted glass and no doors in sight. (You had passed a few folding screens but otherwise, it’s open concept, each room offering a glimpse into the artist who works inside.) It feels too disruptive to tap your knuckles on one glass pane, lest it interrupt someone else.

(His studio is minimally decorated but inviting: one big cabinet; two of those typical IKEA shelves in the 4x4 grid that every new homeowner and their mother have; and a shop table, upon which a black backpack sits. Various plants dress the room - both hanging from the ceiling and along the window - and Polaroids string over walls, held aloft by twine. A Roomba sits by itself in a corner and the tattoo bed dominates most of the space, positioned closer to the dividing wall; one teeny tiny rolling chair sits beside it. There’s a bench on your left, with a pair of Birkenstocks tucked beneath. All in all, very homey. Reminiscent of your own apartment.)

Hidden behind the bed, crouched low to the ground beside the cabinet, is a head of dark hair that speaks, drawing your attention from studying the cozy space. “Oh?”

You’re not expecting the face that turns to you, all big doe eyes and the sweetest dimples.

For a moment, you forget what you’re here for. Why you’re standing in the empty door frame, staring down at the guy like you’ve spent your entire life secluded and have no idea how to speak.

The longer you’re quiet, the more his concern seems to grow, single brow disappearing into his inky fringe. It hangs in his vision at certain angles, shields the brightness of his stare with each turn of his chin. “Are you okay?” He’s even risen - stopped what he was doing - so he can see you more clearly, without any obstruction in the way. Good for him, but worse for you.

He’s so cute. Were you prepared to look like an uncertain idiot in front of this… angel?

“Y-yeah.” You manage after what feels like forever, sweeping your nerves under the rug that sits on the floor, separates the sole of his sneakers from hard concrete. “Um— I was told you might have some time? For, uh, a walk-in?”

(Why’re you stuttering? You’re never shy. Or rather, you’re not this nervous mess. People have always called you an extrovert, outgoing as hell, a social butterfly.)

(You aren’t those things but you appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.)

“Oh!” Realisation dawns across his features, throws his kind smile into greater relief, and you have to actively tell yourself not to stare, tearing your gaze away to focus on the wall of stencils past his shoulder. He moves into motion then, stepping around the bed to meet you still rooted in the doorway. “Yeah, I’ve got time. Come in.” Up close like this - there’s only maybe two feet between you - you can make out the little scar on his cheek; the tiny beauty mark below his bottom lip; each individual lash that frames his Bambi eyes and flutters when he blinks. “I probably can’t draw you anything new right now but I’ve got some flash, if you’re interested?”

Even if you weren’t interested, you don’t think you’d say no. You were always a sucker for a cute boy and this Jungkook? He was that. In spades.

“Sure.”

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” He’s retreating back into the room, moving to grab his iPad off the far table. It’s balanced on his arm when he swivels to you, prominent front teeth on full display. “I’ve got a pretty big selection.”

When he drops onto the bench - a wayward vine above his head tickling his cheek - he gestures to the spot beside him. This time, you don’t stare for a stupid amount of time, instead taking up the seat without hesitation.

“So—” He’s swiping through the photo library with his Apple Pen. You’re sure there are pretty sketches on the screen - you just can’t focus on them, too preoccupied by the artwork that crawls across his hand and into the sleeve of his oversized, well-worn shirt. It’s an intricate chrysanthemum, impossibly well-shaded with bold colours that demand attention and stand out over his fair complexion; it creeps halfway up the back of his hand to tickle over his knuckles. He notes your attention with a quiet chuckle, fingers wiggling. The ink moves, flows, ripples with the motion, before his hand relaxes, knuckles unravelling as he offers the limb to you and your curiosity. “Do you like it?”

“It’s incredible.” It really is. You’ve never seen anything like it, as if a painting has been done across his skin, laid in watercolour rather than tattoo ink. “Did it hurt?”

(You almost want to hit yourself for the stupid question. Of course it did. It’s a hand tattoo.)

Jungkook only laughs again, doesn’t hold it against you despite the verbal barrage you’re faced with internally. “Like crazy, but it was worth it. This was my first tattoo and all the rest have just sort of been—” He shrugs, fabric of his shirt bunching around his collar.

“A piece of cake?” You can only imagine.

“Exactly.”

You nod thoughtfully, as if that means anything to you. (It doesn’t. You’re bare as a baby’s bottom, blemish free save for the occasional hellish pimple and the scar you have from surgery on your hand when you broke parts of it in sixth grade.)

If he can tell you’re talking out of your ass, he says nothing, redirecting your attention back to the iPad propped on his lap. “Do any of these interest you?” He’s resumed scrolling, swiping carefully through pages of flash. There are assorted floral pieces (plum stems, lily stalks, fully bloomed mums) and various skeletons (what looks like a deer, a dragon, a wolf). They’re mostly blackwork with fine lines and heavy contrast, so wonderfully detailed you spend too much time studying one piece before he’s flipping to the next.

“That one.” It catches your eye more than the others have. Likely because it’s one of the few pieces in colour, soft hues spilling over neat lines. A pretty little cat with a braided collar, big golden bell centered beneath its head, unravelling petals sweeping around it.

“You like cats?”

You do. “She looks like mine.”

“It’s settled.” He beams then, rising so quickly you’re startled; you watch as he moves around the space with decisive steps, putting your plan into motion. A paper is pulled seemingly out of nowhere, laid on a wooden clipboard and offered with a blue ballpoint pen. “If you can fill all of this out, I can get the stencil ready.”

Well, that was easy. Somehow, you’d thought it’d be more complicated, a ton of back and forth and yes and no. You can’t deny you’re nervous, staring down at the consent form.

(It doesn’t mean you read it any more than you normally would, though. You gloss over all the points, making note of what you’re agreeing to without really considering any of it. You’ve wanted a tattoo for most of your life. There’s really no going back now.)

(You just hope it turns out like you want - that you’re not just being blindsided by a sudden superficial crush and a lack of critical thought.)

“I think I’m done,” you mumble, slashing the date into the paper with gusto.

“Do you have your ID?” You’ve got it ready for him when he returns to take both it and the form. “I’m just going to make copies and then we can discuss more.”

He’s gone with that same smile, disappearing back the way you’d come.

Alone, the nerves set in. You’re actually doing this. Getting a tattoo. Putting something permanent on your body. It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once, shaking your hands in your lap. Maybe you should’ve eaten more before you’d come. (You’d woken up late - had only shoved two pieces of raisin pinwheel bread into your mouth before you’d made up your mind about this.)

(But had you really made up your mind? Was this going to be it? It feels mostly like yes, though the repetitive thud of your toe against concrete seems to indicate otherwise. It’s as if you’re tapping out something in morse, telling yourself—)

“Okay!” Jungkook’s back before you know it, driver’s license returned to you along with an unsealed envelope. You eye it curiously. “A copy of your form and an aftercare sheet.”

He’s really thought of everything. Or the shop has. Either way, you appreciate that when you’re not so sure, caught somewhere between giddily excited and vaguely worried, as if someone’s pulled a weight off your shoulders, taken on some of the burden of this spontaneous choice.

“So, where do you want it?” It’s like he has a one track mind, utterly focused on the task at hand. (Probably a good thing, given you’re about to voluntarily let him needle your poor skin.)

You hadn’t thought about that. You’d always liked the idea of a back of the arm tattoo, positioned somewhere along your tricep so it could be seen while turned away. “My arm?”

“Upper? Forearm?” There’s not an ounce of annoyance or exasperation or anything else negative. He’s just genuinely curious, peering over his shoulder at you.

“Tricep area, I think? Would that look good?”

“If you like it, it will.” Then he grins - beams so bright you half expect the sun to come zooming out of his mouth - and laughs, a funny little cackle that makes you do the same. “I’m kidding. That was cheesy. But I’m sure it’ll look fine. We can try laying it down first, so you get an idea?”

“That sounds good.” A lot better than endless years of regret for poor placement.

“You’ll, uh— need to take your shirt off though.”

It’s then you realise your mistake: wearing a turtleneck. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence passes, then another, and he smiles so kindly you wonder what your expression must look like. Sour, like you’d sucked fresh lemon? Awkward, as if you’d never worn anything less than double layers before (a proud Never Nude)?

“If you’re uncomfortable, we can reschedule. Or I can put a divider up so you don’t have to worry about being seen from outside. Whatever you’d prefer.”

The longer you stay quiet - a seemingly common occurrence today - the closer his brows furrow, preparations coming to a standstill. You can tell he’s not trying to rush you, politely waiting for an answer with transfer paper in one hand and scissors in the other.

(If only he could peek into your brain, see the whole reason you’re hesitating is because you can’t quite remember which bra you’re wearing, whether it’s the slinky black one that offers absolutely zero support or the lacy blue one with the cute detailing and practically see-through cups.)

(Did it really matter either way? He was probably desensitized.)

“It’s fine.” You find the confidence somehow, nodding firmly. Jungkook’s still studying you carefully, though. Waiting as you strip your purse off your shoulder and reach for the hem of your sweater. It feels funny in your fingers, more like steel wool than sheep’s.

One breath. Two.

You fold your turtleneck neatly, laying it beside your bag and turning back to face him. “All right. Let’s do this.”

“So, which arm?” He’s close now - crossed to you in two strides of his long legs - and holds up the stencil.

Your right rises, fingers wiggling as if to say hello.

He lays the design down, pats it into place with deft fingers. You don’t realise the breath you’re holding until he pulls the sticky paper away, leaving neat line work in its wake.

“Oh.” It slips out of its own accord, almost a whisper as you stare at the design in the mirror. “It’s so pretty.”

There’s pride in his eyes as he stares with you, bounces his gaze between it and your face. “Thanks.” He lets you linger, peering thoughtfully at your reflection before speaking, casually hopeful. “What do you think?”

“This is it. Right here.”

Maybe he’d fist pump, if he were any less cool. As it stands, he simply nods, cheeks round like fresh baked bread, nose scrunched with glee.

“All right. We’ll shave you down and get started. You like the colours, right?” Once again, he’s buzzing around the room, gathering up all his materials and snapping black gloves on once everything is laid out upon his cart. It’s heavily stickered, covered in video game vinyls and anime mattes. (You recognise a handful of them, make a note to ask him where he got them from.) He pats the tissue papered bed top when you make no movement toward him. “Hop on up. Face down, if that’s okay.”

You do as he says, climbing atop with minimal grace. It takes you a bit of adjusting to get comfortable, folding your left arm under your head and allowing your right to simply dangle, uncertain of where it should be.

“You’re sparkly.”

“What?” You’d misheard that, right?

“Your skin. You’re sparkling.” He sounds a little in awe, surprised as wetness spills across your arm, the edge of a razor following closely thereafter.

“Oh.” Heat creeps over your cheeks, slinks all the way up into your roots and has you chuckling awkwardly. “It’s my soap.”

“Sparkle soap?” Whether he’s just making conversation or genuinely curious, you’re not sure. He does seem delighted by the fact, though, as if he’s never seen a girl covered in glitter before. (Which, fair.)

“It’s this specialty holiday soap. It has pigment in it.”

“That’s cool.” He’s laying the stencil down again, smoothing it over your now-hairless arm. “It smells nice.”

Obviously, you agree. It’s honey and citrus, brightly fragrant but not overpowering, lingering on your clothes like the subtle golden glitter does. Still, you flush, heat crossing from a casual day under the sun to burning-on-the-stove hot. “Thanks.”

“Was that weird? I hope not.”

“No, you’re fine.”

He hums a tiny noise, something that sounds like understanding and appreciation all at once.

Then the buzzing starts - a steady, inescapable brrrrrrrrr - and he’s gripping your arm, steady yet gentle. “Ready?”

Honestly, you’re not sure. Hearing the noise makes it seem scary, has your entire body tensing up like Pavlov’s dog. Your honesty can’t be helped, a nervous giggle chased off your tongue. “I think so.”

“I think so too.”

By the time you’re done - a good almost five hours later, your arm stinging so bad you wonder why you’d ever sat down in the first place - you’d fallen asleep twice, started drooling on your other arm once, and really, really have to pee.

“All right—”“ The incessant buzzing stops. Liquid spills where the pain centres, followed by rougher paper towel. “You are finished.”

(You might be imagining it, but he sounds about as relieved as you. Maybe because you’d been sitting for hours on hours, turning down his offer for a break because you just wanted to get it done and therefore forcing him to do the same.)

“Can I see?” You don’t want to leap to your feet - feel a bit too lightheaded for that - but you’re bouncing with excitement, the thrumming in your arm intensified when you shift to catch a better look at Jungkook’s face.

“Yeah, go ahead. Just be careful - you might be a bit—”

He’s right. You nearly topple over the moment you stand, none-too-gently rolling off the edge of the bed and barely landing safely on your feet. It’s only his close proximity that prevents you from falling to your knees, one degloved hand darting out to steady you.

“Careful!” It’s politely reproachful, coloured soft with worry.

“Sorry, sorry.” You seize the edge of the bed, gripping tight as you wait for everything to settle, the lightheadedness to recede. Everything straightens out quickly enough. “Got up too quickly.”

“Do you need a snack?” He’s already up, moving faster than you, rummaging through the cabinet against the far wall. “I’ve got seaweed and Choco Boys and shrimp chips and—”

You can’t help but laugh, hobbling to the mirror to inspect your new piece of art. “I’m fine.” That, and you’re too occupied with the ink that now sits embedded beneath your skin, a flurry of lovely colour and impressive line work.

“Choco Boys it is then.” The familiar yellow package is thrust toward you, a pack of his own already ripped open. Mushroom-shaped treats are tossed into his open mouth, lips curling around chocolate and his next words, “it’ll help with your sugar levels.”

A thank you comes, fingers curling around the snacks, but you’re still in deep, so focused on the lovely hue that bleeds over your skin, marks up previously unblemished flesh and holds your attention. It’s better than you could’ve possibly imagined, a piece of artwork forever yours. It makes you giddy as you stare at it - almost reach for it, but stop when you catch the alarmed widening of Jungkook’s eyes.

“You like?”

“I love.” You’d stare at it for hours, if you could. Likely will, once you get home, sitting in front of the mirror like a zombie. “Thank you so, so much.”

The brunet beams as he polishes off the last of his Choco Boys, tossing his dark hair back with a flick of his head. Triumph rolls off him in palpable waves, sitting pretty in the lines by his eyes, the scrunching around his nose. Seeing how it blooms in his stare is like a straight endorphin shot, as if you’ve done more than just be the canvas he’s laid all his hard work into. “It was a pleasure.”

It’s a whole month later - enough time for the piece to heal - before you decide you want another one. It’s not as spontaneous as the first time, instead led with an Instagram direct message to @jeonink. (You half expect him not to answer; you’re utterly delighted when he responds not five minutes later.)

Maybe it’s fate or maybe it’s luck that has him with availability the same day you reach out, bringing you back to the studio three hours after you’ve messaged him.

He’s just as cute as before, black baseball cap pulled low over his ears, silver-lined ears twinkling beneath the shop lights.

“So, what’re you thinking?”

Truthfully, you hadn’t done much thinking. Just like before, you’d decided you wanted a tattoo and, well, the rest had been history. You figured you’d let him have free reign, given how happy you were with your first piece. “A sleeve?”

That surprises him. His whole face lights up, eyes wide, mouth rounding curiously. “Like, a full sleeve?” It’s not necessarily a no - more of an are you sure? he hides between the syllables.

“I think so.”

He nods slowly, knowingly, arms folded over his chest, expression suddenly unreadable. “You caught the itch.”

Your own features twist, brows shooting high. “The what?”

“The tattoo itch,” he clarifies with a laugh, the sound sweeping your concern away like the sea. “People say once you get one, you get addicted to the feeling.” He’s extending both arms to you now, hands palm up. For a moment, you’re note sure what he’s doing. (In actuality, you’re distracted by the fact that he’s in a tee, muscle cording his limbs, undulating as he turns his arms over.) “I got bit by it when I lived in Japan. It’s actually what got me into tattooing myself.”

You remember what he’d said last time - how he’d spent a handful of years overseas, working in restaurants after having followed his last partner there. He’d shared lots about his life, giving you the Sparknotes version while you’d ground enamel to fine dust.

“I guess I have the itch then.”

“Guess you do.”

Your dream comes to life in four excruciating sessions. It’s some of the worst pain you’ve ever endured (you’re never going to get an elbow tattoo ever again) but you’d do it all again in a heartbeat, utterly in love with the mural that now lives on your skin. A peony caps your shoulder while one runs halfway up your bicep. Another takes up the entirety of your forearm. There’s a darling little bird and delicately inked koi. It’s breathtaking, greater than anything you could have dreamt up.

You’ve been staring at it for at least three minutes now, tracing over the freshly laid colour with a tender touch. You’re grateful for the SecondSkin, the clear bandage that wraps everything up and keeps it safe from your over eager hands.

“You did it.” Jungkook’s grinning at you, feet kicked up where he sits, his usual bag of Choco Boys balanced in his lap. “Big girl.”

From anyone else, it might sound condescending - might rub you the wrong way and have you glaring daggers. Instead, you take it in stride, beaming at him from your seat. He’s been there with you every step of the way, been there for every hour (seventeen over three months, to be exact) you’ve dedicated to finishing this beauty up. Tease you as he might, you know he really is proud of you.

“You mean we did it,” you return, giddy like a child.

“Ah, right.” The chocolate-covered snack he’s devouring goes crunch crunch crunch before he speaks, mouth still full, eyes crinkled. “I guess I did do all the work.”

“Hey! Screw you!” You’re glowering at him, middle finger raised in defiance.

(How curious that your relationship has grown like this, turned from tattoo artist and client to what feels like more. It probably makes sense, given the long hours you’ve spent together, the support he’s had to offer each time the pain has gotten this side of too much, chattering your teeth and dizzying your head. Solidarity in pain and all that.)

(You really had tapped out once, when he’d crept his gun into the ditch of your elbow. You’d asked him whether it’d hurt beforehand and he’d only laughed, shrugged off the question and continued with the careful shading to your inner arm. That in itself had hurt like a biiitch; you hadn’t thought it could get worse.)

(You’d been mistaken.)

“Am I wrong?” He drawls, full of laughter and that big dumb smile of his you’ve grown accustomed to. It eats up his cheeks and disappears his eyes, makes it hard to be mad at him when he looks so sweet.

“Yes, you are.” You’ve got absolutely nothing to back it up, but who cares. This is the sort of banter the two of you have developed, like two old friends forced to spend too much time together. (Not that you’d complain. You’ve loved hearing his stories, all the tales he regales you with whenever you’re in his chair.)

A snort is his answer, the full roll of his eyes over-exaggerated and playful. “You’re lucky we’re all finished or I’d sneak in an ugly fish somewhere on your arm.”

You think he’s kidding - know he takes too much pride in his work to do that.

Still, you stick your tongue out, hopping down from the bed with your freshly inked arm, hands clapping together in celebration. “You wouldn’t dare.” You’re confident, crossing to the bench to tug your flannel on, careful of the dull pain that throbs beneath the thin medical dressing.

“Wouldn’t I? I’m leaving anyway.”

You’re ready to call him out for it, insist he would never ruin the sanctity of his profession in such a way, when you realise the words he’s spoken, the casual tidbit he’s just dropped like it’s nothing.

“Leaving?”

(Is it you or do you sound disappointed? You can’t dwell on it for long, worried you’ll miss his explanation. Had he mentioned it previously? Slipped it in when you’d been delirious from pain? No, you would’ve remembered that. You swear you would’ve.)

“I’m moving to Tokyo.” How he’s so casual, you have absolutely no idea. You suppose it’s not a big deal for him - he’s not from here anyway. Home is back in Korea, the place he’d spent most of his life before moving to Japan and then here, just two years ago. (God, your memory is good. If only you’d retained knowledge like this when you were in school.) “My flight’s next weekend.”

Your face must be hilarious because Jungkook’s laughing, cackling like the evil villain in an anime.

“Gonna miss me?”

Would it be inappropriate to say yes? Because you will, you realise the moment he’s posed the question. You’ve grown to consider him a friend, someone who you send random memes to on Instagram (usually pertaining to #tattooartistproblems or one of your shared hobbies, like video games and finding the best noodle soup restaurant in the city).

You go for the safe bet, answering with a question of your own. “Are you gonna miss me?”

“I’ll miss your restaurant recs,” he answers, offering honesty to your reticence. “You can still send me funny photos though.”

You can’t help your laugh, the tiny quirk of your mouth into a smile. “I guess you’re right. Will you still be tattooing?” It’s an innocent enough question - you really do want to know. You can’t imagine going to anyone else, even if it means you’ll be shelling out an absurd amount of money for a plane ticket.

“Yep, new shop.” Something twinkles in his stare, has him giddy as he rises to his feet, tossing his empty packet of snacks into the trash bin. “Actually, where I got most of mine done.” You understand it then - that it’s a move of faith. He’s finally come full circle. You’re unbelievably happy for him, brimming with delight to mirror his pride.

But you’re still going to give him a little bit of a hard time because you have to. It wouldn’t feel right otherwise. “Whoa, big shot.”

“I am actually,” he sniffs, raking an ink-strewn hand through his hair. It’s longer now than it was when you met him, curling over the tops of his ears, hanging in his eyes at every turn. “You’ll be lucky if I remember you when I’m famous.”

“Famously lame, maybe,” you tease, slipping your bag over your shoulder. You busy yourself pulling your keys from the interior pocket, checking your phone as if you’re ready to go. It’s only when you’re standing in the hallway - you have no real intention of departing like this and he knows that, considering you haven’t paid yet - when you level him with a half-formed smirk. “But I guess I should take you for a drink?”

