#the air is filled with a the light smell of floral and it’s just chilly enough to make you feel alive | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lustastarte · 1 year

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♤ fragrancia | jocaesar ♤

genre: fluff/teeny tiny bit of angst

soap fragrances jumpstarting caesar and joseph’s 1940s secret love story

published: 2023

Whistling as he steps out of the steam-filled bathroom, Joseph shook his thick, wet hair like a dog and lazily held the fluffy beige towel around his waist. The sound of his water-logged feet softly popping against the beautiful marble floor echoed in the silent room, distracting Caesar from his daily devotional.

"Will you sit down somewhere?"

Joseph released his grip on his towel, which sat just below the horizontal apex of his hipbones, and began pulling clothes out of the hotel dresser. Without giving Caesar so much as a glance, he snorted and shook his head.

"You are such a pain in the neck, you know that?"

The brunette turned around, his bare torso now fully exposed to his roommate. "You betcha."

Caesar couldn't help but eye him up. He tried his hardest to look as though it were out of anger, but he knew deep down that it wasn't. "Twat."

"Go get in the shower, you dud. Then you can complain all that you would like."

Rolling his eyes and huffing through his flared nostrils, he grabbed his clothes and towel, making his way to the bathroom. The chilly marble floor and off-white plastered walls were covered in a layer of water droplets from the suffocating steam condensing; the air smelled of dark, sweet amber, musky, sensual sandalwood, and just a hint of sunny, juicy candied mandarin oranges mixed with the sweat and dirt the British man had just washed away. As embarrassing as it was, Caesar always requested to take a shower last, just to smell Joseph's unique scent. It wasn't anything weird, he just enjoyed analyzing different fragrances and the bar soap that Joseph used just so happened to be one of his favorite so far. He often wonders what it smells like on the other's skin, if it will sweeten and develop undertones of exotic Madagascar vanilla or warm up to reveal a smoky ginger incense undertone. Of course, again, not in a questionable way. Caesar always shakes the thoughts from his head for fear that they may become (or, less admittedly, already are) about more than a fragrance, yet continues to give in to his guilty pleasure of showering after Joseph.

After cleaning himself up and getting dressed, he shuffled out of the bathroom and toward the bed.

"Thank God you're out, I really have to go," Joseph said as he headed for the bathroom.

"Why did you not go when you showered?"

"Hold on!"

Joseph shut the door as if he were in some sort of a hurry. He didn't have to pee, he did before he showered. He just always pretends that he does after Caesar showers so he can smell the scent of his bar soap. Joseph certainly isn't a fragrance expert or buff, he considers himself much more of a casual fragrance enjoyer that just so happens to enjoy his training partner's scent of choice. It wasn't odd. He excused it by comparing it to a perfume shop, where you take sample strips of your favorites. Except, in a perfume shop, you typically sample more than one and usually buy something... And you don't have to pretend to be doing something else... And it's not smelling other people's post-shower air... Oh, whatever!!! None of it matters, it's just not weird, okay?!

Each time he stepped into the misty bathroom, the heavy air washed the blonde's smell all over him. The palo santo is always registered first, the bright and refreshing mix of pine, mint, and citrus lighting his brain up. Then the deep, earthy spiciness of patchouli follows, ballroom dancing with the light, floral herbyness of lavender. It was so refined and sophisticated, yet so, so masculine. The longer Joseph stood there and smelled, the more he felt as though he had just taken Valium. Suddenly jumping back to his senses, he rushes out of the bathroom. How long had he been in there? Would Caesar notice?

Caesar lifted his head as Joseph sped out of the bathroom. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, fine."

"I don't exactly want to sleep near you if you're feeling ill," Caesar sighed.

"I am not ill, Caesar," Joseph responded. "You don't exactly have a choice if you'd like to sleep in the bed with me... You either do or you get the floor."

The Italian scoffed and pulled the comforter back on his side. "As if."

"I'm glad you decided to come 'round," the brunette commented, a smug grin lighting his face up while he climbed into the bed. Half his body hung off the side of the bed for fear that he would end up much too close to Caesar for 'friends.' His back faced Caesar's, and vice versa, to ensure they would not wake up facing one another, or worse, touching one another.

"Good night, Caesarino."

Caesar took a deep breath in, yawning on the exhale as he nuzzled the side of his face into the cool, firm hotel pillow. "Good night, Jojo."

The next evening, after hours and hours of training, the two strode through the arched entrance of the hotel, an ornate Renaissance-era palazzo refurbished into a hotel around 1890. Stone pillars surrounded them, supporting the vaulted ceilings and complimenting the frescoed walls with their blankness. Lavish and extravagant Venetian chandeliers hung overhead, lighting up the atrium and a grand marble and mahogany staircase that led to the outdoor terraces which overlooked the countless acres of lush, vibrant terraced gardens dotted with beautifully crafted stone fixtures such as fountains and birdbaths. The two boys took the side stairs up to their room and completed their shower routine, climbing into bed right after.

Sometime around 3 a.m., Joseph woke to the feeling of something against his back. Soft, hot breaths tickled his spine as the hand resting across his waist and tucked between his body and the bed pulled him closer. He froze, slowly turning his head to look behind him. As he peered over his shoulder, the blonde tucked his face into Joseph's back, curling the rest of his body up into the other's like a cat. His hand moved down from just under his pecs to the middle of his stomach and Joseph shuddered.

What the fuck does he do? Should he wake him up? Oh no, oh no, no, no, what if someone sees them?

He decided that the best thing to do would be to never speak of it again. Of course, Caesar could not be blamed, it was impossible that he knew. He was out cold the second his head hit the pillow, overly exhausted from their rigorous training. Caesar didn't have to know, either.

Even with the unexpectedness, Joseph felt oddly safe and comfortable with the situation. The warmth against his back and resting on his side was soothing; knowing Caesar trusted him enough to feel so secure that he is unconsciously drawn to him in his sleep made his heart flutter and heat pool in his stomach. Most of all, he felt ashamed. Ashamed that he hadn't moved, ashamed that he didn't feel uncomfortable, and absolutely mortified that he enjoyed it. Joseph was enjoying his best friend accidentally attaching himself to him in his sleep. What does this mean? This isn't right. Why does he like it? Caesar is his best friend and they're both men. This shouldn't be happening. He must be lonely because this just isn't normal. His worst enemies, fear and social rejection, began to win the mental battle. And while every cell in his body screamed at him to stay, he left Caesar's warm embrace to get into the bed on the other side.

Around 6 a.m., the birds began to sing. While beautiful, Caesar thought them to be much too loud and wants nothing more to do with them. Finishing up with being angry at the birds, he began to notice his surroundings had changed. Why was he on a different side of the bed? He turned over to find Joseph out cold, arm outstretched to him on his side of the bed. What in hell happened last night? Is Joseph okay?

After waking up, Joseph acted... different. He was normally quite a touchy man, but he seemed to be keeping his distance from Caesar. What did Caesar do to him in his sleep?

"Jojo?"

Joseph hummed, barely looking over at the blonde.

"Are you okay? You're acting odd... Do you know why I woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?"

A swift, barely noticeable look of fear washed over the Brit's face before returning to his collected composure. "I'm stressed... And I-... I got sick this morning and when I returned, you were in my spot so I slept on your side."

He hates lying. Lying makes him feel dirty, as if covered in corn syrup, caked with semi-dry mud, or doused in tar. The guilt immediately set in, evident on his face as he swallowed nothing and cleared his throat.

Caesar scanned his face, scrutinizing each and every detail. Joseph's shifty eyes and clenched jaw were all he needed to know that he had been lied to.

"Why are you lying to me over something so simple?"

"Fine," Joseph huffed. "You had rolled over and ended up nearly on top of me, so I moved because I felt that that was not your intention in the slightest."

Caesar chuckled. "What, are you afraid of parking with your sweet ol' mate?"

Joseph's face contorted, lifting his lip and dropping his eyebrows in disgust. "We are not parking, you insufferable twat! I would never hold you and certainly never kiss you, not in a million years!"

Caesar faked a gasp, placing his hand over his heart and throwing his head back and to the side as though a shocked, helpless maiden in an old film. "Oh no! What ever shall I do? Jojo can no longer understand jokes! Oh, the horror! The sorrow!"

The brunette balled his sleep shirt and threw it as hard as possible at the other. "You are not funny, Caesar."

"Is it truly that offensive to you to have a joke made that you're a queer?"

"I am not a queer, Caesar. I have no problem with it, but it just isn't me."

Caesar watched as Joseph's eyes shifted, looking anywhere but him, and decided to drop it for now. Maybe he could bring it up later.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to joke about a sensitive subject for you, I truly did not know. I'll make sure it doesn't happen again. Will you forgive me, Joseph?"

"That's fine. Thank you for apologizing to me."

"Always. Now, what do you say about getting coffee? It will be on me," Caesar offered, both to break the awkward silence and make up for his unintentionally cruel joke. Joseph looked off to the side to think before flicking his gaze to Caesar's bony, clasped hands that sat limp in his lap and nodding, a large yawn overtaking his ability to speak.

So out on the town they went. Though he had been in the city for a couple weeks, its ancient aura never failed to capture Joseph's attention, and even native Italians such as Caesar have a hard time pulling themselves away. History seems to ooze and flow from each crack and crevice, no matter how small. Classical, arched and pillar-supported architecture remnants celebrating their 2,000th birthday mingled with Italian Gothic pointed arches, elaborate statues, and large windows. Narrow, tricolored cobblestone streets fenced in by towering plaster and stone buildings, some left bare, some painted a singular color or two, and some frescoed with the most beautiful scenes. The salty, fresh smell of the sea mixed with the delectable smell of Italian sweets, waves crashing against the shore as shop owners work to fill their display cases with countless treats. Tourists were around each corner, marveling at the scenery, and Joseph couldn't blame them. However, they walked much too slow for his liking and he was not fond of them. They often wore clothes that did not reflect the city's fashion trends and perfumes that smelled of too much tuberose, white florals, and... peppercorn? The smell of sickly sweet bubblegum, chewed for a minute and spat onto a plate of freshly crushed pink peppercorn hurt Joseph's nose, made him sneeze over and over. One could pick them out in the hordes of people with ease, even if inexperienced with people-watching. Their colognes were also much too strong, the harsh metallic odor of it mixing with the straight alcohol and cigarette smoke clinging to their shirts so overpowering at times that it could cause Joseph and Caesar to choke up from five feet away. Because of the tourists, most places were continually packed, a 30 minute wait on their slowest days. Fortunately for the two men, their favorite place to have coffee stayed a heavenly secret among the locals. The two stepped through an unassuming door and into the cafe, where they were immediately greeted.

"Buongiorno! Un marocchino e un cappuccino per favore," Caesar said sweetly to the barista, his voice lower and smoother than when he speaks English. While he had been studying a little, the only thing Joseph recognized was 'cappuccino,' and only because they have those in England (albeit much, much less artisanal and much, much more... vapid).

Standing at the bar, they quickly finished their drinks and began the short walk back to their hotel.

"Is there anything you would like to do after this?"

Joseph hummed. "Aperol spritzes on the terrace?"

Caesar smiled at the brunette. "I love the way you think, Jojo."

They swung by a small market just outside of their hotel for the Aperol and Prosecco, with soda water already waiting in the mini refrigerator in their room. Without measuring, Joseph pre-made 7 glasses of the drink so when they inevitably wanted more, they could simply get up and grab one, and that they did. Feeling a bit tipsy, Joseph stopped on his third, offering the fourth one that they originally were to split to Caesar alone. Caesar, being a bit smaller in height and weight than Joseph, was more tipsy; while a 4th drink would not necessarily get him 'drunk,' it will elevate him from tipsy to a bit woozy.

"Y'know, Jojo, I feel bad for what happened earlier," Caesar sighed, guilt evident in his eyes as he attempted to make eye contact with the brunette.

"That's okay, you couldn't have known," he responded with a smile.

They sat in a semi-awkward, painful silence for what felt like hours before the blonde broke it.

"Do you mind me asking why it's sensitive for you?"

Joseph swallowed and clenched his jaw. "Can you promise to tell absolutely no one?"

"That I can do, I swear on my life that no soul will hear what you have to say."

The Brit nodded, biting the inside of his mouth and taking sudden interest in the striations of the mahogany planks that make up their wooden terrace.

"The reason it's sensitive is because of my father. He might kill me if even a single person has a single thought that there is a single, sub-microscopic chance that I may like men. He's not the most accepting, which I find odd because I've been told Grandpa Johnathan was accepting of anyone and anything, so long as they were of good heart. Not to mention that the outside world is cruel and full of hate. In Germany, they've begun imprisoning people who don't fit their definition of normal. And to be quite frank with you, I'm scared of what could happen if someone suspects anything of me."

Caesar slid his chair closer to the other, flashing a gentle smile as he stopped. "You take after your grandfather, I hope that you know that. And I intend to as well. It does not matter to me what you find yourself attracted to. Now that I think about it, I have something to tell you that may ease your mind. Can you keep a secret, Jojo?"

The brunette nodded, anxiety skyrocketing. What was he going to say to him?

"Yes, I can."

"I trust you with my life, Joseph, so I will tell you this only once. No one else must ever know."

"No one will ever know, I swear to you."

Caesar's heart pounded in his chest. Was he really going to tell him this? He knows that Joseph won't run or hide from him, he assumes he'll be indifferent at the very least. Still, he had never, ever entertained the thought of telling someone. Hell, he had never even entertained the thought of entertaining the thought of telling someone. Yet here he was, about to explain everything to a man he met less than two months ago.

Granted, Joseph was... different. Different from the Italians he's used to, different from the way others dress, different from the way others' bodies are built, different from the way Caesar interacts with others, different from the way Caesar talks about others, different from the way Caesar thinks about others. He really doesn't think of anyone else anymore. Maybe it's because he has to spend all of his time with him? No, no he doesn't. He's allowed to go out on the town by himself, he's a grown man for fuck's sake. But each day after training, when he's given the chance, he chooses to spend his free time with Joseph. He has the choice to have a coffee alone in the morning, the choice to eat lunch by himself, the choice to enjoy a lonely dinner; and every single day, he finds himself following Joseph everywhere he goes and asking him to tag along when they may have to separate.

Joseph was Caesar's best friend. The best best friend that Caesar has ever had and will ever have. Never before had he met someone so willing to lay their life down for a friend, save for himself. And lay his life down he would; all Joseph has to do is ask. Caesar trusts Joseph with his life, so why not allow him to know this? Too late to back out.

The blonde took a shallow breath. "I- Well... How do I say this?"

Joseph raised an eyebrow, but stayed silent as he concentrated on Caesar's features, his piercingly viridescent hooded eyes, his streamlined Roman nose, his slightly flushed lips that never seem to crack, his jawline, his cheekbones, his eyebrows, and the little pink triangles that sit upon the apex of his cheeks. He found himself staring against his control, focus lingering on the middle of Caesar's face. He had never thought about how handsome his friend was, only heard it just about a million times. Yet there he sat, admiring the other man.

"Joseph, did I ever tell you that I have had... er- relations, if you will, with a man?"

The Brit's eyes widened and he leaned forward. "Are you serious?"

Oh no. Oh no. Caesar hesitated to answer, his heart threatening to crack under the weight of the possibility that he could lose his best friend over something so trivial. He bit the inside of his cheek, gaze dropping from the brunette's, and nodded. The fear of rejection, especially from someone so important in his life, brought pain to his chest and pushed his stomach acid up into his throat and mouth.

"Caesar? Caesar?" Joseph tapped the underside of the Italian's chin with the side of his curled index finger twice, gently lifting upward on the second tap to encourage Caesar to refocus.

"Caesarinoooo?" He cooed.

Caesar only matched his gaze, words unavailable to him.

"Now that I am sure you're listening, this changes nothing. You are still my best friend, still the same Caesar I met and fought with two months ago," he grinned.

"So... you don't mind? What about sleeping in the bed and getting changed and-?"

"Hey," Joseph interrupted. "Did you not listen? I don't mind. It makes no difference with me."

Caesar's eyes seemed to brighten, the pain in his chest subsiding. "Are you sure?"

"You are still m- Caesar. Even if it may not be for me," he broke their eye contact to look around, face fading of its color, then rejoined their gazes. "I have no problems with the fact that you've been with a man. Truthfully... I think you're brave."

Caesar knew he was lying, he just didn't know about what part. Was he lying about still seeing Caesar the same? Or about seeing him as brave? Or about it not being him? No, no, the last one couldn't be right. Caesar had seen the brunette kiss so many women! Well... sort of. He had seen women fawn over him, rubbing his biceps and kissing his cheeks, but he never tried to push them away and certainly never seemed uncomfortable...

"Brave? Why's that?"

"You're confident enough to do something dangerous. I'm... not like that."

"Not confident? That doesn't matter, I think if you want to try something, you should. You seem quite brave to me, considering you held your ground against me when we first met," Caesar reasoned with a fond smile.

Joseph flashed a half-smile, shrugging his shoulders. "I know, but this is... different. I can hold my ground, I cannot-," he shook his head with a small huff. "Anyway, we should clean our mess up, yeah?"

So close, yet so far... It drove Caesar insane trying to figure out what was with Joseph's sudden topic changes. What was so badthat he couldn't bear to talk about it?

Weeks passed and Caesar never brought the subject up. Whatever it was, Joseph seemed to be conflicted, maybe even scared. But of what? Caesar worried that he may be judgemental of his lifestyle, even if he denies it. If he were, would he not want to have separate beds or even rooms? Would he not insist on being fully dressed around Caesar or refrain from touching him? It made him ill, nauseated to think that Joseph would feel anything but amicable toward him. Every single day, the sight of Joseph tanked his confidence and encouraged him to dispel any food inside his stomach (or to be more exact, the lack thereof). He was so worked up that Joseph himself began to notice, which could be considered a miracle under different circumstances. For now, it's an extremely unpleasant truth.

"Caesar, are you sure that you're well-off?"

Caesar lightly sighed. "Yes, Joseph. I am just wonderful."

Normally, Joseph Joestar is one of the easiest people to lie to. Normally. Unfortunately, not today.

"Stop lying to me. I can't truly be your best friend if I can't help you when something is wrong," Joseph spoke with a stern tone, stepping closer to where Caesar sat on their shared bed. The blonde pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, eyes nearly devoid of life.

"Let me crush your worries, alright?"

Caesar nodded as Joseph gently sat down next to him, closer than they had ever been. Before, they would sit close, but never touched one another. Now, Joseph's thigh pressed against the other's, their torsos and faces mere inches apart.

"Give me your hand, please," Joseph extended his own hand, palm up and fingers relaxed. The blond placed his hand in Joseph's, who brought it closer to himself and clasped his other hand around it, slightly squeezing. Caesar's face flushed a near beetroot red, green eyes filled with confusion and another feeling Joseph couldn't quite make out.

"I never lied about accepting you. You are still you," he paused. "You're still the person I met and became best friends with. You are still my Caesar."

Uh oh. He could only hope and pray that Caesar didn't register what he said. Oh, God... Oh, God, Oh, God! Why did he say that? Why did he say Caesar was his? How does he explain what he really meant? Why didn't he stop at the best friend part? He can never speak again. Yeah, that's the plan. Never speak ever again. To anyone.

Caesar's face lit up with a childish playfulness, a thick, blonde eyebrow jumping up his forehead. "Your Caesar, huh?"

Of course he wouldn't let it slide. "No, that's- I didn't- It isn't-," he stuttered, dropping the other's hand, dying to crawl into his own grave. Nothing would be better than his lungs filling with dirt at this moment. Death is his only escape, he's convinced.

Caesar snickered, placing a hand on Joseph's knee. "Shhh, I know what you meant. You don't have to explain yourself."

"But I didn't mean it the way you think I-!"

"You said 'my Caesar,' meaning the Caesar that you personally know because you see more of me than other people. You see a different Caesar than anyone else, so you said 'my Caesar,'" he said matter-of-factly, shrugging with a smug smile.

"Oh..." Joseph's heart finally stilled.

"Ah, il mio dolce Jojo. You're an open book, so long as one is fluent in your language," he teased, leaning forward. "Easily one of my favorites."

Joseph couldn't help but smile, teeth on full display. He admired Caesar's half-lidded stare, the way his cold eyes soften before the top lid brings shade to those beautiful, shamrock green irises and his cocky, almost flirty grin, flaunting his lightly stained teeth as he said 'il mio dolce Jojo.'

He had no clue what 'il mio dolce' meant, but the gentleness of his sugary, rich tenor voice with a deep Italian accent made up for it all. Joseph believes Caesar could tell him to off himself with that near sultry voice of his and Joseph would still feel the butterflies in his stomach. Excitement struck; the rest of Caesar's words sank in. Easily Caesar's favorite 'book to read.' What a wonderful title to have! Caesar's favorite! He's Caesar's favorite!

"I'm truly honored, Caesarino. Just one question, what does all of that Italian stuff you said mean?"

Caesar's mind froze, paralyzed between lying or explaining that it's just meant to be endearing without coming off as odd. He wouldn't want Joseph thinking that he was flirting because he wasn't. He wasn't flirting.

"It means fat-head."

"My head isn't fat!" The brunette looked distressed. "It's not fat, is it? Caesar, do I have a big head?"

The blonde giggled, hand flying to his mouth as he attempted to hide the small snorts. "No, Jojo, it's uh... Italian endearment. Almost like 'love' in Britain." Smooth. He'd never question that!

"Oh! Well then, hello il mio dolce Caesar!"

Caesar's breath caught in his throat. It's fine when he says it, but Joseph can't just call him that! It'll make him-!

And there it was, again. The return of the heat in his stomach and accelerated beating of his heart. His hands were suddenly damp with sweat and the room seemed so much brighter than usual. He could smell Joseph's soap; the answer was that it developed into smoky, spicy ginger incense against his soft, freckled skin. He could hear everything, even Joseph's heartbeat. The beaming smile on Joseph's face made his legs weak and his body shaky. Caesar feels as if he had taken the strongest stimulant available on the market. This is not good.

