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29-pieces · 4 years

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Whumptober day 17 - Good Omens

Day 17: Blackmail Fandom/Setting: Good Omens, pre-Apocalypse (mid 2000s) Read on AO3 Read on FF.net

~*~

Aziraphale hadn't been himself lately and Crowley didn't like it.

If he didn't know any better, he'd say the angel was avoiding him. He'd declined all of Crowley's suggestions that they meet up for a nice bottle of wine and a chance to complain about their respective Head Offices. He was barely taking calls, always finding a good reason to hurry off the phone with a hint of anxiety. Crowley wasn't hurt, that would mean he had feelings which of course he absolutely did not, not a single one, but if he did have just one feeling it might have been concern.

Something had to be going on. And so, Crowley swiped the best bottle of wine he could find at the store, reminded the owner he'd already paid for it (he hadn't, but he was supposed to do demony things like that), and went straight for the Bookshop.

It was closed, which was always statistically likely, so Crowley headed for the back window and slithered in as a snake, the bottle of wine carefully held in his coils.

Inside, he changed back to his human shaped form and strolled towards the front where Aziraphale could normally be found at a desk or chair with a heavy book.

No angel.

"Oy, Aziraphale!" Crowley shouted, setting the wine down and tossing his dark glasses onto a nearby shelf. "Wine!"

And still no answer, leaving Crowley to frown and prowl around. It could be the angel was just out; it wasn't like they told each other about all of their assignments, but Crowley was starting to feel like he was being left in the dark, and that didn't feel nice. So, when the front door jiggled and opened with a light ring of the bell, he stayed where he was back in the shelves so he could give Aziraphale a proper scare as payment.

The door shut again, then there was a moment of silence, then a long, weary sigh. Crowley frowned, listening to Aziraphale's heavier than normal footsteps cross slowly to the coat rack. He peeked out in time to see the coat slide down off Aziraphale's shoulders, followed by the vest, and then Crowley's snake eyes grew wide with shock and fury.

There were bloody stripes on Aziraphale's back, showing through his shirt. Had he tangled with another demon? Crowley watched Aziraphale reach behind him and gingerly dab at one bloody streak with a soft whimper of pain, and that was enough. The demon stormed from the shelves, making Aziraphale leap around with a squeak.

"Oh, Crowley, it's you," Aziraphale sighed, hand over his heart. "You shouldn't be here."

"What happened to you?" Crowley demanded, ignoring the frankly rude greeting with one of his own. "You're bleeding. Was it a demon?"

"What? No, of course not. Everything's fine. Crowley, please go."

Crowley crossed his arms, fixing his yellow glare on the angel. His forked tongue flicked out, testing the air for hints of sulfur, but what he smelled was even worse. Reeling back, Crowley hissed.

"You smell like Heaven," he said. His jaw clenched. "You smell like you've just been to Heaven, and your back is bleeding." It wasn't hard to connect the dots from there. Crowley's fists tightened. "When I get my hands on Gabriel-"

"It was my own fault!" Aziraphale yelped, more frantic than the situation called for. "I, erm... I made a mistake, and I was justly punished for it. So- so let it go, there's a dear boy, forget you saw anything. Now you really must be leaving. Good day." He stormed towards the back, or really sort of hobbled because no storm moved as slow and painfully as he did.

Crowley followed him, hardly satisfied. "Made enough of a mistake to be flogged?" he hissed. "How? You haven't even had an Assignment in ages!"

"Crowley, please let it go."

"Something's going on," Crowley barreled on. "Since when did we start hiding things from each other?"

They'd reached the back room now, but somewhere at the front of the shop, the bell rang again. The faint tinkling of celestial space followed, an angel in the shop. Aziraphale's eyes grew wider and he shoved Crowley bodily away.

"Go!" he hissed in panic. "Go, go, I'll call you later, please just get out before anyone sees!"

Crowley watched his friend hurry back out to the front, torn. On the one hand, it wouldn't be the first hasty exit he'd made when another angel came to call unexpectedly, of course he shouldn't be found there. His safety and Aziraphale's depended on it. But on the other hand, something was wrong and Crowley wanted—needed—to know what. Frowning, he pulled out his cellular device and opened the video recorder, staying out of sight.

"Ah, Aziraphale!" a cheerful voice rang out, not one Crowley recognized.

"Zaccheus," Aziraphale returned with a distinctly frosty edge. "What do you want?"

"Relax, old boy, only popped in to check on you. That was kind of Gabriel to only give you ten since the others hadn't healed yet."

The others? How many floggings had Aziraphale been getting? Crowley cursed himself for not having pressed the matter sooner.

"Yes, very... kind," Aziraphale stiffly replied. "Now I expect we're through here."

"Ah, well, since you bring it up..."

"Zaccheus..."

Now there was a clear edge of panic that Crowley did not like one bit. He tipped his phone around the door jamb, watching in the screen as a dark-haired angel slowly circled Aziraphale.

"I mean," this Zaccheus angel said, "it's in everyone's best interest for us to keep up this... partnership. Don't you think?"

"I've already taken the fall twice for you now," Aziraphale retorted through gritted teeth. "I did what you asked. I told Gabriel your mistakes were my fault and I took your lashes-"

"For which I'm terribly grateful," the other angel said, beaming. "You were very convincing. I get the impression they rather expect for you to make mistakes, you know, that's why it couldn't have been a better arrangement. And speaking of arrangements, I mean, come now, Aziraphale. Can you really afford not to play along when I need you to? What would happen to your demon then?"