His hoodie is on before you know it, yanked over his head and tugged into place as he joins you. It’s become your regular routine - leaving together after your sessions, a perk of always booking the last slot he has available. (Not that you relied on that, but simply because your work schedule didn’t really allow for anything else.) “Obviously.”

Jeon Jungkook is a talented artist, a dedicated snacker, a lover of the colour black. You discover, sitting on the patio of the nearby bar, that he’s also really, really good at holding his liquor.

(Not that he’d ever indicated otherwise.)

“Do you think you’ll get anything else done?” He’s on his sixth pint, casually leaned back in his chair as he picks at the fries you’d ordered but that he seems perfectly happy to help himself to. (Payback for all the times he’s forced snacks on you maybe?) “Like, a face tattoo?”

You scoff at the question as if greatly offended. “You think I’d get a face tattoo?”

While a little glazed in the eyes, you can tell he’s altogether coherent, grinning across the table at you. “Hey, I don’t judge. You like making surprise decisions, so I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Okay, so he’s got you there. Used your own impulsive history against you. “I would never.”

“If you change your mind, do I get first dibs?”

“Dibs on what? Tattooing me?”

He nods as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “Duh.”

You can only roll your eyes, tossing a wayward burnt fry end at him. “Yes, Kook, you get first dibs on ruining my face.”

His expression twists, mouth shaping around words he’s keeping caged behind his teeth. There’s something he isn’t saying, a comeback he’s chosen to lock up. You wonder what it is.

“Hey - nothing wrong with face tattoos.”

“Really?” You’re leaning forward, a clear challenge written across your face. “Then why don’t you have one?” He has a million others as it is: a hand, nearly the entirety of both arms, his chest, his shoulders, one of his legs. (You haven’t seen them all in person but you have seen them online, memorialised on his Instagram feed.)

“And hide all this?” One inked hand is gesturing toward his own face, gesticulating wildly as if that’ll drive his point further home. “I would never.”

“That’s what I said!”

It doesn’t matter to him, not when he’s fully sober and most certainly not now, when he’s slightly buzzed, eyes glossier than usual. “But I’m cuter. It’d be a shame if it were me. You…” The way he trails off is suggestive, indicative of something mocking and mean. (Except it’s never cruel - far too friendly and soft to ever hurt your feelings.) “—not so much.”

Another fry hits him right between the eyes and then another disappears into the hood of his sweater, lost to the black fabric that bunches up around his neck and hides the flush he’s been battling since you two got to the bar an hour ago.

“Don’t be rude!”

He beams at you then, so unnecessarily endearing you can only throw one more piece at him.

“I’m kidding.” You knew that already but pretend to ignore the pseudo-apology, choosing instead to polish off the last of your now-cold fries. A bad choice, you realise when he continues, surprising you with the words that come out of his liquor-laden mouth so much so that you almost choke. “You’re actually pretty cute.”

(So what if you’ve sort of maybe been waiting to hear them? Wondering if the tiny crush you’d developed was in some way reciprocated?)

(Not that this meant it was. Only that you perhaps weren’t alone in thinking he was the most lovable - and somehow simultaneously hot - person you’d ever met. It’s almost rewarding to know the long hours together hadn’t left him unscathed.)

“You all good?” The look on his face is worse than that smile he usually offers, instead a devilish smirk that makes him look like Satan himself.

Were you? You’re not sure.

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Really? You can’t?” You’re not sure what that means, whether you’re simply reading too far into it. But then he’s dragging his bottom lip through his teeth, head cocked curiously. It’s a bait, you realise—and one you’ll gladly take.

“Should I have expected it?”

Shoulders hike, rising up around his ears. “I thought I made it sort of obvious.”

Had he? Thinking back on it, you can’t really recall. Of course, he’d always been friendly, indulging you in your pursuit of body art, sketching up the loveliest things you’d never even think to dream of; accepting your distracting Instagram messages without complaint, always tossing you a like or some sort of acknowledgement no matter what you’d send (and you’d send some random, random stuff). Chatting with him daily had just become the norm, conversation flowing freely whenever you’d pop in for your next session.

But that was just because he was a nice guy - or so you’d thought. You realise now how wrong you’d been, too occupied with your own crush to notice his (if it could be called that).

“You like me,” you hum, surprisingly nonchalant despite the little pitter patter in your chest, the flutter of your heart within your ribcage.

“I think you’re cute,” he retorts, though there’s no real weight to his rebuff. The two statements are really one and the same and you’re giddy with the knowledge, absolutely tickled pink.

Except for the fact that he’s leaving, fully prepared to start a new life in another city in just one week. The irony isn’t lost on you, like fate’s laughing even as she offers you this little crumb. (You feel like Oliver Twist, frankly.)

“Same difference.”

He huffs - you’re reminded of how adorable he is when he does that - and downs the lukewarm remainder of his beer. “I take it back.”

“No, you don’t.” Where the confidence comes from, who knows. You grip it tight with both hands though, hold it snugly as you level him with a stare that has his own unwavering. It’s almost as if you’re caught in a staring match, a battle of unspoken wits.

It drags on longer than it should, just the two of you locked to each other with nowhere to go.

Then he does the last thing you expect: shoves his chair aside and leans across the table, stealing a kiss and returning to his seat, all in the span of time it takes you to blink.

(His lips are so soft. A little chapped, a tiny bit dry, but soft - deceptively delicate. Bitter, touched with sea salt and something else distinctly him. French fries and beer and his Chapstick.)

(For the briefest moment, you wonder whether you’d just imagined it - if your imagination had truly gotten the best of you and you’ve absolutely lost your mind.)

“You just kissed me.” It seems like you’ve found your new favourite hobby of just repeating things, giving live play-by-plays like an awkward narrator in a romcom.

“Yeah, so?”

“You’re leaving.” Speaking the words into existence feels bad; you see the way his eyes tighten, the subtle sobering of his expression even while he tries to keep his cool.

“I am.” At least he’s realistic. It saves you from any uncertainty, keeping the what-ifs at bay.

You suppose it means you have nothing to lose.

“Do it again.”

And Jungkook does - over and over, sinking the taste of him almost as deeply as ink, offering a piece of himself you want to keep for just as long.

It takes you longer to add to your collection of art, nearly four whole years before you decide what you want next. (It’s a back piece this time - a full body suit from your shoulders down past your ass. Another cat, dressed in traditional Japanese clothing and surrounded by flowers. An ode to your first tattoo, to the one that had started it all.)

(You’re not sure you’re ready for the pain, though.)

“Lay down,” the artist instructs, back turned to you, busy preparing his materials. You’d stripped down while he was occupied, discarded all your clothes to the allocated basket and stood quietly in anticipation.

You do as he says, dropping atop the tattoo bed with a quiet oof. The stencil has already been laid, the entire outline ready to be inked into your skin. You can’t deny you’re more than a little nervous. It’s been years since you’d last gotten anything done, uninterested in finding a new artist since Jungkook had left.

(Which he had, exactly as he’d intended, gone on a 6 AM flight that you’d driven him to, teary-eyed and embarrassed. He’d laughed at you standing outside of the departure gate, his suitcase at his side, arms wrapped around your shoulders. You’d refused to show your face, burying it instead into the warmth of his neck, into the familiar scent of him that was going away for who knows how long.

“Stop being a baby,” he’d said, smothering you in kisses, the full weight of his laughter palpable through your close proximity. It'd rumbled out of his chest all the way into yours, finding a home behind your ribcage, right alongside where your heart fluttered, shaded blue and sad.

“Stop being mean,” you’d countered, petulant like a child.

It couldn’t be helped. You’d had only one week with him - one glorious, chaotic week filled with eating too much junk, rewatching your favourite animes, and generally making up for all the lost time you’d never even known there was. As amazing as it’d been, it still hadn’t prepared you for the goodbye.

That was your fault, though. You’d wrongly entertained the idea that maybe things would work out, that he’d change his mind or ask to take it - whatever you had, that is - with him, keep it going somehow. He hadn’t.)

“Do you have a preference where I start?” You’re unbothered, hair loosely knotted over your shoulder. Ready for the session to start - ready to feel the familiar sting again. (You’re proud of that. It might have taken you years and years but here you were, tackling something huge.)

“Nope.”

“Sounds good.”

The buzzing begins and pressure lands upon the small of your back, a gloved hand laid over the centre of your spine. You remind yourself to breathe in, out, focus on something other than the pain that fizzles over your skin and then ebbs into tenderness. Where he’s started - just above the fattiest part of your butt - isn’t too bad. Tolerable and yielding.

You can do this.

Your back aches in a different way than you’d anticipated, soreness buzzing beneath inflamed skin and making it uncomfortable to move around. It’s not any worse than your arm had been - the lines along your spine had felt comparable to that of your elbow - but it’s fresh, not dulled by years like your sleeve now was.

The artist is stripping his gloves off, your back neatly covered and the bed stripped of its original tissue paper. He’s leaned against the sink, onigiri held in his now-free hands, nibbling at the edge of the rice ball as you turn this way and that in the mirror. “You did good.”

You’re still undressed, admiring the linework from different angles, shimmying closer to your reflection to catch the lighter inking that makes up the undefined edges of the various florals. Something tells you that you should be shy - eager to redress after spending nearly five hours naked in the secluded studio - but you don’t care. Your back is quickly becoming a masterpiece, something that might as well be hung in the halls of the Louvre. You’re in love with it.

“Thanks.”

You mean thank you for his compliment but also for all his hard work, the long hours he’s put into bringing this beauty to life. It means so much - like progressing to the next level.

Which, you suppose it is. This is a fresh start for you. A new beginning in a new city.

“Proud of you,” he hums, suddenly close, broad palms searing heat over your hips. He’s careful to avoid the edge of the bandage that wraps your back and holds you delicately, like fine china or the most precious jewel in the world, lips sweet against your temple.

You meet his eyes in the mirror - the same sweet doe-eyed stare from five years ago. A little darker now, aged by the hand of time but endlessly kind, shining beneath the overhead lights.

“Proud of you,” you chirp, identical smiles spreading over your faces.

Jungkook’s having none of it though, bratty as usual. “Proud of us.”

You suppose you can settle for that. You really are proud of the two of you - for how far you’ve made it and all the obstacles you’ve overcome. From the first few weeks of sadness, all the melancholy that’d set in when he’d left, to exactly one month after, when he’d called you in the middle of the night, drunk and stumbling home.

(It’d been infuriating at the time - incoherent and foolish as he was - but it’d bloomed something between you, something neither of you could ignore.)

Four years of miserable long distance had become this: a love that's brought you back to his side, to a city you’re unfamiliar with but that he calls home; to a city that never sleeps, loud with pachinko machines and some of the best food you’ve ever had; to the place you’ve been missing every minute you were apart.

You’d never thought you would move for someone, uproot your entire life for a relationship, but he’d changed that. Made it worth it in ways you had never considered. Convinced you more and more with each trip you’d taken, two visits twice a year, for a measly two weeks at a time.

“Should we head home?” He means your physical home - the apartment the two of you had decided on in Roppongi, the one you haven’t seen yet, that he’s had to move into all by himself. It’s not quite as nice as the home in his arms.

You say yes anyway.

“I’m so talented.” The words come entirely too whole for your liking, loud somewhere above your head.

“Are you serious?” You’re levelling your boyfriend with the most incredulous look, whole face scrunched up, hands fisted into his dark sheets. It’s uncomfortable at this angle - kinking your neck as you look over your shoulder - but you really can’t believe he’s just said that. He’s knelt between your legs, knees spread wide around his own, his hand halfway up your back and tracking heat over your spine.

Somehow, he has the audacity to look surprised. “What?”

“You’re really patting yourself on the back right now?” Now, when he should be pounding you into oblivion, working that big fat cock of his through your fluttering walls, making you moan his name into his pillows like it’s his only job?

(It truthfully could be. You’d rank his skills in the bedroom on par with his skills in the studio.)

“Oh.” All at once, he’s the devil - sin personified. Or would be, if he didn’t somehow still look infuriatingly cute.

The gentle touch turns bruising, heel of his palm pressed hard into the tender notches of your spine. “You don’t like when I admire my own work?” Asked as he shifts behind you, length dragging out of your dripping cunt to gently tap against your aching clit. The head of it glides through your folds, mercilessly teasing but never slipping back in, never filling you whole like you need. (Because you really do need it. You haven’t seen him in six months, left to your own devices - literally.) It feels like heaven and hell, too good and not nearly enough all at once.

“Kook,” you snap. Try to, anyway, his name far too whiny and breathless to hold any real weight.

“I’m just admiring you, sweetheart.” He’s dragging the hand over your back, tracing all the lines he’s embedded into your skin. They make up his favourite piece, inked permanently into his favourite canvas. A testament to his hard work, his dedication, his love.

Any other time, you might not care. Here and now, after not having felt his touch in what feels like forever, you’re burning from the inside out, a million volts of electricity tripping your circuits. When you speak, it’s more a plea than a reprimand, uttered so sweetly you know he can’t deny you. “Admire me later.”

“I’ve missed you” is his only answer, punctuated by a fluid roll of his hips, the heavy press of his cock back into your dripping cunt. “I’ve missed this,” he breathes out, sinking all the way in, so slow you can feel every ridge and vein as he fills you.

“Missed you too,” you parrot back, a little delirious now that you’ve gotten what you want.

Now that he’s right where he should be - with you.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle @xjoonchildx

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mythicalgemwrites · 3 years

Text

Selkie x F! Reader (Linn) Part 1

Sorry for not posting earlier guys! I've been very busy with online classes.

Warnings: mentions of drowning. Pics are not mine, all credits go to the owner!

M! Selkie X F! Reader

Living on an island your whole life has its perks. From the fresh scent of the salty ocean air to the calming sounds of the waves crashing lazily, it never failed to wake you up with a serenity that could be found nowhere else. You had lived alone with your Toller pup for the past couple years, in the house that your grandparents had left for you. You grew up with them, as your parents always had to move from town to town due to their profession. They were both marine biologists and had taken up a job at a top secret research facility when you were 12, so they decided to let you stay with your beloved grandparents. However, on a stormy day a couple years ago, when you were 19, both your grandparents got caught in a storm while they were out fishing, and they never came back. During the funeral, you had found out that in their will, they had stated that you should get the house, in the event of something tragically happening to them.

And that’s how you got the house three years ago. When it became too lonely, you decided to adopt a Toller puppy for company, and you had named him Sam, which was your grandpa’s nickname. He provided good company and unconditional love, which is important in every home. The house had its own dock leading to the beach, so every morning, after your walk, you’d put Sam’s retriever genes to good use and play fetch with him, fetching the ball from the ocean was one of his favorite past times. Whenever you brought him to the beach, you sometimes feared he was going to be the reason why someone almost drowned. To date, you were grateful nothing like that had ever happened, but you sometimes couldn’t brush off that fear. You were a writer, and sometimes, you couldn’t control how far your imagination went, and sometimes, the words you put on paper would be some of your worst fears, if they were to come alive.

As the days go by, and the weather gets chilly, you would often take Sam on a walk to the nearby cove, usually in the warmer months it would be filled with children playing by the beach and in the waters, but as the weather got cooler, it was mostly couples going on romantic walks, or some who preferred the solitude, just came to enjoy the sunset. On this particular day, there weren’t many people by the cove, just a couple strangers. It was around 6:15 when you threw the ball the last time, and waited for Sam to retrieve it. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, fully inhaling the chill autumn air, when you heard a whelp coming from the water. Opening your eyes, you saw Sam caught on a wave, and struggling to get back to you. In a panicked state, you took off into the water, not worrying about the growing current, but more worried about your faithful companion, struggling in grasps of strong waves, at least for a dog his size. As you grab him by his collar, attempting to pull him out, another wave comes crashing into the two of you, causing you to go under. Trying to call for help, and failing, as the water fills your lungs, you stop struggling, knowing it might make your situation worse, however, Sam starts barking, with his head barely above the water.

Suddenly, you could feel yourself being pulled out of the water, and being held against a broad chest by strong arms. Once you reached the water, you looked at your savior, beautiful greenish-blue grey eyes met yours, and you saw a cute familiar face looking back at you. It was Linn, the barista in the cute local café. You had to admit, you’ve always had a crush on him, but from afar. You didn’t know anything about him, except that people claimed that his family had lived on the island for years, centuries even.

He had shaggy brown hair, and small freckles were scattered along his face. With his help, you got up from the ground and called out to Sam. “Are you alright? I saw you getting pulled under and saw your dog barking. Do you want me to call someone?” he asked , in a boyishly deep smooth voice. Gaping like a goldfish out of the water, it took you a few seconds to process what was said. Coughing, you rasped out “ Yes… I’m fine, thank you! My dog , Sam, got caught in the waves, and I tried to get him out.” you started babbling like a lost child. “ Can I call someone to come get you?” He asked again, a hint of concern in his eyes. “ oh, no… no it’s okay, I live alone, well with Sam. There’s no one to call.” you said, trying not to act like a 15 year old who just couldn't help but be nervous around her crush. “I’ll be fine, really, I just need to walk home and dry out. Thanks again for helping!” you exclaimed. Calling Sam to you, the both of you started to walk home. “ Hey! Wait!” you heard Linn calling from behind, “ I’ll walk you home, if that’s okay. It’s getting dark anyway. I’ll see to it that you both get home safe,”. Before you could say anything, you felt him putting his jacket over you, helping with the chill. You didn’t realize you were freezing until he wrapped his jacket around you.

When the three of you reached your home, Sam was happy to be back in the warm embrace of his bed. Standing by the door “ Would you like to come in? Maybe a cup of coffee… or tea or anything else, if you prefer?” quickly giving him the option of whatever he preferred, to make sure you didn't seem ignorant. Sure, he worked as a barista in the local café, but that doesn't mean he loved coffee, right? “ Um, sure! Anything will do,” he said, as he followed you in. Looking around, you kicked yourself in your head, not keeping up to the schedule you set yourself for cleaning up around the cottage. Sure, it was decent, but paper everywhere? A heaping amount of mugs were strewn around your coffee table, as you sat there working on your next work.

Quickly picking them up and moving them to the sink, you filled up the kettle and turned it on to boil. “ There’s tea and coffee in the cabinet above the kettle, feel free to help yourself. I’ll go get dried up,” the words left you, as if you were telling them to an old friend, hoping to not make a fool of yourself anymore, you gave him a sheepish smile and made your way upstairs to your bedroom.

(Linn pov)

I made my way to the cabinet, looking through the various tea blends. Something which would help with the cold temperature would be nice. There in the right corner of the cabinet, was a box of peppermint tea. It would definitely help make her feel better, since she was soaked to the bone. I can’t help but feel a sense of concern for her. This beautiful strong woman that I always encounter in the café I worked in, and possibly have a crush on, I can’t believe I never spoke to her. I’ve always seen her writing in the corner of the café, in her spot, as my coworkers and I have labeled it. She always seems so sure of herself, and always seems ready for anything, but today, out in the water when I saw her struggling, something came over me. I had to save her, felt a sense of protectiveness for her, hence why I offered to walk her home. Taking two bigger than average mugs from the cabinet, I filled them up with the boiling water, after placing a tea bag in each and placing them on the coffee table before the couch. Her dog was in front of the heater, longing for some warmth and hoping to dry off. I heard soft footsteps coming down the stairs.

As I got to the bottom of the stairs, I saw Sam laying before the heater, trying to get warm. Making my way to the tiny laundry room, I picked up Sam’s towel. Making my way to him, from the corner of my eye I saw Linn, sitting on the couch, two steaming mugs of what seemed to be one of my teas in front of him.

“ I made some peppermint tea, it helps with colds, we don’t want you to catch one now do we?” grinned Linn.

Thanking him, and taking the mug he held one, I sat next to him on the couch. Keeping some distance between us, I asked him if he wanted to use the bathroom to clean up.

“ If you have any spare clothing that might fit, I’d like that! It’s okay if you don’t though!” he nervously exclaimed. “ I do have some spare clothing that belonged to my grandpa, they should fit. Gimme a sec! I’ll go grab ‘em, and a towel too!” I exclaimed, leaving the cozy embrace of the couch.

Making my way to my room, where I kept a spare drawer full of my grandparent’s clothes, I dug out a jumper and a pair of pajama pants which belonged to my grandpa.

When I went down, I saw Linn drying Sam with the towel that I had left by his dog bed, and Sam being the belly rub loving dog he is, happily accepted Linn drying him with the towel, belly rubs being a necessity. Letting out a chuckle at the scene before my eyes, I held out the spare clothes and a fresh towel to Linn.

“ There’s a bathroom two doors left from the stairs upstairs,” I exclaimed, reaching for the doggy towel he left by the couch and chucking it in the laundry room. “Thank you,” he exclaimed, leaving to go to the bathroom.

Once Sam was dry enough, I picked up my mug of tea, making myself comfortable on the couch. Looking out the living room window, rain droplets trickling down the class, I sip on my tea, waiting for my guest to arrive from the bathroom. A couple minutes passed, looking up when I heard soft footsteps heading towards me, I offered Linn a smile and patted down the space next to me on the couch. “ Here, you can leave once the storm stops,” I handed him the mug.

We both sat beside each other, talking about what we remember about my grandparents and how we never spoke to each other when we were younger. Sam sitting at our feet. The dying fire casted a warm allure on his face, illuminating the soft scattered freckles. Hours passed as we enjoyed each other's company over another mug of tea, laughing at all the brief mutual moments that were shared between us. He mentioned that he would always get excited to see me whenever I visited my grandparents by the docks. I didn’t want to admit it, but I always loved to catch a few glimpses of him, whenever he wasn't looking as well.

I laughed at his words, tired but somehow feeling rejuvenated. It had been a long time since I last laughed with someone. It felt good to let go.