"Was I not supposed to say that? You look... worried," Joseph questioned, interrupting his thoughts.

"No, no! It's fine to say!" Caesar began thinking of a way out.

"Then why do you look so-?"

"I'm going to the garden pool! Don't wait up!"

Joseph stood up just as fast as the other, eager to accompany him. "Why don't I go with you?"

"NO! I mean-," Caesar cleared his throat and attempted to regain his composure. "You need to sleep! Training was quite harsh today..."

Joseph cocked his head to the side, his eyebrows diving down and his lips puckering slightly as he bit the edge of his tongue. "What are you hiding from me?"

Oh, why is he so observant today? Of all days! What does he do? What can he do?

Caesar suddenly has an idea. "Oh, I can't believe you'd even suggest that! I would never hide anything from you, tesorino," the blonde insisted, his voice suddenly sickeningly sweet and drenched with admiration again. Manipulation tactics never fail Caesar, and a white lie (or a few) never hurt anyone before.

"Mhm... Well, have fun down there, I'll most likely be asleep by the time you return," Joseph said with skepticism. Caesar was hiding something from him, he knew it. He just had to wait.

"Thank you, goodbye Jojo!" He wasted no time exiting the room, next to running through hallways and down staircases to get to the hotel's garden, to get anywhere that wasn't his room, wasn't under Joseph's strangely observational surveillance, wasn't exposed to his voice. His beautiful, brassy baritone voice that made even Caesar's bones quiver.

Joseph watched as the blonde fled. He tried to move from his spot or think about anything else, but Caesar had taken hold of his mind. He thought back to when they sat on the bed, so much closer than they had been before. Joseph thought about how the butterflies in his stomach seemed to hold an uprising as the blonde teased him. That sly grin, the barely visible sliver of teeth and the smug look on his face made the Brit imagine scenarios that were not so normal for best friends. This can't be real. He can't like men, and he definitely cannot like his best friend! This is so, so bad...

He changed into his sleep clothes and climbed into bed, but he couldn't sleep. Not until Caesar came back, at least.

Caesar never made it down to the garden. Each time he looked out of the window, there were more people. Instead, he sat at the end of the hallway for half an hour, just long enough for Joseph to fall asleep. Entering the room and hearing nothing, his worries subsided. He completed his nightly routine, finally getting to feel the soft touch of the silk sheets and weight of the downy comforter.

"Caesar?"

The blonde jumped, gasping at the sudden sound from someone he thought was asleep. "Y-Yes?"

"How- Uh," Joseph lightly cleared his throat. "How did you... know?"

"Know what?" Caesar was confused, hoping that Joseph was just a sleep-talker. Those hopes were crushed as the brunette rolled over to lay face-to-face with him.

"How did you know that you were- ah- attracted to... men?"

Caesar squinted. "I just knew, Jojo."

"No, no," he rolled his eyes. "I mean how did you know? When did you... find out?"

The Italian snorted, grinning at his roommate.

"It isn't funny! Stop laughing! This is a serious question," Joseph whined.

"Okay, okay, sorry," Caesar said between giggles.

"You're still doing it!"

"I am not," he insisted, still snickering under his breath.

"Answer the question, twat!"

"Fine, fine," the blonde sighed. "I believe I began to notice when I first entered adolescence. All of my friends had these bootleg stag films... We would all crowd around the television and watch these pretty broads shooting for the moon with these hunky men. They would always talk about their whangs sticking up because the woman was so attractive and would sometimes be so aroused they would bash it in front of one another," he explained.

Joseph nodded to show Caesar that he was still giving him all of his attention.

"Except I never found the women attractive. I would watch the men, imagining that the woman underneath him was just a very effeminate man. I would leave the room when they began jerking it because I would feel so guilty in a room with a bunch of men with their snakes out, knowing what I was."

"So you have to only think men are attractive? To be a queer, I mean," Joseph asked.

"No, why? Have you found yourself looking at both, Jojo?"

Joseph sighed with a hum, clenching his jaw and rolling onto his back. "Never really looked at men until recently... There's this one I noticed recently that looks better than any broad I've ever seen. Am I... Am I allowed to be attracted to both? I'm not a monster, am I?"

Caesar gave him a comforting smile, reaching out and grabbing his forearm. "Jojo... il mio dolce Jojo... You are no monster and you certainly have done no wrong. Do you understand me?"

The Brit nodded, finally turning his head back toward Caesar.

"Do you mind answering with words? I want to be sure that you understand that you are a stark contrast to a monster."

"But," Joseph turned his body back toward Caesar, this time scooting a bit closer. "What if I am?"

"Mio caro, have I ever told you that I dislike books with monsters? If you were a monster, you certainly wouldn't be my favorite book. In fact, I would have never chosen to read you at all."

"Do you... Do you mean that?" Joseph leaned forward, hoping to hear confirmation.

"Yes, of course I mean it, Jojo. You are my best friend, I adore you and everything you stand for."

Best friend. Best friend. Best... Friend... Why did that hurt him? Caesar said he adores him, why is his heart not jumping out of his chest?

"Thank you... I guess we should-"

"Yeah I think we should sleep, goodnight Jojo."

Joseph rolled over so his back faced the other. "Night, Caesar."

Caesar took a deep breath, unable to close his eyes. Why couldn't he cheer him up? He said the things that normally would help, why did it hurt him? He saw the pain in his eyes. He knows he saw them change.

After some hours, he finally fell asleep. His dream was wonderful; he was cuddling with a firm pillow that had Joseph's exact scent on it, as if he had slept with it for weeks. His face held a smitten smile as he pressed his face into the pillow and took a deep breath to get all he could of his wonderful smell. He never, ever wanted to wake up.

Joseph woke in a cold sweat from his nightmare. It was horrific; he and Caesar had to separate and he had been made to watch him die, unable to do anything. The terror coursing through his veins dissipated and he finally stilled as soon as he felt the familiar arm around his waist and the pretty face buried in between his shoulder blades. He fought with himself on if he should move again or stay. If he moved and Caesar's awake, he may think he's rejecting him. If Caesar wakes up and sees that he's moved again, he may distance himself. If he doesn't move, he can have gratification for a few hours... until Caesar wakes up. Should he move or stay? Move or... Stay. He's staying. He can explain himself in the morning.

And stay he did. He turned over so they lay face to face, gently lifting Caesar up to place his toned arm underneath him and praying he won't wake up. Joseph hesitated for a second, nearly letting fear take over, then shook his head. Not this time. He won't mess up this time. Snaking his other arm around Caesar's lower back, he pulled him closer, the blonde's face now pressed against his chest. His head immediately gravitated toward the pile of thick, soft, messy hair lying just above his collarbone. As he breathed, he could smell the woody, citrusy, floral aroma that stuck to Caesar's body. He felt the Italian squeeze him, a small hum coming from behind his smile. How Caesar smiles at him even in his sleep... he feels like he normally would when around Caesar except for one feeling; there's something different. He no longer wants to just admire him, he wants to hold him close and... Oh, god. He wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss him so badly. He wants to marry him. He loves him. His best friend. He loves Caesar.

Joseph's mind was racing. Attempting to reassure himself only helped a little, trying to forget was pointless. But when Caesar pulled him closer, whispering his name in his sleep, Joseph had no further problems sleeping.

Caesar woke up feeling so warm. A wonderful dream, a comfortable bed, warming comforter, and Joseph's arms around him... JOSEPH'S ARMS AROUND HIM?! He wanted to panic, to move away and pretend it never happened, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. This is what he wanted, right? This is exactly what he wanted. So why did it scare the fuck out of him? He didn't dare to move a muscle in fear that Joseph may wake up. Surely Joseph didn't mean to be cuddling with him, right? The only thing he could do was lay there, either leaning back into the other's chest or admiring his face. His gorgeous face. His chiseled jawline, sharp chin, and nearly colorless lips. His long, slightly upturned nose. And those eyes; those deep turquoise eyes, half shielded by eyelids mustering the strength to fully open. But he can't see his eye color unless they're open...

Oh. Oh, fuck.

"Caesar?" Joseph's voice was deep and raspy from sleep as he spoke.

So much for not getting caught. Caesar pretended to still be asleep, going so far as to fake a snore, but Joseph had watched his head drop when they made eye contact.

"Caesar, I saw your eyes open," he giggled sleepily, his chest shaking against the blonde's face and his voice echoing inside his body. Caesar's face, his body, everything was suddenly too hot. He felt as though he had walked into hell. Quickly, he rolled out of Joseph's arms, muttering apologies over and over as he scrambled to get out of the bed.

"Wait," Joseph urged, propping himself up on his elbow. "Please."

Caesar turned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I know it was a mistake and that you didn't mean to... You don't have to remind me."

"Is that what you want it to be?" Joseph waited anxiously for his answer, his heart pounding. "Just a... mistake?"

The blonde's eyes were overcome with a fog of guilt and despair. "I guess..."

He was lying. Why couldn't he just tell him the truth?

"What if..." Joseph trailed off, looking at the sheets. "What if I said that it wasn't?"

"What?"

Joseph cleared his throat. "What if I said that it was intentional?"

"Are you trying to extract some sort of confession from me or something?"

Joseph looked back up at Caesar, sitting up. "Do you not have one? I'm certain I didn't read you wrong."

"Joseph, drop it. It was a mistake." Caesar's voice was filled with agitation.

Joseph paused, tears waiting patiently to drop from his bottom lashes. Should he just rip the bandaid off? Or spend the next few weeks pining after a man that he knows loves him too?

"No. No, Caesar, it wasn't a mistake. I woke up and you had wrapped yourself around me again. This time I didn't run, this time I turned to face you and held you too."

"Why? Why would you do that?"

"I didn't want to move. And there were... other reasons."

Caesar sat on the bed. "Other reasons?"

The Brit sighed, running nervous hands through messy brown bed hair. "I wanted to know what it felt like to hold you... to feed the butterflies, even if just a little bit."

"The butterflies? Joseph, what are you talking about?"

Joseph released a frustrated sigh, preparing himself to finally say the quiet parts to Caesar's face, everything that had built up over the months.

"Ever since the day we met, I've had this odd feeling toward you that I have never had for anyone. You explained how you realized you liked men, and now I can explain mine. I realized something was different about you when I first woke up to you behind me."

The Italian's eyes widened with each word, his mouth slightly open. What was Joseph saying to him?

"What I mean to say is that I believe I have loved you from the beginning. I have loved you every second of every day since I first met you. I find myself addicted to your scent, admiring your features, reveling in that you should even look my way, much less speak to me and honor me with your time and presence. I loved you so much that I denied it because I could not bear to lose you, even if I would have to spend the rest of my life tormenting myself with unrequited love," his voice cracked as he attempted to hold back his tears.

"I could be tortured, beat to the brink of death with the promise that it will end with my denial of you; I would insist that I love you a thousand times, it would be said with my last breath. If that makes me a monster, then so be it. No matter if I am Scylla or Charybdis, the Minotaur or a Cyclops. If I must become a monster for loving you, then a monster I am because 'I love you' is no longer enough for how I feel toward you, Caesar."

The blonde's mouth gaped, opening and closing his mouth as he tried to speak. He felt the urge to cry sitting in his throat.

With a shaky breath, he spoke, "I could have only hoped that you would tell me that. I never shower before you just so I can wrap myself in the comfort of your fragrance. I find myself wishing to have a life, a family with you more often than I should admit. The highest title given to anyone is that of the person Joseph Joestar chooses to love, and I am not sure I'm worthy of it. I would give my life a million times over if it ensured you would live a long, happy life. Joseph, I do not believe you are a monster, but if you were, I would become one too. Kraken, Hydra, Basilisk, or Medusa, it doesn't matter in the slightest. For if you were a monster, I would still love you."

The side of Joseph's mouth turned upward, his eyes trained on the man in front of him. He left his spot on the bed to sit next to the other man, placing a hand over the blonde's.

His voice was a near whisper. "Can I kiss you? Please?"

Caesar never answered, only placed his hands on the sides of the Brit's face, looking from his eyes to his lips while holding a love-stricken smile an inch from his lips. As he moved closer, one hand found its way to the nape of Joseph's neck, running his fingers through his hair. Joseph instinctually supported his chin, his free hand settling on Caesar's hip, thumb slowly swiping back and forth over the bone. He mustered the courage to close the gap between them, passion and adoration immediately evident in their kiss. Their lips moved in syncopated rhythms until the nervousness melted away; then, they were one. They matched pace, Caesar pulling Joseph closer, closer, closer, until they had to separate unwillingly to breathe.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," the brunette sighed, lips brushing against Caesar's as he spoke.

"Me too," Caesar laughed, grinning and planting a small kiss on Joseph's lips. "You should've asked me sooner."

"I would have if you had told me that 'il mio dolce Jojo' meant 'my sweet Jojo,'" Joseph pressed their foreheads together. "You know, you're a terrible flirt."

"Oh, like you aren't?"

The Brit giggled and stuck his nose up in the air, turning his head away from Caesar. "I never said that."

The blonde grabbed the bottom of his face and pulled him back for another kiss, still as full of fire as before.

With each kiss, their scents mingled. Dark sweet amber marrying bright palo santo, woody sandalwood befriending earthy, spicy patchouli, and citrusy candied oranges relaxing with beautiful, herby lavender. The most beautiful scent either had ever smelled, uniquely theirs forever.

#jocaesar #caejose #joseph x caesar #decade: 1940s #og universe #jjba #jjba fanfic #jojos bizarre adventure #jojo #gay awakening #the best fic i have evr written #literally my best work #shitty probably wrong italian #fluff #fanfiction

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cavalierious-whim · 1 year

Text

“Mulled wine,” says Childe. “Rich, earthy, served warm—”

“Served what?”

Childe rolls his eyes. “I knew that’s where you’d draw the line. You take a nice red wine and you mull it with spices. Traditionally served warm to keep the cold away. There’s literally nothing better for the Yuletide, and yes, that’s including firewater.”

Zhongli’s nose crinkles at the thought. He doesn’t drink much alcohol, to begin with. All that comes to mind is a drunkard of a bard who delights in shirking his duties and spinning verse instead. But, he’s never given it a fair shake in this form beyond a drink or two with Childe.

But—

“I don’t like red wine,” he finally says, cringing. It just isn’t his taste. He prefers other types with flavor profiles that transcend mortal tongues.

Childe considers this, thumbing his cheek. Then, he grins, that terrible rapscallion smile that makes Zhongli’s heart skip a beat.

And really, Zhongli should’ve known better.

There is a compromise.

Zhongli comes home from a particularly grueling day at the funeral parlor to the smell of osmanthus wine over the cookfire. Cinnamon fills the air. Nutmeg, cloves, orange peel—the sorts of flavors and spices that scream the Yuletide season, filling the air with a rich, earthy scent.

“I figured I’d meet you in the middle, yeah? Combine traditions? Mulled wine for the Yuletide, but osmanthus because it brings luck.”

Zhongli happily takes a cup when Childe serves him one. It’s the least that he can do for all the work that’s been put into it. A quick sip. Flavor bursts on his tongue, the floral notes tinged spicy and sweet. It is not heavy in his mouth. It is surprisingly light as he swallows it down.

Childe is right. It warms him from the inside out, perfect for the chilly air. So he drinks another cup. And another. And then another.

And now, he has lost count of the cups but it doesn’t matter. Zhongli loves the way that his veins tingle with his tipsiness. How his tongue has loosened and his laughs come louder, more raucous.

They sit on the open porch in the teapot. Childe laughs too, face flushed, skin pink down his neck before disappearing into his collar. It lays open, unbuttoned, and Zhongli can see the sharp line of his collarbone.

Oh. His mouth is dry. He wants more wine—or, or—

Zhongli leans close, pressing his nose into Childe’s nape, inhaling deeply. Everything around him tips, sloshing around. He chuckles, his brain pleasantly fuzzed as he just drowns in Childe’s fresh, sharp scent. “Ajax,” he murmurs into his ear, lips ghosting the shell of it.

Childe falls to the ground, the floor hard against his back. But he only smiles up at him as Zhongli settles overtop. Their cups of wine are forgotten to the side. Zhongli presses his hand to Childe’s sternum, fingers dipping into the open collar.

They do not often have moments like this. Plenty of times when they lose themselves in each other, but it isn’t with tipsiness, their bones and joints slackened with liquid courage. Here, Zhongli feels unhindered by the weight of his age or the things he’s seen and experienced. The thought of erosion is far away, at the barest of edges of his mind.

Instead, he thinks of the warmth of Childe’s skin. The delightful way that he blushes, watching back with half-lidded eyes, and lashes that sweep across his high cheekbones. Everything is loose-limbed and easy. They slot together as if made for one another.

Their kisses are sloppy. Unrefined. Nothing but teeth, tongues, and laughter as they try to ground themselves and find a good pace. Zhongli’s veins thrum. His brain is dulled but his pulse is alive, and he licks into Childe’s mouth with feverish intent.

Too hot, too cold, just right. Any and everything, all at once, but also not enough. Everything turns lazy, lingering instead. Childe lays on the ground, an arm curled around Zhongli, and they just kiss in the brisk winter air, and the crackle of the fire just inside.

Childe tastes like wine, like spice, like Yuletide. He sighs into Zhongli’s mouth and chuckles. Amused. In love. So, so many things. It isn’t as though Zhongli never feels them but with the wine in his gut, it feels more clear.

When the part, Childe looks curious. “What are you thinking?” he asks, fingers tugging at the clasp that holds Zhongli’s hair together.

“That I love you.”

“I mean, I know that.”

Zhongli can feel the fond expression that pulls at his face. He aches, from the way his heart beats fast, to where his trousers are tented. He pets Childe’s hair and presses their foreheads together, savoring the moment. “Right now,” he says finally, “I don’t think it’s ever been more apparent. This is where I want to be.”

Zhongli learns that osmanthus wine doesn’t always taste the same, especially when carefully cultivated underneath Childe’s expert hands. The taste of it lingers in Childe’s mouth. And, perhaps, this is the point of Zhongli’s retirement, learning to see things through a new lens.

“Ajax.” Zhongli dips and they kiss again, slow and passionate as they find their rhythm. Hands wander and heat builds. They are beautiful like this, drunk on each other, sloppy as they get frisky like teenagers lost in their lust. “Ajax,” he says once more and then he’s gone, hips rolling against Childe as they cling to each other.

Even he’s mulled, heated and warmed, spiced with love on this blustery cold night. Childe gives and Zhongli takes, and that’s enough for the both of them.

#genshin fanfiction #genshin fanfic #genshin #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin impact fanfic #zhongli/childe #childe/zhongli #childe x zhongli #zhongli x childe #zhongchili

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arctickat2400 · 3 years

Text

Dancing in the Rain <> Bucky Barnes

“Where are we going?” You giggled as Bucky helped you out of the car, blindfold on, and his hands on your waist, guiding you towards some secret place.

“Just a second. You’ll see.” You could hear the smile in his voice. You could hear some soft 40s music that Bucky had introduced you to from his time as he stopped you, gently untying the blindfold. You open your eyes to see a beautiful sight. A white gazebo, surrounded with roses and fairy lights brightening up the area as the sun begins to set. In the middle, a blanket lay with a basket, some wine set aside, and some pillows. A few tears build up in your eyes as you recognize this as the place where you and Bucky first met.

You were on your daily run, and it was a particularly hot day unfortunately, and as you were becoming light headed, you stopped, your vision blurred. You tried to look for something to lean on, with no avail, although someone came to your rescue.

He held onto your arm gently, “Are you okay? What can I do?” You heard that voice that you knew would forever be in your mind. “I-I need... I need to…” But you just couldn’t find the words. Luckily, he understood what was going on and he brought you over to the steps of the gazebo you passed by everyday on your run. After catching your breath, you looked up into those icy blue eyes.

And that was it. The day you fell in love with James Buchanan Barnes.

“Happy Anniversary, my love.” Bucky held you against him, his arms gently wound around your waist.

“Baby, it’s beautiful.” You spoke as you slowly made your way up the stairs, Bucky’s hands slipping from your waist. You take note of the small light bulb string lights inside the gazebo. They lit up everything so perfectly. Bucky followed behind you, watching your every move. He swore to himself that the day he dies, he’ll die looking at you.

After gazing around, you met eyes with Bucky. He strolled around the blanket, held his hand out for you to take, and helped you settle down onto the blanket.

“So, I wanted to make tonight especially special, considering it’s been exactly one year since we’ve been together,” Bucky states. “I didn’t know exactly what to do for food, so I asked Nat and she said to get you your favorite food. It’s nothing fancy, but…” Bucky pulls out two burgers and a set of fries to share from your favorite diner. You couldn’t help but let out a laugh.

“Bucky, this is absolutely perfect. And it smells delicious. Thank you,” You had a look of pure adoration in your eyes as you leaned towards him, meeting him halfway, and sharing a passionate kiss.

For the next while, you ate and talked about anything and everything, sharing laughs and all the special moments you’ve shared over the years since you’ve known each other. It was a chilly evening; the sun had gone down and the stars brilliantly lit up the dark night sky.

“You cold, baby girl?” Bucky questioned. He noticed everything, especially when it came to you, and in this case, he noticed the shiver that ran through your body. “Just a little,” You offered him a small, side smirk. You wore an off-shoulder white floral dress that reached mid-thigh, not covering much. Bucky, knowing this might happen, took his suit jacket from laying on the pillows behind him, leaving him in a crisp, white button up with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of skinny black pants, and draped it around your shoulders. You pulled it tight around you, a blush coating your cheeks, reminiscing in his scent.

Bucky laid you back against the pillows, his arm around your shoulders, your head on his chest as you looked up at the stars through the small glass opening in the roof. Conversation followed for a bit until Bucky realized you’d become quiet. It was nearing midnight and he could tell you were becoming tired. Bucky packed everything up, bringing everything to the car as you stayed in the gazebo, leaning against one of the wooden posts, staring out at the firefly-filled park.