His expression of awe paused me mid laughter. He was gazing into my eyes, as I his. For a brief moment, his gaze averted to my lips. Moving his gaze up to my eyes, as soft as a whisper “ May I kiss you?” he asked, a foreign emotion lingered behind his now soft eyes.

Giving him a gentle nod, I felt him place his hand at the nape of my neck. Inhaling a deep breath, his scent which reminded me of the sea with a hint of musky peppermint enveloped my senses.

Linn leaned in, gently bringing my face towards his. He closed his eyes, and for a brief few seconds I admired him until mine shut involuntarily as I felt his lips on mine. After a few seconds, he pulled away, still gazing into my eyes, “ I’ve been wanting to do that for quite a while now,” he said, with a sheepish grin, before kissing me again.

He deepened the kiss a little, giving my bottom lip a light lick before pulling away. “ I regretted not telling you how I felt about you earlier… I did ask permission from your grandpa before he passed. The last thing he said to me was, he’d be happy if you chose me,” he paused for a second, a hint of sadness and regret casting a shadow on his blue eyes. “ I… I need to tell you something. I might … might not be who you expect. And I understand if I’m not who you want,” he stammered. Grunting, “ The rain’s about to stop. I should probably get going,” he said as he started to get up.

Grabbing onto his hand, “ No...don’t! Please… It’s late, you should stay!” I stopped him. “And I’ve had a silly little crush on you too… I just never knew how to tell you” I whispered. He sat next to me, slowly, as if I were made of fine china. That, at any moment, I might crumble. “ You did?” he breathed, his breath close enough that I could feel it on my face.

“ I also know what you are. Grandpa made sure to educate me on myths, and he said some were not myths. I’ve seen you carry your pelt around sometimes,” I closed his hand between mine. “I know you’re a selkie, Linn. I don’t want you to hide that from me.” I breathed, gazing into his eyes. I could catch a glimpse of adoration in them. “Thank you… for not running away, even when you knew what I was,” he sighed. I gazed at his lips, before catching them with mine, a soft peck, to let him know I accepted him for who he is.

#selkie #selkie x reader #merfolk #monster boyfriend #monster romance #monster x human #monster x reader #monster lover #sea creatures #scottish mythology #scottish folklore

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msjjmaybank · 3 years

Text

Outer Banks

JJ x OC!sisterroutledge

John B's sister returns home after years on the run? What happens when JJ Maybank feels his childhood crush spark once more?

One

John B

The guidance counselor sits at her desk, looking over my file. "John, it has come to our attention that you are an unemancipated minor living on your own." Shit... "No... No. No."

"I need honesty to help you. That's what we want, right?" I nod, silently. "Okay, then when is the last time you spoke to your uncle?" I conjure up the lie quickly. "Uh... 34 minutes ago." "When's the last time you saw him?" "Two hours and... 43 minutes ago?"

"John, we're gonna come out there tomorrow to talk to your uncle. If he's not there, we're gonna move forward with foster care. I want to assure you, we're gonna find you a safe and loving home."

They actually thought I was gonna be happy to hear that. And that's where this story starts. My dad missing, my uncle MIA, and the Bride of Frankenstein threatening foster care.

That night we got shitfaced. Nothing like a good time to forget about your missing family. I stumble inside the house dragging my fingers over the pictures I pass so often. JJ pats my back in passing as he goes to (Y/n)'s old room. "I'm crashing, dude." I nod silently staring at my dad. I grab the fame in my hands, "I wish you were here."

(Y/n)

The truck crosses the line... The Outer Banks, paradise on earth. As the truck nears the cut I take a deep breath before jumping and rolling off the truck and into the grass on the side of the road. "Haha! SHIT!" I yell with the adrenaline pumping through my veins.

I stand up brushing my legs off. I sigh happily, then take my first step back home.

I can't fight the pull in the corner of my lips as the house comes into view. As I near the door, my nerves building. I haven't seen my dad or John B in years. I tug my bag behind me as I enter the old house. I walk into the hallway placing my hand on the golden knob of the office my father protects with strict precautions.

"AHH!" Suddenly I am thrown to the ground with a body on top of me. "Get the light!" A guy yells out as I thrash underneath the figure. Light rips the darkness away as it spreads around the room.

That's when I noticed him, JJ Maybank holding down my upper body as John B let light into the room. I smile up at him, no longer struggling.

He looks down at me with wide eyes. "(Y/n)," he says my name with such smoothness, I melt internally. I reach my hand up ruffling his hair, "Miss me, Maybank?

"(Y/n)?"

John B stands over us looking down upon me. I slide out from under JJ, leaving him in shock. "John!" I jump in his arms hugging him with every bit of strength I have. "I missed you so much," I whispered into his chest.

He hugs me tightly, kissing the top of my head, he cries softly, "you're back." I pull away with a smile. "I'm not going anywhere again." He pulls me in again, strangling me. "Wait!" He pulls back again, keeping me at arm's length. "Did- did you find mom?" I let my smile drop, "yeah, I did." He smiles, "how was she?" I shake my head, I remove myself from John's arms and sit on the couch, "she kicked me out a year after I found her. She was so excited at first..." I feel the tears welling up, "then I ran out of money."

JJ moves from his spot at the end of the hall, he takes the seat beside me, he places his arm around me, "I'm sorry, (y/n)." I look at him and smile. How did I go so long without him?

I look at John B, "is dad home?"

The air grows cold, stiff, dead... the two boys look at each other. John walks closer, sitting down in front of me, he grabs my hands. "(Y/n)... he's not... here." I nod, "okay, when will he be back?"

I feel JJ's finger tighten around my frame. John B's eyes swell with tears. My smile drops my chest burns, my emotions rage. I shake my head, "no. He's here. Stop being a dick." I stand and move to the office door, banging on it. "Dad, open up!" I bang harder, twisting and jerking the golden knob. "DAD!" I hit the door harder, and harder. He's not gone. Not now. Not when I finally got back.

I throw myself against the door as hard as I can, I run back to do it again but JJ grabs me and holds me in his arms tightly. "No!" I scream out, my blood feels like fire, my eyes burn with tears as they pour down my cheeks.

John B sits on the floor as JJ holds me. John B wipes his streaming tears. He grabs my cheeks, "calm down, please, (y/n)." I breathe heavily, holding onto JJ. "W-what happened, John?"

"He got lost at sea." The pit in my stomach drops, "at sea?" He nods, "9 months ago." I look up to the office door once more, that stupid treasure.

The two guys stand, I attempt to make my own way, but JJ scoops me up in his arms. I stare at him feeling the overwhelming thumping in my chest. He sits me down on the couch beside John. I shake my head, running my fingers through my hair. "This is unreal."

JJ pats my leg lightly, "We'll help you through it, (y/n)." He brings a string of hair behind my ear. John B stares at him, "come on, (y/n). Your room is still set up." John B tugs me down the hall and to my room.

I walk in and smile, I wipe another tear as it rolls down my cheek. "It's so dirty," "Blame JJ." "Hey!" JJ protests.

Both boys stand in the doorway. "Get some rest, sis," John says before backing away. He pulls JJ with him, but JJ runs back leaning his head in the doorway. "If you need anything, I'll be on the couch, (y/n)." I nod making my way to the bed, "thank you, JJ." He nods with a small smile. He stands there just smiling until his body is pulled back. John B grabs the doorknob and closes the door shut cutting off communication between JJ and I.

When we were younger John B would practically puke at JJ and I. We were just little kids with big crushes. I was 9 and he was 6 when he first proposed to me. He stomps over, a bundle of front yard flowers in his hand, he holds them out to me as dad, John B, and I work on the boat. JJ clears his throat, "(y/n), I have to say something." He stands tall on the dock, his chest out, and hair blowing in the wind. Dad looks up at JJ and shakes his head with a smile, he turns to me, "don't be rude, girl." I stand to the doc, meeting JJ. "Yes?" I ask holding back my smile. He huffs before getting down on one knee, and holding out the flowers, "I want to marry you." Dad busts out and John B scoffs, "you're not marrying my sister." "Says who?" "Says me!"

"Boys!" I yell, cutting off their argument. I look down to JJ, my heart hammering, I snatch the flowers and smell them, "you have a deal, Maybank." He jumps and claps in the air, "yes!" He hugs me and kisses my cheek 100 times over.

Over time we grew closer and we matured. I was 14 and he was 12 when he first kissed me under the moonlight at the beach. Begged me to stray from Pope and John B just so he could get me alone. "Can we... can I kiss you, (y/n)?" I blush looking down, "I've never kissed anyone, JJ." He shakes his head, grabbing my hands, "Me neither!" He stares at me, grabs my cheeks softly, and brings our faces closer. God, we were so young. They had to make the rule because of us! No macking at all. Period.

In front of anyone at least...

JJ and I never ever spoke about our relationship. We never even clarified what we were to each other. Since he has asked to marry we just stuck with that! It wasn't known that we had this relationship, Pope and John would have died! They thought JJ and I just flirted because it made them uncomfortable, but nope, behind closed doors, we were a different story. Nights he would spend at our house he would wait for everyone to go to sleep, then sneak into my room, appearing the next day as if he just arrived when in reality he was cuddled up in my blankets for hours upon end.

JJ Maybank... where should we pick up?

I awake in the morning to the sun in my eyes. Correction... not the sun, the son of a bitch shining the sun in my eyes directed by a small handheld mirror. I groan rolling over. "Damn, princess, you sleep hard." I sit up and rub my eyes over my face. "Good morning to you too, JJ." He shoots me a smug smile before jumping on the bed. "John B went to the store. He flipped out this morning when he saw the cabinets empty." He lies next to me, playing in my hair. "We should... talk... ya know?" I smirk at him, "then talk."

"I'm back!" "Shit," I sigh, standing, I open the door leaving the blond alone. I jump on John B's back laughing. "What'd ya get me?" I see him smile as he tosses me around. "Basics. Your favorite." He pulls out ice cream making me squeal. "Oh, it's been years!" I grab the container out of his hands, tearing into it.

JJ walks in slyly. John B looks at him confused, "Why were you in there?" JJ stops in his tracks, points to the room we were in, and goes blank, "Uh- I... uh."

"He woke me up." John B's shoulders relax as he nods. "When I was in town I saw the report of Hurricane Agatha coming. I'll have to reschedule to DCS meeting."

"DCS? What are they coming for?" John B sighs, "16 years old and no dad. They're going to put me in the system."

I stab my spoon into the ice cream. "Uh, no. That's not happening." I stand up placing my hands on my hips posing as a hero, "I will be your guardian." John B narrows his eyes with a small smile. "That wouldn't fly.

John B stares at me with wide eyes, "You're 19!" I nod with a smirk. "I'll just get a job. How could they say no? I'm a fit guardian." JJ and John B jump together as they comprehend the news. I look out the window at the dark sky coming in.

"What do you say we all catch some waves?" I ask the boys. Thunderclaps loudly as I finish my thought, but does that stop us Pogues? Never. JJ looks out at the clouds, then shakes his head, if it's going to storm that bad, then I need to get more bud, but you two go, bond, do whatever brother and sister do. I'll be back later." He slides past me, letting his hand land on the small of my back, allowing chills to travel up my spine

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagine #jj x oc #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Text

Nat and the House: Jameson

CW: Pet whump survivor, collar mentions, references to past pet whump, referenced ptsd flashbacks

Jake Gets Stabbed: First Second Third Fourth

“Okay, well. Here we are.” Nat opens the door for him, swinging back the heavy wood and stepping inside. The sun is warm on his back, but it drops away into a chill as he steps inside. His eyes shift back and forth, trying to bury his curiosity under a tight jaw and narrowed eyes.

The house is big, although not as big as Jake Stanton’s. It’s old, and creaky, and feels alive in a way that newer houses don’t. It’s a place that has seen so many lives move through its halls, felt so many hands on doorknobs and walls, that it’s taken in some of each person who has slept here. They’ve left something behind, and it’s the breath inside the house.

It’s the whisper of air against the back of his neck, slightly chilled, that tells him that a hundred voices have bounced off these walls, with their own pain and fear, long before his added to the chorus.

Jameson swallows, lingering in the doorway and staring ahead at a carpeted staircase that winds up and disappears around a 90-degree turn, at the coat closet just beside it. There’s a built-in shelf on the landing he can see the bottom half of, lined with photographs in small cheap dollar-store frames.

Off to one side of the entryway, there’s a big double-door-sized opening into a gigantic living room - to the other side, a dining room with a large table covered in boxes, paperwork, books, and some flannels hung from an empty china cabinet, looking still damp, drying. Beyond that, a small kitchen, he can just see the corner of the oven.

This is a house with breath. This is a house with a voice.

The house tastes like a crackling fire, the mix of heated air and chilled, melted marshmallows inside s’mores, the crunch of graham cracker and chocolate bar underneath.

This is a good house.

“Sorry,” Natalie Yoder says over one shoulder, moving ahead of him to flick a light switch. Jameson flinches, just a little, when a warm yellow bulb inside a false chandelier lights above his head. Her braid thumps against her back, a deep chocolate brown with strips of silvery white running through it. “I haven’t had anyone here in a long time, so the house is a mess. Just me these days.”

He nods, even though she can’t see him. Natalie Yoder has a good voice, too, it’s full and warm, it tastes like hot chocolate, the kind that goes light on the sugar and is just a little bitter and spiced with cinnamon. Her voice feels smooth on his tongue. He can trust people who taste like this, he thinks, and he takes another step inside.

“H-How… how long?” His voice croaks a little, it rasps. Long-term damage to his vocal chords, they said, from screaming so often for so long.

She stops and looks back at him, and there’s a gentleness in her tempered by the steel he’s already seen. She gives him a slight smile. “Long enough to speak to Dr. Berger, get you on your meds, and give them time to settle in your system. Could be a month or two to figure out exactly what’s going to work for you. Then see what happens with a couple of controlled interactions.”

He nods again. She speaks like an expert - she is the expert, he guesses, because she’s seen a hundred people like him in her life and Jameson has only ever known himself.

Not that he’s even sure he knows himself that well, most days.

He has his collar on, buckled tightly around his neck, a comfortable constriction. A reminder that he isn’t in control, someone else is, and what happens from here isn’t his fault. It’s not his responsibility, because a pet can’t be responsible for anything.

He left Jake Stanton lying on a couch’s pull-out bed because he can’t go up the stairs, pale and unconscious, and he left Allyn crying in their shared room, curled up in the closet, running their fingers over the names that Jameson carved into the wall there.

He lost control, for just a minute, of where he was and who was with him, and now…

He’s safer with the collar on.

He’s safer, controlled.

They were right - he can’t do this on his own, and he never could.

“You can choose whichever room you like, except that I keep Chris’s room for when he stays over just the same, so not that one. But there’s another three bedrooms you can use.” Nat smiles at him, moving to the stairs and gesturing for him to follow.

They creak under his feet, and the house is speaking to him, whispering here, you’re here, you’re here now in bursts of smoke on his tongue and sweet just after. He licks at his lips, looking down at ancient brown carpeting there, almost long enough to be shag.

For just a second, he sees a flicker of a bright red shag carpet in a large shared loft bedroom, a face very like his own but older, laughing as they threw balled up pieces of paper at each other. Sparkling brown eyes-

Gone-

Jameson shivers and the moment is lost, and he lets it go happily. Whatever happened to him, he has too many other problems right now to dwell on something he’s already chosen to leave behind.

“I’ll take, uh, whichever-... whichever room is closest to the bathroom,” He says, seeing an open door with the telltale tile floor and pale painted walls. She nods, gesturing to a closed door on her left. He pushes open the bathroom door and just stares, for a few long beats. “You have-... dinosaur shower curtains?”

“Oh, Chris loved that,” Nat says, looking over his shoulder briefly. She’s as short as he is, more or less, and somehow her leaning over behind him doesn’t feel quite as unsettling as when Jake Stanton does it, or anyone else.

Shit, maybe they’re all right. Maybe he’ll be safe here… and everyone else will be safe from him.

“I just kept them after he moved out. We can get new ones if they bother you, it’s not a big deal.”

“Uh, no, they’re… they’re fine. I’m going to-... put my stuff down now.” Jameson backs up and she moves away to give him space. The floor creaks softly underfoot as he moves along the hardwood in the hallway, to the closed door of the room he’s chosen sight-unseen.

When he opens it, it’s plain. Just pale walls and two twin beds on opposite sides of the room, side tables with lamps, blankets and pillows. A single framed portrait of a bird on one wall.

He looks out the window to the branches of a tree outside.

“I’m going to go downstairs and make some coffee. Want me to call for you when it’s ready?” She speaks from the doorway, calm and quiet. He loves her hot chocolate voice.

“Sure. I could… I could use some fucking coffee,” He whispers, without looking back.

“No doubt. We’ll figure this out, Jameson, I promise.”

Before she can close the door, he asks, all at once in a rush, “What if I do it again?”

She’s quiet, for a minute. Quiet for long enough his heart starts to pound, he starts to wonder if she’ll lock him in the room, or even kick him back out and tell him to start walking and figure it out on his own. He can’t go back - the last time he was on the streets, he got picked up by Robert, the time before that by Brute. His pulse beats against his collar, and he’s safe with the collar, but only if he’s kept by someone who takes care of him, who won’t hurt him worse. “To Jake?”

“Or… or Allyn. Or you, or-... fuck, anybody. What if they-... made me so I’ll do it again?”

More quiet. He hates the quiet. He wants her hot chocolate voice back. He turns, finally, to see her looking him over with a calm that goes so far beyond his own anxiety and fear, a steady surety that makes her seem more like she’s part of the house than someone who simply lives here.

She’s seen a hundred hands, too, learning not to hurt or be hurt. She’s heard a hundred voices learning to speak up, remembering how to do something other than beg for it to stop. Maybe she is the safehouse, and the building is just… an extension.

He can kind of see why the big guy likes her so fucking much.

“We’re going to do everything in our power to give you the tools you need to keep yourself and everyone around you safe.” She smiles at him, a little, lifting the corner of her mouth just the slightest bit on one side. “It won’t be easy. And it won’t be simple, or immediate. But you aren’t irredeemable, Jameson. Even if you fucked up. Does it help if I tell you I’ve had others hit me, or grab at me, when they’re in a panic and forget where they are?”

He breathes, shallow but slow. “R-Really?”

“Yeah. A half-dozen or so. I caught Chris lost in a nightmare once and he cracked me across the face with his forehead so hard I had a bruise for a week. I’ve been kicked, I’ve been hit.” She exhales, not quite a sigh, and steps inside the bedroom, moving over to one of the beds and sitting down, crossing her legs at the ankles and leaning back, resting her weight on her hands. “I ended up in the ER with a concussion once, early on. One of the ones I lost.” She looks away from him, and he sees the wrinkles in her face suddenly settle deeper, as if the weight of that old grief ages her even now. “He didn’t mean to, the poor guy. He was so scared, but I couldn’t-... I couldn’t keep him. He was so scared of himself he went back to his captor. Never saw him again.”

Jameson takes one step towards her, and then another. It’s unconscious, and he tells himself not to, but he can’t help it. “I’m-... I’m sorry for him.”

“Yeah, me too. I hope he’s doing all right, but… I suspect not. It’s… it’s hard, Jameson, to do this, and sometimes the hard feels like it’s never going to end. Sometimes, they think there’s no choice, no other way.” She looks up at him, and he sees the faintest glimmer of tears that don’t show in her voice, don’t fall down her face. “You’re thinking that, too. That maybe you were better off kept.”

The echo of his own thoughts in her low husky voice sends him reeling, and he can’t find his voice to speak at first. Finally, he manages, “Y-yeah.”

“It’s a lie. I understand why it feels like-... it’s inevitable. But I want you to know... I’ve seen this before. And you’re still better off healing than being sent back to shatter. We’re going to help you, and Kauri-... Kauri’s right, I think. You’ll be safer here for a while, and then you’ll go back and be safe there, too.”

“What if I’m not? Safer there?”

Nat Yoder’s smile softens, and she holds out her hands. She must expect him to sit next to her, because she jumps in surprise when he drops to his knees instead, and lays his head on her thighs, across her lap, feeling the rough denim of her blue jeans against his cheek.

Her hands hover, and then slowly she lowers one, and rests it, gently, over his hair.

“Then you’ll be safe here,” She says, and her voice pours over him, honeyed, deep, the hint of cinnamon and the texture of the thick liquid of his grandmother’s hot chocolate, made always with whole milk and a touch of cream.

Jameson doesn’t question the knowledge of how his grandmother made hot chocolate, and he doesn’t push it away. He just lets it exist, there and then gone a moment later.

“For how long?” Her fingers press just slightly against his temple. Her fingertips are slightly roughened, calloused from hard work. “How l-long am I safe here?”

“The same amount of time I give everyone, Jameson,” She says. “As long as you need.”

“But you said-... you don’t take in anyone anymore-”

“I’m making an exception, and I don’t do anything halfway.” She leans over, and he feels her shadow fall over him. He turns his face to press against her leg, feeling the tears start to well, clenching his eyes shut only to have them fall without his consent, to dampen her jeans.

He shudders. “I’m sorry, I’m s-sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt him-... I thought he was Brute, coming b-back, I didn’t know-”

“I know. I know you didn’t. It’s okay.”

“I know I sh-shouldn’t fucking cry-... I’m the ass-asshole who stabbed him, I shouldn’t c-cry about it, I shouldn’t-” He hitches back a sob, feels his collar catch on his Adam’s apple. It’s not enough to keep him safe. It was never enough to keep him safe.

Her voice washes warm over him, and she runs her hand through his short hair, over the filled-in bald spots shorter than the rest. “You should, if you need to. Go ahead.”

Somehow, once she says he can, he can’t stop himself at all.

Jameson kneels on the floor in a house that has seen a hundred or more people exactly like him, his body wracked with guilt and horror at what he did, what they made him, and his terror that he can’t ever take it back, that he can’t become anything other than what he was made to be.

And through the tears, she keeps one hand on his head, and when he starts to talk to her, she listens.

Outside a bird sings, a mourning dove, calling hoo-hoo, hoo, hoo.

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @eatyourdamnpears @boxboysandotherwhump @whumptywhumpdump @whumpfigure @outofangband @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @thehopelessopus @butwhatifyouwrite @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump @newandfiguringitout @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whumpiary @endless-whump @burtlederp

#whump #caretaker and whumpee #ptsd tw #collar mention #past pet whump #pet whumpee #recovering whumpee #jameson bb #natalie yoder: here to help the rescues #abuse survivor tw #referenced cycle of abuse #box boy universe #box boy #bbu

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aseioh · 3 years

Text

The day the earth stood still

TW: Character Death

The inhabitants of Castle Dimitrescu barely managed to survive their battle with Ethan Winters. Alcina mutated to her dragon form but to no avail and is barely holding on to her life. Bela, Cassandra and Daniela were not spared and have suffered heavy injuries as well, due to the decrease of temperature in the Castle the three of them have barricaded themselves to the bedchamber were they have first dragged Ethan in. Patching each others injuries and licking their wounded pride.

A single man had managed to crush the Dimitrescu bloodline.

A loud crash outside startled the young women, braving the unknown Cassandra opened the door only to see their mother’s bloodied form slumped by the wall. The three hurriedly half carried/half dragged their mother, her unconcious form making it hard to carry her near the blazing fire. The castle was still, not a soul stirred from within. Even the Moroaica and Samca which they have loosened around the castle grounds are quiet. The three women huddled close to their mother not knowing what would happen next.

Did the other Lords fared better than them? Did they manage to end that cursed man’s existence.

Did Mother Miranda knew this would happen?

By the second day, Alcina began to stir from her slumber. She was still weak and can barely open her eyes, but seeing the high ceiling of the bedroom she surmised that she had managed to survive her fall from the tower and dragged herself back inside the castle. The rest of the journey were just blacked out. Straining to look at her left, she found her three daughters slumped against each other. Bela her eldest has a nasty gash on her forehead, her left cheek a mottle of blue and yellow color; a reminder of the time she had found her daughter near the kitchen, bullet holes littered her cold body - buckshot from a shotgun, that monster-.

Cassandra her second daughter and best hunter was wearing a loose fitting shirt, beneath it was a swathe of bandages covering her whole torso. She remembers the screams and gunshots she heard from the second floor, remembers her stumbling and finding Cassandra barely breathing, the young woman profusely apologizing to her and to Bela for not avenging her, for not killing the man-thing. And finally there was her younger daughter Daniela, her sweet Daniela. When the first signs of trouble have began to stir she had opted to lock her youngest inside the library. Daniela was an excitable child and with her sudden mania when on the hunt it was more prudent to keep her hidden and away from their guest.

It was all in moot though, Ethan managed to find the key that opened all the doors of the castle. Daniela managed to escape with minor injuries but the fact that Ethan managed to enter the library and still inflict injuries to her was the final straw. Alcina blames herself on this 'if only I was not blinded by my anger, I shouldn’t not have left the key in my room'. She remembers the phone call and the sudden rage that had her throwing her dresser table to the wall, never had she ever felt rage against Mother Miranda in her entire life until that point.

'My daughter was almost killed and she still though of her damned ceremony' and with that thought another grave though crossed her mind

"She never cared for any of us" Her sudden speech stirred the three slumbering women. Seeing their mother awake, the three women hurried by her side.

"Mother!"

"Mama!"

"Are you alright, where does it hurt?"

An onslaught of questions came from her daughters, worry written on their faces. Cassandra puts up a brave front but Alcina can see that her torso still bothers her. Alcina tries to sit, but is unable to do so, she was still laying on the floor and although one of her daughters was kind enough to put a pillow beneath her head it was still rather uncomfortable.

"I am fine. Weak but alive, and so are you my treasures." at that Daniela burst into tears and gently tries to hug her arm, Bela and Cassandra both teary eyed tried to do the same on her right arm.

"Mother can you stand? if you can maybe we can move you to the other bed." Bela asked as she eyes the bandaged side of Alcina.

"I'm afraid not Bela, I'm still rather weak"

Cassandra motions to get up and walking towards the door "It's been quiet inside the castle mother, I think Ethan has left. Maybe I could go to the wine room and get you some blood, that would help you right?" wincing slightly at her movement.

"I'll do it Cassandra, I'll be right back." Daniela stands as well, motioning for Cassandra to return to Alcina's side.

"Thank you be careful, we don't know what's still outside. there may be stragglers" Cassandra cautions her sister

---

The inside of the castle looks like a warzone. Shattered vases and cabinet glass littered the floor, and the once pristine floor of their hallway now has holes and bullet casings. Bullet holes littered the wall, the smell of gunpowder and blood still permeates the air. Daniela cautiously climbs to the second floor where the wine room was located, ears straining to hear even the smallest sounds. They were lucky she supposes that their were no windows inside the castle, that the doors of the kitchen were thick enough to insolate them from the cold coming from the courtyard.

Entering the wine room she was glad that Ethan had not decided to destroy their supply of wine, 'At least his not that petty' she thinks as she grabs five bottles of their finest, ones she knows were specifically for her mother's consumption. Walking back down, she wanted to investigate the extent of the damage made by the man but her priority was in the health of her mother.

There will be time for that later. They can rebuild, they were after all the Dimitrescu and they were all alive.

---

Back inside the room, Cassandra and Bela had managed to help Alcina sit on her chair.

"And how are you two, are you're bodies regenerating?" Alcina asked trying to be comfortable in the chair, her regeneration has been slowed due to the lack of blood. She was more concerned with her daughters, as she new that the insects making up her daughter's body do not reproduce. She will need to introduce new batches of flies in the swarm, hopefully that would allow for faster healing within her daughters.

Daniela came back with bottles in hand, she poured her mother a glass and gave Bela and Cassandra a bottle each. Alcina drank the liquid eagerly, she can feel the blood sustaining her, feeling slightly better she sighes. 'I wonder how the others are faring' Alcina thought as she looks at her daughters faces. Daniela and Cassandra were drinking their blood fast, meanwhile Bela was nursing hers, a worried look in her face.

'Ah. Of course. Donna' Alcina can see her eldest thinking, worrying about her beloved. She herself was worried, the Lords knew that Donna was the weakest in terms of strength preferring to use psychological tactics. Donna has never seen combat, she was more at home using her plants for hallucinations and turning men against each other than direct confrontations.

'If Ethan Winters almost killed her in both her forms...' Alcina shivered at the thought. She looks at Bela once again, Bela meets her gaze head on. She was thinking of the same thing, and with that though her dread rises and her arms begin to shake.

"Go and be careful, and remember I love you Bela" Hearing the permission, Bela embraces her mother and makes her way out of the room. Her swarm of insects more chaotic than normal. Cassandra and Daniela looks on as their sister vanishes from the room.

"WIll she be alright" Cassandra asked concern clear in her voice.

"I do not know love, but we will be here when she returns. Ready to support and mend" Alcina says with finality.

---

Bela rushes through the castle grounds, barely stopping to dress properly against the weather. Stepping out of the castle she was greeted with a blanket of frost and silence. No sound can be heard around the border, not even the hustle and bustle of the nearby village could be heard. She remembers that the Lycans went through the village earlier and though for a second if even a single villager manage to survive.

'Focus! Bela' Making her way to the eastern part of the village she was greeted by the Duke.

"Good afternoon Miss Bela, I'm glad to see you alive" the portly man greeted her.

"Duke what are you doing here!? You were helping that man!" Bela shouted readying her sickle and aiming for the Dukes head.

"Now, now... it was only business miss, and besides your family survived. Everything else can be rebuilt" The duke supplied trying to placate the young woman in front of her. "Besides, shouldn't you make your way towards Lady Beneviento's estate. I've just seen Mr. Winters leave the premises. I believe his on his way to Lord Moreau's reservoir."

The new information silenced Bela, looking at the four winged door and seeing the usual locked door open made her panicked.

"NO!" as she turned and ran towards Donna's mansion

"And remember miss, Everything can be rebuilt!" The Duke shouted to the retreating back of the young woman, chuckling to himself "Everything can be made for a price..."

---

Bela didn't stop running until she was near the grave of Claudia Beneviento and even then she can see the devastation that Ethan Winters caused. Dead Moroaica littered the way going to the estate from the the potter's field to the hanging bridge that connects the estate to the village. Claudia's grave itself had been open, the contents ransacked. Close by the slumped body of the grave giant can be found no doubt killed because it was doing it's job.

A cold chill enters Bela's body. If the giant can be killed, how could her Donna fare against that man.

Steeling herself, she enters the small cave that houses the elevator that would take her up the mansion. Bela was starting to feel numbed, the whole day feels like a century. What she thought started as a man trespassing in their castle to be eaten soon, became her worst nightmare. Bracing herself in the elevator, she fears for the worst.

'Donna please, be safe my love'

please please please please.... the plead continued like a mantra, she was praying to whoever deity that would listen to her.

----

Arriving at the top, she carefully exits the elevator, wary of every corners and listening to the smallest sounds.

The mansion superimposes the great waterfall, both a sight of wonder. Still there was something wrong, and she couldn't place what it is. the garden in front of the house looks undisturbed, as if it was left only to be tended again tomorrow.

the first sign that something was wrong was a broken box near the entrance of the mansion.

Seeing the broken thing, Bela's heart stopped.

No.

No..

NO...

"DONNA!!" Bela burst through the door only to stop dead in her tracks.

The mansion was in disarray. The dolls Donna so lovingly brushes and takes care of are strewn around the floor. The devastation done on the castle is repeated here. Some of the walls have fresh blood smeared across it. It's as if someone was running around without a care in the world.

Bela sways where she stands. "DONNA!?!" she calls again hoping to hear the woman she loves. straining her ears to hear even the smallest of sounds.

It was silent

She cautiously enters the house. She stops and falls to her knees, there on the ground lies the crystalized remains of her beloved.

Bela cannot breath, each gulp of air just brings more cold inside of her. She crawls towards the crystals, eyes wide and unbelieving.

"Donna... Donna, this isn't funny. You're not supposed to leave me" tears stream down her eyes and her sight narrows, darkness encroaching from the corners of her eyes.

"DONNA!!!!"

Outside the waterfall covers the scream of a broken heart and the mansion stands quietly, guarding it's mistress and her beloved's anguished cries.

---

Because the thought "what would happen if Bela and Donna were a couple during the events of the game and one of them didn't make it?" kept running around my head

#resident evil village #alcina dimitrescu #donna beneviento #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #Beladonna #re8 village BelaDonna

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brutal-nemesis · 3 years

Text

Getting Tortured by a Ghost 😳

If you remember the tags on this post, you know what’s about to go down :)

Character Picrews

Ingredients: spooky ghost shenanigans, implied mistreatment of mental hospital patients (really just funky spooky messed up mental hospital stuff), tooth pulling, temporary paralyzation, noncon stripping/clothes change, needles

Honestly, Finn didn’t mind the dare. He’d never scared easily, and he was actually excited to get to spend the night exploring the abandoned mental hospital. The multiple reports of hauntings didn’t faze him; all that stuff was bogus. He was more afraid of getting caught trespassing than he was of creaking doors and gusts of wind.

The place absolutely had the look of a generic haunted building, hallways filled with abandoned, dusty objects and rooms cluttered with debris. He wandered around, his bright flashlight making it easy to see in the dark building. He was on the second floor now, walking down a long hallway lined with doors. On a whim, he opened one and stepped inside.

The room must have been for examination or something of the sort. There was a padded chair sort of like you’d see at the dentist in the center of the room, with cabinets and shelves lining the walls. Finn looked inside a few and wasn’t surprised to see rusty tools intended for...something medical. He assumed. Turning around, he looked at the chair again. You know what, it would be a good spot for one of the selfies he was supposed to take every hour or so to prove he’d stayed the whole night. Shrugging off his bag, he used the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe the thick layer of dust off of the chair.

When it was about as clean as it was going to get, Finn plopped down and pulled out his phone. After finding a good angle that showed off the room, too, he put on his most confident smirk and took the picture. He briefly glanced at the photo to make sure it was good and went to put his phone back in his pocket. Unfortunately, he somehow managed to miss his pocket completely and ended up dropping his phone on the ground. Signing, he bent over the edge of the chair to pick it up, but while doing this, he noticed something...odd.

There were strips of leather dangling from the edges of the chair. They had holes, like a belt would. But what were they...Finn jumped up out of the chair, backing away from it in horror. Now that he looked at them, those were definitely for...for…strapping someone down. To think that people, very sick people, but people nonetheless, had been restrained here was...frightening. Not because that magically meant that their ghosts were going to manifest, but because something awful had happened here. He collected his belongings quickly, wanting to get away from the unsettling chair.

But right as he was about to start walking out, the door slammed closed. All on its own.

No, no, there was an explanation, it was drafty in here, the doors in his house had done that sometimes if he had a window open or something. He’d be able to open it just fine, reach for the handle, twist, and pull...pull…pull...

Why wasn’t it opening it’s like it was bolted shut from the other side but these doors didn’t have those kind of locks at least he thought so maybe they did and he didn’t notice and it had locked by accident he’d be fine someone would come looking for him in the morning he’d be fi-

Behind him, the lights flickered on. Lights that weren’t supposed to be working because this building hadn’t had power in decades. He had to be dreaming at this point, there was no way this was real, maybe there was some weird gas leaking in somewhere and he was hallucinating because this can’t be real this can’t be real. But, to be sure the light wasn’t really on...

Finn stifled a cry of surprise as he saw the room behind him. It had become completely spotless, everything in fantastic repair, gleaming metal tools laid out on the countertops, the chair no longer losing stuffing. But that wasn’t what scared him most. No, no it was the woman standing next to the chair, dressed as a nurse with a clipboard in her hand, smiling at him warmly.

“Good evening, Mr. Waltersson. Won’t you please sit down?”

“How do you know my-you’re not real.” Finn gripped his flashlight tightly to keep his hands from shaking as he backed up into the door. “You’re not real and I’m not sitting in that fucking chair.”

“Now, now, that won’t do, Mr. Waltersson,” the nurse tutted. “You need to sit down so we can get started on your treatment.”

“I don’t need treatment I’m not a patient here and this place is abandoned and this isn’t real.”

“Those delusions of yours will need to be corrected,” the nurse muttered as she wrote on her clipboard. “And you,” she looked up, pointing at him, “need to sit down.”

And in that instant, Finn found himself sitting in that infernal chair. He tried to get up, run away, anything, but he found he couldn’t move a muscle. “Wh-what the fuck let me go-”

“Patient resisted treatment and had to be restrained,” The nurse said as she wrote, waving a hand towards the chair. Finn looked on in horror as the leather straps rose up all by themselves and slowly started to encircle him. He commanded his body to move, to squirm, to get away before it was too late, but it stayed impossibly still. He could only watch as the straps slowly tightened around him, first his ankles, then his thighs, then his wrists, and then his chest. He felt a final one slither over his forehead, and right after it had tightened, he found he could move again. He struggled and squirmed desperately, but the straps wouldn’t give. He was trapped.

“There we go. Now let’s get you changed and the treatment can start.” Finn’s eyes widened in fear.

“You can’t-you can’t do this to me this isn’t real-”

“Isn’t it?” She was looking right at him, and for the first time he saw her eyes, or lack thereof, gaping coal black voids that bored right into him. She snapped her fingers, and suddenly Finn’s clothes were gone, replaced with a flimsy hospital gown. He shivered in the sudden chill, feeling uncomfortably exposed.

“What the fu-give me my clothes back!”

“We wouldn’t want to get blood on them, now would we?”

“Blood-you can’t hurt me you’re not real!” Finn wasn’t sure if he was protesting or trying to reassure himself at this point, but it didn’t matter, because this wasn’t real, it couldn’t be. He’d snap out of it soon, he was sure of it, because she was going to try to hurt him and it wouldn’t work because you can’t feel pain in dreams, as real as the leather straps and hospital gown felt, they weren’t real, they weren’t, and he was going to wake up from this awful nightmare soon.

“Let’s begin the treatment, shall we?” The woman pulled on a pair of latex gloves, and Finn flinched at the snap they made. “You need to make peace with reality, Mr. Waltersson, and this will help you with that.” She waved a finger, and a scalpel levitated off the counter and started to approach Finn’s arm. He tried his best to remain calm, reminding himself that she couldn’t hurt him because this was all just in his head.

The cold tip of the scalpel pressed into the flesh of his arm, fuck it felt so real, and as it started to move downwards, slicing into him, he couldn’t help but gasp at the pain because there was pain it was real this was real but no no it couldn’t be there’s no such thing as ghosts but how, how else could this be happening to him? The scalpel made multiple cuts in his arm, each one burning more than the last.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Waltersson? Ready to accept reality yet?” The nurse leaned over him, a deceptively warm smile on her face.

“This isn’t-just because this hurts doesn’t mean it’s real. I-I could have been injured some other way and my brain is trying to justify it because there’s no such thing as ghosts,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Oh dear,” she sighed. “It looks like you’ll need something more...intense. But before that…” she reached out to touch him, but her hand passed right through, filling the area with an unbearable cold. She laughed darkly and sat right on top of his lap, passing through him but not the chair. All he ended up feeling was a horrible icy chill and a slight pressure.

“Get off of me. Real nurses don’t do this, anyway,” Finn growled, trying to disguise his fear and discomfort.

“The rules stopped applying to me a long time ago, Mr. Waltersson. In fact, I don’t know if they ever did.” Finn’s skin crawled as her gloved hand traced up along his body, leaving a trail of icy cold in its wake. It settled around his throat, the cold and pressure making it slightly difficult for him to breathe. “You’re too stubborn for your own good. But I suppose that makes it more fun for me. I’ve always liked the feisty ones.” Finn’s eyes widened in fear. If this woman was a ghost, had she...had she treated patients like this? The thought terrified him more than his current, very much not-real predicament did.

At least, until he saw a pair of pliers floating towards him, the nurse smiling at him as they did. “Open wide.” He clamped his mouth shut tightly, fruitlessly trying to turn his head away. She sighed, and he soon felt the pliers pinch his nose shut, making it impossible for him to breathe. Finn held out for as long as he could, but eventually he caved, opening his mouth and gulping in air to relieve his burning lungs. The pliers wormed into his mouth, clamping one of his lower molars in their jaws.

All the while, the nurse watched him with a sick smile on her face, her aura of warm professionalism starting to disappear. Finn whined, hyperventilating as the pliers began to yank at his tooth. He’d needed to have a tooth pulled as a kid, so the intense pressure was familiar, but the accompanying pain was something horribly, horribly new. It exploded in his mouth when the tooth finally came out, and he felt tears leak from his eyes. This...this was far too intense to be anything but reality. The ghost laughed maniacally, but he could barely hear it over the sound of his own cries.

When he had started to calm down, she leaned in, her face right in front of his. “Well, Mr. Waltersson, do you understand now?”

“I-I understand that you’re a sadistic bitch,” Finn said as blood dripped from his mouth. He tried to spit it in her face, but it passed right through and ended up all over the gown. She just smiled.

“I’ll take that as a yes. The fear behind your bravado is all too obvious.” She stood and waved a hand, summoning a bottle from one of the cabinets. “Let’s get you taken care of, then.” The bottle unscrewed itself and dumped part of its contents on Finn’s injured arm. The wounds lit up with a horrible, stinging pain, and he fought the urge to scream. He tried to stay as still as possible as a bandage wound around his arm, just wanting to get this nightmare over with.

His resolve faltered as a syringe floated into view, already filled with...something.

“W-wait no what the fuck is in that thing don’t you dare-”

“Shhh, it’s alright, it’s just a sedative. Come and play with me again, won’t you, Finnegan?” She placed her hand in his as the needle slid into the crook of his elbow, injecting its contents into his veins.

“I abso...lutely...will…not…” he gasped as he slid into unconsciousness.

Finn jolted awake what felt like seconds later, so startled to find himself still in the chair that he fell out of it. He stayed on his hands and knees for a moment, his mind racing. That...that hadn’t fucking happened, had it? He was back in his own clothes, thank God, but his arm and lower jaw were in a suspicious amount of pain. He reached with his tongue, and...his tooth was gone. He stood and carefully pulled off his hoodie to find his arm bloodied and bandaged. So then...that was all real, the pain and the chair and the straps and the pliers and the ghost nurse and her horribly empty eyes.

A terrible thought formed in the back of his mind. He pulled out his phone with shaking hands, going to the photo app. There, in the selfie he took right before everything went to shit...it was faint, but there was definitely someone standing behind him. But that wasn’t what scared him most. No, it was the photo that was taken after it.

It was of him, lying in the chair, still restrained and wearing the bloodied hospital gown, very much unconscious.

He finally let himself scream.