“Did I ever tell you how beautiful you look tonight?” Bucky whispers in your ear, his hands smoothing over your waist. You turned in his arms, wrapping yours around his neck.

“Did I ever tell you how handsome you look tonight?” You gave him a smug, but sweet smile, receiving one in return as he leant down and pressed his lips to yours.

Taking your hand in his, Bucky leads you down the stairs and down the path towards his car. You held onto his arm, your head on his shoulder as you slowly walked, enjoying your time together and not wanting it to end.

Suddenly, Bucky stopped as you slid from him. He caught your hand in his, pulling you back to him. “Everything okay?”

“Y/N,” Bucky started, your hands in his as he looked you in the eye, deep into your soul. “I have done so much wrong in my lifetime, but, once meeting you, it all stopped.”

“Bucky, all that “bad stuff” you did, it wasn’t you,” You interrupted him, but he placed his hand on your cheek, placing his thumb over your lips and continued.

“Shh... my love. The day we met, since then, I can’t imagine a life without you in it. You are both my strength and my weakness. Before you, I didn’t know what my life could turn into, I didn’t know where my life was going. But, when I met you, right in this spot,” You looked around and realized, it was, indeed, the exact spot you stopped and he came to help you. A tear slid down your cheek as you looked back into Bucky’s eyes. “My life changed. I don’t know what I could possibly say other than I love you. I love you so much, Katie, and I would surely die if I didn’t have you to hold in my arms.

“So,” You gasped, covering your mouth in surprise as Bucky took a small black velvet box from his pocket and knelt down on one knee in front of you. “If you’ll have me,” He opened the box and you were met with the most beautiful ring you have ever seen or could ever see. “Would you, Y/Full/N, make me the luckiest man alive and marry me?”

A waterfall of tears cascaded down your cheeks as you nodded, sniffling. “Yes. Yes, Bucky! I’ll marry you!” You almost shouted too loud, but, you could never be too loud when announcing your forever love to the only man you could ever love. Bucky’s smile shines brighter than a million stars when he heard that come from your mouth. He takes the ring from the box and slides it carefully onto your finger, standing up. You jumped into his arms, embracing him in the tightest hug you didn’t even know you had the strength to do.

Bucky held you at the waist, pulling apart only to bring you back, placing his hands on either side of your face, and sealing his love for you with the most passionate kiss you would ever experience. You held on tight to his shirt in your fists, never wanting to let go. You pulled apart, begging for air, your eyes locked together.

“I love you so much, Bucky. I can’t imagine spending my life with anyone else.” You smiled up at him as he wiped away some of your tears with his thumbs.

Just then, a drop of water fell on your nose, startling you and you gasped. You both look up as it starts raining. Bucky is quick to hurry you to the car, but you stop him in the grass. “Y/N, what’re you doing? You’re going to get sick.” He looked at you confused, but your smile never left your face.

“I don’t care.” You chuckle at Bucky’s panic. You take your wedges off and pull Bucky back to you, placing his hands on your waist, locking your arms around his neck. “Dance with me. Besides, you know how much I love the rain.” You smile as Bucky offers one in return.

You sway in Bucky’s arms as the rain pours harder, but you still don’t care. You placed your head on his chest, one hand sliding to hold onto his bicep, the other holding onto his neck. Bucky places a sweet kiss to the top of your head before his cheek laying on top. You are soaked through your clothes as Bucky feels a shiver run down your spine.

“Come on, baby. Let’s get you home.” Bucky looks in your eyes with a sweet smile, tucks your hair behind your ear, places a kiss to your nose, and guides you the rest of the way to the car. Pulling into the driveway, Bucky met Y/N on her side. He picked her up bridal style, and carried her inside and up to the bath to warm her and clean her muddy feet.

Bucky placed Y/N inside the bath and helped her out of her soaking wet dress. Turning on the water to just the right temperature for her liking, Bucky helps Y/N to sit down, takes off his soaking wet shirt, and begins to run his hands through her hair, warming her from the freezing rain. She leans her head back and smiles at the relaxing feeling of Bucky’s gentle touch.

Bucky adds some soap to Y/N’s puff, taking her feet and ridding them of the mud. Once finished, Bucky wraps a large, warm towel around Y/N, helping her step out of the shower. He dries her off a bit before taking her into his arms, leaning her head on his chest, holding her tight against him.

“I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you. Spoil you ridiculously and love you to the moon and back. Maybe even further.” Bucky chuckles, and feels Y/N giggle against him. She looks up at him, placing a kiss to his chest, resting her chin there, and smiles up at him.

“I cannot tell you how much I love you, my one and only. All I ask is for you to be here with me, no matter what.”

Bucky’s smile, though small, is as bright as ever. “I could never leave you, my love. I’m with you till the end.” He kisses her forehead, her eyes closing to reminisce in this precious moment. He holds her in his arms as if it was impossible to let go.

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagines

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thesightstoshowyou · 3 years

Text

Search and Rescue

Chapter 1

Featuring my Monster OC Kaith x F Reader

Warnings: Mentions of blood and minor character death

Here’s something a little different! Let me know what you think <3

It is your scent that first draws him; floral, a hint of cinnamon, and the acrid tang of adrenaline. Silently leaping from tree to tree, he follows his nose. He tracks you to a small clearing encircled by a ring of trees.

The light is dying quickly, the sun having just set behind the mountain. Though, he’d smelled you long before now, your scent blown to him on the chilly breeze susurrating through oaks and pines. Pacing, unable to leave the safety of his cave until the sun had fully set, he thought he might go mad.

Your boots crunch on crisp foliage as you slowly shuffle about, shining a flashlight onto something on the ground. Light illuminates violent red splashed across an outcropping of rock. He can smell it; coppery, tangy with fear. It is blood from the other human that came this way a day before.

Insatiably curious, he tilts his head to the side and leans over a branch to get a closer look at you. He has seen no humans for decades and now two in the span of two days. He forgot how good they could smell.

Your hair is pulled back away from your face and tied at the base of your neck. The slowly rising moon gives your smooth skin a lovely sheen. He bets it tastes just how it looks: Soft and supple. He leans a little closer, interested in the way your clothing clings to your hips.

An icy breeze rustles the trees, knocking more yellow and red leaves from its branches. You shiver, hiking the blue outer layer further up around your neck. You turn and he is able to read the blocky white letters on the back of the garment: Search and Rescue. Ah, so you search for the male that wandered through this clearing yesterday. Alas, your search will end in vain. You will find no further trace of the young man.

“Team Five to Team One, over. I found...what looks like blood, over.” You speak into a black square attached to your coat. Crackling static is the response. You frown. This is apparently not the reply you wanted.

“Team Five to Team One, can you hear me? Over.” More crackling, then silence. He hears your heart rate pick up, the frantic sound sending a shiver down his spine. Unable to resist, he intentionally cracks the branch under his clawed foot.

Your heart stutters as your head snaps in his direction. You search the trees, pretty eyes wide and anxious. Suppressing a devious chuckle, he ducks behind the tree trunk just as you shine your flashlight in his direction.

When you bite your lip and turn your attention back to the blood, he silently moves two trees over. You give an uneasy glance over your shoulder before starting for the trees. The direction you walk is the same the young man took yesterday. It is unwise for you to continue on that path.

What does this human speak? The writing on your clothing is in English. With only the slightest second of hesitation, he speaks, “I would not go that way, if I were you.” You whirl around, eyes wide in fear, heart hammering.

Perhaps he should have let you enter the trees. However, he enjoys the way the moonlight illuminates your skin and how your heart sounds pounding against your chest. He is not ready for his fun to end.

“W-Who’s there?” you ask, voice cracking. You have a firm hold on the knife at your belt.

“A…friend,” he replies simply. His voice, deep and scratchy as it is, must be quite something to hear coming from the dark. You visibly tremble. Poor thing.

You hone in on the direction of his voice. He moves again, further to your left before the beam of the flashlight falls on the empty branches. Only a few leaves are displaced, fluttering to the ground to join their brethren. You take a small, tentative step toward his tree.

“Are…are you Matthew?” you ask in a tremulous voice. He guesses this is the name of the missing human. It is a silly thing to ask, but you must be desperately trying to rationalize the situation. Your ears must be playing tricks on you. This can’t be real. These are the thoughts he can almost hear.

“No,” he replies with a rasping chuckle. You quickly twist in the direction of his voice, gasping breath tearing from your throat. He can see the exact moment you realize you are not dealing with anything remotely human. He had moved a great distance without making the slightest sound. Your pupils expand, your pulse flutters like a trapped bird, and the scent to adrenaline fills the clearing. You do not use the flashlight, surely terrified of what you will find. Delicious.

An anxious thought strikes him then. He shifts, his own nerves prickling on the back of his feathered neck. The scent that oozes from your pores is strong and will carry on the chilly breeze. It will attract something that will not be good for either of you.

You step back on quivering legs. You ask, rather bravely, “W-What…what are you?” He hums quietly at your question.

“I am…me.” He isn’t sure how to answer your question because he himself does not know. He doesn’t remember parents or family. He just is.

“Are you t-the one that did this?” you question slowly, pointing to the congealed blood splattered across the ground. You hold your breath, awaiting his answer. He lets the silence drag and stifles another chortle when you tense, your knuckles white around the flashlight.

“No,” he finally responds before moving around to the tree directly behind you. You release the breath, but remain just as tense.

“Um…do you know who…or w-what did?” Just as you ask the question, he catches the scent he has been dreading. It moves quickly through the trees toward you, toward him. He glances down at you, so unsuspecting, so vulnerable.

He could save you, possibly, but that would put him at risk. The creature flying through the trees is stronger and faster than he could ever hope to be, but he possesses the ability to completely mask his scent. Perhaps he can hide you as well?

Yet, why is he even considering it? He had watched the young man perish yesterday without so much as batting an eye. Why are you any different?

His body makes the decision for him. As fast as lightening, he bolts from the tree, snatches you off your feet, and leaps back up into the branches. He claps a clawed hand across your mouth to quiet your terrified scream while wrapping you in giant, feathered wings. He must pin your writhing body to his own and threaten you with a long claw at your throat so you will still and be silent.

Shushing you, he peers into the clearing. As if on cue, in stalks a hulking creature. It walks on four feet equipped with fearsome claws. A long tail whips back and forth as it sniffs the ground with a toothy snout. Muscles ripple under brick colored skin as it paces through the foliage.

You have gone ramrod straight in his arms. You must hear the beast prowling around on the ground below you. Your heart hammers so loud. He hopes the creature will not hear it.

The creature sniffs at the blood coating the ground, its handiwork. Then it lifts its bulky head to sniff the air. Little by little, it edges closer to the tree.

He tenses, every muscle pulled taut, prepared to flee if necessary. He will have to leave you behind if he wishes to survive, which would be too bad. He enjoys your sweet scent and how your skin radiates warmth.

With a huff, the creature turns away and sniffs the air. He smells it too; musky body odor and cigarette smoke. Perhaps it is from the other humans whom you were trying to contact earlier, Team One. There will be no way to warn them. It is regrettable, but inevitable.

As quick as it had come, the beast disappears back through the trees. After a full minute, he finally relaxes and removes his hand from your mouth. You tremble in his arms.

Gingerly, he sets you on the branch and scoots away, folding his wings along his back. Cocking his head to the side, he waits for you to speak. His image must be a great shock to your poor little nerves.

“Y-Y-You saved m-me,” you stammer after several seconds of wide-eyed scrutiny. With a trembling hand, you reach out to ghost your fingers across the giant bird skull that is his head. Realizing he is tangible and not a figment of your imagination, you snatch your hand away as though it has been burned.

“What is your name, little human?” he asks, leaning forward minutely. He resists the urge to brush away the strand of hair that has caught on your parted lips, lest he startle you and send you toppling backwards out of the tree. Your whispered name is barely audible, fear and awe constricting your throat.

“I am called Kaith.” Unable to resist, Kaith scoots forward a fraction. He is drawn to the warmth and alluring scent of your skin. You grip the branch tighter but do not try to move for fear you will fall.

“Kaith,” you repeat and his feathers bristle pleasantly at the sound of his name in your mouth. Then, he is struck with sudden inspiration.

“I fear the creature may return. We must flee the area,” he lies. He wants to move you somewhere he can touch you without risk of you tumbling to your death.

“But, my team…” you object, turning to look through the trees. Kaith shakes his head.

“No time.” He reaches out and pulls you to his chest once more. With a rustling of feathers, he extends of his enormous black wings and leaps from the branch, gracefully landing on another tree further into the forest. You wrap your arms around his neck, gasping and burying your face in the feathers of his shoulder. From this new position, he can feel your pounding heart beat against his chest, something that makes his own heart flutter with excitement.

Surely, you will provide hours of entertainment.

#exophilia #monster oc #monster #monster x reader #kaith oc #search and rescue fic #my writing #original writing #my oc #exophilia writing #terato writing #reader insert #horror #horror writing

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beanfic · 4 years

Text

Don’t tell my dad!

Pairing: peter parker x stark!reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: you overhear your Dad’s intern talking about a party, and you decide to sneak in with your best friend

Warnings: underage drinking, poorly made decisions, rebellious teens

Author’s note: it’s not really peter parker x reader, more like in a platonic friend way? I just had a dream about this happening, so I decided to write about it :) Also meet Kenzie! She is an OC and I decided to add her into this as y/n’s bff. I hope you guys enjoy it!!

You had heard about the party from your Dad’s newest intern, Peter Parker, when asked about his weekend plans. He mentioned he was attending a party at a friend’s house, and you were interested immediately. You had talked to Peter a few times while passing in the tower. He was a nice guy, the same age as you, also. Both of you were 17. He didn’t strike you as the party type, but you weren’t going to question it.

You had been raised in the tower since you were five, the year your Dad had taken custody of you after the death of your Mom. Living with the Avengers and bearing the last name ‘Stark’ meant that you never got a chance to go to school with other kids. Instead, you were homeschooled, first by your Dad, but now you were learning the complex subjects from Dr. Banner. You didn’t surprise anyone when you showed the same interest in engineering at a young age, being a Stark and all. You were greatly appreciative about the challenging schooling you received, but you regretted not developing the social skills a normal teenager would have.

You have a few friends including a best one named Kenzie, a daughter of your Father’s friend but that didn’t help with socializing. You wanted to experience a high school party, just like the ones you had seen in the movies. It was a perfect plan, you could find out the address somehow, and go along with Kenzie. Kenzie was also homeschooled but was more normal than you could ever feel.

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Kenz said as she sat beside your bed, strapping her shoes.

“Yes! My Dad is out tonight and I had FRIDAY do some research, and this guy, Flash, is known for throwing huge parties where multiple high schools go. It’s not like we are going to see anyone we know.”

“What about your Dad’s intern? Isn’t that how you heard about the party?”

You shrug, “He doesn’t seem like the party type so I doubt he will even show up, and if he does I’m sure we can find a way to avoid him. We can just find a corner to drink in.”

“This is so risky, Y/N!” Kenzie grabs your arm and shakes it.

“I know, it’s exciting.” You shove Kenzie off of you and you flash an annoyed smile.

“Ready?” Kenzie stands up and you nod. Both of you tiptoe down to the garage, avoiding Steve who was usually in the training facility at night. Fortunately, he wasn’t there.

“Should we take the Mercedes?” you ask Kenz who look over at you with wide eyes.

“You have a Mercedes? You have options?”

You giggle, “My Dad lets me drive any of his cars except his Lambo. We can also take the Porsche.”

“I’m good with the Mercedes, we’re trying to lay low! Plus how are we getting back if we both want to drink?”

“My Dad has programmed FRIDAY into each of his cars so it can do autopilot,” and right on cue, the car lit up with FRIDAY’s voice.

“Hello, Y/N Stark. Where are we going tonight?”

“Whoahhhh,” Kenz gasps under her breath. You repeat the address that FRIDAY had found back at the car.

“I’ll drive, FRIDAY.” You grab the wheel and rev the engine a little before pulling out of the garage into the cold streets and the starry night sky.

“I’m nervous,” Kenzie admits as you park down the street from the house. It was big and lit up with multi-colored lights. It was on an isolated street down a private drive, which was a good thing because with how loud it already was from the outside, you were certain police would show up at some point.

“It’s okay, I just need to make sure no one recognizes me and that we avoid Peter.”

“Sounds easy enough, sure, yeah, whatever you say” Kenzies’ tone is filled with sarcasm but you just roll your eyes at her.

“I’m not that famous.”

“No, of course not! Just the rightful heir of Stark Industries, no big deal!”

“C’mon, let’s just get inside and grab a drink.” You open the car door and are greeted by the chilly night air. You walk up to the angular house, flashing a smile at the group of preppy looking kids playing beer pong on the huge and perfectly manicured front lawn. The music pounds out of the crack in the door as you push it open. A kid in a colorful floral hawaain shirt spills beer over himself as he stumbles past you in the hallway. Immediately, you know you're in the right place.

“FRIDAY, check for Peter,” you whisper to the black glasses on your face. It was a good thing fashion glasses were in style, but you think to yourself that these might look a bit outdated. “Hm?” Kenzie turns to look at you. You point to your glasses and she mouths an “ohhh”. Even if you wanted to, you wouldn't be able to hear her over the music.

“We’re good, no Peter yet. I’m sure the drinks will be in the kitchen, right?” you ask and Kenz nodded. It was difficult to maneuver through the sweaty, heaving crowd but eventually, you discover the kitchen. There's a sign above the granite counter that says “live, laugh, love”. These people fuckin suck. You notice a crappy cardboard sign that says “Shot Station” written in bold sharpie.

“Should we do shots?” Kenzie asks you nervously.

“I’m down,” you smirk, letting the Stark in you take over. You remember your Dad’s famous words in your head “never do something I would do when I was your age.” Doing something you knew you weren’t supposed to do made you bubble with excitement.

You take lead and grab two tiny red solo shot glasses and fill them up with a bottle of Malibu someone pulled from the fridge. It smells strongly of coconut and alcohol.

“To being adventurous!” Kenzie shouted, raising her cup for a toast.

“Being adventurous!” you yell back, bringing the cup to your lips and letting the warm liquid slide down your throat.

“What now?” Kenzie asks.

“Let’s make a mixed drink to carry around with us and we can go explore the rest of the house. FRIDAY told me there is a game room!”

“Okay!” Kenzie agrees. You throw some lemonade and the rest of the malibu into a bigger cup, and Kenzie does the same. You hope that the drinks are for everyone, after all they are just sitting out so you don’t worry too much.

“Sorry, I made ‘em kind of strong!” you hand Kenz the drink and she takes a sip, eyes going wide.

“That’s delicious!”

“That’s why mixed drinks are dangerous.”

The two of you wander around the house, making sure to watch for Peter until you find the game room. Both of your jaw’s drop when you first open the door. There are pool tables, foosball, ping pong machines, and tables for card games.

“Hey! We’re playing a game of rage cage, want to join?” a slurred voice calls out towards the two of you.

“Us?” you and Kenz look at each other.

“Yes!”

You look over at Kenz with a questioning look, and she raises her eyebrows in a confirming manner. The people seemed nice, and you didn’t recognize any of them.

“How do we play?” you ask, taking a sip of your drink. A taller blonde guy, probably around your age as well, shuffles the cards and smiles down at you.

“You never played?”

“Nope,” you shake your head, feeling the heat bleed into your cheeks.

“It’s easy, you just try to make the ping pong ball into your cup before the person next to you, and if you don’t make it you have to chug the drink and try to make it again. If you get stacked then you have to drink.”

“Seems simple enough,” you muttered.

“Let’s do it!” Kenzie cheered, causing a few others to cheer with her. You wish you had the same charisma as her, but maybe the alcohol was already playing a role. You take another large gulp of your drink hoping you would feel something soon.

The game was confusing at first, and both you and Kenz ended up chugging about three glasses of beer before understanding. You both got a hold of it and ended up doing pretty well.

It was down to the last cup, the bitch cup as they called it, and it was your turn next. If you didn’t get the ball in the tower of red solo cups before the person next to you, you had to chug the entire cup of randomly mixed alcohol.

“No!” you shouted as the person next to you stacked their cup on top of yours.

“You gotta drink the bitch cup, bitchhh!” Kenzie sloppily points her finger into your shoulder. You looked over at her, and you could sense she was pretty drunk.

Fine!” you grab the bitch cup and everyone starts chanting “chug! Chug! Chug!” and you down the nasty drink.

“holyyy,” the everyone at the table all gasped at how fast you drank the bitch cup. You wiped your mouth and smiled with glee. You were a Stark, after all.

“I need airrrr,” Kenzie leaned on your shoulder.

“Me toooo,” the room was spinning as you started to walk out of the room, into the hallway and back towards the stairs.

“I feel so funny,” Kenzie giggled clumsily. “I feel like I can dance in the… in the sky!” She starts spinning in circles, flapping her arms like a bird.

You laugh until you can’t breathe as you watch your best friend drunkenly dance her way upstairs. Your stomach is spinning with alcohol, and you need fresh air, quickly.

“I feel sick,” you mumble to Kenzie.

“But I wanna dance!” she grabs your hands as you reach the main floor where the music is pumping and everyone is swaying together in synchronized rhythm.

“Kenzzzz,” you groan.

“Y/N Stark, you have a blood alcohol concentration level of .228. It is best you get along home.” FRIDAY’s voice sounds in your ear. You grab your glasses and shove them in your pocket. You can hear FRIDAY objecting as her voice is muffled in your jeans.

“I need to-,” you start to tell Kenzie as you feel the contents of your stomach start to fill up to your throat and you grab your mouth as you tumble out the back door to the dark patio before falling over into the damp grass. You spill your guts into a bush the moment you reach the backyard. You know that a ton of people probably are watching you right now, but, at this point? You could care less. You wipe your mouth with the sleeve of your sweatshirt.