Tags because y’all said 👀👀: @spookyboywhump @befuddled-calico-whump

#i wrote something #medical whump #needles #tooth whump #noncon stripping #wheeee ghost hours let's go #finn gets back to the boys they're like what happened bro #and he's like a fucking ghost pulled out my tooth #or maybe he'll just keep it all to himself :) deal with that trauma alone #because maybe it was all in his head despite all the proof he has #if someone saw the picture of him strapped to the chair tho ooooh #''finn are you like into freaky shit?''#i just wanted a whumper to levitate shit and teleport people because Conjuring #maybe ill write something similar again if i feel like it #but i will not continue this. finn and the victorian dude who got his leg amputated will never return #sorry if this is kinda wonky i wrote it when i had free moments through the day #seriously the final readthrough took like 6 sittings because i had to keep getting up to do things #im so tired. everything is insanity. i am so glad im never getting married #or if i do it will be the two of us at a courthouse and we go out for ice cream after #regardless im not having a fucking wedding oh my god

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babypandawrites · 3 years

Text

Allies, Pt. 11

The Siege of the North, Part One

Pairing: Sokka x F Reader Warnings: General War Things, Injury, Getting Knocked in the Head Word Count: 2,625 Summary: With the Fire Nation launching a huge attack on the Northern Water Tribe, and Zuko trying to take the Avatar, things do not go well.

Note: This is honestly one of my... worse chapters- but we can pretend its not :’) I was struggling a lot with some of the parts and ended up having to make them super rushy so sorry about that- Also! I have made a poll relating to the story that I would appreciate you guys answer! I’ll be tagging post relating to the series with #book one allies ! And on an absolutely unrelated note, support the ATLA Fan Musical Project! The team working on it is super talented and all the songs they’ve put out so far are amazing! Katherine Lynn-Rose is one of the leading team members and has some of the songs up on her YouTube channel, along with a link to the ATLM discord server! Which you guys should totally join, it’s super chill and supportive!

-Navigation- | -Atla Masterlist- -Last Part- | -Allies Masterlist- | -Next Part-

Taglist: @boomeraangin | @brokennerdalert

“So, this is where you’ve been spending all your time.” “Huh?!” The sudden voice startled Y/n, causing her to lose her balance from where she stood on a raised stool. Sokka slid behind her and caught her by wrapping his arms around her torso. Though with her feet still resting on the stool, it left her in kind of an awkward position. Chuckling softly, he helped her get on her feet. “Sorry, didn’t think I’d catch you off guard.” “It’s fine, thanks for the catch.” Getting back up on the stool, Y/n grabbed the small rag she had tucked into her waist band, and used it to wipe down the top of a cabinet. “When did you get a job?” Sokka poked around one of the clothing racks as he asked. “Why did you get a job?” “The day after we got here and to make money, obviously. Kind of the point of a job.” “Getting a job when we’re basically honored guests, makes sense.” Walking back over to her, he gently nudged the stool with his foot. “This thing doesn’t seem very stable.” Looking at him with a glare, she smacked him in the shoulder with the rag she held. “It’s not, so maybe don't do that when I’m standing on it!” “Sorry.” Sighing, she went back to wiping down the cabinet, this time going for the top shelves. “And it’s not like I have anything better to do. I can only talk to Momo and Appa for so long until I start to feel like I’m going crazy.” “Nothing better to do? You have friends, three of them, one of them standing right here!” He pointed to himself. “You guys are always busy. Speaking of which, don’t you have an activity to do with Princess Yue?” She tried to ignore the weird knot in her stomach at the thought. Sokka looked at her with a blank expression. “You're never going to let me live that down, are you?” Laughing, Y/n hopped down from the stool. “Nope.” “And for the record, I already saw Yue today…” She raised an eyebrow at him, when he trailed off with a saddened tone. “You alright?” “I’m fine. Just- It didn’t go well. I don’t wanna talk about it. How much longer are you gonna have to do your job?” “Few more hours.” Sokka let out a groan, as he turned to walk to the door. “Guess I’m hanging out with Momo today.” “I’m sure he could use the company.” Y/n tossed the rag she had into a bin. “Oh no.” She was about to go into the shop’s backroom, but stopped at hearing Sokka. Turning, she noticed he had frozen in the doorway. Furrowing her eyebrows she joined him at the door, looking over his shoulder. “What is it?” He kneeled down, and scooped up a handful of darkened snow. “Soot.” Eyes widening, she jumped over him to get outside. Ash was falling from the sky rather than snow, and was starting to coat the ground. She held her hand out, gulping as ash started to gather in her palm. “Fire Nation.” “Yeah, and by the looks of it, there’s a lot of them.”

The pair had joined Katara and Aang at the citadel, the group currently sat on the building’s ground with their backs leaned against the wall. “The day we have feared for so long has arrived. The Fire Nation is on our doorstep. It is with great sadness that I call my family here before me, knowing well that some of these faces are about to vanish from our tribe. But they will never vanish from our hearts. Now, as we approach the battle for our existence-” Chief Arnook raised his arms up. “-I call upon the great spirits! Spirit of the Ocean! Spirit of the Moon! Be with us!” He lowered his arms. “I’m going to need volunteers for a dangerous mission.”’ Sokka stood up from the ground. “Count me in.” Katara looked at her brother with an expression of shock and worry. “Sokka!” Y/n shared the expression. “What are you doing?” Several other men stood as well. “Be warned. Many of you will not return. Come forward to receive my mark if you accept the task.” The volunteers began to form a line in front of the Chief, each receiving a marking on their foreheads with a red paint.

A tense silence settled across the air, as the Northern Water Tribe awaited the Fire Nation's first attack. Several warriors lined up along the top of the tribe's wall, Y/n and the rest of her friends stood with them. The wait was nearly suffocating. A singular Fire Nation ship could be seen in the distance, but there were bound to be more out of sight. Gulping, Y/n’s hands clenched into fist. This was going to be a full scaled attack on a very powerful tribe, it would really be like nothing she’s had to face before. And honestly? It was kind of horrifying. After a brief moment of waiting, the ship catapulted a huge fireball at the tribe's wall, crashing right through the middle of it. Several people were thrown back from the impact, along with the ice and debris from the wall. Y/n pushed herself from the ground, dusting the snow off her clothes, just in time to see more fire balls come over the city walls.

Thus started the relentless attack on the Northern Water Tribe.

As nightfall came upon them, the Fire Nation’s attacks stopped. Neither side had yet to win, and Y/n was sure that the attacks would continue at sunrise when firebending would have more power. “They’ve stopped firing.” Yue said, as Y/n joined her and Katara on the citadel steps. “For now.” She added. When Appa flew in from the distance, Katara pointed at him. “Aang!” The three ran down the citadel steps, to meet him at the plaza. Appa landed on his belly, clearly tired. Aang slid down from the bison’s saddle, sitting on the ground. “I can’t do it.” Aang dropped his head into his hands. “I can’t do it.” “What happened?” Katara asked. “I must have taken out a dozen Fire Nation ships, but there’s just too many of them. I can’t fight them all.” “But, you have to! You’re the Avatar!” Y/n shot a glare at the Princess for that comment. “I’m just one kid.” Aang buried his head into his arms, as Katara sat down next to him to comfort him. Kneeling to his side, Y/n reached out to rest a hand on his shoulder. Eventually, the four gathered into one of the citadel’s rooms, moon light shone through the window. “The legends say the moon was the first waterbender. Our ancestors saw how it pushed and pulled the tides and learned how to do it themselves.” Yue explained, as she looked out at the moon. Katara nodded along with her words. “I’ve always noticed my waterbending is stronger at night.” “Our strength comes from the Spirit of the Moon, our life comes from the Spirit of the Ocean. They work together to keep balance.” Aang perked up. “The Spirits! Maybe I can find them and get their help!” “How can you do that?” “The Avatar is the bridge between our world and the Spirit World. Aang can talk to them!” Katara explained, answering Yue’s question. Yue smiled hopefully. “Maybe they’ll give you the wisdom to win the battle!” “Or, maybe they’ll unleash a crazy amazing spirit attack on the Fire Nation!” Aang widely opened his arms as he spoke. Though the look Katara and Yue gave him caused the boy to clasp his hands behind his back. “Or wisdom. That’s good too.” Y/n leaned closer to Aang, putting a hand next to the side of her mouth to whisper secretly. “I thought it was a good idea- You should ask the spirits about a crazy amazing attack on the Fire Nation.” Aang grinned at her, whispering back. “I will.” “The only problem is, last time you got to the Spirit World by accident. How are you going to get there this time?” “I have an idea, follow me.” The three followed after Yue, as she led them to a courtyard behind the citadel, then to a wooden door. “So is this the way to the Spirit World?” Yue let out a quiet laugh at Aang’s question. “No, you’ll have to get there on your own-” She pushed the door open. “-But I can take you to the most spiritual place in the entire North Pole.” Entering through the door, the group found themselves in an oasis of sorts. Unlike the rest of the North Pole, it wasn’t cold and covered in snow- It was rather warm actually, and there was a landing covered in grass. At the back of the chamber was a waterfall, which flowed into a long pool of water. Two wooden foot bridges led to the grassy landing.

Aang ran across one of the bridges, laughing. He landed on the grass, rubbing it fondly. “I never thought I’d miss grass this much!” Joining him on the landing, Y/n breathed out a laugh, slipping her coat off. “Ah- This is the kind of warmth I’ve missed.” It didn’t seem possible somewhere so warm was in the North Pole but- she wasn’t going to complain. This was great! Shortly after them, Katara and Yue walked onto the landing as well, Katara smiling as she also took off her coat. “It’s so warm here! How is that possible?” “It’s the center of all spiritual energy in our land.” Momo skittered up to the pond, trying to grab the two fish that swam in it. One was black, the other white, they swam in a circle around each other. The three girls watched the lemur, before he ran away from the pond. “You’re right, Yue. I can feel...something...it’s so… tranquil.” Aang sat down in front of the pond, his legs crossed. Closing his eyes, he closed his hands into fist and put his knuckles together to meditate. Y/n moved to stand with Katara and Yue, as the Princess whispered. “Why is he sitting like that?” “I think he’s meditating.” She whispered back. “Yeah- he’s trying to cross over into the Spirit World. It takes all his concentration.” Katara added, also whispering. “Is there any way we can help?” “How ‘bout some quiet?!” Aang turned to look at them. “C’mon guys! I can hear every word you’re saying!” Cringing inwardly, Y/n mumbled a quiet sorry as the boy went back to trying to meditate. After a few moments, Aang’s eyes and tattoo’s started to glow white. Both Yue and Y/n looked at him in wonder. “Is he okay?” The Princess asked. “He’s crossing into the Spirit World. He’ll be fine as long as we don’t move his body. That’s his way back to the physical world.” Y/n nodded in understanding at Katara’s words. “Neat..” Yue started to walk away. “Maybe we should get some help?” “No, he’s our friend. Y/n and I are perfectly capable of protecting him.” “Yeah, we got this.” “Well, aren’t you big girls now?” Zuko’s voice suddenly echoed softly through the area. Gasping, Y/n turned to the source of his voice, along with Katara. “No!” Zuko walked over one of the bridges towards them. “Yes! Hand him over, and I won’t have to hurt you.” Katara and Y/n both took on fighting stances, as Yue ran away from the trio to not get caught in the crossfire. Zuko launched forward, sending several blasts of fire their way. Katara pulled water from the pond and used it to block the attacks, eventually shoving him backwards and knocking him to the ground. Y/n didn’t drop her guard and was ready to jump in if she needed to, but she decided to hold back for now since Katara was handling things pretty well. Honestly, much better than she would be able too. “I see you’ve learned a new trick. But I didn’t come this far to lose to you.” Getting up, Zuko fired another blast at them, which Katara easily blocked. She sent a stream of water at him, knocking him backwards again, before freezing the water beneath him. Katara raised a sphere of water from the pond behind Zuko, and encased him in it before freezing him entirely. “You little peasant. You’ve found a master, haven’t you?” Zuko’s words were muffled by the ice. Right after he stopped talking, the ground started to shake as the ice started to glow yellow and orange. With an explosion of fire, the ice shattered, freeing Zuko who immediately ran at Katara. Watching the two fight with a close eye, Y/n moved to stand closer to Aang- Just incase Zuko pulled something sneaking and tried to grab him. Which he did try to do. Slipping behind Katara he tried to grab Aang by the collar, but before he could Y/n grabbed his arm and twisted it before she raised a leg up to kick him back. Before he could recover, Katara blasted him with a jet stream of water, knocking him much further away from the three. She bent a huge wave of water that pushed Zuko at least ten feet up one of the walls, before freezing him in place.

When Zuko’s head drooped in defeat, Y/n and Katara shared a satisfied look of victory. At least until, the sun started to rise. Y/n expression fell, realizing what that meant for them. Zuko’s head snapped up with a look of determination as the sunlight reached him. He breathed steam, enough to melt the ice that was holding him in place. Sliding down the rest of the ice, he charged at Katara and fired a blast at her. Caught off guard, she was only able to block it partially, and got thrown back into the gate’s post- causing her to be knocked out. Y/n rushed to Aang, standing between him and Zuko, taking on a fighting stance. Zuko breathed out a chuckle as he approached her. “Do you really think you can beat me?” “I’ve done it before.” “I’ve learned a lot since then. More than you ever will.” He shot a large blast of fire at her. Pressing her palms together, she thrusted her arms forward and dispersed the flames to go around her and Aang. Zuko ran at her as she did, grabbing her by the shoulder and shoving her aside. Y/n tumbled to the ground, but made a quick recovery and rushed forward as Zuko grabbed onto Aang’s collar. She threw a punch at his face, which he ducked under, elbowing her in the gut before shoving her backwards again. Leaving Aang for a moment, Zuko stood in front of her, as she started to get up. Her gaze snapped over to Aang for a moment, he was just left to lay on the ground. Instead of trying to attack Zuko, she attempted to jump towards Aang. Before she could get too far, Zuko gripped onto her hair and yanked her back. Gritting her teeth, Y/n reached back to grab his arm, heating her palms to burn him. “I’m not letting you take him!” “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.” Zuko spoke through gritted teeth, yanking her head back again, before shoving it down to collide with his knee. Her grip on his arm loosened, as her vision started to dot black. Arma falling limply to her side, she collapsed to the ground, when Zuko let go of her hair. “Your decisions have made you weaker, but mine, they’ve made me stronger.” On the verge of unconsciousness, Y/n watched as the Prince grabbed Aang and threw him over his shoulder. “No…”

#avatar the last airbender #atla #avatar the last airbender x reader #atla x reader #reader insert #sokka x reader #sokka x y/n #sokka x you #team avatar #slowburn #book one allies

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dickgrcyscns · 3 years

Text

You Don’t Have To Love Me

You Don’t Have To Love Me, Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Summary: In which you (fem!reader) find yourself falling more and more in love with your fellow Jedi, but you know you’re not supposed to have feelings like that.

Set During: Clone Wars Era

Word Count: 1,391 words

Gif used not mine!

Something in your heart stammered, you wanted to scream from the balcony with a fervor you had never thought of before. But your voice caught in your throat each time you tried to speak, you wanted to say something, say anything. The wind caused a slight chill to run down your spine, your eyes gathered tears as you continued to think. Obi-Wan and Anakin were due to be back any minute, to have tales of an epic fight that they were able to solve. Those tales wouldn't help to ease the anxiety you felt when they were gone, the dread that filled every crevice of your core. How would you survive without two of the most important people in your life — even if they did not know that.

The door closed with a shock, the sound reaching your ears as you sat on the balcony. Sighing, you turned to look at the two men as they sat themselves on the couch in the loft. You walked back in to check on them, shutting the sliding window out to the balcony as you did so.

"Was it a successful mission?" You spoke on the way to the kitchen. Your eyes drifted over to the men, looking at them as they sighed.

"If successful includes leaving with one or two extra scars then yes," Anakin responded first, his voice hoarse. You rolled your eyes, grabbing down two cups from from her cabinet and fixing them a glass of water. With the cups in hand, you walked out to sit in front of them.

"Well, better a few scars than a deadly injury," you mumbled as she placed the glasses in front of them. Your legs crossed over one another, biting your lip as you waited to see if either of them were going to speak.

"The mission went as planned," Obi-Wan nodded lightly, "however it would have gone a lot smoother if Anakin wasn't so impulsive."

"I took the shot when I thought it was right!" You laughed lightly, Anakin had never been any different. He had always been trigger happy and ready to fire if he thought he had the shot — sometimes it worked in his favor but many times it did not.

"Right, well," Obi-Wan shrugged, "it didn't end up too well for you, did it?"

"No," Anakin sounded defeated, "no it did not."

"Have you guys already reported to the council?" You asked Anakin, keen on making sure he got back to Padme — though you would never let him know that you knew of anything going on between them. Anakin nodded, "We came by here to show you we're okay. You always seem to worry so much about us when we're gone."

"Well I can see you're okay," you smiled, "and I'm sure you have sleep you need to catch up on right? Go ahead you two, if anything you deserve it more than anyone." You smiled at the two, grabbing their water cups. Anakin stood up and followed after the woman, double-checking that Obi-Wan was far out of reach to hear them.

"We both know why you get yourself worked up," Anakin joked to you. You sighed, leaning against the counter as she shook her head.

"It's not just that Ani and you know it."

"Oh, is it really now?"

"Ani," you laughed lightly, "I've cared for you since you were this little," your hand reached her waist, "you're like the son I can never have."

Anakin smiled, grasping you for a hug that you gladly returned. Your eyes closed as you savored the warmth, it reminded you of when you were a child on Iego and would run the fields outside of the small hut your father had built. But the hug ended, something that you would hold close to a memory for the two. Something you would be able to look back on when they went on missions again, when you weren’t able to make sure they were okay. You placed you hand on his cheek, tapping it lightly as you looked at his eyes. Longing. You knew he wanted to go to the person he loved, to have one peaceful night next to her.

"Go get some sleep, Ani, you need it," Anakin laughed as you dropped your hand.

"Do I look that bad?" He retorted on his way to the door, your response being just a raised brow. You shook your head once he left the room, eyes focusing solely on the man that made your heart do flips.

"Obi? Are you okay?" You placed a soft hand on his shoulder, breaking him from his deep-set thoughts. His blue hues looked up to you, the color instantly devouring your senses. Your breath caught off a small amount of time, you didn't know what to do or how to function. You knew then it was past a stage of just a crush — though you had known for longer than just in that moment. But it was there, looking into his eyes as he glanced so lightly at you, that you realized.

"I think I should ask yourself that, Y/n," you smiled in response, removing your hand from his clothed shoulder. Oh what you would have done to have it be the exact opposite. You blinked a few times to get that image out of your head, trying to clear every thought you had of him just sitting in your mind.

"I'm good," you laughed, "I worked with the younglings again today. They got a lesson on knowing the planetary system this time." You smiled after the thought of the young kids and their reactions to the things you spoke about. It made your heart swell, the way that their eyes widened in excitement or curiosity and the noises they would make each time you would ask them a question. You had memorized their names, each one making a notch in her heart as you knew you would watch them grow up.

"I'm sure that was quite the lesson," Obi-Wan smiled at you, making your stomach fill with butterflies. You looked away quickly, hoping that the nerves would subside without looking at him. You knew he would notice it, how elusive you were being to looking at him and all. "Have I done something to bother you? You don't seem to want to speak to me."

You took a moment before you continued, "No, you haven't done anything Obi." You took a quick breath before you continued on, "Actually I think this ones all on myself, I—" you cut yourself off before you could continue to speak. Obi-Wan's eyes were trained on you, brows furrowed in worry.

"You what?"

"I love you," your voice was barely above a whisper, but you knew he had heard it. "It's okay, you don't have to love me back." But it would be great if you did, you thought.

He stared at you for a moment. Had you just jumped and ruined a friendship with someone you cared about, someone you felt the complete and utter need to see. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly a few times, bringing a hand to stroke his beard as he thought. You could hear your heartbeat, pounding against your skull as he took his time in thought. However he never said word, instead he stood up and walked across to you, his hand reaching out to your cheek. You hadn't noticed the tears falling from your eyes until then, your physical reaction happened much quicker than your mental reaction.

And then he placed his lips on top of yours, a breathless encounter for the two of you. Your mind was in scrambles, you were rushing to put pieces back together all while finally having the kiss you so desperately craved from the man you’ve loved for years. His forehead laid upon yours, eyes staring directly at each other. This thumb rubbed soothing circles onto your cheek, a smile gracing his own face.

"Say the word and I'll leave the council," Obi-Wan whispered onto your lips, "we can have a small farm of our own, children that we'll teach the ways of the force like your father did."

"It's not a fun life to live, Obi," your hands ran through his auburn locks, "but for you I would live through it."

#obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x reader #obi-wan #obi wan #obi-wan kenobi imagines #obi #obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan/reader #star wars #imagines #Star Wars imagines

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fortheloveoffanfic · 3 years

Text

Behind Closed Doors

Keanu Reeves x OFC (Emma Mathers) (A/n- yes the title was inspired by Taylor Swift's Illicit Affairs)

Masterlist Behind Closed Doors Masterlist

Warnings- Angst

Clandestine Meeting

“I miss you.”

Emma looked up from the text, taken aback. Her doe eyes were wide and the words which might have previously served to put a small smile on her face simply had her pulling half of her lower lip between her teeth. Stiffening her stance, her mind went rigid and though the keypad was opened and awaiting her reply, Emma didn’t quite know what she should say. So, instead, she glanced up, trying to keep her cool as she looked across the room, meeting his gaze from where he sat at the breakfast bar, phone in hand and morning paper discarded near his half finished bowl of cereal.

Keanu’s whiskey orbs stared back at her, practically willing her to start typing a response, to hopefully admit that she felt the same. It had been almost a week since Miranda’s return, and since then, Emma had gone back to avoiding Keanu like the plague. Even being in the same room with him was too much, though, considering that over seeing the twins’ breakfast was part of her job, mornings were proving to be hardest, and by all means the only time they actually spent together. “Everything okay Em?” Using his free hand, Keanu shifted his spoon around in his ceramic bowl, acting so nonchalant that it hurt to watch. Whoever said he wasn’t a good actor had to have been a good liar.

“Yeah,” sucking in a sharp breath, she nodded stiffly, giving the text, which he’d seen her read, one final glance before locking the phone and setting it down on the granite counter. Without further ado, she carried on, getting orange juice for Matt and then cleaning up a spill Poppy had made while trying to pour more milk into her sugary, colorful cereal. “Let me help you with that,” she mumbled sweetly, hurrying over to collect the roll of paper towels and subsequently tearing off a couple blocks to sap up the fallen milk.

Still on the counter, her phone chirped again, and when she was finally finished, Emma read yet another text from Keanu, that time through the notifications, “Can I see you tonight?”

Already exasperated, Emma rolled her eyes, clenching her jaw as she hastily snatched up the cell. She hated that he was just sitting there, acting like he wasn’t engaged, trying to reel her back in despite the consequences. She hated that she actually wanted to see him anyway, even more. But what Emma hated the most was knowing that no matter what, she was already Keanu’s closeted secret. “You’re seeing me right now,” she angrily tapped the little blue send button, tossing the phone back to the cool surface, only for him to respond almost instantaneously.

“You know what I mean……” Was his reply, and when Emma took the chance at sneaking a glance at him, Emma could see that Keanu’s eyes had softened, silently pleading with her to give in. In that moment, she could slowly start to feel her resolve wavering; everything she’d worked so had to build up over the past five days or so diminished by just one look. Suddenly, she felt strange chill run through her, not as a consequence of the environment, it was actually quite warm that morning. It was actually from the memory that arose upon reminiscing on the last time she’d been alone with Keanu. That day when Miranda had come back, the way he’d touched her while they laid in bed, how his smell, as predicted, had stained her sheets and finally, how he’d come into her room that night, caressing her cheek and kissing her forehead as if he cared. Emma knew that she shouldn’t have been falling for it; a relationship with Keanu was fruitless, he couldn’t offer her anything but private pleasures and then insurmountable hurt. Still, she wanted it, she wanted him.

Clutching the phone tightly, Emma quickly tried to blink away burning tears, staring at the words on the bright screen. “I’m sorry,” another one came in, followed up with, “Please, I promise we can talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Emma’s fingers worked quickly, and it hurt her to type those words while knowing that there was so much she wanted to say.

Again, before she could set it down, Keanu sent, “Don’t say that. I don’t want to end things this way. Just let me fix this.”

“How?” Emma was about to hit send again, when, in a flurry of floral silk, Miranda sauntered into the room, immediately going to wrap her arms around Keanu’s broad shoulders. He stiffened visibly, hurriedly dropping his phone face down, and Emma was left to silently watch the scene unfold, taking note of the way Miranda met her eyes briefly before laying a lingering kiss to his cheek.

“Good morning darling,” she sung near his ear, unable to bear anymore of it, Emma swallowed her hurt and get back to tidying the kitchen and tending to the children. Though, that didn’t quite stop her from listening, “I can’t believe you left me in bed, all alone.”

Chuckling softly, Keanu took a minute before coming up with a response, “You know I like to get an early start. Did you sleep well?”

“Just fine,” Miranda hummed, sashaying over to the refrigerator and scanning its contents until she spotted the overly expensive, extremely exotic, organic creamer that she usually took with her coffee. “Emily,” she turned to Emma, who by then, had long grown tired of trying to correct her, “Why don’t you get my mug and pour me some coffee?"

Miranda, as Emma had come to learn, had the oddest sense of humor and seemed to get off on ‘accidently’ treating her like a maid. And sometimes, like her very own lady in waiting. “Sure,” Emma managed through gritted teeth, all but snatching the handcrafted mug off a shelf in the cabinet and then half filling it with scalding black liquid. “Anything else?” The ordinarily polite quip was actually meant as a petty jab, though Miranda didn’t seem to get that.

“There is actually,” stirring in some of the creamer, not even looking Emma’s way, “Do you think could whip me up an egg white omelet?”

That time, before Emma could speak, Keanu was interjecting, “Mandy,” he tried to sound light and teasing, the edge of annoyance kept at bay, “You know that Em isn’t a maid. Besides, the tutors are coming soon and she has to get the kids ready.”

“Well I’m sure you can do that Keke, I have to finish prepping for my meeting with the wedding planner and I can’t do that on an empty stomach,” pouting dramatically, Miranda summoned up her best puppy eyes for Keanu, “Please darling? For the sake of our wedding?”

“I…..” Keanu stuttered, and Emma hoped with everything in her that he wouldn’t feed her to the lion, but of course, she couldn’t be so lucky, “Why not?” Defeated, Emma’s sigh was soft, and before she knew it, Keanu was rounding up Matt and Poppy and flashing her sympathetic look before herding them towards the hallway after announcing that it was bath time.

She waited until Keanu was gone, and from the minute Keanu was out of earshot, Miranda began the inescapable torture. She cared very little for those who she proudly referred to as help, though Miranda did like hearing herself talk enough to ramble on to anything with ears. “I don’t know if Keanu’s mentioned it,” she carried on, popping a grape from the bowl in the fridge into her mouth, “But we’ve decided on a winter wedding in New York. We’re doing it at the Weylin on New Year’s Eve.”

“That’s……” Emma’s voice was soft and it took everything in her to not break down at the thought of Keanu marrying someone else. Worst yet, it was so close, just over a month and a half away. “That’s nice.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Emma was in the process of gathering the egg whites, expertly separating them from the yolks like her mother had taught her so long ago. “It’s going to be a grand affair,” she explained exuberantly, “And I’ve got a designer from Dior working on a custom dress. I’m already in talks with a couple magazines, we’re going to cover the entire thing.”

Furrowing her brows, Emma slowed down as she moved on to chopping the seasonings. A publicized wedding? That didn’t sound much like Keanu at all; he was notoriously private and hated the press getting in on his life. It was why he’d avoided social media and had pitched out thousands for Matt and Poppy to be homeschooled. “Are you sure Keanu will like that?” Emma’s tentative probe was soft and unsteady and she knew very well that it wasn’t her place to ask.

“Well why wouldn’t he?” Miranda sank into a seat at the kitchen table, nearest to the window, where the warm light was filtering in and washing to room with a heat contrasted perfectly by the low setting of the air conditioner, “The publicity will be great for him too. God knows he needs it sometimes, if he didn’t work so much, there wouldn’t be anything for anyone to write about.”

“I think that’s the point,” foolishly, Emma countered, “I mean, he does hate having his life all over the media, he likes privacy. Right?”

“Oh God,” she burst out laughing, rolling her eyes, “You’re a naïve little thing aren’t you, Emily? Every celebrity plays that little game. But in our world, no matter what you do, everyone is gonna know everything about you, and it sells. And as long as it sells, who gives a fuck about privacy?”

Fumbling for words, Emma slid the now finished omelet onto a pristine white plate, “I’m sure its not possible to know everything.” The conversation was starting to make her uncomfortable, and Emma desperately wanted an out.

“Of course it is,” Miranda cackled loudly, “This is Hollywood dear, there are eyes everywhere.” Emma had just set the plate and cutlery down in front of Miranda, and was already, leaving the kitchen hoping to get back to cleaning up later that morning when the older woman added, just as she was at the mouth of the long corridor, “Just remember that Emily, every secret, every nose job, every hidden pregnancy, every affair…..it always gets out, sooner or later.”

She paused for a minute at the mere mention of the word ‘affair,’ though, Emma didn’t want to have some kind of teary episode right there in front of Keanu’s wretched fiancée, picking up a quick pace not long after. She had to get to her room before the heat had completely risen to her face and the tears had inevitably started falling, she couldn’t be caught like that without reasonable explanation. Emma was almost there, her door was straight ahead after she’d climbed the stairs, and her head was down as she toyed anxiously with the knot of the robe when someone grabbed her arm, effectively startling her. “Hey,” Keanu side stepped in front of her, looking around to make sure that they were truly alone. “I was hoping to get you alone.”

“Uhh….” Blinking away the shock she’d left the kitchen with, Emma tried to act normal, ignoring the rapid beating of her heart, “I um…..what do you want?”

“To see you, alone. Just the two of us,” before Emma could object, Keanu cut her off, “I know you’ve been avoiding me, and definitely I deserve the cold shoulder. But I have something planned, just for the two of us.”

“Ke-” Torn, Emma half sobbed, knowing that she badly wanted some time alone with him but also knowing that with Miranda back it would be a risk.

“I know,” he sighed, “But I miss you, so much baby,” he leaned in, stealing kiss which she readily reciprocated, “I just want to be with you,” he peered down the stairs, ensuring that Miranda wasn’t nearby, his baritone dropping an octave as Keanu placed a hand on her waist, stepping closer, “I know you’re mad at me, but don’t you miss me too sweetheart?”

“I’m not mad at you, and I do miss you” Emma laid a gentle hand on Keanu’s shoulder, a couple rogue tears slipping past her lashes, “But this is wrong, you know that.”

“I do,” he whispered, bending to press his forehead to hers, “But I can’t help it, you’re all I think about sometimes,” swallowing thickly, Keanu continued, “I’ve put something together and my sister has been asking for the kids for a while now. Miranda is gonna be out with her girlfriends tonight, say you’ll come with me.”

Licking her lips, Emma ignored the voice in her head that urged that it was a bad idea, “Where?”

“Its a surprise,” Keanu smiled faintly, catching her lips in a brief peck, “But I promise you’ll like it. Just dress in jeans, and your leather jacket cause we’re taking the bike. Okay?”

Hesitating, Emma eventually nodded, “Okay,” she sealed with a kiss, reluctantly untangling from him, walking off with a backwards glance, her tormented gaze meeting his hopeful one last time.

“Ke….” Emma emitted soft, breathy, delighted giggles that seemed to get lost the minute it was cast out in the atmosphere. The lights were turned down low and past the clear, glass double doors, a sleek, modern fireplace was lit on the porch that jutted out over the edge of the cliff, overlooking the darkened ocean. The heels of her boots thudded softly on the rich hardwood as Emma stepped further into the primarily glass abode. The high ceilings, supported by thick fiberglass beams, matched the floors when she looked up in awe, and eventually, when she reached the open doors leading to the cool outside, where a salty breeze blew her freed tresses, Emma was almost at a total loss for words, “This is……”

A wide, proud smile split his lips. Keanu was glad she liked it, he’d pulled a lot of strings to get them that place for a few hours. It was far off from the lively city and the thick surrounding foliage should have protected them from being discovered by any prying eyes. For a few precious hours, they could be free. Slowly, he approached Emma where she stood, grasping the cool railing, mouth still agape as she looked forward. Snaking his arms around her waist and pressing his chest against her back, he laid a kiss no the side of her head. It was so perfect, it always was; being with her.

Everything faded when she was in his arms; the chill of the night air, the glow from around the pool and the quiet crackle of the fireplace. When they were alone together, nothing mattered but Emma. Keanu had never felt that way about anyone, not even Diana, the mother of his children, the woman who ran from their family and broke his heart. He’d tried making it work with her for as long as they could, but in the end, she wouldn’t have married him, much less stick around and raise two children. Keanu had almost given up on finding someone, someone who’d love Matt and Poppy the way he did, be the mother they deserved and the woman he’d spent the rest of his life with. Even when he'd met Miranda, there hadn’t been much hope left, but he was willing to make it work. Though, lately, Keanu had taken to wondering if the woman right there in his arms was actually the one he’d been waiting for. She’d taken his breath away with her unmatched beauty and now, with each passing day, he was giving a little more of his heart away to Emma. It wouldn’t be long till she’d own the part he’d reserved for someone special. She was special, “Absolutely stunning."

When Emma turned slightly in his embrace, she found that Keanu was looking right at her, chuckling musically when he bent and nuzzled her cheek and tightening his hug so she couldn't escape his affections. "Are you talking about the view or something else?"

Peppering her cheek with kisses, his rough salt and pepper beard grazing her satiny skin, Keanu hummed, "Maybe someone else….." Finally, Emma spun so they were chest to chest, her arms winding around his neck, tangled her fingers in the ends of his hair, disheveled from wearing his helmet, "You look so beautiful tonight," his eyes softened, gaze clouded over with something uncertain though unwavering, "You're always so beautiful," Keanu leaned down, capturing her lips.

He tasted like tobacco and something uniquely him, the same thing she thought about when falling asleep at night. From the minute they’d first kissed, that night in Paris, tension practically shoving them into each other’s arms, Emma thought that his lips seemed like they were meant to lock with hers; Keanu always knew exactly what she needed.

Tilting her head, Emma let herself melt against him, submitting to the comfort of his warmth and the security of his kiss. Even if everything else was wrong in their lives, even if everyone would inevitably get hurt, at least they had that. Kisses that completed them, even if just for a little while.

A little while.

One day they’d have to go back to living without each other. Inhaling deeply, filling her lungs with the kind of fresh air that was usually absent in the city, Emma pulled away, her hands pressing against Keanu’s chest in unspoken protest, and in an attempt to keep her from walking away, he loosely circled her wrists, “What?” Knitting his brows, he frowned deeply, “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” her voice broke unexpectedly, her eyes shining, bright with unshed tears, “Not really, its just…..” The words wouldn't come, at least not the ones that would help Emma elucidate exactly what she wanted Keanu to know. She didn’t want to ruin their one perfect night, but she didn’t want it to be their only perfect night. Emma wanted more, more than she might ever get with him, “You just……you do everything right, you know?” Shaking her head sorrowfully, she sniffled, “Almost everything.”

Casting his head towards their feet, Keanu nodded faintly, his chuckle dry and humorless, “Yeah,” he huffed, “I know what you mean.” Thinking on the matter for a moment, Keanu knew that his heart had been begging him to do the right thing, be the man that they both needed, but he simply couldn’t. Maybe if he didn’t have kids, or were just a few years younger. There were so many ‘maybe’s. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, trying to hug her.

“You always say that,” Emma slunk out from between Keanu and the guard rail, strolling along the balcony, trying to put some space between them so she could think properly, “But nothing changes.”

“I’m trying,” Keanu reasoned.

“Are you?” When Emma turned towards him, some of her hair whipped against her flushed cheeks, “Cause it feels like you’re just saying that to get me to shut up about the real problem.” Scoffing, she swiped at her eyes, “What are we doing Keanu?”

His lips quivered, an explanation absent. There was nothing he could say to fix it, he knew that, but he wanted to, he needed to. Keanu needed her. He knew he’d been playing childish games with Emma, sneaking around and stealing moments. He was too old for it to make sense, and Emma deserved to be more than his shadowed lover. “We’re……” He trailed off, wishing things were easier.

“You know what it feels like?” Folding her arms, Emma ignored the new dryness in her throat, opting not to move when Keanu approached her, racing out to lay a hand on her hip, probably worried that she was about to end things between them.

Licking his lips, Keanu’s gaze flickered to hers and he swore he already knew what she was going to say. He knew because he felt it too, “What?”

Emitting a frustrated sigh, exasperation fueled by the complexity of their lives and the knowledge that things were bound to stay the same unless he changed them. Emma, despite her better senses, raised her hand to cup his cheek, rubbing her thumb along the corner of his lips, as she tilted her head to the side, regarding him with obvious pain in her eyes, “It feels like I’m falling in love with you even though I shouldn’t.”

Keanu’s arm slid around to her lower back, urging Emma closer, pecking her forehead, “I’m falling in love with you too,” he whispered, muffled by her skin.

Relived by his admission, Emma relented to holding Keanu in a tight hug, pressing her ear over his steady heartbeat. They stayed like that for a while, faces turned towards the vast ocean beyond the mountain, the water darkened, only defined by the rippling glow; the distance so undefined that it was easy to liken it to themselves. An unbound beauty that may have remained largely unexplored. “Come on,” Emma eventually pulled away, grabbing Keanu’s hands so they wouldn’t be completely separated, “Let’s not waste the rest of our night,” she mustered up a small smile, one that was returned by Keanu who, like her, still seemed troubled, but was willing to put it past them, just they could make the most of their stolen moments.

*****

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea @nonsensicalobsessions

#keanu reeves #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves x ofc #behind closed doors #nanny au #keanu reeves fanfiction #ff

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terminallydepraved · 3 years

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Beyond the Pale (JayTim Vampire au)

Yo! My contribution to the @batsandbeasts Batman zine is now up on ao3 for your reading pleasure.

Read on ao3 here.

The sharp silhouette of Drake Manor against the pale, full moon cut a suitably somber visage against the autumn sky. A pervasive wind was blowing through the trees surrounding the overgrown ground, whispering like a poorly kept secret. Jason Todd lifted the collar of his coat out of habit, shielding the vulnerable flesh of his neck from its bite. He stared at the once-grand home while he let the wind claw and tug at his clothing as if in hope of beckoning him through the battered doors.

In that regard, the wind seemed to be the most welcoming thing about the place. The windows had long been boarded up, the brick facade a patchwork of lichen and ivy so dried and desiccated that it looked black in the light of the moon. A once-impressive turret rose up to spear the bloated clouds overhead, appearing desperate in its struggle to stand straight while it slanted dangerously askew. Brittle, dead grass crunched beneath his heavy boots. No flowers grew in the planters by the wrapping porch. Only weeds that whispered alongside the breeze.

If anything had lived here, it would have been decades ago. To an observant eye, that supposition would be the end of it. Drake Manor had been abandoned for years, the place left to rot and molder alongside the family that had owned it up until tragedy took them from splendor to the sepulchre nestled just behind the building’s sprawling expanse.

“The whole family passed one by one,” echoed the memory of that old woman’s voice in the lilting chill on the wind. “It was… sudden. First the mother. Next, the father.”

“And the son?” Jason had asked as he sharpened the stake by the hearth, staring at the small woman from across the tavern floor. She had kept her distance from him, like a rabbit smelling blood in the air. Everyone had. They might not have known they had a dead man walking among them, but something within them warned them of the danger of lingering too close to a Hunter seeking fresh prey.

Wizened hands wound themselves with rosary beads. Jason’s eyes tracked them like pearls, reciting the words of her prayer silently out of a habit that hadn’t managed to die even after he had. Her eyes turned towards the rough wooden beams above their head. “We do not speak of it,” she said, talking to God more than the one that used to preach his word. “It is not the boy it once was.”

No one would say what the boy was now, but that was fine. Jason had spent the bulk of his life— both lives—exterminating things better left unsaid. His hands roved over the holsters on his hips and the belt that held his stakes. Vials of holy water—freshly consecrated earlier that evening—studded the inside of his leather jacket. His shotgun was a reassuring weight between his shoulder blades. The small blade tucked inside his right boot pressed against his calve, more soothing than rumors could ever be.

That woman had warned him to be careful; Jason had to think that the creature skulking away inside those dilapidated walls could use that warning more.

The grass crunched beneath his boots as he moved towards the front door. In the dead of night the sound seemed deafening. Still, Jason didn’t try to muffle his approach. It already knew he was coming— in fact, it likely already knew he was here. A vampire couldn’t hope to steal six villagers from their beds and remain unnoticed in its lair. Humans were fragile, weak, and easily made victims to the shadows beyond the firelight— but that was where Hunters came in, evening out the playing field.

Jason, for one, had long outgrown his fear of the dark.

Pulling his shotgun over his head, Jason held it at the ready as he made his way up creaking, splintering steps, eyes narrowed for any sign of movement. He took care to keep his finger off the trigger; any other time he would prime himself to fire first and ask questions later, but the bodies of the stolen villagers hadn’t been found yet. Slim as it was, they could still be alive. He’d been trained too well to write off the possibility entirely, so his finger stayed flattened against the stock as he kicked down the front door with a resounding bang!

The sound reverberated through the entry hall like a crack of thunder. Motes of dust rose in the air, stirring the spider webs hanging from the eaves and edges of practically every available surface. Jason resisted the urge to close his eyes as powdery flecks settled in his hair. It was quiet in the dead space, stagnant air heavy with the silence. Every step Jason took cut tracks into the layer of filth blanketing the wooden floor. If something had been in here, it hadn’t left a trail for him to follow. The dust was undisturbed as far as the eye could see.

First course of business was to locate the missing villagers. They had been gone for at least a week, some of them closer to three. Vampires that took to creating larders tended to store their human pantry staples somewhere secure, contained, and without many options for escape. A place this big... no doubt it had a basement, maybe even a few cellars. He would need to find it before he went hunting for the vampire. Once the captives were out of the picture he’d be able to fight without holding back.

Of course, that was all easier said than done. This place was enormous. Cavernous even, and Jason had spent a large part of his youth in a manor not that dissimilar from it. Maybe it was the lack of life in the place that made it seem so empty. The portraits on the walls had eyes, but their dead smiles were fixed in place, like spectral guides that escorted him through the halls. He paused outside a dark, rusted kitchen. Memories of his childhood flickered among the shadows.

A board creaked behind him. Jason swiveled smoothly, body moving independent of thought. He pointed the barrel of his gun in the direction of a set of descending stairs just visible through a nearby doorway. His heart beat a little faster. That door had been closed a moment ago, hadn’t it?

“Show yourself,” he called out. An old house like this would creak and groan naturally, but the timing was too perfect, too planned. Jason bared his teeth as he looked down the line of his gun. “I know you’re here. Stop hiding and let’s get this over with.”

Another creak, this time further down the hall. Jason shifted without thinking, but this time he caught sight of movement just as it evaded his peripherals. A cold sweat began to bead on his forehead, the tiny hairs on his body rising in the wake of instinct telling him that he was sharing breathing space with a predator. It was in the area with him; of that there was no doubt. Hiding in the shadows and among the eaves above his head… Jason fought the urge to look up, knowing through experience that keeping his eyes forward gave him the best chance of reacting quickly when it inevitably came for his throat.

Jason slowly backed into the kitchen, preferring a wider space for the fight that was soon to follow.