“Y/N?” a familiar voice calls out behind you.

“Peter!” you whip around quickly, causing you to trip over your own foot and spin right into him. Peter’s arms were around you instantly, keeping you from hitting the concrete.

“What are you doing here?” he helps you stand up.

“Please don’t tell my Dad!” you manage through clumsy lips.

“I won’t, Y/N.” He wipes a strand of hair away from your face as he studies you. You feel uncomfortable with his gaze.

“Y/N? Where are yo-oh.” Kenzie stops mid-sentence as she sees Peter holding your shoulders.

“She threw up,” Peter looks over at your friend.

“I thought FRIDAY was supposed to tell you when he was nearby,” Kenzie tries to whisper to you but fails as Peter hears her.

“What?” he looks over at you as you grab the glasses from your pocket, showing him them guiltily.

“Ah, I won’t tell your Dad! I promise! You should go home though, you’re really sick Y/N.”

“I’m fineee,” you lean into Peter’s arms, resting your head on his strong shoulder.

“Erm.” Peter’s cheeks blush, he had barely talked to you and now you were drunkenly resting in his arms.

“I wanna danceee, are you drunk too Peter?” you ask him.

“I don’t, um, drink, but I really think you and your friend should go back home. Did you drive here?”

“We took a Mercedes!” Kenzie giggled.

“Right, well how about I drive you two back home?” he suggests.

“FRIDAY can driveee,” you hiccup. Peter couldn’t help but chuckle.

“I think it would be best if a human made sure you two got home safe.”

You pout, “But Spide-” but Peter’s hand comes closing in on your mouth before you could finish your sentence.

“Let’s go!” Peter grabs your hand and Kenz’s arm and pulls both of you towards the very recognizable Mercedes.

“Hi, Peter, headed to the tower?” FRIDAY’s voice chirps over the speakers. Kenz was in the back seat laying down. You stared over at Peter, taking in the brown curls that lay gently on his forehead.

The drive back to the compound was short, but maybe that was because you had closed your eyes and dozed off a couple of times. There wasn’t music playing either, so the silence was only filled with the soft snores of Kenzie in the backseat.

“We’re here,” Peter shakes your shoulder softly, trying to wake you up from your dazed state. You could barely keep your eyes focused on the brunette in front of you.

“Kenzie” you mumble but you hear her stretching and yawning in the back.

“I’ll help you too upstairs, you’re on the third floor right, Y/N?”

You nodded, “Next to my Dad’s room.”

Peter nods, shutting the driver’s door and walking over towards the passenger side to help you out. Kenzie ends up being in a better state than you. She was able to walk but you rely on Peter to even stand up.

“You’re cute, Peter.” The words slips off your tongue as you all manage to stand upright in the elevator.

“Erm, thank you.” He scratches the back of his neck with his free hand. The elevator doors open with a ding to the third floor.

“Well, this is a surprise,” your Dad’s stern voice greets you. He walks into view with his arms crossed against his chest.

“Damnit,” you groan. You keep your eyes on the ground, avoiding your Dad’s glare.

“Hi Mister Stark, I found Y/N and Kenzie at the party and thought I should get them home safely. I made sure nothing bad happened to them!” Peter rapid fired.

“I think I will take it from here, thank you Peter,” your Dad patts his shoulder, looking up at you knowingly.

“See you around,” you slur. You almost begin to stumble over when Peter removes his arm that was holding you up, but your Dad catches you.

“Whoa there, are we drunk?” His voice has a hint of sarcasm in it.

“I don’t knowww, am I?” you giggle.

“You should sleep, same with you Kenzie. Do your parents know what happened tonight?”

“No, sir,” she shook her head.

“I won’t tell them, but take it from a parent. Being honest is better than keeping secrets. You can sleep in the guest room, I’m going to go take Y/N here, to bed.”

“Thank you, sir.” Kenzie walks down the hall towards the familiar guest room. You feel a bit guilty that you had put her in this position, but you were not expecting to get as blasted as you were. Your Dad practically carries you to your room and you lay down on the bed, feeling the warm pull of sleep immediately.

“Y/N,” your Dad begins to speak.

“Mmm, tired,” you mumble. You lay in the fetal position, head on the pillow and eyes already closed. You can hear your dad sigh heavily and feel a heavy blanket being pulled up and over your body.

“We will talk about this tomorrow and discuss consequences, but for now I’ll let you sleep. Love you, Y/N.”

“I’m sorry,” you squeak.

“I know, but we will talk tomorrow. Get some rest.”

“Okay, love you Dad.”

It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep, and even though you were mentally prepared for the lecture from your father, nothing would have prepared you for the massive hangover you were about to be greeted with in the morning.

#marvel fanfiction #avenger fanfiction #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x reader #peter parker x stark!reader #stark!reader #irondad #tony stark x stark!reader #avenger fanfic #avenger oneshot #avenger imagine #marvel imagi #marvel onesh #peter parker fluff #peter parker angst #beanfic

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bangtan-flower-bois · 3 years

Text

🌸 Peek into their life 🌸

Seokjin & Yoongi:

It had previously rained in The Greenhouse. The smell of rain and wet grass filled the air, along with a thin blanket of fog floating over the ground. Birds were just waking up and taking flight, singing their morning melodies. From the left end of the Greenhouse, a wooden door slid open.

It was Seokjin. Rubbing his eyes, with his left hand. The light from outside making him squint for a few minutes, before he could be fully awake. Taking in the grey, cloudy sky, he pressed his lips together into a thin line. He wasn’t much a fan of days like this. It made him feel lazy, and cold. It was always chilly when it rained, here in Flor.

With a sigh, the young man went back into his room. It was significantly warmer in there, and he looked at his brothers, who were yet to wake up. Being a morning person had its disadvantages.

Carefully, and quietly dressing into his usual kimono, Seokjin watched as his brother Yoongi, moved around on his bed before slowly opening an eye. His raven black hair covering most of his face, and was pointing at all directions. “Hyung...?” He groaned. He probably said something else, but he was still mainly asleep than awake.

“Good morning, Yoongi.” Seokjin smiled. He walked towards him, hearing his grumpy mumbling. His hand brushing Yoongi’s messy hair, while the younger of the two frowned. Annoyed in a childlike manner, that he was being treated like a kid.

“Why the hell are you up this early...?” He asked. He could smell the light scent of Seokjin. A cottony, floral scent that had a light sweet hint at first. It was nice, and somehow always managed to relax him.

Jin chuckled at the way Yoongi expressed himself. If the Teachers heard him speak like that, he would definitely be scolded. Flowers aren’t suppose to express themselves with any ill words. “Hell” being one of them. But, Seokjin let’s it slide, because he knows Yoongi says it with no ill intention in mind. Besides, it’s also amusing. Usually most male geishas are well behaved and well spoken, but Yoongi was always one to break out of the norm. It gave him character, and only made Seokjin like him even more.

“It’s not that early. We’re entering rain season.” Seokjin answered. “It’s going to be like this for a while.”

“Great...” Yoongi mumbled. Days like these only made him want to sleep more.

“I’m going to take my friend out. Some of that fresh air will do good to her.” Seokjin said. “Her” being no other than his plant. A small pot holding a peculiar flower. One that may seem dead to those around, but was very much alive.

The Kadapul Flower. A flower which blooms only at night, only to vanish on the day. Though any regular Kadapul Flower would be considered dead at this time, this one was different. Different because it was a representation of Seokjin’s soul. The magic between them was what simply kept it alive. The delicate thing was resting on a pot, that Seokjin had carefully painted. His love for the color pink, quite prominent, as the pot had many decorative designs with the cute color.

Picking it up carefully, Seokjin turned back to see Yoongi sleeping again. Covered up from head to toe. He looked like a cocoon...

“Oh Yoongi...” Seokjin tutted, looking over at Yoongi’s personal pot. A small smile grew on his face, as he saw the blue Cornflower standing tall and healthy, near the window.

“Like father like flower.” Jin chuckled. Seems like both enjoy simply being in one place.

With that, he exited the room.

#bts yoongi #bts jin #flowers #male geishas #BTS #BTS au #magical flower boys #scenario #BTS fanfic

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bubblesgoboink · 3 years

Text

homecoming (b.b)

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

word count: 1.1k+

summary: the one in which bucky reflects on his past life and his new home

WARNINGS: mild angst, fluff, brief mentions of Hydra and PTSD

a/n: i haven’t written in soo long. i did sneak a couple taylor swift references in bc evermore is a masterpiece. enjoy :)

______________________________________________________________

Bucky was tired. Not the kind of tired one could sleep off, but instead, the kind of tired that weighs in every step that he takes and settles past the flesh and deep into his bones. Dull, aching pain in his ribs came with every ragged breath of the chilly afternoon air. The tinkling sounds of birds chirping as they flocked home for the day mingled with the crunching gravel under his bloodstained combat boots and heavy exhales as he trudged in a vague direction towards the safehouse. Overhead, the brilliant colors of the sunset had splashed across the azure canvas. As he glanced upwards, he couldn't remember the last time he had seen a sunset so vibrant. Deep orange hues of light stroked his sleep-deprived eyes as his memory transported him to the sandy beach of Coney Island.

Pretty girls in floral sundresses with lightly blushed cheeks and tinkling laughs dancing to music from the boardwalk band. The sweet smell of cotton candy wafting through the air as Steve contently plucked pieces of his cotton candy while he wasn't looking. Steve only thought he wasn't looking, but when wasn't he looking after the frail man.

The day he was drafted was etched in his memory deeper than any Hydra wiping device could reach. He remembers the feeling of his heart dropping to his stomach and the eerie chill that seeped into his body. He remembers the tear-filled, anxious ocean eyes that mirrored his own as he got shipped off into the salty daybreak wind.

“I'm going to be okay, Steve.” That was an affirmation to soothe himself more than it was for Steve.

Maybe it was the first time he was held captive in the Hydra base that something had changed from within him. As he lay strapped to the cot while scientists surrounded him, fading in and out of consciousness, Bucky dreamt of his walks on the pier with Steve. He dreamt of early mornings in their apartment making breakfast and eating over the sound of clinking utensils and that day's newspapers rustling. He dreamt of a world where boys didn't turn into men by leaving their beloveds and donning firearms. A world in which boys wouldn't have to see the final breath of their brothers in arms and silently mourn while marching into battle, knowing that their life may be next on the line.

"Buck. Wake up." That was probably the last time he had been genuinely hopeful his life could turn around. He believed that whatever God was out there had listened enough to bring Steve to save him, and so anything could have happened. James Barnes, never a religious man but maybe he would have started going to church after the war. With his newfound hope, he followed the little guy from Brooklyn into the fight.

Destiny was not built for Bucky Barnes's comfort and he realizes that as his fingers slip off the railing on the side of the moving train.

Steve. Becca. His ma. The 107th infantry. Dancing with a pretty girl at a jazz pub on a weekend night. His life flashed before his eyes as his body made contact with the unforgiving frozen ground, a resounding crack of bone echoed through the icy hills, and his dreams of post-war pursuits shattered along with his bone.

Darkness.

Memories of his time as the Winter Soldier lapse at the edge of his recollection bank like waves on a deserted beach. Sometimes they were just little pinpricks flashes of an unknown setting, but other times, particularly at late hours of the night, he felt their hands shoving his chest down against the uncomfortable chair. The sound of hard metal clasping against his arm and holding him in place and his body would tense, prepared for the wipe. His body wasn't his. It was the graveyard of his handler's frustrations, hatred, and diabolic agenda.

Even after having the trigger words removed by Princess Shuri, he couldn't help but feel apprehensive about opening up to others, holding everyone at arm's length so he couldn't accidentally hurt them in his altered state of mind. Love wasn't a word that existed in his vocabulary, much less an emotion that he felt. He enjoyed Steve's presence and Sam's (occasionally), but he never felt secure enough to start the process of modern courtship.

Fury had hand-selected a specialized agent from the LA branch of SHIELD to train with the Avengers for one of the larger recon missions.

"Hello, I'm Agent 24, and it's very nice to meet you all."

It was as if she brought the West coast sunshine along with her. Everything from her pretty, warm eyes to her attitude captivated him. She was normal and dear God, all he had been yearning for was normalcy. He didn't speak many words to her but it was as if she could sense the energy around him. When she was around, his brows didn't furrow as much and his gaze was a bit softer. She never questioned the silence between them. Instead, she sought his company and frequently sat with him in silence while a movie quietly played in the background.

The first time she touched him was in the compound kitchen in which she placed a gentle hand on his bicep as she passed by to put dishes in the sink. His breath must have noticeably hitched because she immediately pulled away and looked at him apologetically. The first time he touched her was during one of their first missions together, a quick squeeze of her hand to soothe her nerves before he jumped out of the Quinjet. When she came back on solo missions, his door would be her first stop every time and for him, hers. He never spoke of labeling it because he was afraid that he would be closing his metal fist over something angelically delicate and shatter it. She seemed to understand his hesitance and never brought up the subject.

He wants to tell her that she's invoked a feeling in him that in a century of being alive, he's never felt. He wants to tell her that she has made him want to be a better man.

The safehouse comes into sight as the final rays of daylight disappeared. The wooden boards of the patio creak under his weight as he approaches the door. Sticking his metal hand in one of the many compartments of his tactical vest, he fishes out a small metal key, which he promptly sticks into the keyhole. He pushes the door open and breaths a sigh of relief.

"Hi, Buck."

He sees her face and he knows he's finally come home.

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky imagine #bucky fanfic #bucky fic #james buchanan barnes #james barnes

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loreofthekidults · 4 years

Text

Cocoa & Chili | Yoon Jeonghan

focus: jeonghan

words: 2k

genre: stranger things au / high school au / marching band au? / fall themes

description: I’ve been really missing stranger things this year, and with the onset of fall, I decided to start writing instead of just moping around bc lets be honest, without svt I’m not sure we could remain sane this year. Thank you to all the hosts of the #caratrevival event, it’s really motivating and inspiring to see all these creators! This week’s themes were Jeonghan and your Favorite Hip-Hop Unit song, which in my case is Chilli. Hope you enjoy the references!

a/n: Thank you to @woozisnoots for making such an amazing banner for this fic. Check out her writing too and enjoy!

Also, happy birthday Jeonghan!

____________________

Jeonghan stomped down the stairs into the warmly lit basement. He scanned the room for the small, black case, but blankets, board games, and backpacks were strewn into every corner and across every surface. He stalked past the group crowded around the round table staring intently at their character sheets.

“Have you seen my flute case, Seokmin?” Jeonghan called out to his younger cousin behind him. He threw a pile of jackets off the floral armchair and rummaged a hand through the cushions. Nope, not there.

“No idea!” The kid didn’t even lift his head from arranging the grid with the figurines of his new campaign.

“Are you really not going to tell me?” Jeonghan gushed as he hopped over and encased Seokmin in a suffocating bear hug. He pulled his scrawny cousin off his chair and began to swing him back and forth in the air. “Pleeease? Please please please? Just give me a hint.”

Seokmin, ever the happy bug, screamed his head off like a pigeon in fright while intermittently shrieking in laughter.

Across the table, Mingyu giggled but continued to roll for his stats. Vernon spared them a glance, but simply chose to ignore the chaos beside him while Hoshi guffawed his distinctive laugh and clapped his seal clap. Seungkwan sighed dramatically but couldn’t help joining in on the attack.

“Come on, tell him! Then we can finally get him out of our hair and start playing!” Seungkwan protested as he tickled his helplessly flailing friend.

“Okay, okay!” Seokmin gasped, “Check the vcr pile—it’s probably somewhere there.” He pointed to the corner of the room where a mountain of plastic cases rose beside their boxy television. Jeonghan immediately let him go, letting him drop heavily onto the carpeted floor. It only took a moment of scavenging for him to spot his flute case stacked underneath Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and his collection of Twilight Zone tapes.

“Is it a home game today?” Vernon asked, glancing at the marching band helmet lying on the table.

“Yup, glad we don’t have to travel an hour to Soomantown just to watch their football team wreck ours again. We can get wrecked 10 minutes from home this time,” Jeonghan chuckled as he grabbed his shako helmet and ruffled Seokmin’s chestnut-brown hair. “Thanks, bud.”

“DM for us next time,” Seokmin hollered after him, his head a mess. “We miss your campaigns!”

“Alright, maybe next time.” Jeonghan stuffed his instrument and shako into his Jansport and threw on his periwinkle blue marching band jacket. “Don’t forget there’s Grandma’s chili in the crockpot if you guys get hungry.” He clamored back up the stairs, out of the toasty basement of his childhood where he used to weave magical stories of monsters and heroes with them.

It wasn’t as if he no longer liked Dungeons and Dragons and the crazy storytelling that came with it, but he had other things to fill his time than sitting at home playing make-believe, especially with—as much as he loved these kids—newly minted freshmen.

As Jeonghan opened the garage door, he was met with the crisp smell of decaying leaves and fresh air of October. He closed his eyes as he took a deep breath in. Oof, so chilli.

A slight moldy stink tickled his nostrils, though. Crinkling his nose, he opened his eyes just to see another kid speeding on his bike up the driveway to the house.

“Hey, Jeonghan,” The kid hopped off and threw his bike haphazardly onto the grass. “Nice outfit.” He swung his backpack at him as he dashed past him into the house.

“You better hurry up Dino, else they’ll start without you,” Jeonghan called, half-heartedly dodging the swing.

By the time Jeonghan parked his car behind the high school and strolled onto the fields toward the rest of the marching band, he couldn’t help but miss the cozy heat of the basement.

Rubbing his hands together desperate for any warmth, Jeonghan walked towards where Joshua was kneeling in the grass assembling his clarinet. They waved at each other in greeting and began sharing complaints like two elderly patients deeply offended by the cold seeping into their joints.

Seungcheol shuffled over and pointed a gloved finger at Jeonghan. “Late! That’s going on your record Yoon Jeonghan.” He made an overly exaggerated effort in taking out his pen and writing Jeonghan’s name in his notebook.

“Chill, man. What’s the point of being friends with the drum major if I can’t dodge the rules sometimes?” Jeonghan whined despite laughing at his friend’s antics.

Seungcheol just wagged his finger at him accusingly. “Make him run laps,” Joshua softly suggested with his mischievous smile.

“No time, unfortunately. We gotta go warm up soon.” Eyes scanning the expanse of light blue uniforms, Seungcheol was back into drum major mode. “Oh hey, the trumpet girl is late, too.”

They turned to look at the new girl in town stepping onto the field. It wasn’t often their small town had any visitors, even rarer a new resident family.

“Anyways,” Seungcheol clapped his hands, “let’s get into your sections.” He wandered off into the crowd, ordering his classmates to start warming up while brandishing his trombone in one hand like a disgruntled substitute teacher.

Joshua stopped Jeonghan for a moment before they separated and handed him a hand warmer. “Thanks!” “Nope, I’m keeping the other three.” Jeonghan snickered as he shoved Joshua away and joined the rest of the flutes in their warm up drills.

As expected, their marching band show was performed without a hitch, and the spectators gushed over the color guard with their periwinkle blue and rose pink flag formations.

And as expected, the opposing football team with their star players totally squashed Pledies High’s football team.

When half-time finally crawled into view, Jeonghan, Joshua, and Seungcheol could not be more ecstatic. It was only 7pm, but the autumn chill settled like a thick blanket over the field. Playing bleacher features to a futile game on cold metal seats didn’t do much to keep them warm either.

So when they were finally allowed to put their instruments away and take a break from the disaster of a game, they quickly squeezed their way through the crowd to get to the snack shop and raffle tables.

Leaning against the fence by the edge of the field, the trio cuddled their cups of hot cocoa in their hands and inhaled the sweet steam like desperate sharks around blood.

Jeonghan scrunched his eyebrows as he detected the funky scent that he couldn’t quite identify mixed in with the sugary smell.

A presence softly rustled behind Jeonghan and murmured slowly. Shivers shot through Jeonghan, and he whipped his head toward the quiet voice. His sudden jerk sploshed some of the hot cocoa onto his hand, burning his fingers and making him even more panicked. He instinctively leaned in towards Joshua, away from whatever creeped up next to him.

Jeonghan let out a breath as he recognized the figure. The tall, lean person next to him wore a fitting varsity jacket from the visiting school. His face wore a nonchalant expression that morphed into one of surprise as he did a double take when he finally got a good look at Jeonghan’s face.

“Oh, wait. You’re not Johnny.” He turned away in embarrassment and sauntered back into the crowd, presumably to find his not-Jeonghan friend.

“He thought I was one of their star football players?” Jeonghan asked incredulously, looking bug eyed at his friends. Seungcheol giggled and flicked a strand of his hair. “Must be the silky locks.”

As Joshua and Seungcheol played with his hair, Jeonghan saw a movement out of the corner of his eye. He caught a whiff of that same moldy funk.

“Guys, do you smell that?” Jeonghan pushed himself off the fence and squinted at the dark foliage behind the bleachers.

“Smell what?” Seungcheol sniffed the air and rubbed his nose. Joshua followed Jeonghan’s gaze. “Is that trumpet girl?”

The blue uniform could just be barely made out against the shadows of the tree line. She appeared to be climbing into the thick shrubbery.

“Maybe she lost something?” He gestured for his friends to follow him. “Come on, let’s go help her.” Jeonghan discarded his empty cup in the trash bin and walked towards the trees. Joshua calmly blinked a few times before trudging along forward with him.

“What could she have lost so far into the woods?” Seungcheol whined. But he couldn’t hide his concern in his voice as he also curiously, and apprehensively, peered into the darkness after her.

They ventured past the bleachers away from the stadium lights into the trees. Here, among the branches and brambles, the shadows blended into each other and the volume of the crowd behind them was muffled.

Joshua took out a small keychain flashlight attached to his swiss-army knife. With its measly light, they made their way through underbrush, past twisty trees, and around thorny vines. The football field was only a short distance away, but the atmosphere felt heavy with the night and the trees seemed to be watching them.

“Guys, are you sure she went this way?” Seungcheol’s voice climbed higher by a few pitches as he reluctantly fell in step behind them.

Snaps of twigs and distant growling could be heard ahead of them. Jeonghan coughed slightly as he breathed, the moldy scent creeping through the air formidably. It felt like the air was lined with layers of webs of sticky mold, and no amount of flailing could unstick the smell.

“Man, you weren’t kidding earlier. This smell is nauseating.” Joshua whispered nasally, fingers pinching his nose.

They came to a clearing where a creature seemed to be digging at the roots of a tree. Jeonghan couldn’t quite make out what it was. But he was sure it wasn’t just a dog that escaped their yard. It’s movements were… off.

It was about the size of a medium-sized dog, but without any of the expected pupper qualities. Its leathery skin rippled like damp velvet and slime was oozing off in tiny droplets. When the brightness from Josh’s flashlight hit its back, the creature whipped around immediately. Where there should have been a face, its head opened up like a blooming flower, with five petal lined with rows of teeth. It screamed a bobcat scream and pranced forward at the trio.

Stumbling backwards, Jeonghan grabbed a stick from the ground and swung it wildly in front of him. Joshua was crouched in a defensive position with his flashlight in a trembling hand but was frozen shock-still, swiss army knife totally forgotten. Seungcheol grabbed Jeonghan’s shoulders behind him, holding him as a barrier between him and the creature.

Shrieking, Seungcheol mustered all the courage he had and threw the remaining bits of hot cocoa in his cup at the creature. The liquid hit it square in the face, making the monster rear back in surprise for a moment. But after a wary lick, it seemed to lap up the spilt drink deliciously.

“Did you just feed the monster?” Jeonghan hissed.

“It’s all I have on me! What else could I throw at it?” Seungcheol waved his arms wildly as he returned to his post behind Joshua and Jeonghan, pulling on their jacket sleeves to get them to back slowly away from the clearing.

“I don’t know, maybe a rock or something?” Joshua whisper-screamed in a very un-Joshua manner.

“Chill, buddy, Chill,” Jeonghan held the stick in front of him and waved it gently to the left. And right. Then left.

The creature closed its face petals to form a bud-like head which followed the motion of the stick curiously. Right and left and right.

Jeonghan winded up his arm and threw the stick to the distant side of the clearing. The creature turned and ran after the branch, demolishing it with its teeth. Splinters flew everywhere.

“Go, go, go, go, go!” Jeonghan turned and shoved Joshua and Seungcheol. They scrambled blindly past the thorns, out of the woods, and into the bright lights of the field. They reached the back of the bleachers, and Seungcheol grasped them deliriously into a tight embrace. Josh was still wide-eyed while Jeonghan was giggling half hysterically from the remnants of the adrenaline.

“Whoa, what happened to you guys?” The trio looked up and saw trumpet girl standing before them, eyebrows raised and a leaf sticking out of her hair.

“You’re alive!” Jeonghan gasped. The trio looked at each other bewildered and cackled deliriously.

#caratrevival #svt #seventeen #yoon jeonghan #jeonghan #jeonghan imagines #i am silently freaking out #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfiction #jeonghan scenario #fanfiction #jeonghan fanfics #fanfic #stranger things au #my writing

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ggukstummy · 4 years

Text

it’s cold where you lay

one line description: warmth seems so out of reach for namjoon.

pairing: namjoon x reader

au: non-idol au

genre: angst :(:

warning/s: death, mention of suicide (please notify me if there are more warnings I should place!)

word count: 3.4k

It’s cold where you used to lie.

Namjoon tosses and turns, gets rid of his blanket then realizes it’s even worse without it. He doesn’t bother covering himself with it again, ignoring the chilly air. How do people sleep? How do people sleep like this?

How do people sleep when you’re gone?

It’s cold, so cold. The thundering rain falls loudly outside, goosebumps litter his skin and he shut his eyes feeling creases form on his forehead from how hard he does it. He can’t sleep when his mind goes nowhere but your face, your figure, you.

And he wonders once more. Where he went wrong, what he could’ve done to make it all end nicely, realizing it’s useless but he couldn’t give up, not when it’s so cold where you used to lie.

Right beside him, in his bed.

“Will- will you be my girlfriend?”

You did not expect that coming out from your crush. Kim Namjoon, your resident high school hot smart guy, he’s cute and his dimples are adorable.

You were Namjoon’s seatmate for a whole grade, and that’s how the two of you met. You loved listening to him rambling about Science, and definitely surprised when you found out he liked the same band as you did. Admittedly, you had always been interested in him, but you never thought that the feeling was reciprocated.

He wasn’t popular or anything, but people liked him. And he had brought a bouquet of flowers for you, a classic that you appreciated. The people passing by, although very little since it was after school hours when scheduled clubs are finishing for the day, they were whistling and cheering on both of you. The floral arrangement was really attracting attention. You really had no idea how he pulled it out of nowhere.

“Um-” Blood rushing through your cheeks, you softly took the flowers from him, “I mean, if you’re okay with me. I- I liked you since we were seated together as well.”

The both of you blushed so hard that day, neither of you could ever forget.

A sniffle comes out of the poor man, heartbroken and longing. He desperately wishes for you back. The bed seems emptier and emptier, what feels like ten hours has only been two minutes.

The bed he lies on is too open, too spacious. Where was the warmth he had? Gone. Not here anymore, clearly not where she should be

Namjoon knows he has to rest if he wants to be able to make it to his job the next early morning, but maybe a sick leave is needed. He just wants to be alone.

Alone with you.

“I’m sorry Namjoon-ah,”, Jin had told him when he came earlier to the apartment you both used to share. Jin coughed, feeling the lack of care on his index finger when it ran over a dresser and it came back covered in dust, “But she’s gone. And it isn’t healthy for you to stay hung up on her when she’s not here anymore. Please, I don’t want to see you hurt.”

Namjoon understood that. Understood that more than anything.

Especially when he’s here, on the bed, cold and empty.

He shivers, trying his hardest to go back to sleep. But his thoughts feel like a storm, and he is but a sailor trying to pass the sea. Curse the waters. The more he wills himself to sleep, he was brought to another memory instead.

“Namjoon!” You squealed, hands shooting towards your neck, “That tickles!”

The book you were reading had fallen onto your lap when you decided to focus on his teasing hands instead, “Cut that out, I’m trying to read!” You swatted at him, almost daring those fingers to come back and try poke your neck. The smile on your face was bright and Namjoon would die for it.

“But you just look so beautiful, my darling.” He chuckled, rising up a bit from his position to have his big warm palms coming to cup your cheeks, kissing each of them with big smooches. “Also I just want to cuddle you.”

You placed the book onto your nightstand, sighing but understanding nonetheless. The lamp on the bedside table was then turned off, and you went under the covers to have said cuddle party with your beloved, limbs tangled contently. Namjoon was smelling your hair, kissing your face, touching and feeling you right beside him, where you belong.

His darling.

The book you were reading is still there, and he vowed to never move it. Anything, any little thing that would remind him of you will stay the way it was.

Next to it sat his phone. His fingers move to grab it without thinking and then turned it on, the bright screen glares at him but he couldn’t care less. He smoothly taps the gallery, bringing him to a picture of you and him under a tree by the Han River for a picnic. It’s an automatic action, one he has been doing for the past weeks. Just looking at your face.

Another sob comes out of his throat, the pillow is stained wet from his tears and his mind running in circles around one person. You. Again and again, he just can’t seem to tuck your form away and rest. He has too at one point, has to stop and leave you as memory, but maybe not tonight. Not now when the wound is still bleeding, so fresh and so painful.

The phone Namjoon holds he brings closer to his heart.

“...(Y/n)..”

He looks once more at the empty space beside him.

It’s cold where you used to lie.

“Say cheese!” The lovely mother had been taking her son to Han River when the both of you asked her to take a picture, and she had complied with a friendly nod and an “Okay!” before taking the phone Namjoon had handed her and snapping a few takes for you.

You thanked the woman as Namjoon takes the device back from her. Checking the photos before nodding and looking at the woman to give him his thanks as well. The boy waved at the both of you as his mother took his hand.

Satisfied with the picture, Namjoon sat back on the picnic blanket you brought, then took a good look at the inside of the basket filled with sandwiches and fruits, sodas and water bottles. He picked out a yummy looking egg sandwich, blissfully munching on it and taking a chug of water in between. You stare at him in contentment as you chew on your grape.

A giggle came out of you, and Namjoon looked in worry.

“Darling, don’t laugh while you eat.”, he scolded, “You’re going to choke.”

You wipe your mouth, before taking another napkin to wipe the side of his, “I’m just happy you like the sandwiches,” you let go of his chin after, “And this was such a sudden date too, I’m glad my last minute sandwiches taste nice.”

“Everything you make tastes nice,” He mumbled, finishing the whole sandwich before digging through his jacket pocket, “I thought I brought my UNO cards, did I forget them?”

“Oh, I thought you did,” You chuckled, hands coming to your neck to bring heat. It was oddly cold, you suppose it’s because of the clouds blocking the sun. “You want to play UNO for a while now, maybe check the your bicycle’s basket? I’ll stay and watch the food.”

“Already on it,” He nodded, “It’s a pretty long walk from the bicycle lot to here. I put your favorite curry bread in there, have some!”

“You did?” the excitement you radiate always makes it worth buying it from the bakery far from where you live. He strokes your head with his warm palm, an equally warm smile painted on his face.

“I did, enjoy it. I love you.”

“Love you too!”

He grinned to himself as he heard your small “Aha!” and the tear of the paper packaging. Walking to where you parked your bikes together, he busied himself with looking at the birds and humming a tune. The sky was cloudy and it looked like it could go either way, sunny or rain. He took note to take the raincoat out of the basket in front of your bicycle, after the last time the both of you got rained down while biking, you always had one ready.

That was a sweet memory. Namjoon’s lips pulled up to form a silly smile and recalled when the both of you cycled desperately to get out of the rain- which wouldn’t happen because it was already drizzling- and gave up to eat in a shop on the side of the street, both of you soaking and gulping the ramen served there hungrily. His insides felt giddy just thinking about it.

“I WANNA SWIM MAMA!” a shriek came from a boy who looked to be 7, maybe 8. Ah, it was the son of the woman who took the picture of the both of you. “YOU NEVER LET ME SWIM!”

“You may not, Haneul.” She chided gently, crouching to talk to him, “It’s so cold right now! Do you really think it’s a good idea? It isn’t allowed as well, and you don’t wanna break rules, do you? Now lets go back home and we can buy your favorite pudding tonight at the grocery store, okay?”

Namjoon’s thoughts instantly went to how lovely it would be if the both of you could be parents one day. He had always dreamed of being a dad, and even had impulse bought a pair of blue baby shoes. You promised someday he’ll get his wish granted, once you both graduate college and have a stable living.

It was a nice dream.

Namjoon finally arrived at his destination, locating your bikes and finding out that indeed, he had left his cards where his girlfriend told him he did. He took it out, and your raincoat was not forgotten too. The man was about to go back to you until something caught his eye, a little ladybug on the handlebar of your bike, he watched it move with great interest for a minute or two, before the first cold raindrop hit his cheek.

Looking up to the sky, it was dark. Way darker than he thought it was supposed to be when he saw the clouds before. Thoughts forgotten on the bug, he pulled the hood of his jacket up to his head and started to do a little run back to where you were.

It was only drizzling, and he didn’t know how it happened, but the light drops of water soon turned into a full blown rain with a thunder accompanying it. He was running the direction people around him were rushing to opposite, where the parking lots were. He took out his phone he pocketed and turned it on only to be faced with the camera screen, reminding him that he hadn’t exited the app yet from when you both had taken a picture, still sunny earlier.

The call he made to you after he exited the app was directed to voice mail, and his panting was clear when he calmly told you to get ready to run back to where the parking lot was so you both could find shelter in the nearby areas first.

Two minutes later - you guys picked a picnic spot too far and secluded, he supposed- Namjoon arrived at his destination. The basket was there, the picnic blanket folded and the rest of the food tucked in safely, he would know, he had picked the basket up and checked.

But where were you?

“HANEUL!”

A terrified scream had his head snap towards the direction it came from, his body following suit, and his heart dropped.

He felt cold.

Namjoon saw the mother from before, and saw her son Haneul, too.

Only the boy was in the river.

And you were too.

“HANEUL!”

Her frantic shrieks were raspy, and Namjoon ran- stumbled- towards all of you.

“(Y/N)!”

Upon being closer to the river, it was an even more terrifying sight. The waters were unfriendly, raging and angry. The currents strong and cruel, you were barely holding on to a rock, your fingers looked bloody, but your hold on Haneul was tight.

Namjoon had never did anything so rash before, but without any thought, he ran into the river, past the mother and his hand stretched out as if it could grasp you and bring you to him

“NAMJOON!” You cried, eyes struggling to open as water was flying everywhere, you felt like crying. The fingers you sacrificed to grip the rock hurt the more time passed by, and every second you spent in the cold water submerged up to your neck felt like eternity. “TAKE HIM! YOU CAN’T CARRY THE BOTH OF US BACK- TAKE HIM!” Your words were barely heard over the roaring river.

He didn’t know what to feel, looking at the child. Should he feel angry? Angry that he couldn’t leave the boy to get taken away by the currents? Angry that he couldn’t let him drown and just take you back to land in his hold, where it was at least safe? Where he could at least envelope you in his warmth?

The rain continued to thunder, and with a heavy heart he raised his hands to let you give Haneul to him.

You had transferred the boy to his care. Haneul was passed out and too cold, but Namjoon could care less. The man felt goosebumps but it didn’t come from the figure he was holding, it came from you.

Your fingertips were freezing, you were soaked to the bone, your strength rapidly seeping out the longer you fought the currents trying to drown you to the bottom of the river, your lips were purple and borderline blue and when he made eye contact with you he knew you were almost at your limit.

“(Y/n)- (Y/n) I can’t do this. I’m leaving the boy, you’re more important.”

“NAMJOON!”

You had screamed at him when he was about to let go of Haneul into the deep river.

“Please- just please take him back. I promise I’ll be fine. I’ll- I’ll wait here. You can save me once you take him back so please- please just take him back.”

Your teeth were chattering and it was hard to look into your eyes when Namjoon realized what he was about to do. The man gritted his teeth and nodded before he used all his might to go back with the extra baggage, his thighs weren’t giving up anytime soon. His grip on the boy tightened as he silently apologized about what he had intended to do just before. The agonizing struggle paid off when he finally reached dry land- as dry as it can get with all the rain.

Namjoon put the boy down, not dropping him but not exactly gentle with him either, and wasted no time turning around to dive back into the water to get to you.

But you-

It felt like slow motion.

The mother’s eyes widened in terror, another stranger had come running to the scene and was watching with alert, ready to do anything if anything rash happened, maybe he hadn’t noticed the hope drain from your eyes. Maybe all he noticed was Namjoon’s terrified stare at your self.

Your mouth moved to whisper, and he didn’t know how he heard it so clearly over all the other sounds clashing, but he did. He heard you.

“I love you-”

A crash.

The waters rose.

You were gone, and the river took you with it.

Namjoon screamed, shrieked, cursed the crying woman and the other stranger he didn’t realize had arrived who pulled him back to prevent him ending his life. He kicked and flailed around, desperate to jump back in to save you. His wails hurt his throat, but that didn’t stop him from trying to get out of the man’s hold for the next hour until the rain stopped and the police were called.

He remembered it like it was yesterday, but it had been a month. And he didn’t know what happened since then. He just remembered breaking down when they- when he found your body floating on the river. It had been sunny too, and although it framed your figure beautifully- even when dead- it was far too warm.

It was cold.

Namjoon felt cold on the day of your funeral.

A black suit, a black tie, appropriate attire.

His hair had been combed and his shoes were polished.

And he had watched your casket lower down into the deep hole prepared. He had watched your family and friends weep. And he wished he could too, but he wanted to stay strong in front of you at least.

He wanted to stay strong because he couldn’t be back when you needed to be saved.

He wasn’t fast enough, he wasn’t quick enough, he wasn’t enough.

And although he promised himself not to cry, the very thought got him bawling moments after the last guest left, the mother who had brought Haneul with her. She was crying the hardest, no doubt feeling guilty about everything. And Haneul- the boy didn’t understand what happened. He was too young, and as much as Namjoon wanted to hate him- he couldn’t. Because he was a boy who only wanted to swim.

Namjoon sat right beside the very ground you were buried, head in his arms and his cries so loud yet so quiet it blended in the graveyard. It was cold, but not the weather.

Him.

Namjoon imagines the soil surrounding you, imagines how nice it would be if he can muster up the courage so he would end up right next to you. Maybe he should try hanging himself again in the bathroom, maybe this time he wouldn’t chicken out. Jin is sleeping out in the sofa in the living room, if he could be quiet enough, it should probably work.

He contemplates the idea of being together with you again, and smiles. Maybe he should take the stool- but..

But who would remember you? Who would remember your love? Who would remember the look on your face when you just woke up, eyes cloudy and hair messy? Who would still think that’s the most beautiful sight to have ever graced this wretched world?

Only him.

So he takes his mind off the rope he hid in the kitchen cabinet, and shuts his eyes tight. The tears start to crust, and he hugs himself and the phone tighter, hoping desperately that it would warm you someway, somehow.

Because you aren’t where he can hold you anymore.

Because you are alone in the river, in earth.

Because my darling, it’s cold where you lay.

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maladaptive-ninja-returns · 5 years

Text

Dream A Little Dream of Me

Loki x Reader Avengers The Office AU (Slowwwwww Burn)

Warnings: *inhales* my death by some of you

Word Count: You know those winter rains? When it trickles and the air suddenly is all chilly, giving you goosebumps before pushing you inside your duvets so you can keep yourself warm? And the same weather is all gloomy and kinda makes you wonder what the fuck are you doing? Yeah, that kinda weather is what I am experiencing right this moment. Other than that I had quite a fun day! :D I know. Surprising. But I liked it. Not to mention I’m driving (without any judgy eyes hovering beside me) these days which feels quite therapeutic, though not when the car shuts off in the middle of the road because your best friend appreciated your driving saying she didn’t wanna jinx it. *shrugs* And to think I was scared of driving. My dad always laughs with delight when I come back home because I had this freaking HUGE grin smacked on my face ‘because I drove!’ :D

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

It was a dream.

He knew it was a dream. Which was why he was a little irritated on the inside that it was not real.

That your being- alluring in the afternoon sun with the purest smile on your face as you watched him with your head supported by your palms- lay on your stomach in his bed over the mess of sheets.

He was trying to be enraged at the thought of your smell- a hint of citrus with soothing sweet floral tones- not being real. But the sensation of breathing you in seemed too real. How?!

"Loki?" You tilted your head in question, your eyes looking at him, calling him to you. Why you are worse than witches! He stirred at your voice, leaning closer to you, hesitant in bringing himself forward for he might come too close to the sun and make himself blind; to force you to disappear; to break this fantasy if he did something you didn't like.

And yet, you stayed there, turning onto your stomach as he shifted on his elbow to come and let his face hover over yours.

Ah, Valhalla! Even his home did not shine with such allure in the light of the stars as did your eyes. The flowers in the royal garden didn't have as much grace and lusciousness as your lips. No touch-me-not had the sensitivity to his touch as you- when his fingers brushed off those mischievous strands of your hair which tried to hide you from his gaze.

Your skin smooth, shuddering with a delicious shiver under his touch seemed to crave more of him, your hand moving those silky raven strands away so you could see the sun hit his smaragdines- a brilliant pool of green in an ocean that had seen lifetimes and yet this was the one that mattered. The only one that mattered.

The shiver and sparkles than ran through him on the touch of your fingers as they traced a path behind his ears and down his neck were new. New as a newborn phoenix, rising from the ashes, purified by a wave that went through and through by your touch; something he would wonder when his head was clear and his eyes away from you- how strong an influence you had on him.

So, like a thirsty nomad lost in the desert who had just tasted the sweet waters- your knowing touch- now wanted more.

So. Much. More.

The back of his fingers stroked your cheek, going down your jaw, feeling strings break into a tune when he watched you smile and close your eyes.

She trusts me.

It was almost brought a painful sting in his chest. Sweet sweet pain. He both hated and loved that he could read you; that you wanted to be read. And he wanted to test the waters with you.

At first, it was a stroke of his fingers on your lips, his eyes hovering over them, asking for permission. You seemed like you knew what he wanted, for your hands snaked his neck, bringing him closer to you, letting his lips land on yours.

It was a mutual trust affair- where the eyes closed to look at the personal galaxies inside them light up with the touch and taste that had been craved for so long. The breaths paused to savour the moment of those entirely different universes colliding at the touch of tongues, the intermingling of fingers, hungry brush of the bodies against one another.

Once the sway was started, the dance began on its own. With his leg parting your thighs, you felt your body rise to come by the doors of Valhalla, your core brushing against his thigh, asking for more.

You both have decided to lift the anchor and go out with the first tide that has risen from the ocean of endless mystery of love for the other. Still, he tried to part from you- almost making you rise for more of those tender yet demanding lips- to let him take you in.

His accelerated heartbeat wanted to make sure it was you. And when he looked at you, the unquestionable truth seemed like the strokes of paint in his grey life finally making sense.

For him, you were the human form of peace. His peace. All his meandering thoughts were at a standstill in your vicinity. All doubts were washed away by the glow you brought in the room. All worries seemed microscopic when you were with him.

You were what love was supposed to look like.

And love, you are. My love. All. Mine.

The lips came back, this time tasting you with the feeling of belonging with you. For you.

Hands roamed over the breathy cotton you wore- memorising the map to the temple he was going to pray to for the rest of his life- till they found the end, letting the fingers find the skin they were lucky to adorn, forcing a welcoming gasp out of you. The fingers rose farther up the thigh, teasing and massaging your needy skin till they reached your folds.