“I’ve never met a hunter before,” a quiet, lilting voice remarked just as the silence began to weigh on Jason like lead. Again, he moved to face the direction of it, his shotgun slicing through the air with whisper. He found himself moving yet again though when that same voice spoke again from a different direction, “Are you truly as strong as the stories say?”

“Stronger,” Jason grunted, knowing this game after playing it so many times. It would try to get close next, and he readied his finger on the trigger. “Even death didn’t stop me from killing your kind.”

The words had barely left his mouth before the vampire made its move. Jason reacted with practiced grace, giving himself to his instincts as he twisted at the waist and fired at the pale blur rushing towards him through the kitchen doorway. The gunshot went off like a thunderclap, deafening in such a dead space. A spray of lead burst through a section of the door frame, ruining an enormous family portrait mounted in the hallway behind it.

“Close,” an icy voice whispered in Jason’s ear. A pale hand wrapped around the smoking barrel. “But no cigar.”

Jason recoiled, warning bells ringing like a cacophony of the damned inside his head as the gun was snatched free from his hands. He let it go without a fight—the creature could overpower him easily, so there was no point in wrestling for it—and darted back, hand reaching for a vial of holy water and lobbing it in the direction of the figure now standing in the middle of the manor’s kitchen.

Jason’s eyes closed as the glass shattered; when he opened them again, the figure was gone, its voice still echoing around his head.

The eaves. It’d gone for the eaves again, or maybe to the tops of the large shelves and cabinets scattered around the room’s upper edges. Jason scanned the ground for his gun, spotting it towards the door he had come through.

“I know who you are, hunter,” the vampire crooned, smooth and melodic, the only warning Jason had before a pale hand descended from the dark to grab him from behind. Those lips met his ear once more as it hissed, “I know every trick in your arsenal.”

White hot anger tore through Jason, overpowering the fear throbbing in his veins. “Oh yeah?” he spat, tearing free two more vials and crushing them in his bare hands. The glass tore through his palms, but that hardly mattered. Blood and holy water both sailed over his shoulders as he cast his hands back. The vampire let out a pained shriek, and the pressure on Jason’s back abated.

The creature didn’t retreat far this time, giving him a chance to look, if only briefly, at his quarry. Even crumpled on the ground he could tell that the vampire was young and far more intelligent than the majority of the blood-starved prey he’d hunted in the past. Jason couldn’t look at him dead on for fear of being caught by that gaze, but what he glimpsed out of the corner of his eye was enough to tell him that the refined beauty spoken about in most vampire stories wasn’t a lie this time around, even with holy water burning black spots into his perfect, blood-flecked skin.

That must be the boy. The woman from the tavern hadn’t spoken his name, but Jason had done his research, had seen that face staring back at him from the portrait sporting buckshot behind him. Timothy Jackson Drake, last of his line. He had been on the cusp of adulthood when he went missing, and it was clear now that he’d stayed there for decades after.

Jason dove for his gun. Dust rose in the scramble, the vampire darting forward to cut him off. Inertia carried Jason forward as he committed to the move, his shoulder bearing the brunt of the impact as he slammed into the vampire and sent them both tumbling through the doorway and back into the hall. Sweat stung Jason’s eyes but he didn’t dare close them, not this close, not as he fought with every ounce of strength he had to pin the slighter body to the floor.

“What did you do with them?!” Jason grunted, forcing his forearm against the vampire’s throat until there was no way for Drake to bite back. “Where the fuck did you put the villagers, Drake?!”

Cold fingers wrapped around his arm, holding tight but not as tight as Jason knew he could. “You can call me Tim,” whispered the vampire through a smile. His eye teeth curved over his bottom lip, ruining whatever charm the expression might’ve held once upon a time. “Can I call you Jason?”

Jason couldn’t smother his reaction, his shock. It widened his eyes, slackened his grip. Drake— Tim— the vampire took the chance it was, pushing hard and rolling them over, pinning Jason to the floor like a butterfly to tack board.

He had to look at Tim now, and God, the stories had never been so true. Pale skin, startling blue eyes, and lips like roses, blood red and temptation incarnate. Those shy lips curled back into a revealing smile, but even that barely shattered the illusion. Jason shut his eyes as quickly as he could, scrambling for one of the stakes at his waist. He shoved upwards with every ounce of strength he had and barely, barely managed to roll them over.

His elbow clipped a door frame, warning him too late that he should have aimed better. Jason lost hold of the vampire as they both tumbled ass-over-tea-kettle down a flight of rickety steps. The stake in his hand was lost along the way. Jason felt a few more splinter by the time he reached the floor.

It wasn’t a graceful landing, and he knew without looking which of them would recover from it first. Jason hit the ground hard, his breathing rushing out of him upon impact. He forced himself to keep moving, rolling onto his knees as his hand reached for the knife he kept in his boot. The air was heavy and dank, his surroundings as black as pitch once the sound of a door slamming shut cut off the sliver of light just above his head. The dirt beneath his feet told him well enough that he had fallen into the manor’s lowest level, but without moonlight or a torch his options on finding his way back upstairs were worse than limited.

“I waited for you, you know,” came that voice again. “Did you think it was strange how loudly that village called for you? I knew you would come, Jason. I know everything about you.”

“You don’t know shit,” Jason snapped, swiping his knife into the empty air. The vampire was pitching his voice somehow, projecting the sound so it echoed all around him. Without light there was no way to tell where he actually was. A burst of paranoia had Jason twist on his heel, slicing wildly at the space behind his back. He met nothing but nothingness, and it pissed him off even more.

“Jason Peter Todd,” recited Timothy Jackson Drake, last of his line. “Street rat turned hunter. Made apprentice to the best and fell victim to the worst.”

Jesus Christ. “What the fuck do you want?” Jason snarled. He couldn’t smell any rot or blood, and this had to be the basement. Where were the villagers?

“You said it yourself; death makes things stronger.” Something cold brushed Jason’s neck. Jason tried to lift his knife but a slender hand wrapped around his wrist, squeezing like a vice until he was forced to drop it. “I waited for you,” Tim whispered, soft hair and cold breath ghosting across Jason’s cheek. “I used to watch you, before. I watched you, and then you disappeared.”

Right. Jason had died, slaughtered by that monster just to come back as one thanks to elements far beyond even his ken. The struggle had left his body, telling the logical part of his brain that Tim must be staring into his eyes right now, mesmerizing him through the darkness. He never should had let the vampire get close to him. He never should have come here alone.

“The… villagers…” Jason forced himself to ask, even as his knees gave out beneath him. “What did… Where…?”

When Tim laughed, it sounded like bells. “Back in their beds. I only needed a story to get you here. But that’s okay, isn’t it? You’re here, and you’re tired, aren’t you?” Jason felt an unnatural exhaustion begin to seep into his limbs in time with the lilting words. His eyelashes fluttered; he couldn’t seem to make his arms move. “Don’t you want to sleep now, Jason? You can sleep. I’ll watch after you.”

That voice was just a whisper. Icy fingers ran through Jason’s hair. Lips as cold as death brushed his cheek tenderly as his body settled on the floor.

“And don’t worry,” Tim breathed, those lips ghosting over his throat. “Even death didn’t stop me from wanting you.”

#jaytim #batman zine #vampires #jason todd #tim drake #fic

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chimchimsauce · 4 years

Text

XS (I - Spitfire)

“Give me just a little bit MORE”

Being the son of the largest gang in the country, Kim Taehyung might as well be a prince. He is more powerful than any one man should be and is not afraid to get rid of anything - or anyone that gets in his way.

So when a man is unable to pay back the gigantic loan he owes Taehyung, the heir is all too happy to take his life. Moments away from pulling the trigger, a girl more beautiful than he’s ever seen bursts in and offers her life for her father’s. Taehyung knows right away that he wants her.

And Taehyung gets everything he wants.

Prologue

Chapter One - Spitfire

The house is suspiciously quiet as YN's uber pulls up to her driveway. Usually, her father would be outside gardening or there would be the joyful barking of her childhood dog as she runs around the yard.

But everything is dead silent. Even the air seems still, almost as if Mother Nature herself is holding her breath. No birds chirp and no wind rustles through the leaves.

Pure silence.

"Is everything okay?" the uber driver asks her.

YN's hands grab tightly to the seatbelt as she whips away from the window, startled by the man's voice.

"What?" she asks, "Ah, yeah, everything's fine. It's just a little quiet is all."

YN and her family have never had much, evident by the run-down state of their small house, but her home has always been filled with love and support. Just this morning her mother had called her before her final exam to wish her luck and say how excited she was for her to come home for summer break. YN fully expected her parents to be waiting for her on the doorstep with big smiles and open arms.

A tingle of fear snakes down her body. What if something is wrong?

She opens her purse and pulls out her phone to switch it off of airplane mode. Unfortunately, it dies before she can open her messages. She's received over twenty from her mother which only deepens the feeling that something is truly, incredibly wrong.

Taking a breath and praying that her intuition is wrong, YN steps out of the car and grabs her two suitcases, thanking her driver and sending him on his way.

The sound of wheels on concrete is much louder than it should be. YN ignores the tremble of her hand as she raises a finger to press the doorbell. Her dog barks, but the noise is cut off by a loud bang that scares YN out of her skin.

No one comes to answer the door. YN's heart is beating so quickly that she's afraid that she'll pass out. What should she do? Her phone is dead, so she can't call the authorities or another uber. Maybe she's just being ridiculous. Maybe everything is okay after all.

Clinging onto this tiny shred of hope, YN twists the doorknob, trying not to think about the fact that her parents never leave it unlocked. When she steps inside, luggage in tow, everything is quiet.

"Mom? Dad?" she calls out hesitantly.

"YN!" her mother's voice calls out, "Run!"

Before YN can respond, there's a loud bang - a gunshot and the horrid sound of her mother's screaming. Ignoring her warning, YN drops her bag and books it into the kitchen, heart racing and thoughts scattered.

When she arrives in the small kitchen, YN's voice gets caught in her throat as she looks at the scene before her. The room has been trashed completely. Their pots and pans have been strewn about and the cabinet doors have been ripped from their hinges and tossed away. But worse of all, in the middle of the chaos is her parents, tied to chairs and bruised and bloody. Her mother's hair has been mused into a bird's next and tear tracks streak down her face. Her father is in even worse condition, bleeding from several cuts along his face and body.

Three strangers stand around them, two with emotionless faces and knives. The third stands in front of YN's poor father, shoving a gun between his teeth with a cruel glint in his eyes.

"What are you doing?" YN shrieks, ignoring her mother's panicked expression.

Without thinking, YN launches herself at the man with the gun, taking everyone by surprise.

"Boss!" one of the other criminals calls out.

YN's mother starts screaming again as the man approaches YN, but the college student pays it no mind, too focused on wrestling the gun out of this man's hands. She straddles his hips, trying to use her weight to hold him down long enough for her to grab the weapon.

While desperation and fear pour from every pore of YN's skin, the man under her seems rather amused. YN hasn't looked at his face nor does she care too. Something tells her that if she did, she'd be completely petrified.

YN's efforts prove to be fruitless. After a few moments of struggling, YN is ripped away from the armed man by one of his henchmen, kicking and screaming.

"Well aren't you a little spitfire?" the man she'd been fighting says, rising elegantly and brushing off his suit.

A cocky smile plays on his lips, but there's a hint of something sinister in his gaze that has YN breaking out in a cold sweat. If he wasn't so terrifying, he might have been handsome with this tall stature and long hair, perfectly swept above his brows to reveal a face that belongs on a magazine cover.

"Honestly," he says, turning once more to YN's father, "Why didn't you tell me your daughter was coming home? I would have put together a welcome party better than this."

He chuckles, a deep sound that shows just how bemused he is.

"Ah well," he continues, "But maybe you'll be more cooperative now that your baby girl is here."

He snaps his fingers and the man that's holding her brings a knife to YN's throat, barely a hair's breadth away from cutting her.

"NO!" her parents shout out, fear in their eyes.

The man steps towards YN. his gun seeming to gleam in the light. He taps it against her face in a way that's nearly affectionate, using the cold metal to outline her facial features. YN's eyes are blown wide with fright, her pupils dilated and her breaths short.

"You're rather pretty, aren't you, YN?" he says, his voice sending chills down her spine.

He's stopping his tracing and now holds the gun flush against her forehead, a grin on his face.

"How do you," she says, licking her lips and trying desperately hard not to pee herself, "Know my name?"

The man cocks his head to the side and takes a step back, sticking his gun in the waistband of his shorts and taking a seat in one of the empty kitchen chairs, straddling it backward.

"Oh?" he asks, looking at her father again "You didn't tell her?"

Her father stays silent, refusing to look at the man speaking to him.

YN can tell by the way his jaw tightens that he doesn't like being ignored. Surprisingly, he doesn't blow up. YN fears something worse will happen.

"Well, since your dear old dad won't tell you what he's gotten himself into, I shall illuminate you. You see, he came to me when you got accepted into that stuck up school you attend, crying that he couldn't afford your tuition," he leans forward over the back of the chair to smile at YN, much too happy for the situation they're in, "So, of course I helped him. I am rather benevolent."

"But I got a scholarship!" YN protests, "You've got the wrong people!"

At her outburst, the man laughs loudly, leaning back in his chair and enjoying himself so much that hatred bubbles in YN's stomach, red hot and violent.

"You're adorable," he coos at her when his laughter finally dies down, "you really believe that? Did you even look into the 'scholarship' you received?"

YN stays silent, glaring at him through the tears that threaten to spill out.

"It was all me. I've been the one paying for your tuition and let me tell you, it's not cheap. Your dad was supposed to have all the money to pay me back today and surprise, he doesn't. So here we are," the stranger says, tossing his hands up into the air.

He stands up, retrieving his gun once more and nodding at his backup all three of them exchanging a look YN is terrified to now the meaning of.

"Well, as fun as it's been chatting with you, YN, I'm growing very bored of all of this. Let's just kill them and go."

YN's parents start screaming again but YN shouts over them, desperate to stop what's happening.

"I'll pay it!" she shrieks, "I'll pay it back! Don't hurt them, please!"

The man stops what he's doing, turning to look at her with interest.

"You'll never be able to pay it back," he says, a pitying tone in his voice, "It's better to just let me kill your parents and get it over with."

"No! I will! I'll pay it back! Every cent! I don't care if it takes my entire life!"

YN is in hysterics now, sweat and tears sticking to her skin as she struggles against her captor.

"Jungkook, let her go," the man says.

He does as told and YN collapses onto the floor, her legs unable to support her. The world around her is blurry from her glossed eyes as she cries freely, staring at the grimey floor.

"Please," she pleads, her voice broken.

Two leather shoes come into her sight and a single teardrop falls upon them.

"Look at me," the boss says.

YN raises her head to look at him. He's crouching beside her, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Don't do something you'll regret, YN," he says as if he's a friend advising her and not the one ruining her life.

"I'm not," YN says, speaking over the lump in her throat, "I'll never regret saving them."

For a moment, everything in the kitchen is deadly silent. YN's terrified that he'll just kill all of them anyway, turning her offer down entirely and laughing in her face.

"I have a different idea," he says, "You can pay back your parents' debt with your life."

"What," YN gasps out.

She's blotchy and red from all the crying but he swears he's never seen something so beautiful. A sadistic part of himself is dying to see this expression again.

"Marry me."

YN only gapes at him, half expecting him to burst out laughing.

"What?" she parrots.

"Marry me," he repeats, "Pay your family's debt back buy pledging to spend the rest of your life by my side."

YN's teary eyes search his face for a lie, finding none. Wordlessly, she bobs her head up and down, ignoring the protest from her parents.

"Wonderful," this man says, standing up and clapping his hands together, "Let's go YN. Home is quite the way away."

"Can I," she struggles, "At least say goodbye."

"No time. Come now or watch me put a bullet in between your mother's eyes."

YN rises instantly, between this stranger and his guards, refusing to look back even though her parents call out for her. She knows that if she does, she won't be able to walk away.

On their way out, YN sees the still form of her beloved childhood dog, her voice catching in her throat.

"Was it yours?" her soon to be husband asks.

YN nods.

"Use your words, YN," he orders.

"Yes," YN says, the singular word shaky in her throat.

"Sorry," he says half-heartedly, "It wouldn't shut up."

"Okay," is all she can muster, continuing with them out of her childhood home, never to see it or her parents again.

As soon as they step foot out onto the cracked sidewalk, a discreet black vehicle pulls up. The man opens the back door for her, gesturing for her to slide in. She does so mindlessly, barely registering what's happening.

The guards disappear from sight, most likely going to their own car.

"Make sure to use the childlock, Jimin," her to be husband says.

"Yes sir," the man replies.

YN doesn't even try to look at him, too emotionally exhausted to do anything. The car pulls away and the drive is so smooth that YN passes out, the exhaustion getting to her.

As she sleeps dreamlessly, the man sitting next to her looks her over, intrigued. It's been quite a while since he's been so interested in someone.

"Who's that?" the driver asks.

Jimin's always been curious, ever since they met as young children.

"No one. Not yet, at least."

"What did you get yourself into this time?"

"I'm not sure. Something tells me that it's going to be fun, though."

Chapter Two

Tag List (Add yourself here)

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#network bangtan #yandere #yandere bts #yandere taehyung #yandere x reader #taehyung x reader #bts angst #bts mafia au #taehyung mafia au #bts gang au #taehyung gang au #taehyung #v #v x reader #bts fanfic

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heavcnslyre · 3 years

Text

ricky bowen x reader series! part three

— starstruck au!

series masterlist, part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven, part eight, part nine, part ten

IN WHICH you return to your house but are not yet rid of ricky bowen, and you learn that sources saw you and ricky together last night.

WARNINGS swearing

NOTES look how sweet he looks in this gif omg my heart anyways this chapter is a little bit shorter but i like it!! hope u enjoy!! also i’d love it if someone left a comment w how they’re enjoying it currently? that would make my day!

(y/n) - your name

(y/f/c) - your favorite color

text dividers from @writeyourmindaway !!

lowercase intended.

you closed the door to your grandmas house slowly and flipped on the light. you assumed everyone else was asleep (since it was close to two in the morning), but were quickly proven wrong as ashlyn crept into the kitchen, looking to see if it was you she heard. when she saw it was, a look of relief washed over her face and she walked over to hug you.

“took you long enough,” she pulled back and examined the stitches on your head. “you okay?”

you nodded and moved away to grab a glass out of the cabinet. “i’m fine. it was weird, though. ricky bowen hits me with a door, takes me to the hospital then takes me to his house. casually.”

“hm. yeah. i guess it’s not exactly... normal. although i’ve spent time with him now since i’m dating red—”

you cut her off. “you’re dating?!”

she blushed and nodded. “he asked me earlier. i was going to wait to tell you, make sure you were okay first.”

before you got a chance to respond, there was a light knocking on the window. ashlyn gave you a confused look and you shrugged. she moved to the window and pulled the curtain open to peek through, then opened it all the way. she opened the window.

“ricky? what the hell?”

your head shot up when she said that and you walked over to the window quickly. sure enough, ricky was standing outside in the cold, looking around nervously.

“hey, ashlyn, (y/n),” he paused. “i need your help.”

“ricky, what’s going on? i thought you left a while ago,” you said.

“i tried. there’s big vans right outside your house, big cameras. they’re waiting for me to leave. i can’t go home right now.”

“um... okay. you can stay here, we just have to figure out a way where our family won’t see,” ashlyn said, looking up in thought.

“he could stay in the garage. sleep in his car, be gone in the morning?” you suggested. ricky nodded eagerly.

“yes, that’s fine! that’s perfect! i’ll be gone as soon as possible and i won’t make a sound. promise!”

“okay, ricky chill,” ashlyn laughed. “we don’t mind, seriously.”

“i mind a little bit,” you joked. “c’mon. i’ll help you get situated. ashlyn, i’ll be right back.”

you went out of the front door and met ricky outside. he smiled sheepishly at you.

“fancy meeting you again.”

“oh yeah. this is every girls dream, right?” you said, raising your eyebrows. he laughed and rolled his eyes.

“i’ll open the garage door, go ahead and pull your car in. just be careful,” you said. you walked over to the keypad in the side of the garage. he started his car and pulled in as soon as you opened the door. you followed his car into the garage and grabbed a box from the back wall. he got out of his car.

“here’s a sleeping bag,” you said, tossing one down to him. he caught it, barely. you laughed and he scoffed.

“do you have anything i could leave in this morning to help disguise me? so they can’t see it’s me?” he asked. you shrugged and pointed to a box labeled ‘hats and scarves.’

“check that one.”

he dug through the box and pulled out an old fishing hat. he studied it for a moment before putting it on his head. “how’s this one?”

you glanced over and smiled. “perfect. that was my grandpas hat, actually. wore it when we would go fishing. cool to give it use again.”

he watched you as you spoke, a gentle expression on his face. “i’ll take care of it.”

“you better,” you laughed and dug out another blanket for him to use. “do you need anything else? i can grab you anything from inside, if you need it.”

“i should be okay,” ricky smiled. “thank you, though. i seriously appreciate it. i’ll be gone before you know it.”

“no problem. thanks for driving me around today. sleep well,” you smiled at him and paused, before nodding and leaving the garage.

“got him settled in okay?” ashlyn asked as you came back into the house.

“mhm. he’ll be fine,” you resumed filling up the glass you had pulled out earlier. ashlyn watched, her eyebrows raised.

“you guys friends?”

“i just met him today. we get along fine but i don’t think you’d call us ‘friends’.”

“hm. alright,” she glanced at her phone. “i’m gonna head to bed. you should too, it’s late. and we’re going to the beach tomorrow!”

you hummed. “yup, i’m excited to meet big red for real this time!”

“he’s excited to meet you! although he will probably ask you a bunch of questions about tonight. be warned.”