"Loki," your lips moaned in his ears, sending a strong flutter slithering down his entirety right when he felt his eyes open to the daylight entering his room in the Avengers facility, leaving him numb for the next minute as he questioned what had just happened.

A dream. He cursed internally, rubbing his hand over his face, trying to break the veil of slumber resting over his trance-filled eyes.

The morning sun directly hit his face and bare chest, making him groan and turn the other to find himself facing your face resting on your fist as you lay beside him

"Hi."

The soft morning greeting sent him flying back and down, his ass landing on the cold hard floor- forcing a curse-filled groan out of him.

"Ooh-" he heard the sound of second-hand embarrassment come out of you before he saw your face peep from over the bed to whisper- "sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

"What the Hel are you doing in my room?" He tried to sound pissed but the dream still fresh inside his mind was making it difficult to look at you, let alone be mad at you.

He tried to get up, realising all that covered him was the sheet he was currently wrapped in. Carefully keeping it tangled all around him, he stood up, making sure it had no way to escape. Though he did make the mistake of looking back at you lying on your stomach, the light hitting just like it did in his dream.

Oh, come on! He begged his neurons to stop. They only grew more sensitive when you bit your lip and raised your legs behind you, swinging them without a care in the world.

"You told me to wake you up to embarrass you in front of everyone if Scott woke up at five for the camping trip," you answered and tilted your head just a little, resting it in your palms.

"Stop," he said under his breath with his eyes closed. It was not only the issue of the sheet wrapped around him. It was also about what it was trying to hide.

"Oh, I'm not gonna stop," you spoke softly, giving him a smirk as he looked down at you from under his lashes, "not until you give me those fifty dollars you owe me."

He lowered his head where he stood to get a good look at you and give you one that screamed a huge 'really?' in a neon sign. "Do I look like I have fifty dollars on me?" He tried to open one arm to gesture at himself before quickly grabbing the side of the sheet that had started to slip.

Your legs kept swinging, your eyes slowly swirling with some intentions that seemed dark. "Hmm...I think another fifteen minutes like this would be worth those fifty dollars."

Loki gasped at your audacity, his outside showing he had been utterly offended. His insides, on the other hand, were celebrating the big bang.

"I think you should go."

Go before something inside me stops you and pins you right here.

"Why?" You asked while turning on your back, your head now looking at him upside down. "Having boy problems?" You winked and chuckled.

Oh, you crazy little minx, you.

"Y/N," his inside growled slightly.

"Okay, okay," you snickered, getting up facing the other side, letting his gaze catch your bare shoulders supporting your tank top, memorising those freckles, spots, and moles marring your skin. "Damn, must have been one sexy dream you were having."

Oh, only if you knew, he smirked internally before questioning if you'd find it inappropriate. Him dreaming of you this way, that is.

You walked till the door, stepping out, pausing, turning back to smile at him.

"I wonder who’s this person who's got you all-" you let your eyes go down his chest till you were made him conscious of the boner he was trying to hide- "hot and bothered."

His gaping lips closed and his brows arched at you.

"They really seem to have done a number on you, Loki," you called out as you walked away into the corridor.

He sighed and rolled his eyes before finding himself chuckling to himself.

Only if you knew, darling.

"Hey, you owe me fifty." He heard Scott's voice call out from the door. And there was Scott with puffy, sleep-deprived eyes and a huge smile on that goofy face that was all geared up for the trip.

"Oh sweet Val- DO I LOOK I HAVE MON-"

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engagemachine · 5 years

Text

Everything is too loud and too dark; the bass thunders so hard she feels as though it throbs inside her like a second heart, pulsing somewhere low in her underbelly.

Taylor can’t remember why she had decided to come, only that Ashley Phillips—who had never spoken to her before this—had stopped her in the cafeteria and handed her a slip of college-ruled paper, something torn from somebody’s notebook in a hurry. An address.

“You should come,” she’d said, friendly and sweet. She had soft hair and pretty, straight teeth—one of the few lucky enough to forgo the necessity of braces. “This Friday, eight o’clock.” Taylor couldn’t think of any reason not to. She’d never been invited to a party before.

But as she wanders aimlessly through the dark, crowded home of some senior named Andrew, she quickly realizes how out of place she is, how much she stands out. Everyone is way older than her. She’s probably the only freshman here. Why did Ashley even invite her?

She combs her way through the living room. Her throat clogs with cigarette smoke and sweat and something girlish and cloying, like strawberry peach perfume, that cheap kind that comes in the plastic spray bottles. She wonders if maybe this is all some elaborate joke. Maybe they just wanted to see if she was dumb enough to even bother showing up. Maybe this is a prank and she’s too stupid to realize she’s the punchline.

She sinks her teeth into her lower lip and squeezes between throngs of junior and seniors, feeling out of place and small as everyone laughs and chugs back red Solo cups. She rubs her slick hands against the thighs of her jeans, jeans that don’t fit like the other girls’ do. She’d had to punch an extra hole in her belt just to hold them up. But she’d borrowed a shirt from Meredith’s dresser, something floral with puff sleeves, little buttons up the front. Her boobs don’t fill it out like Meredith’s do, but she supposes it doesn’t matter anyway; she hasn’t taken off her windbreaker yet.

She works her way into the kitchen where there’s chips and cans of beer sprawled on sand-colored countertops, like windblown trash scattered on the beach. There’s a happy, little man in an oversized chef’s hat on the countertop next to the toaster oven, holding an empty cardboard roll of paper towels in his outstretched hands. In big fancy script on the breadbox, Let’s Eat!, and a red and white striped dish towel hanging over the handle for the oven door. The kitchen screams of a woman’s touch—Andrew’s mom—and Taylor wonders suddenly how her own mother might have decorated, if their kitchen would’ve had a theme like this one. Wonders what it would have felt like to grow up with a pantry stocked full of food, all the time, or the privilege of satisfying those sweet-sleepy after-midnight cravings, slinking into the kitchen to spoon out some ice-cream, or a late-night bowl of cereal, something with a sugary crunch.

The dining room table has been shoved against the wall to accommodate the crowd gathered around some kid doing a keg-stand, spurred by the raucous shouts of encouragement from his friends. He isn’t wearing a shirt. She thought that was only something people did in movies. She edges herself through the sliding glass doors and spills out onto the patio, where a few others have congregated as well. It’s quieter out here. Peaceful. There’s a group gathered around a small bonfire in the grass near the shed, lounging in plastic fold out chairs, like the ones you’d take camping, and others linger on the patio, smoking and drinking. There’s a couple near the edge of the patio, some guy with his tongue down Amelia Baker’s throat, his hands in the back pockets of her jeans. Taylor quickly looks away, embarrassed.

The air is chilly and cold, and she welcomes its sharp bite. The sky stretches out wide and black above her, blinking and alive with stars. She takes a moment to wonder at it, exhaling slowly, watching as her breath is carried away, into the night. She remembers in second grade in science class when she’d made her own starry night, a giant black piece of construction paper that she’d poked little tiny holes into with the tip of her pen, hundreds of them, and then holding the paper up to the ceiling, watching all the holes fill with artificial light.

“Hey, pretty girl, glad you could make it.”

Taylor spins around and looks up at Ryan Henderson, a senior she’s passed in the halls at school a couple of times. She thinks he runs track and might have a couple of classes with Nathan.

“Hi,” she says, shyly. He’s never talked to her before. She didn’t even know he knew she existed. And he just called her pretty.

“Seen you around at school. Taylor, right?”

She nods twice, bites her lower lip as she watches him approach the railing. He leans his side against it, casual and easy, and looks at her. He smells like spearmint gum and Axe body spray.

“I wasn’t sure if you were going to show.” When she pushes her brows together in confusion, her lips parting in some unspoken question, he fills in the gaps. “I told Ashley to invite you. Thought you’d be more likely to come if she asked.”

Taylor swallows. Ryan wanted her to come? She flushes under his gaze, averts her eyes to the red, tripod grill in the corner of the patio, like she meant to look there.

Ryan laughs a little, and she is drawn back to him as he fishes a cigarette and lighter from the pocket of his jeans. He’s cute—tall—with wavy brown hair and pretty blue eyes. She knows a lot of girls who have crushes on him. He’s wearing a pine green sweatshirt—the three buttons at the top undone—that looks cozy and soft. She bets it smells like him.

He secures the cigarette between pink, bow-shaped lips and cups his hand around the opposite end as he lights it. It glows orange for a moment as he inhales, and then all the smoke is billowing out, swirling into the night, and there’s something strangely hypnotic about it, the rise and fall of his chest, the loose, easy way he holds the cigarette, and the glimmer in his eyes as he looks at her. He sees her eyeing his cigarette and holds it out to her after taking another drag.

“You want to try?”

“Oh, no.” Taylor shakes her head. She licks her lips, dry all the sudden. “Evelyn will kill me if I come home smelling like smoke….”

Ryan cocks his head. “Evelyn?”

“My foster mom,” she explains, regretting the words as soon as they leave her mouth. Stupid. She should have just said “my mom”, now he’ll think she’s some loser foster kid without real parents.

“Right.” Ryan exhales again, and she doesn’t miss the way his eyes sweep over her, up, down, and then up again. He takes one last drag of his cigarette, and then crushes it on the railing. Taylor frowns at this, because he just lit it. He flicks it away, so that it lands somewhere in the dark sea of grass.

“You want something to drink?” he asks.

“Oh, I—”

“Come on, I’ll get you something.” He straightens and clambers down the porch steps, and Taylor hesitates only briefly before following after him.

He leads her to the group lounging around a makeshift fire pit, which is little more than a ring of misshapen rocks. One of the boys is feeding small branches into the fire to keep it going, sitting on the edge of his chair, prodding at the fire with a stick. A girl in a miniskirt and leather jacket is curled up in the lap of who Taylor assumes is her boyfriend, and her legs look smooth and tan in the glow from the fire. Taylor looks around at the rest of them, a hodgepodge of teenage boys and a few other girls. She recognizes only some of them.

Ryan introduces her to them and then tells her everyone’s names even though she won’t remember them. He explains that some of them are from Ridgepoint, in Old Town. She gives them all a little wave which makes one of the boys snort and shoot Ryan a look that Taylor doesn’t know how to interpret. She folds her arms behind her back and doesn’t know what to do.

Ryan gestures for one of the guys to move so Taylor can have his chair. She mumbles her thanks as she takes his proffered seat, and Ryan plops beside her chair onto the hard ground, surrounded by dead clumps of grass. He’s almost the same height as her even though he’s on the ground and she’s in the chair.

The fire is warm and the smoke smells good, and she tries to allow herself to relax a little and not worry her bottom lip so much, even if there’s something comforting about laving her tongue over the indents her teeth have left on her lower lip.

“Let’s get you something to drink,” Ryan says conspiratorially, leaning in, looking up into her eyes in a way that makes Taylor’s cheeks turn hot. One of the guys tosses him a white can which Ryan catches with one hand. The top pops open with a wet hiss. Taylor watches the gold lettering on the side glimmer in the firelight, like something forbidden, something dangerous.

“You ever had beer before?” he asks, and she shakes her head. “Ah, an alcohol virgin,” he says, knowingly, just a little too loudly for her comfort. Some of them chuckle, and Taylor sinks into her chair in a way she hopes isn’t obvious, blushing so hard, trying to ignore the prickle of unease slithering up her spine. She hates the way he said virgin, like her lack of foray into alcohol isn’t the only thing virgin about her.

“Here.” He hands the can to her, and Taylor holds it with as few fingers as possible, as if it’s something that suddenly might grow fangs and sink razor sharp teeth into her. “Come on, honey, take a little sip,” he says, softly, so only she can hear.

She looks at him, his eyes dark in the firelight, and brings the can to her lips, tilting her head back to swallow. She grimaces as it slides down her throat, as the taste settles in her mouth, bitterness bleeding all over her tongue.

“Eugh,” she gags. It tastes nasty. She spits out her tongue and grimaces. “I don’t like that.” She holds the can out to him, but he pushes it back into her lap.

“The first taste is always kind of gross,” he says. “I have something that might make it go down a little easier.”

She frowns at him. “What is it?” Ryan reaches into his jacket and retrieves two little white pills, nestled in the palm of his hand. She cocks her head. “What are those?”

“They make everything feel better.” He reaches for her free hand and pushes them into her palm, and she instinctively closes her fingers over them so they don’t fall on the ground.

“I—I don’t know if I should,” she says, hesitant, meeting his gaze.

“I take them all the time. They’re really good.”

The fire crackles and pops, sparks shooting up into the dark expanse of open sky as one of the boys tosses a fresh log onto the fire. There’s the dimming of the flames as the existing fire crumbles beneath the new added weight, and then the burgeoning brightness as the flames lap at the wood, licking it up faster and faster, as if excited by the taste.

“How will they make the beer taste better?” she asks.

Ryan huffs, shifting closer to her. He seems a little agitated, having to explain. “They just do. They make everything taste good and everything else just feels… light.” Taylor still looks unconvinced, so he goes on. “It’ll help you loosen up a little. Make you happy.” He looks down at the ground for a moment, and she catches him biting his tongue. He fixes her with a smile when he looks back up. “I bet you’re real cute when you smile.”

Taylor exhales, caught in the ocean of his eyes. The moment feels hypercharged and heady, like it’s just the two of them here and no one else. She wants to know what it’s like to feel light, what it might be like to breathe with four sets of lungs instead of two, how it might feel to suddenly grow wings, the foreign sensation of needing to anchor herself to the ground before she floats up and away. The fantasy of flight.

She takes both of them at once, and because she can’t dry swallow, chases them down with a large gulp of beer.

She makes a face. “It still doesn’t taste good.”

Ryan laughs. Taylor likes the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he does. “They don’t work instantly. Give it some time.”

So she does, or maybe she doesn’t at all. The night becomes an intangible thing, something distant and kind of faraway, like being in a dream, but knowing that you’re in one. Ryan was right—she does feel light, like cotton candy. She remembers laughing along with everyone about—about something, it doesn’t seem to matter now—only that everyone is smiling, and she is smiling too, and it’s nice, and the world takes on a warm, honeyed glaze. The edges of her vision are sticky sweet. It’s difficult to focus her gaze on any one thing for more than a few seconds. There’s the sagging pile of wood stacked against the side of the shed, the warm, dying frenzy of sparks from the fire, and when she tilts her head back to laugh, the starlight sky, a black, endless canopy. Ryan hands her more beer, and she drinks it. The letters on the side of the can swirl into golden spirals she can’t read. She’s lost track of how many she’s had. And she hardly notices the taste, after a while; she kind of likes the way it makes the back of her throat tingle, how hot it makes her belly feel.

After a while, some of the group starts to thin out, people leaving in pairs of two. There’s only a couple of guys left now. She feels Ryan playing with her shoelaces, where he kneels at her feet. He looks up at her intently, and Taylor’s too dizzy to really meet his gaze head on.

“How are you feeling?”

She starts to reply but is interrupted by a hiccup. She giggles. “Really good.” Is she slurring? It’s hard to tell. She frowns a little and tries again. “Really—really good.”

“Yeah,” Ryan says. He licks his lips. “I thought you might.”

She thinks he says something about going inside, that it’s cold, and she doesn’t resist when he pulls her up from her chair. His arm around her back feels good—big and warm. She nuzzles into his sweatshirt, hears the sliding glass door open. He smells like spearmint gum. At some point, there’s stairs, but she doesn’t remember walking up them. Then, something soft beneath her, a fluffy cloud, or maybe a bed.

Everything is dark and warm. The bass is still thumping from downstairs, the walls vibrating from it, but she doesn’t mind it as much as before. Ryan slides up the bed alongside of her, and she feels his hands on her as he unzips her jacket, pulling her arms out of the sleeves. They flop lifelessly back onto the bed when he lets them go—that makes her giggle again.

“I feel like—a doll,” she slurs. Something in her hindbrain tells her this should be concerning, her lack of control over her own body mechanics, but she ignores it. Ryan is so big and warm next to her. She feels like taking a nap.

Hands on her again, this time fumbling with her belt, and then unbuttoning her jeans. She tries to sit up.

“Hey, what are—what are you doing?” Hard to sit up, her brain sloshing around inside her skull, too heavy to hold up for some reason.

“Just wanna touch you a little,” Ryan says, breathy, ��Lay back. It’ll feel good.”

Taylor tries to do what he says, but she gasps when he slips his hand inside her jeans, cupping her through her underwear. She squirms beneath his touch, not sure if she likes it or not.

“Sh, sh, just relax,” he says. She feels one of his fingers probing down there, and she whimpers and arches away. Only Nathan’s ever touched her there.

“St—stop,” she says. Now she can hear her own voice, all shaky and slurry. “I don’t wanna… do that.” Why is it so hard to talk?

Ryan withdraws his hand and shifts so he’s straddling her, his weight settling over her hips. The pressure of him sets off a flicker of anxiety, a spark that catches, and for a moment it’s Nathan on top of her, pinning her to the mattress with just his weight, his hands all over her, breath on her nape, shoving her face first into the mattress, suffocating, mothballs and dust in her nostrils, his scratchy jeans on the backs of her thighs, sheets soaked with drool, the embarrassed shiver of her bedsprings, her mouth open in a silent cry—but then his lips and tongue on her neck, warm and wet, and Nathan’s never done that to her. She sighs a little without really meaning to, turns her face into the bedspread to give Ryan a broader canvas. It kind of feels like being licked by a dog or something. Kind of tickles. She giggles a little and squeezes her eyes shut, where Christmas-colored phosphenes fizzle behind her lids.

“So fucking hot.”

She doesn’t say anything, just lets him suck more bruises into her neck. No one’s ever kissed her like this before. She doesn’t know if she likes it or not. She feels his teeth skirt over her pulse and she jumps, hands blindly reaching for his shirt, balling the fabric into her fists. She feels him laugh, a puff of hot breath against her jaw.

She’s seen this in movies. Boys kissing girls. Sex. The way two bodies move together, easy and fluid, like they’d both done it a million times, even if it was only the first. But nothing about this feels easy, and all her sensations feel far away, like he’s touching her underwater. Her reactions are slowed—delayed—her mind and body operating at different speeds.

Ryan shifts, lifting himself off her to kneel on either side of her thighs. He shucks her jeans down to her knees, and this time, when his hand slithers inside her underwear, something primal inside her claws to the surface, and she finds the strength to slap his arm away.

“What the hell,” he says.

“I—I don’t—want that,” she says again, trying to sit up. The room spins—there are three Ryans, and then two—and she puts a hand to her forehead as if to ease the pulsing there.

“What, you can put out for your big brother, but not for me?”

Taylor instantly recoils from him.

How does he—?

The repugnance in his voice wounds her, and she shrinks away, feebly pushing herself further up the bed. She feels so weak.

“Yeah, I know about that,” he sneers, “the whole fucking—”

Suddenly, the door bangs open, startling them both. Two people stumble in, a girl and a boy, limbs wrapped around each other, mouths occupied. The girl breaks away to giggle into the boy’s neck, and the boy steers them towards the bed.

Then, a sudden expletive of surprise at finding the room already occupied—“Oh, shit,”—and a half mumbled apology from the boy.

Ryan reaches above Taylor’s head and violently yanks a pillow out from underneath her, sending it careening towards the boy’s head.

“You fucking douchebag, do you knock?”

“Sorry, dude, didn’t realize anyone was in here....”

Taylor is already scrambling off the bed, horrified, sliding her jeans up past her thighs. Her fingers tremble over the button, and then the zipper.

“Jesus fuck,” the guys says suddenly, looking at Taylor, as if only just now seeing her for the first time. He looks at Ryan. “Dude, how old is she? Like, twelve?”

Ryan’s face flames, his nostrils flaring, but Taylor doesn’t notice. She doesn’t have time to do her belt, or to grab her jacket from where Ryan had pushed it to the floor. She stumbles out of the room, past the couple in the doorway, ignoring Ryan’s shouts. She almost falls down the stairwell, but somehow she makes it down in one piece, and then she is throwing open the front door, staggering down the wooden porch steps, the sidewalk. She breaks into a sprint, unsure of her destination, just needing to escape. Get away.

She doesn’t realize she is crying until she feels the bite of the cold wind on her wet cheeks. She hears her belt clink where it dangles around her thighs as she slows to a jog. She bends over on the sidewalk and puts her hands on her knees, panting for breath, in some residential area she doesn’t recognize, all the houses dimmed, stiff looking, the porch lights off. She wonders what time it is.

Her ears and throat burn from the cold. When she swallows, her saliva tastes coppery. She sniffles and tries to gather her bearings as she wanders along the sidewalk for a while, not sure what to do, or where to go. Her head is throbbing, and everything still feels dim and kind of faraway, like she is partway underwater or something.

It’s freezing without her jacket, and her bus pass was in the pocket—not that she could locate the nearest bus stop now. She wraps her arms around herself and keeps her head down to block out the cold, curling in on herself.

Behind her, a sudden beam of light. She turns to face the blinding flash of headlights head-on in the dark, bringing a hand up to her eyes to shield some of the light. A van pulls up alongside of her. Taylor’s heart lurches in her chest but she can’t run away. The van stalls, and she hears a door opening, and then a man walking around the front of the vehicle, looking at her.

“Jesus, kid. You’re just asking for it everywhere you go, aren’t you?”

She doesn’t recognize him at first, but after a long moment she heaves a sigh of relief at the familiar face. She knows he works for Mr. J. She’s seen him outside the hangar before.

He slides open the back door. “Get in.”

Taylor hesitates, not sure if she can trust him.

“Come on,” he says again, trying to soften some, but it’s only marginal. “He wants to see you.”

She crawls into the back of the van. When the door slides closed, she is submerged in cool darkness. The seats have been gutted, so she lies down on the floor and curls into a ball. The van rolls along. The streets are soft, empty. She stares for a long time out the two back windows, the tender, golden blur of the city at night, oranges and yellows interspersed by patches of darkness. She closes her eyes, feels the golden streetlamps curling over the back of her lids, and she pretends she is underwater, that the flickering light is the warmth of the sun breaking through the ocean’s surface.

It’s hard to keep her eyes open. She lets the vibrations of the van lull her to sleep.

She wakes to the sound of voices. At first, she doesn’t remember where she is, and she strains to listen, even as her head throbs when she tries to lift it from the floor.

“—drunk. She was wandering for a while.”

“Hm.”

“Took something, too. Think it was Ativan. She’s pretty out of it—”

The voices draw closer, and then the door swings open, and it jars her as it slides all the way back, the loud bang it makes as it hits the bumper.

She looks up at the two figures through a drowsy haze. Her eyes widen.

“Mr. J,” she slurs, “I feel—feel funny.”

She tries to crawl out of the van, and somehow ends up on her hands and knees on the cold ground. She feels bile creeping up her throat, but she chases it back down with a shuddery exhale. Her palms and knees burn from the scrape of hard concrete.

She’s too weak to stand. She tries to lift her head, but the world caves in on itself. She rolls onto her side. It’s so dark outside. She stares at Mr. J’s approaching shoes instead.

His hands slide under her back and his other beneath her legs, picking her up, suddenly, like she’s weightless. She’s too weak to wrap her arms around his neck, and they hang limp, one pressed between her side and his abdomen, the other dangling uselessly.

“Anything else?” she hears.

“No,” Mr. J says. “Nothing else.”

He carries her into the hangar. She is set down on something soft. The orange couch, she thinks. She nearly topples over, but she manages to right herself at the last second, giggling a little. Mr. J swims in front of her eyes, and she smiles at him, as if seeing him for the first time. She scoots to the edge of the couch and leans forward to sloppily throw her arms around his neck, where he’s crouched in front of her.

“Mr. J!” she slurs. “I’m so, so—hiccup—happy to see you.”

She feels him stiffen, but he does not push her away. “You’re drunk.”

“Beer is gross!” she tells him, emphatic all of the sudden. She makes a “yuck” sound, and then she digs her fingers into the collar of his jacket a little, nuzzles herself right up into the crook of his neck, and she feels it when he swallows, the way his throat bobs. “I don’t like it,” she says. She lays her head down on his shoulder and sighs, but it comes out as a hiccup instead. She frowns into his shoulder, very serious, now. Thinking. “I don’t like parties.”

Mr. J hums. She feels him rest his forearms on the edge of the couch to steady himself, on either side of her thighs. She huffs into his neck. “I’m so sleepy.” As if only just now aware of this opportunity, she leans forward suddenly and blows a raspberry into his neck, where the side of his throat is just barely exposed behind the collar of his shirt.

He grunts and shoves her away. Stands. She lands on her side on the couch and giggles, hair tousled around her like a halo, looking up at him, her eyes glossy and bright.

“Look at you,” he says after a moment, when her laughter has dissolved. “Aaalways getting yourself into trouble.” He tsks, his voice heavy, laden with disappointment. “What am I going to do with you?”

She sits up suddenly, worried. Her vision swims. “Are you mad at me?” There is the prickle of tears in her eyes. She swallows something bulbous that’s formed in her throat, a fist of panic. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

Mr. J only stares at her, and she doesn’t stop him when he lays a hand on her shoulder, gently pushing her to lie back down on the couch as he hovers over her. Three fingers on her jaw then, pushing it to the side, so her cheek is pressed against the cushions, her neck exposed to him. It’s all pale, thin skin. The blue whisper of a vulnerable, pulsing artery, all that stunning canvas of possibility. It awakens an old hunger in him—killing her. His original plan.

Funny, how far they’ve come since then.

“Who did that to you?”

He is tracing over the red-purple blotch on her neck, this indefinite shape. She instinctively reaches up to touch the skin too, and their fingers tangle on kiss-bruised skin. Her pulse jumps under their fingertips where they can both feel it.

“Ryan wanted to kiss me… but I didn’t want him to.”

“No?”

“I’ve never been kissed before,” she says, studying the frayed threads of the couch with the sort of manic concentration that only someone truly inebriated could possess. “I bet you kiss girls all the time!” she exclaims.

She hears him snort. “It just so happens I am very picky,” he deadpans.

“Oh,” Taylor says. She is staring up at the ceiling now, blinking. Her eyelids feel so heavy. “I’m picky too. I hate broccoli.”

“Mhm.”

“Can you sit down?” Taylor squints up at him, as if looking up at him from a telescope. “You’re making me dizzy.”

He humors her and does what she asks, mostly because she won’t remember any of this in the morning. He settles himself on the opposite end of the couch, and Taylor immediately sits up and scoots towards him. She has no qualms about making herself comfortable, laying her head down in his lap. Snuggling close. She clumsily jams an elbow into his ribs on accident but doesn’t seem to notice. She is as happy as a clam.

“I wish we could be like this all the time.”

He almost doesn’t hear her, how quietly she says it, the way the words are tethered to the back of a yawn. He takes it upon himself to touch a strand of her hair, and then several, slowly combing through it with his bare hands. It feels nice. Soft. Something about it feels stupidly indulgent.

“Mr. J?” she yawns. She takes his free arm and drapes it over her waist to use as a blanket. Her eyes are closed, the dark fan of her lashes pressed against her cheeks. “Do you love me?”

He hasn’t stopped looking at her from the moment she laid herself in his lap. Even after all this time, he is still fascinated by her unwavering trust in him, how freely she gives herself to him. The hand on her waist curls a little tighter.

“No,” he murmurs. He runs his fingers through her hair, carefully scrapes the smaller strands behind her ear, over and over again. “I don’t love you.” She yawns, a soft sound, and curls her legs closer to her chest for warmth. If his words have any effect on her, she does not let on. Her cheek is warm on his thigh. Her breathing evens out, the steady rise and fall of her chest. He curls a strand of her hair around his finger.

“I don’t love you at all.”

A/N: This was sickeningly sweet, tooth-rotting, sugar-coated fluff. Every single bit of it. I’m sorry. I had to.

#Burn #JK #my writing

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malodorousmalcontent · 5 years

Text

Solstice Scents Review

Man, finally getting around to writing my thoughts on my First Ever Solstice Scents Order (or two, actually.) I've had all of these for around a month now, and just because of all the other smells i've had going on, haven't really gotten around to them. But i'm taking the time now. Checkin' 'em off my LIST.

I'll be going over my experience ordering from Solstice Scents, as well as the scents Foxcroft, Snowshoe Pass, Violet Mallow, Lace Draped Spectre, Riverside Hayride, Nightgown, White Fox, and Winter Dove. Let's do it to it.

ORDERING FROM SOLSTICE SCENTS

So, not gonna lie, I put off ordering from this house mostly because of their website. I'm a graphic designer, and a bit of a branding snob, and the look of the website, not even considering the purposefully rustic theme, just the way it's built, is a little bit... Dated. Not the worst crime imaginable, but actually navigating the site made it worse: having multiple pages for the different sizes of one scent would clutter pages, not having an easily findeable scent list for their seasonal collections (if it exists, I STILL haven't found it), not knowing what was Just Seasonal and what was GC because of how they'll do limited seasonal releases of GC scents in normally unavailable sizes or formats... It was all very confusing. Their photography is nice, though, I'll give them that. Goes with the general look of the brand well. (And that's not like, subtle shade - I know the difference between a purposefully down-to-earth design, and something lookin' dated. Their purposeful branding, in a general sense, is not dated.)

Placed my order. The drop-down list for available free samples was handy. I wish they mentioned that, if it's your first order, you can ask for an additional free sample - I only knew about that practice from a different review.

TAT was pretty dang fast - a couple days and it was coming my way. The greatest delight, aside from the scents themselves, was their packaging: It's fantastic. A far cry from my complaints about their website. Their designs look good, the cards that came with the order were lovely, I love the little CD-case-type thing that the samples come in, and when I later placed a second order for a 5ml of Winter Dove, I loved the box it came in, too. Love the scent names in that snappy handwriting... It was just, good. Was nice getting actual designed packaging, rather than just bottles wrapped in bubble wrap or in a plain box. Very professional. No leaks. No issues. A good, clean-cut order.

(Additionally, when I did my second order and Lace Draped Spectre was still available on their free sample dropdown, even though it was sold out and wasn't going to be restocked anymore for the season, they still honored it. Which. Hell yeah.)

Overall, very positive experiences! Onto the scents.

FOXCROFT (PERFUME OIL) || Decaying Leaves, Rich Black Soil, Dry Leaves, Fall Air, Woods, Chimney Smoke.

I put this on, and the very first note I get hit with, without even looking at the notes, is sweet smoke. The first time I ever tried this, that smoke straight-up went BBQ-y for the first five minutes of wear, but it doesn't do that anymore - it's just... Very strong woodsmoke with a hint of sweetness. The smoke fades after just a few minutes, and I start getting the other atmospheric notes: A woody note that smells fresh and sap-sticky, like a newly splintered evergreen branch; dry fall leaves that smell so realistic that I can picture picking them up and crunching them in my hand; the emptiness of cool fall air; and damp earth from a rainstorm that happened the other day. The smoke's still there, kind of encompassing everything, but it's much lighter now.

And... Looking at the notes, I guess that's literally everything that's in it! Dang. Talk about a scent being dead-on. On the dry-down, this takes on a warm, almost... Maple-y quality? Like slightly burnt maple leaves. I like it. It's really cozy.

This wears a bit close to the skin on me without actually being light, but lasts for a pretty long time - a few hours in and even after scrubbing it from my wrist with dish soap, i'm still smelling earth and decaying leaves.

tl;dr: a very realistic fall atmospheric with woody, dry leaf, and damp earth nuances and a nice swirl of smoke. Dries down to a maple-like sweetness.

RATING: 5/5. A really beautiful atmospheric. I'm not really interested in smelling like it, but it's objectively very well made.

SNOWSHOE PASS (PERFUME OIL) || White Amber, White Musk, Vanilla Accord, Peppermint Cream, Cold Winds.

Mmmm. Mmmm. This smells absolutely tasty. The vanilla accord is rich and exceptionally creamy, with a super true-to-life vanilla extract smell. The peppermint cream blends well with it - it's hard to detect, but gives a slight minty edge to the vanilla. My roommate, from a distance, says it smells like cooked brownies. I don't necessarily agree--it doesn't strike me as chocolatey in the least--but I could see how someone might think that. It might be thanks to the amber - i've noticed some ambers can read a bit chocolate-like.

Admittedly, the cold winds note is kinda gone at this point - it was very present when I first got the sample, but now, I don't really get anything that hits my nose as particularly chilly.

This wears pretty strongly on my wrist, doesn't fade quickly, and obviously has some good sillage if my roommate is smelling it from like, 3-4 feet away.

tl;dr: True to life foody, creamy, rich vanilla with a hint of mintiness.

RATING: 4/5. I wish the white amber and white musk were a bit more detectable to me, and that the cold wind note hadn't vanished. Even so, this is a really delicious, rich vanilla scent.

VIOLET MALLOW (PERFUME OIL) || Marshmallow Cream, Violet Flowers, Vanilla Bean, White Musk.

This one's easy. It smells ex act ly like a cabbage patch doll's face - that floral-vanilla slightly rubbery scent. Sometimes Solstice Scents' vanilla note will have a bit of that rubbery quality for me, and the violets in this, rather than just living on their own in their signature Purple Burp smell, blends well and amps up the cabbage patch kids smell. Which is great for me, because i've been dying for a perfume that smells like it - I actually asked for this one as my free sample because people had been saying it smells like that. And it does. Spot on.

Wears strong on my wrist, with sillage of like a foot or two when wet, then maybe 6 inches or so when dry.

tl;dr: Cabbage Patch doll!

RATING: 4/5. Kinda simple, but fills a very specific desire in me. I don't even know if i'll wear it that much, but I loooove just having this smell on hand whenever I wanna whiff it. Plus, even if the vanilla/marshmallow is a bit rubbery, I love a violet scent where the violets don't smell bad.

LACE DRAPED SPECTRE - REFORMULATED (PERFUME OIL) || Vanilla Musk, Spicy Pink Carnation, Pink Pepper, Rose, White Musk.

This... This grew on me so fast, and is now one of my favorite perfumes. Holy shit. This is just so, so good.

When I first tried it out, I took one whiff and went, 'oh! So THAT'S what a carnation smells like!' I was familiar with the smell of carnations, but had never really matched the smell to the flower, but this was so dead-on that there's really just no mistaking it. The connection was made instantly. It's a green, dewy, velvety, heady, smooth, non-powdery, lush-smelling flower, with just a hint of a spicy kick to it - which i'm sure is amped up by the pink pepper. The vanilla musk amps up that delicious carnation and makes the scent a bit humid and sweet. That's about all I can really, for-sure detect in this... But, god, I don't think it NEEDS anything else. It's SO GOOD.

Got HELLA sillage and HELLA longevity - I put this on and can smell it all day. God. I have two 1mls of it and I hope they last me 'til fall. Seriously, it's so good.

tl;dr: A fantastic, realistic carnation note, amped by vanilla musk and with a kick of pink pepper.

RATING: 6/5. This is a holy grail scent, bay-bee. I've had some good florals since, but this was the first good floral. This is the one that changed my mind about florals.

RIVERSIDE HAYRIDE (PERFUME OIL) || Moist Dirt, White Carnations, Fallen Leaves, Bare Branches, Hay & a Hint of Pressed Apples Carried on the Breeze from Corvin's Apple Orchard.

I put this on, and before I can even close the sample vial, I get hit with this wave of spiced, dried, tart apples - but that gets subtler after only 10, 15 minutes of wear. What I smell at the top at that point is a very subtle, velvety carnation - not nearly as lush as the carnation note in lace-draped, it's more like... If a bed of carnations was a few feet away. It also smells pretty wet, with a notable cool air note, and some damp green-ness. At this point, the apples are so subtle that they're at the bottom of the scent, just a soft sweetness with an edge of tart, very realistic for a dried apple scent, and I can't smell the spices anymore.

Sometimes I also pick up a weird sourness that isn't the apples, and almost smells... Milky? Like milk that's kinda nearing its expiry date and you're not really sure if it's bad or not. I don't get it all the time, and it's not bad enough to ruin the scent, but it's there. Looking at the notes, I think that sour smell is actually the hay.

On the dry-down, that hay gets stronger, and basically all i'm getting is the hay and maybe a hint of the apple. If you like hay, this would be good for you. The last note I can detect before it disappears is tart green apple. Despite not having a lot of sillage, apart from that first wave of apple, this wears VERY strongly on my wrist.

tl;dr: A velvety floral atmospheric with touches of cool air, green-ness, and an ample helping of dried apples, that dries down to strong hay and faint apple.

RATING: 3.5/5. Well made, but I could do without that strong hay note. I say. About a scent with 'hayride' in the name. Guess that's what I get.

NIGHTGOWN (PERFUME OIL) || Vanilla, White Chocolate, Tuberose & Tiare Flowers.

This is lovely - I actually like it more than I thought I would, since i'm really not into chocolate notes, even white chocolate, and white florals generally aren't my thing. But this blends beautifully: the tuberose and tiare are soft and delicate without smelling soapy or indolic like so many white florals can, and the white chocolate and vanilla round it out, balance the floral qualities, and give the scent some depth. It's really lovely - i've worn it to bed a couple times, so I guess the name 'nightgown' fits.

Dries down to stronger vanilla and realistic white chocolate with a light floral edge. Very elegant and creamy. Wears close to the skin for a few hours before it begins to fade.

tl;dr: Soft, delicate white flowers balanced by gentle, creamy sweet notes of white chocolate and vanilla, the latter taking over on the dry-down.

RATING: 5/5. Another one I probably won't wear a lot, but it's objectively beautiful. Solstice Scents REALLY can do no wrong with florals, i'm beginning to feel like.

WHITE FOX (PERFUME OIL) || Vanilla Musk, White Fur, Woods, Snow Laced With a Vein of Dirt.

So, reading reviews of White Fox, it seemed to be pretty hit or miss. Half the time, it was a beautiful vanilla scent with atmospheric notes; the other half, burning plastic. I wasn't sure what I would get, but I was willing to take the risk.

What I ultimately get is plasticky vanilla. Not the worst, but, uh, not the best, either. I get something very minty, too, even though peppermint isn't a note in this (maybe it's the woods note, some evergreens), and it makes that plasticky vanilla almost... Burning. Chemical-y. It mellows out some with wear, though: the burniness goes away, and the vanilla becomes less plastic (but not totally un-plastic) and more soft and fuzzy, so, decently wearable. The fur and dirt are distinguishable in this, too, and round out the sweet notes well.

Dries down to a subtle vanilla musk sitting underneath some really notable dirt, and finally, before it fades, become simply dirt and fur. Lasts for a good handful of hours, and has some good sillage while wet.

tl;dr: Burning plastic kinda medicinal smelling vanilla that mellows out to a softer, fuzzier vanilla, rounded out by dirt and fur.

RATING: 3/5. I'm honestly debating rating this a bit lower, because it starts out so bleh, but with wear it's okay. ...But just okay.

WINTER DOVE (PERFUME OIL) || Vanilla Crystals, Spicy Carnation, Nutmeg, Cream.

Man, this is such good shit. It's not LDS, but by god, it'll do.

For the first, like, 5 minutes, I get straight eggnog from the nutmeg and cream, and then it just becomes this beautiful, rich, creamy carnation note. The carnation's pretty spicy, but more than that, it's velvety, softly floral and green and fresh as hell. Smells real, as SS' carnation note tends to. The sugar crystals give this just a touch of sweetness, and honestly, I don't get the nutmeg as much after those first 5 minutes. It's a soft, rich, delicate scent - definitely would call this LDS' more feminine cousin. On the dry-down, the carnation fades, and the scent becomes much more creamy and foody-sweet without necessarily going back to eggnog.

Has a lot of sillage - i've gotten reports of other people smelling it real well when I walk past. (Notably, my sister said it smelled like a headshop, which kinda surprised me. I think it must'a been the spice in the carnation.) Lasts for a good handful of hours, too.

tl;dr: Eggnog, briefly, and then a sweet and creamy lush carnation scent, and then, on the drydown, creamy sweetness.

RATING: 5/5. Blind bought a 5ml for this because I didn't think I could live without Solstice Scents' carnation note, and I have no regrets.

So, final thoughts: I really, really love this house. Their florals are killer, their scents are rich and long-lasting, and at the very worst, they might go a little rubbery or maybe a little potpourri-ish, but there's nothing in this that was out-and-out awful or came across poorly made. Gonna be buying from them again, most definitely.

#perfumes #perfume reviews #solstice scents #foxcroft #snowshoe pass #violet mallow #lace draped spectre #riverside hayride #nightgown #white fox #winter dove

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dr-tardis-who · 6 years

Text

Angel Child

Possible series: I’ve been working on this for a while. Give it a read, tell me what you think. Feedback is more than welcome with this one.

The group walk up to the stingy looking bar, a couple of girls scantily dressed offering seductive waves to Tom and Harrison in particular. Shadow just rolls his eyes at their antics having grown up in the area his whole life along, with knowing that his friend was the only one who could really help get Paddy back. Pushing the metal industrial looking door, the smell of alcohol, cigarettes and sex invades everyones nostrils causing Harrison to screw his face up in disgust. Shadow just makes his way over to the bar talking to a man with a dark mohawk, tattoos covering a majority of his body and white eyes. Tom takes in the rest of the bar, that to be honest is more like a seedy strip club with girls up on the small stage dancing for grotesque looking men. The music was a genre he couldn’t really recognise.

“Hey this way.’’ Shadow says leading Harrison, Tom and his family to the back door that lead to a little ally way that had a large skip bin, and a girl. She was dressed similarly to the others, but something about her was different maybe it was the black leather cinch that gave her more curves or the fact that she had a skirt that came just above her knees. He really wasn’t sure. Maybe it had to do with the cigarette that she smoking, each puff of smoke turning into some sort of animal before disappearing entirely.

“Shadow long time no see.’’ She says not bothering to look at them.

“Y/n keeping out of trouble?’’ Shadow says, that made the girl smirk this time she faces the group. One bright e/c eye shining and the other purple with gold flecks.

“Now if being good was easy, everyone would do it.’’ She states, “What are you doing here anyway?” She asks with a serious tone putting out her cigarette.

“These humans need your help.’’ Shadow starts, causing the girl to cock an eyebrow at the group.

“And what could humans possibly want from me?” She asks crossing her arms over her lace clad chest. Harrison couldn’t deny that she was incredibly attractive with h/l h/c hair and s/c skin.

“Our son’s been taken.’’ Nikki says,

“I’m sorry but what has this got to do with me?” Y/n asks confused and getting irritated that her break was nearly over.

“He was taken by necromancers.’’ Shadow says causing the girl to freeze.

“Did they follow you here?” She asks slowly,

“I don’t know.’’ Shadow answers then there’s the sound of glass breaking inside the bar, Y/n grits her teeth pulling two swords out from behind the bin. She stares at the door that leads back into the bar with a clenched jaw in front of the group, her breathing incredibly calm for someone that’s been dreading this moment their whole life.

“Ah there she is, my favourite toy.’’ A dark male voice spits from behind the door, it creaks open slowly causing the girl to roll her eyes. Why did they have to be so bloody dramatic? she thinks to herself.

“Dante I would say it’s nice to see you but it’s really not.’’ She says, taking a moment to light a cigarette. The man only chuckles keeping the hood over the top part of his face, his black robes engulfing the rest of his body.

“Little girls should speak nicer to their masters.’’ He remarks his accent definitely European.