“oh, i can’t wait,” you laughed sarcastically.

the next morning, you woke up with no one else in the bedroom. you stretched, got out of bed, threw on a sweater and left your bedroom. you found everyone except your grandma sitting at the kitchen table.

“morning (y/n),” your aunt debbie greeted you. “sleep okay?”

“yeah, thank you,” you said, sitting down in between ashlyn and your grandma’s boyfriend kevin.

“how’s your head?” your mom asked.

“my head?”

your mom knit her eyebrows at you. “your stitches?”

your hand moved to the stitches on your forehead. “oh! yeah, i’m okay.”

“what even happened? you were waiting in the car and next thing i know ashlyn’s telling me you’re on your way to the hospital,” camilla complained. you sighed.

“i was looking for you and someone hit me with a door. we realized he was friends with ashlyn and he took me to the hospital. nothing else.”

“what do you mean she was waiting in the car? you were supposed to be doing stuff together,” your dad said. camilla turned red.

“i had to... stop for the bathroom,” camilla lied. your dad gave her a stern look, but she got out easy because your grandma came into the room, carrying a stack of pancakes.

“breakfast is served!” she exclaimed and you all gushed about how good it smelt as everyone served themselves.

“kim, do you have any more syrup?” your uncle asked your grandma. she nodded.

“should be some in the garage.”

“i’ll grab it,” camilla volunteered, standing up from her seat. you didn’t think much of it, until you remembered the encounter from last night and realized that ricky was sleeping in the garage, and his biggest fan was about to go find him. you shot up from your seat.

“no, i’ll go!” you ran out behind camilla and tried to grab the garage remote from her.

“(y/n), what the hell are you doing?” she asked, annoyed.

“i’ll get the syrup. it’s fine. you go back inside,” you said, reaching for the remote as she moved it away from you.

“i’m already out here. it’s fine. just leave me alone, i’m pissed at you,” she said, pressing the button to open the garage. you yank the remote and press it again to close it.

“why are you pissed at me?” you asked. she rolled her eyes, clicking the button again. you clicked it again.

“i was so close to meeting ricky last night, and you just had to ruin it for me,” camilla complained.

you paused. “cam, i didn’t mean to, you know that. i just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“whatever.”

camilla opened the garage door and before you could try to close it again, she rushed forward and into the garage. you tried to yell for her to stop, but it was too late. you looked in the garage and it was empty, no sign of ricky ever being there. you sighed in relief and followed camilla back inside.

“girls, they’re talking about that ricky boy on the tv,” your grandma said as you and camilla came back inside. camilla ran to the living room to see ashlyn standing there, watching. you followed her nervously.

“last night, nini salazar-roberts showed up to her birthday party accompanied by two people, but neither of them her man, ricky bowen. although, sources do confirm that ricky showed up to her party and performed, but other sources have said that they saw ricky leaving the party with a different girl. almost an hour later, he showed up to his house, with the same girl he left his girlfriends party with. has ricky found himself a new girl? is this girl stealing the heart of the boy we all know and love?”

you watched the tv with wide eyes. you and ashlyn made eye contact, both of you with the same worried expression. camilla, however, stared at the tv in disgust.

“i hope that girl knows how lucky she is,” she complained. “what’s a girl gotta do to get the attention of a guy she’s been a fan of for five years?”

neither you or ashlyn replied. camilla sighed and trudged her way back to the kitchen table. ashlyn checked her phone.

“oh, i should go get ready. red’s picking me up in half hour so we can go to the beach,” she looked at you. “are you riding with us?”

“i want to go to the beach!” camilla exclaimed, suddenly upbeat.

“camilla, you can take my car if you drive your sister,” your grandma said. camilla groaned.

“fine. be ready in half hour,” she said to you, then walked to your shared bedroom and slammed the door. you turned to ashlyn.

“looks like we’ll meet you there.”

camilla stuck her head out of the bedroom door. “(y/n), can i borrow your blue bikini?”

“only if i can borrow your (y/f/c) one,” you grinned. she thought for a minute.

“deal.”

#ricky bowen starstruck au #ricky bowen headcanons #ricky bowen one shots #ricky bowen x reader #ricky bowen #olivia rodrigo #ashlyn caswell #bowen #high school musical the musical the series #hsmtmts #joshua bassett #ricky #hsm the series #nini salazar roberts

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ncssian · 3 years

Text

A Favor: Part Four

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: hey y'all. my new job has been draining the life out of me so i have very little energy left for writing, which is why these updates are taking so long. im still very passionate about this fic though, it just takes me more time to write :(

in other news, this chapter is saturated with descriptions of pain, both physical and emotional. i hated writing it but it was worth it.

***

Nesta, 14

Sometimes it all becomes too much. Feyre asking for help with homework and Elain begging for more money to go to the strip mall, and their dad ignoring them all as if they aren’t even there. Sometimes she wants to leave it all behind and pretend she isn’t anchored to three other people, wants to pretend she is a lone being in a lonely world.

When she needs to go away, she comes here.

Cherrywood House is quiet, as it always is this time of year. One of several expensive vacation homes in the Smokies, Cherrywood is Nesta’s favorite for a multitude of reasons— it’s empty for ten out of twelve months of the year, it’s the only house with a clear view of the nearby lake, and cherry blossoms bloom on trees out in the back every spring.

It’s early June, and she has a few more weeks left with the house until its owners return. The family that owns the place never leaves a trace of themselves behind when they leave each August, so Nesta returns the favor by never leaving hints of her inhabitance either.

She takes her worn Converse and socks off at the back porch and climbs in through the unlocked window barefoot. This is where she belongs. A ghost roaming the empty halls, with no one to care for and no one to care for her.

She makes her way upstairs to her preferred hideout spot: an airy bedroom with a bay window seat that looks out onto the cherry blossom trees outside. Cracking the window open to let the fragrance of flowers in, she settles into the bench seat with her book of the week and starts reading.

Absorbed in dreams of deep love and deeper kisses, Nesta doesn't notice the sun going down until she can barely make out the words on the page before her. Glancing up with sore eyes, she realizes she needs to leave soon if she doesn't want to take the wooded path back home in the dark.

“Damn,” she sighs, but she gets up and shuts the window firmly.

She keeps her nose in her book all the way down the hall and down the stairs, and doesn't sense anything off until a large shadow flashes in the corner of her eye. Her head whips up, and the face that greets her looks just as surprised as she is.

Nesta freezes.

“Um,” the guy says. He’s maybe a few years older than her, seventeen or eighteen, and tall with shaggy dark hair. The front door of the house is still cracked open behind him. “What the fuck?”

Nesta unfreezes. And then she runs.

All the way through the main hall and to the back door, while the boy’s shouts chase her through the house. “Hey, wait up!”

They weren't supposed to be here this early—

Her hand wraps around the back door handle and she flings it open, shoving through the second screen door and shooting right down the porch steps. Heavy steps behind her ignite a panic in her, and she gains a burst of speed.

“HEY!” he calls again. Soft grass becomes dirt and twigs beneath Nesta's feet, and she knows she's reached the tree line. Dark shadows fall over her as she darts into the safety of the woods.

Still standing on the back porch and waving a raggedy pair of Converse, Cassian tries calling for the girl one more time. “You forgot your shoes!”

Cassian wakes up at five in the morning to the sound of the house’s pipes creaking, a telltale sign that someone is using one of the faucets. Blinking his eyes open, he hears the distant sound of the shower running.

Who would get up in the freezing cold at this hour just to take a shower? He checks the time once more to make sure he isn't imagining things, and gets up to peek his head out of his bedroom. Sure enough, light leaks out from under the bathroom door.

Cassian walks up to the bathroom and listens closely for any sound beside running water. He knocks hesitantly. “Nesta?”

Her muffled voice calls back to him, but he can't make out a thing.

“Are you alright?” he asks. “How long have you been in there?”

There’s no response, and now he’s concerned. Raising his voice, he says, “I’m going to come in to hear you better, is that okay?”

A soft affirmative answers him, and he tries the doorknob. It’s already unlocked, which is odd, but he pokes his head into the steam-filled bathroom cautiously. “Nesta?”

From behind the curtain of the shower, a pale, tired face appears. She’s sitting on the floor of the tub, he realizes. “Hey,” she attempts a feeble smile at him.

Cassian fully enters the bathroom, the humidity dampening his skin. “Are you okay? When did you get up?”

“I’ve only been in here for an hour, maybe.” Her voice is weak enough that he has to move closer to hear her. “Don’t worry about your water bill. I’ll pay it, I swear.”

He shakes his head, confounded. “I don’t care about the water bill. You still haven’t told me if you’re okay.” He moves to crouch beside the bathtub, the opaque shower curtain the only barrier between them.

Nesta rolls her eyes, looking embarrassed. “It’s just cramps. I get really sick on my periods, and I would have warned you that they suck ass, but that would imply that my period could affect you. It doesn’t have to affect you— if you just leave me to myself for a few days, I won’t even be a bother.”

Cassian blinks, not really knowing where to start with that, so he just says, “But why the shower?”

Nesta shifts uncomfortably behind the curtain. “Sometimes hot water is the only thing that helps with the pain. I already tried getting out of the shower, but it hurt so bad— I had to go right back in. I’ll get out eventually, don’t worry.”

Cassian frowns. This all sounds incredibly worrying. “This is normal for you?”

She’s about to answer when her face pinches in a look of discomfort. “Cassian,” she says, strained.

He leans closer, wanting to help. “Yeah?”

“Get out.” She doesn't look like she has the energy to add anything else.

Cassian wants to defy Nesta and stay right there, but that would require arguing with her, and she clearly is no longer in the mood to hold up a conversation.

Reluctantly, he nods. “I’ll be right down the hall. Yell if you need anything.”

Nesta is already sinking lower into the tub, trying to get more fully under the burning hot spray. Her eyes drift closed and she hums in answer.

Cassian doesn't return to his room like he said he would, but heads downstairs instead. He spends a good ten minutes reading the drug labels of various painkillers from the medicine cabinet before carefully arranging a nonlethal cocktail of them on a tray. He adds a cold glass of water and various handpicked snacks before returning upstairs to set the tray by Nesta’s bedside, and turns the heat all the way up to combat the chill in her room, just in case.

Then he goes back to his room and waits. He tries to listen closely for the sound of the shower stopping, but he’s not used to being up this early on a Saturday, and his bed is so warm…

He falls asleep waiting.

***

Nesta stumbles out of the shower long after Cassian leaves her and downs a handful of pills without thinking too much about who left them for her. She already has an idea of how the next few days will go, and she just hopes Cassian will allow her the dignity to suffer through it alone.

She crawls into bed exhausted and shuts her eyes tight. The next time she opens them, sunlight is streaming weakly through the windows. Jarring pain lances through her abdomen, and she brings her legs all the way up to her chest and whimpers. From the edge of her consciousness, she notices the snack tray has been replaced with lunch— some leftover lasagna from the night before. Sneaking out her hand from her mountain of blankets, she goes for her phone. A text sent nearly an hour ago waits for her.

Cassian: please eat.

Nesta glares at the lasagna because she knows better. She might have spent this morning eyeing the bathroom tiles to determine if they were clean enough for her to curl up there and die, but she's not at a point to abandon her dignity just yet. The last thing her roiling nausea needs is solid food. Instead, she gathers the focus to text back Cassian: Leave me alone today.

It's only after she sends the message that she realizes it sounds harsh, but she can't bring herself to explain further or to soften her tone. Her pain always has a way of stripping her of any defenses and formalities and leaving only a primal creature behind.

Turning her phone off, she closes her eyes and inhales tightly through her nose. A wave of cramps that feels closer to what a brutal stabbing victim would feel like overtakes her, and— no, she has to get up.

During times like these, the bathroom is Nesta’s favorite place in the whole world. Cool tiles to rest her head on, hot water just a foot away, and a spacious tub if she ever feels like passing out. Heaven. Naturally, she escapes there first.

After maybe another hour of restless writhing and moving about, Nesta decides the suffering isn't worth it and hobbles downstairs in search of some Nyquil to knock her out. She’s got the medicine cabinet halfway open when a broad hand slams it back shut, and she turns to find Cassian standing behind her with a stern look. “You haven’t eaten anything all day. You can’t take meds on an empty stomach.”

Nesta wants to cry at the denial of pain relief, but she grips the counter behind her and manages a glare instead. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I will absolutely tell you not to wreck your liver, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

A desperate whine escapes her, and she can’t believe Cassian has to see her like this. Even worse, she sees sympathy soften his face as his hand slips off the cabinet next to her head. “I made soup,” he offers. “Can you have soup?”

Nesta hesitates. Her insides don’t hate the idea of soup. She nods.

***

Nesta insisted on avoiding Cassian for the rest of the day, and Cassian graciously eased off her back once he knew she’d eaten. He kindly pretended he didn’t hear her running back and forth from the bathroom all day because she couldn’t sit still, and only interrupted her once to make sure she took more Tylenol before bed.

Now, long after night has fallen, Nesta is truly alone. Her medicine either hasn’t kicked in yet or isn’t strong enough to do its job tonight. She can barely think straight, and this is when the most primal part of herself comes out.

Despite her age, despite everything, she still cries. She cries as if anyone would bother listening, physical pain intertwining with the pain and humiliation of being ignored. “Papa,” she calls into her pillow, again and again.

She hasn’t trusted her papa in years, and yet she still expects him to rescue her. She still waits for him to show up and make everything better.

A hot tear leaks from her eye, and the catharsis of it distracts from her cramps. She curls up into a ball and cries harder, as if she can weep out everything that’s wrong with her body.

A soft knock interrupts her helpless whimpers, and Nesta hears the door open a moment later. “Nesta? Were you calling for me?”

Somebody came. No one’s ever come for her before.

A sigh of relief escapes her, and she forgets to put her walls up. “I’m just—” she tries to say, “so tired.”

She hears Cassian come farther into the room and curse. “Fuck, it’s an icebox in here.”

A hand nudges at her mound of comforters, giving Nesta’s shoulder a shake. “You should’ve told me the heater wasn’t working. Are you okay?”

That question sets her on edge. “Do I look okay?” her voice cracks. She wants to cry even harder now that he’s here, for some reason.

“Obviously not,” he mutters. “You’re staying in my room tonight. Get up.”

Nesta groans and burrows further into her freezing cocoon of sheets. “Don’twannamove.”

“It’s either that or I’m carrying you. I’m good either way.”

Nesta finally cracks her eyes open, glad that Cassian is only a tear-blurred figure in the dark. She doesn’t want to read whatever is on his face right now. Gathering her heavy comforter around herself, she gets up and lets Cassian lead her down the hall to his room.

Toasty warmth hits her as soon as she’s inside, and she makes an exhausted sound and drops the comforter. In a blur, she’s tucked into Cassian’s bed, enveloped by his scent and his lingering body heat on the sheets. Under the dim lamplight, Cassian seems to finally take notice of the tear tracks on her face. Clicking his tongue in sympathy and concern, he rubs his thumb over the sensitive skin under Nesta’s eyes. Her whole body shudders under the gentle touch. Who knew just the pad of his finger could combat this inescapable agony?

“This isn’t normal,” he murmurs. “I’m taking you to a doctor as soon as this storm clears.”

If Nesta was in the right state of mind, she’d tell him absolutely not. However, she’s barely comprehending his words as it is, so she watches him click the lamp off in silence. Darkness fills the room, but she can hear him moving.

“I’ll be right back,” his voice rumbles, and then she’s alone again. More tears leak at the feeling of abandonment. She’s so sick of herself.

After what feels like an eternity but is only a few minutes, she hears Cassian return. The mattress dips behind her as he climbs under the blankets with her, and then Nesta feels something hot and dry being pressed to her side. A towel. “Does this help?” he murmurs, his voice surprisingly close to her ear.

Wordlessly, Nesta reaches down and takes his hand holding the hot towel, dragging it beneath the hem of her sweater so the heat burns against her bare skin. She sighs and allows her tensed body to sag, leaning back into the hard cradle of Cassian’s chest and arms.

In her ear, Cassian’s breathing has gone shallow. His hand slips from her side, only to find her back and start rubbing up and down.

Her eyes flutter shut.

“My mother was a Muslim immigrant from Algeria,” Cassian whispers out of nowhere. “And whenever I felt sick as a little kid, I would crawl into her lap and she would rub my back just like this, and say some prayers and blow on my face, and I would feel better.”

Nesta makes a weak sound of acknowledgment. That sounds nice, nicer than anything she ever knew growing up.

“I’m sorry I don’t know any prayers,” Cassian says. Then, Nesta feels a whoosh of breath tickle the side of her face. “Does that help?”

It feels weirdly good, and Nesta's shoulders start shaking. She doesn't know if she's holding in a laugh or a sob. Cassian’s hand stills on her back. “Nesta?”

A sharp wave of pain sets her straight. After she breathes through it, she tells him, “You don't need to pray. Just… keep talking to me.”

His hand resumes drawing circles on her back. “Alright.” And he whispers stories into her ear for the rest of the night, until she's fallen asleep and long afterward.

The next morning, Nesta is feeling much better. Cassian knows this because she’s sitting in the living room when he comes downstairs, straight-backed instead of hunched over in pain, and she’s regained the energy to glare at him.

Cassian’s relief at seeing Nesta okay hesitates at that glare. He slows on the bottom step. “How’re you feeling, sweetheart?”

“Don't call me that.”

He blinks, not sure what he did wrong. Before he can ask, Nesta says, “You didn't listen to me.”

“Excuse me?” He strolls deeper into the living area.

“I told you to leave me alone while I'm on my period, and you didn't listen. You dragged me to your room and made me spend the night with you.”

“You were crying for help,” Cassian says in disbelief. “What was I supposed to do? Ignore you?”

“Yes.” She looks even angrier. “It’s humiliating for me to have you see me like that. It's humiliating to have my own family see me like that.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, but you’re—” He almost says overreacting, but some deep instinct tells him that word won’t fly well with Nesta. “You’re wrong,” he decides. “Whatever you think I’m thinking of you after last night, you’re wrong.” Cassian has no problem going into caretaker mode for Nesta; it's his natural state of being most of the time anyway. Besides, last night was… a new experience for him. For a multitude of reasons. “You can't tell me you go through that every month and have never had anybody take care of you.”

“I haven't, and for good reason,” Nesta seethes. “You had no right to see me like that.”

Cassian leans on the arm of a chair and crosses his arms, considering her. “Have you ever seen a doctor about your period?”

“That’s none of your business,” she snaps. Here is the Nesta that Feyre is always talking about: quick to anger and always on the defense, to the point that she comes off as unreasonable. Nothing like the helpless woman in tears from just the night before.

It brings out a rougher side of Cassian, one that wants to nip and bite at her boundaries instead of letting her be comfortable all the time. “That’s no way to talk to someone who stayed up all night to wait on you hand and foot, you know.”

“Don’t you dare hold that against me.” Nesta’s voice is dangerously cold.

“I’m not holding it against you. I’m taking you to a doctor.”

“No.”

“I already made an appointment.”

“Cancel it.” Her voice is brittle and she’s now trembling with restrained rage. Cassian doesn’t know if it’s because he’s refusing to give her a choice or if she just really doesn’t like doctors. Either way, it doesn’t change how Nesta ran out of bed at four this morning to puke her soup up. If it wasn’t for all this snow, he would have dragged her ass to the ER by now.

“I don’t have health insurance,” Nesta admits when she sees that Cassian won’t back down. “And I’ve made it this far without any cause for concern; there’s no reason to go.”

“Then I’ll pay for it,” he says simply. Her lack of care for her health astounds and angers Cassian at the same time. How is it that nobody, not even her family, has looked at this woman before and said You’re not okay, do you need help? How many times has she cried in pain with no one to listen?

Nesta has now stood up and is turning red in the face. “Absolutely not. Stop it.”

“Stop what?” Cassian smirks and straightens up.

“I’m not going to the doctor,” she barks. “Cancel the appointment.”

“No.”

“DO IT!”

In that moment, Cassian sees it. He sees how beneath the adult manner and adult words, the carefully crafted facade of cool, there is an explosive, tantrum-prone child. And he’s about to reveal her for good.

“It’s this Wednesday. I hope you don't mind skipping class.”

An enraged shriek shatters the air in the room, and before Cassian can even be shocked Nesta is verbally pouncing on him, yelling, “How fucking dare you, you complete shithead—”

“Nesta.”

“You have no right to— You’re so useless, this is why I didn't want to stay with you, this is why I never talked to you—”

“Nest—”

“You egomaniacal manipulative bastard— just because you let me stay in your house doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do—”

“Damn it Nesta, can you just shut up and LISTEN TO ME FOR ONCE!”

Nesta freezes and blinks, taken aback. Cassian immediately snaps his mouth shut, wondering if he’s finally crossed that line he’s been so cautiously toeing this whole time.

He watches her face closely, looking for signs of upset— or worse, fear. She only says, “Fine.”

He’s confused. “Fine, what?”

“Fine, I’ll go to the doctor’s.” Just like that, her fight is gone and the facade is back in place. She sets her jaw, but a hint of surprise and newfound discovery lingers in her eyes. “But I’m not letting you pay for it. It’ll have to come out of my own pocket.” She doesn't look happy about that part.

Cassian wants to argue her, but he knows how to pick and choose his battles. For now, he’s just baffled that he demanded Nesta to do something, and she listened.

He raised his voice at her. God, he yelled at her in anger and she only blinked in response, and now she’s listening to him. What kind of sick alien shit is this?

***

a/n: i love talking about these characters so if you ever get sick of waiting for part 5 just shoot me an ask and ill gladly discuss nessian with you

tagging: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @sensitiveillyrian @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx

#a favor #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian #ncssianwrites #nessian fic #nessian au

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