“You don’t own me fuck-tard.’’ She spits between puffs of smoke, before launching into an attack. With calculated movements she slices her swords through the air. The man clad in black dodges most of her attacks, she makes a few good hits winding him long enough to make a fatal blow to where his torso would be located. Slowly he disappears into dust. The girl breathing heavily her cigarette still between her plump lips.

“We better get out of here.’’ She says striding past the dumbfounded humans that a girl of her stature would capable to do that. They follow her back into the bar, people scampering to get out of the place as the figures in black slowly enter through the complex. Y/n rolls her eyes moving behind the bar with ease, moving a lever and opening a trap door.

“Everybody in.’’ She orders with a serious yet annoyed tone, no one argues as they move into the tight dark space. “Don’t make a sound I’ll get you when it’s safe.’’ She adds shutting a door with force. The humans try to calm their breathing, Harrison could see the girl on the other side of the bar pouring herself a drink of what he thought was vodka through the little hole, that was meant to filter fresh oxygen into the hiding place. He takes in how relaxed yet pissed off she seems, as she makes her way over to the old, dusty jukebox playing a song that causes a cheeky and flirtatious smirk to light up her face. He’s surprised that she was able to show any other emotion, aside from insanely pissed off. Her body moves to the beat of the music echoing through the building as she takes another swig of her drink. With ease she un-sheaths her swords, their poised ready to attack her first assailant. She still moves in beat with the music like a deadly, yet sexy dance, she dips, dodges and swings her blades across her body with an eerie elegance that he finds a little bit attractive. She swings her body around stabbing two figures at once, it’s clear that she’s not afraid to take a life if she has too.

With heavy breaths the petite girl vanquishes the last necromancer with swift ease, a triumphant smile etches its way across her face as she takes one last swig of her drink.

“It’s safe now.’’ She says opening the door letting Shadow and the humans crawl out from under the bar. They look around inky black blood is splattered around the bar and on the swords. But there isn’t a scratch on her, not even a bruise. Just the slight heaving of her chest from using so much energy she’d been using.

“What are you?” Sam asks as the girl leans against the bar in a casual manner.

“Cursed.’’ She answers curtly before turning to Shadow. The werewolf rolling his hazel eyes.

“We should go.’’ She says he nods. The group collect themselves following the young girl out of the bar and into the dark street. The girl pokes her head out the door, taking a quick glance to see if it’s safe before venturing out. She steps out into the chilly night air, pulling her black leather jacket tighter to her lace and leather clad torso. She walks down the empty street, keeping to the shadows avoiding the light of the street lamps, the only sound of her heels clicking against the pavement. Harrison, Tom and his family following behind with confused and worried looks.

“Where are we going?” Tom asks,

“Somewhere safe.’’ Is her only reply, as she pulls a cigarette from her pocket, along with a metal zippo lighter with a dragon design on it. She sets the cigarette between her ruby lips, lighting it with ease. Taking a puff the smoke taking the shape of a bird, flying around before disappearing into nothing. For the rest of the way nothing is spoken.

**************

They arrive at first glance looks like the slums of the area, the buildings scummy and falling apart. Tom gulps quietly as the girl walks into a what looks like an apartment building, he can’t be sure. He follows reluctantly, though when he walks in, he’s surprised that the interior is quite beautiful. Like he’s walked into the 1950′s, it was beautiful. He was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard the pounding of feet running towards them, a little girl appeared from the hallway. emerald green, silky curly hair bouncing as she ran right into Y/n’s arms, bright purple eyes filled with happiness. The young woman held the little girl that looked about four maybe five, tightly kissing her forehead.

“I missed you aunty.’’ She says,

“Aunty?” Harrison questions as the woman stands up holding the little girl close,

“Yes. This is my god daughter Ophelia.’’ Y/n say with a soft smile, Harrison notices that it’s the first time he’s seen the girl show any emotion at all.

“Where’s mum bub?” Y/n asks the little girl who stares up at the group with curious eyes,

“In the kitchen, she said that we were expecting guests.’’ Ophelia replies, staring up at Nikki and Dom in particular. “Are you helping them?” She asks.

“Yes, I am.’’ Y/n answers, Ophelia seems happy by the answer, as she runs back down the entrance hallway.

“What is she?” Shadow asks watching the little girl disappear,

“Her mother’s a witch, and her father was a dream walker. So we don’t know her powers yet.’’ Y/n answers fondly.

“And here I thought you were a cold hearted bitch.’’ Shadow says, causing the girl to roll her eyes.

“Don’t judge a book by it’s cover.’’ She says simply, leading the group through the house and into the kitchen where a slim woman, with emerald green hair the same as Ophelia’s only her skin was darker. Dressed in a floral dress, with flared skirt, capped sleeves and black belt hugging her waist. She stirring something on the stove.

“You’re going to get yourself killed one day, you know that right?” The woman asks, causing Y/n to smirk.

“You and I both know that’ll never happen, but thank you for the concern.’’ Y/n answers. The woman turns around her facial features were so ethereal, that she put all super models to shame. Her eyes a bright amber colour that bore into the group before her.

“You and I both know that there are other ways to die.’’ She says cryptically.

“On that note nice to see you too.’’

“Yes it is. Go get changed, dinner’s nearly ready.’’ She says causing the girl to roll her eyes, muttering something under breath as she left the room, the group staring the woman not sure what to do.

“I’m Isis, by the way.’’ The woman speaks, “And I know who you all are, come take a seat.’’ Isis says with a kind smile.

“How do you know who we are?” Tom asks,

“I’m a witch darling, plus I’m gifted with the sight.’’ Isis explains setting a pot of soup, in the middle of the table.

“And how long have you known Y/n?” Nikki asks,

“Since she was born, I was very close to her family.’’ Isis says as Ophelia toddles into the kitchen taking a seat next to Tom, she looks up at him with interest.

“Ophelia, it’s rude to stare.’’ Isis scolds, her daughter.

“I’ve never met a human before, mummy.’’ She says in awe like it was the most amazing thing that’s happened before. “They look just like us.’’ She whispers in awe, Tom couldn’t help but chuckle a little, at her comments.

“Well the only difference between s and them is that we come from ancient bloodline of magic.’’ Isis explains. Gesturing for everyone to tuck in as from the corner of her eye she saw Y/n, she smiled seeing her in proper clothes than the ones she would wear, when she was scouting for information. Y/n was dressed in a lemon yellow cotton sundress, that came to her knee the skirt flaring out and dancing around her legs. Her styled neatly into a loose braid.

“Ah my dear just in time.’’ Isis says, causing the group to look in her direction, the boys mouths were agape at the change she was like a different person.

“You lot are gonna catch flies like that.’’ Y/n says her accent thick as she sat at the table, the boys at the table taking a moment to compose themselves.

“I knew that colour would suit you.’’ Isis says taking a seat at the head of the table, the young girl smiles softly as they begin to serve dinner. Where conversation and questions continue, throughout the rest of the evening. This is how the group find out that they are in fact spending the night at Isis’ due to Y/n killing a group of necromancer’s and how travelling in the dark is rather dangerous, especially for humans.

*******************

So here Tom sat in one of the spare rooms looking out the window, the stars twinkling brightly in the sky. He couldn’t sleep worry for his little brother was flooding every fibre of his being, sleep was near impossible as the hours ticked on. Sighing in defeat that he wasn’t going to get any sleep, Tom walks out of the bedroom in search of the kitchen.

What he finds though is the door to the balcony open, standing out in the icy night air is Y/n with a another cigarette between her nimble fingers. Her eyes focused on the horizon before her, she appears to be lost in thought. Tom takes in her appearance a lilac night dress that stops above her knees, a satin loose dressing down that looks like it’s based off a long cardigan look. She looks so different in the yellow light of the outside light, illuminating her skin.

“Are you going to stand there staring all night?” Her voice brings the young man back to reality, her back is still towards him, how did she know he was there?

“Sorry, you looked deep in thought.’’ Tom replies awkwardly,

“Yeah I do that.’’ She replies blowing a puff of smoke that takes the shape of a deer,

“You know, those will kill you right?” Tom says gesturing to the cigarette, causing the girl to chuckle humourlessly in response.

“For normal people maybe.’’ She retorts flicking the ashes with her nails.

“So is this where you live?” Tom asks changing the subject,

“No I only come to visit because Isis and Ophelia are the only thing, closest to family that I have left.’’ Y/n answers honestly.

“Oh I’m sorry.’’

“Don’t be it’s not your fault.’’ Tom stares at her for a moment unsure what to say, he had never met a girl like her before, she made him feel nervous that if he said the wrong thing she would rip his head off.

“You know you don’t look like someone who would work at that bar we were at today.’’ Tom says speaking his mind, before he could stop himself.

“What makes you say that?” She quirks an eyebrow,

“Just seeing you with Ophelia, you seem too kind to be in such a dingy place.’’ Tom replies slowly regretting his words as he sees her expression.

“Not proud of where I work, but it pays. You shouldn’t be so quick to judge Mr. movie star.’’ Y/n retorts harshly,

“You know who I am?”

“Of course even among the supernatural world you’re famous.’’ The girl snorts leaning against the cool metal railing of the balcony.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to offend you.’’ Tom says keeping at a safe distance,

“It takes more than that to offend me these days.’’ She replies putting out her cigarette,

“What are you anyway?” Tom asks,

“I told you, cursed.’’ She says simply, before walking back into the house, leaving Tom out in the cold.

*********************************

The next morning the young woman was up early ready to lead the humans to where they believed their dear brother and son was being held, deep down she had a feeling that he was been used just to lure her out of the shadows. And sadly it’s working, she would have to be more careful if she wanted to survive this. Dressing in her black corset, that also had a hood attached to it, with black pants pants and black lace-up boots with a stacked heel. She attaches her swords to her waist with a leather belt. Her hair a tousled mess framing her face, placing her fingerless leather gloves she walks out to the kitchen.

She’s met with the humans and Shadow already at the table, enjoying breakfast.

“I’ve told you about weapons in the house.’’ Isis scolds the girl as she shrugs,

“We leave in an hour, anyway.’’ Y/n says leaning against the wall, the humans take notice of how out of place she looks in a place that’s so bright and lively whereas she looks like the messenger of death. Nothing like how she looked in the little yellow dress. Tom watches as she reaches over to the table taking a piece of toast, her hips swing almost seductively.

“Why so soon?” Shadow asks,

“Well after my little stunt at the bar, I now have a bounty on my bloody head. So the way we’ll be taking is long and dangerous.’’ With a rather annoyed tone and her arms crossed over her chest.

“Guess we leave in an hour guys.’’ Shadow says with an apologetic look to Nikki and Dom, Isis merely rolls her eyes at the young woman’s behaviour. Turning on her heel, she moves back the way she came.

“What’s with her anyway?” Harry asks,

“She’s lived her life in the darkness. It’s hard for her see things any other way.’’ Isis explains as her daughter comes bolting through the house, with a scared look on her face.

“What’s wrong love?” Isis asks, picking up Ophelia,

“There are these scary men outside mummy.’’ Ophelia whimpers quietly, as if on queue, Y/n emerges. This time with her knives drawn, her eyes were different too. Not the cold e/c but a series of different colours, like a swirling galaxy.

“Stay here, don’t make a sound.’’ She instructs, moving to the door.

“What are you doing?” Tom asks,

“Something I should’ve done a long time ago.’’ She answers, closing the door quietly behind her, she makes her way to the front door. Weapons ready to attack, she kicks the door open with a force no girl her size should be able to possess. A feeling of protectiveness and anger courses through every fibre of her being. As she stares the creatures that turned her into the heartless monster that she is now, her eyes ablaze as she cuts down each beast with ease. They forget her heritage, as she feels more powerful than she could remember with each swipe on her blades through their leathery grey skin. Her heart pounding trying to escape her ribcage, but she doesn’t even break a sweat her moves are poised and seamless and filled with power and a purpose-to kill.

“And you told me off for my weapons.’’ The young girl says turning to see Isis and the humans standing behind her. “Sorry about the door.’’ She adds,

Isis merely chuckles softly, “Had I known they would be able to track us, I would’ve put a stronger charm up.’’ Isis says fixing the door with a wave of her hand.

“We should get going.’’ Y/n says sheathing her blades, as she walks out the newly repaired door. The humans still in shock of what happened follow dumbly behind her, the boys shamelessly check out her ass.

***********************

“How are you able to kill so easily?” Nikki asks causing the girl to stop in her tracks abruptly, she turns to face the concerned mother of four with blazing, conflicting eyes.

“It’s not easy. I kill them because I want to live and until we get your son back you’re all under my protection. And you need me alive to do that.’’ She states calmly, lifting the hood on the back of her jacket up as fine rain starts to descend on them. Treading on foot you all head further from civilisation, and into the mists of the overgrown forests, that have since taken over the once clean and neat neighbourhoods. The day was quiet no run in’s with Necromancers or any other beasts, that enjoy seeing humans suffer. The only thing you had to deal with was the ogling from the young males that you had to protect. Reaching a stream you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Haven’t you lot seen a woman’s ass before?” She asks abruptly causing the four boys to stare at her with wide eyes and crimson cheeks, Shadow merely chuckles oh how he had missed her abruptness and quick wit. Quirking an eyebrow at their lack of response, she turns back to face the stream. They had to cross it, and it was much too deep to wade through. With a flick of her wrist and a change of her eye colour, a bridge of stones rose from the depths of the water.

“You have magic?” Shadow asks, all these years and she never told him.

“It’s not something I let many know.’’ She admits, as she turns back to the stream before them. Stepping forward she tests the stones checking if they’re stable enough. Pleased enough with her work she steps on the rock fully, gesturing for the others to follow. Steadily she make her way across with little effort on her part, keeping her e/c eyes ahead alert for any coming danger. Her body rigid ready for an attack at any moment.

“How do we know that you’re actually helping us?” Tom asks causing the girl to stop in her tracks completely, as she swings around in one fluid motion.

“What you think I’d stick my neck out only to betray you later? Oh sweetie, if I wanted to kill you I’d do it in a way without risking my own life. And if you think I’m going to betray you, you’ve got another thing coming, no one wants them dead more than me.’’ She says coldly her words chilling causing a shiver to run up their spines.

“What did they do to you?” Sam asks his voice barely a whisper,

“They took everything from me, let’s put it that way.’’ She says, before turning back around and continuing her route through the forest.

*********************

The walk was peaceful before it started getting dark, the air becoming colder. There was always something about the dark that bothered Harrison, though he did his best to hide it from his friend. He was glad when the young woman stopped lighting a fire just by blowing on some sticks.

“If you have magic, why not just use that instead of weapons?” Harry asks,

“To kill is bad enough, to kill with magic eats at your soul turning your heart black.’’ She says pulling out a cigarette out of seemingly nowhere, she uses the fire to light the cigarette. Taking a long drag of the burning stick, she breathes out as the smoke resembles a butterfly before completely disappearing.

“Why do you smoke?” Dom asks curious of this strange girl that has no real reason to help but does anyway.

“Better than drinking.’’ She replies simply, as she takes another drag closing her eyes she relishes in the moment, the only time she got pure bliss.

“I always thought Necromancers couldn’t be killed. How can you kill them?” Shadow asks carefully, this was the first he was actually getting to know her properly. Not just segments or half answers, actual facts the real her that lurked under the stoic mask she put on before everyone.

“My weapons were forged to kill Necromancers. Before most things there were Necromancers and the Guardian Angels.’’ She explains,

“Guardian angels?” Nikki questions,

“Yep. They protected not just humans but all living beings from the Necromancers that would have the world consumed in shadow, and misery. Using the dead to experiment on and use as slaves. Nothing but an empty corpse for their own entertainment.’’ Y/n explains, her eyes glazed over her mind somewhere else entirely. There was an emotion that they couldn’t decipher, how could a girl that was basically a whore know so much and have such powerful weapons in her possession.

“What happened to the Guardian Angels?” Sam asks,

“They were either destroyed or turned into Necromancers themselves.’’ She answers as she finishes her cigarette. “Anyway you should all get some sleep, we have a long journey ahead.’’ She says jumping up as she climbs the closest tree with ease, and disappearing into the darkness.

*******************

Tom was stirred from his sleep, by a soft beautiful voice that was so sad. It was so close yet so distant at the same time.

‘Solider keep on marching on, head down til the work is done’

‘Waiting on that morning sun, solider keep on marching on’

Opening his eyes he’s only greeted by the light of the fire and Y/n, sitting by the fire her eyes glowing a galaxy of different colours as the soft lyrics leave her rose petal lips. He had to admit in the soft light of the fire she looked rather beautiful, even with the knife that she was playing with.

“What are you singing?” The words leave his mouth before he can stop them, a smirk appears on her face as she looks up at the young actor.

“You should be sleeping.’’ She says, “But if you must know, it was a song I learned as a child.’’ She adds,

“You must of had a strange childhood.’’ Tom remarks,

“I could say the same for you.’’ She retorts quickly, Tom goes to apologise to her but she clamps her hand over his mouth shutting him up. As she listens to the sounds around, her knife in her hand as she uses magic to protect them. With a flick of her wrist she throws the knife at what any normal person would call a random direction. But any normal person doesn’t have the sight she does she hit her target, the unknown assailant stuck to the tree behind them.

“Bloody hell, it’s just me.’’ Harry says, causing the girl to roll her eyes,

“What were you doing?” Tom asks his younger brother,

“I had to take a piss.’’ Harry answers his tone annoyed as he tries to free himself from the tree, again the girl rolls her eyes wrenching the knife from the tree with ease.

“You’re an idiot are you trying to get us killed or yourself?” Y/n snaps,

“The only one who’s going to kill me is you at this point.’’Harry remarks,

“Trust me, I’m the last thing you need to worry about out here.’’ She as she turns back to their little campsite in a huff.

“Try to not piss her off.’’ Tom says once she’s out of earshot,

“Oh yeah so you can get in her pants.’’ Harry chuckles at the idea of his brother trying to woo a girl like her. To him it was comical really.

*******************

The next morning Harrison awoke to the sight of food beside him, he loos around confused then sees Y/n sharpening some knives lost in thought.

“Nice of you to join us sleeping beauty.’’ She remarks slyly,

“You could’ve woken me up.’’ Harrison retorts,

“They tried several times, you were dead to the world.’’ She says finally meeting each others gaze for the first time.

“Thanks for the food.’’ Harrison says a little awkwardly as he slowly gets lost in her alluring and hypnotic eyes.

“Eat up. The sooner we’re ready the better.’’ She says before standing up, her taking a swift sweep around the area. Not sensing anything or any danger for that matter she relaxes just a little.

***********************

The day goes along smoothly as the group walk through the forest, the trees so large and the leaves so thick that it was hard to see the sun, making the forest floor seem darker than it actually was. They walked in silence aside for the crunching of leaves beneath their feet, the air still not even the birds were singing and that caused Y/n to be a little worried. She stops slowly her fingers lean toward her guns behind her back, but a warning shot is fired before she can grasp them.

“Now love there’s no need for that.’’ A all too familiar voice to Y/n speaks from the brush,

“Well come out then, or are you still a coward?” She asks cockily, a low chuckle emits from the hidden male, who slowly reveals himself. A man with dark hair slicked back into a ponytail, to Harrison and Tom he looked like he walked off the set of Pirates of the Caribbean.

“Darling you wound me with your words.’’ The man says to Y/n who only rolls her eyes, her guns drawn.

“What are you doing here anyway?” She asks,

“When I heard that someone had killed a bunch of Necromancers at a bar, I knew it was you.’’ The says Tom clenches his jaw, he didn’t like the way this man was eyeing her body up and down.

“So what you went looking for me?” She asks quirking an eyebrow,

“Well I knew that didn’t go looking for a fight, why go into hiding if you were going to hunt them down?” The man chuckles,

“Why I do things is my business.’’ She snaps,

“Of course, love.’’ He says finally turning his attention to the group of humans and werewolf behind her. “Hanging out with humans now?” He questions,

“Why the fuck are you here?” She asks again this time taking aim at the mans chest, his heart to be exact.

“Well now that you’re hanging out with humans this just got interesting.’’ The man says,

“You touch, them and I’ll kill you faster than I originally intended.’’ Y/n growls her voice not sounding like her own.

“Is that a threat princess?” The man asks,

“It’s a promise.’’ She states and with that the pair swing into a deathly dance of blades, the humans and lone wolf merely watch on unable to do anything. There was something almost beautiful in the way they moved so gracefully, their blades meeting in a loud clash. This was a literal dance with death. The fight only seems to end when they hear something, something not of this world that sent chills down Nikki’s spine. Y/n turns swiftly to see a gang of Necromancers heading straight for them, with gritted teeth she pulls her guns out shooting past the group she’s leading most likely to their certain death. Harry looks toward her clearly offended as she shoots at the group coming toward them. She just shrug at his glare, flipping herself in the air so she could fight the Necromancers head on after all she was the only one who could kill them.

The fight lasts longer then Y/n would like, they were stronger than the ones at the bar, which left her with no choice than you change into her true form-in front of everyone. With an annoyed growl she does a bright light enveloping her, causing the creatures to be temporarily stunned. But so were the humans, as her skin glowed a silvery tinge, her clothing still the same but there were now intricate tattoo like markings along both her arms, along her collarbones and chest meeting where her heart would sit. And to mention a large pair of feathery wings on her back. her purple eye glowed brighter as she attacked the creatures. The pirate looking man, merely chuckles joining in the fight with Y/n who uses her surroundings around her to her advantage.

The creatures follow her as she flies high above the trees any sight of her lost by the humans and the pirate looking chap. That was until she’s falling or appears to be falling, before she hits the ground she swings her body flapping her wings to raise her into the wind again. The creatures following her aren’t so lucky crashing into the ground in a ugly, dark pile of limbs and inky black blood or what can only be described as their blood. Y/n stood tall her beautiful wings folding into her back.

“You’re a angel?” Shadow exclaims his eyes wide as the pirate laughs,

“What else would she be?”

#harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield imagine #harrison osterfeild x reader #tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader

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