Crowley inhaled sharply as the picture formed a little clearer. So it was blackmail. Aziraphale took this angel's punishments in exchange for not spilling the beans on their partnership?

"You said," Aziraphale spoke up shakily. "You said if I did this, once, you would destroy any evidence. I didn't breathe a word. Zaccheus, please. If you tell Gabriel and he tells Beelzebub, it's not just me who would be in danger, Crowley-"

"Would be demon fodder, yes," Zaccheus beamed. He clapped a hand on Aziraphale's shoulder, not noticing or not caring about the soft whimper it brought as he hit one of the wounds. "So... you do the math... Next time I need you, you're going to be readily available to take the licking, right?"

Crowley saw Aziraphale's shoulders sag and he'd had enough. Turning off the recorder, he kicked the door open with a bang and strode out into the room, brimming with demonic fury.

"Wrong," he snapped, ignoring the terrified yelp from Aziraphale, the stammered insistence that Crowley leave at once what are you doing and focusing instead on a shocked Zaccheus. "You twat. You absolute prick. So that's what's been going on? You found out about our Arrangment and made your own arrangements to have Aziraphale punished for your screw-ups?"

"Zaccheus," Aziraphale cried, holding out his hands. "I didn't tell him, I swear it, I asked him to leave, this isn't what it looks like, please don't tell Gabriel-"

"Oh, he's not going to," Crowley growled, getting in Zaccheus's face. He'd give the other angel this much, Zaccheus didn't back down, but rather smirked.

"I'm not? I have enough evidence to-"

"Evidence that goes nowhere if I kill you right now, makes all the problems go away."

"No!" Aziraphale squeaked, bodily shoving the two apart and standing in front of Zaccheus, pleading eyes gazing up at Crowley. "Don't, Crowley, please, don't kill him."

Crowley sighed. "Y' never let me do anything fun," he grumbled. The demon glowered at a more uncertain looking Zaccheus now and growled, "Fine, but the only reason I'm letting you live is because somehow you've got Aziraphale's protection, in spite of what you did to him! If it were up to me, I'd tear you apart right now. But Aziraphale says no, so it's back to Plan B." The demon smirked and held up his phone. "Ever heard the term 'mutually assured destruction'?"

He clicked the button to play back the recording he'd taken, watching with satisfaction as Zaccheus's face grew crimson and then white, hearing his own voice incriminating himself. Crowley pointed the phone at him and snapped, "So you get the message, there's no way we go down without you going down, too. Now, if I even think you're going to blab anything to anyone, or if I even suspect you've been bothering Aziraphale, I'm going to get very angry." His eyes shifted to full snake, the whites disappearing into gold, skin morphing partway into scales. Crowley stretched slightly taller, looming over the other angel. "And when I'm angry, I tend to forget thingssss," he hissed. "Might even forget he doesssssn't want me to kill you. Underssssstand?"

Zaccheus swallowed, then bobbed his head. Crowley shifted back to normal size and gave him a feral smile.

"Good. Then I suggest you gather whatever 'evidence' you've got, if you've even got any, and send it to Aziraphale."

Again, Zaccheus bobbed his head, then with a glower in Aziraphale's direction, hurried from the bookshop. As soon as the door had shut, Crowley bit his lip, waiting for Aziraphale to tell him off, but when he turned to look, the angel only slumped down into the chair and buried his face in his hands.

"Crowley, I'm so sorry," he muttered into his palms.

Taken aback, Crowley stared. "Er... for what?"

Aziraphale pulled his hands away and looked up at him with sorrow. "I should have told you, but- he said if I even hinted... I think he was scared of you, truth be told, and the risk... it was just too much. If my office ever told yours, I- I don't think they would give you a flogging and send you on your way. I couldn't risk it, Crowley, I'm so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?"

He really meant it, Crowley could tell. The demon regarded Aziraphale, then slowly moved to sink down in front of him. "Got nothing to be sorry for, angel. You were trying to protect me. I'm not angry with you. Wish you'd let me kill him, but I'm not angry. But..." Crowley released a long breath and shook his head. "The whole Arrangement was my idea. The thought of you being the whipping boy for that tosser for the rest of your life, because of me..." He swallowed. "Do you... do you want to keep doing this? Or- I'd understand if..."

Aziraphale smiled and patted Crowley's hand. "I don't regret the Arrangement," he said firmly. "Or our friendship. I don't know how Zaccheus found out, but we'll collect whatever he's got on us, and... well, we'll just be more careful. And thank you, my dear. For making him stop. Truth is, I was starting to feel ill whenever he came to call, not knowing what he would ask for—mostly just menial tasks after... after the first time... filing his paperwork for him and such. But knowing he might ask worse of me, and that I'd have to go along with it for both our sakes..." Aziraphale shuddered. "And I'm so sorry for having been distant, my dear, I just- I thought- if he'd gone back on his word and alerted anyone, if they were just waiting to catch you here..."

Crowley glowered, remembering the note of anxiety Aziraphale had kept trying to conceal. It all made sense now. "You don't have to explain, angel. I get it. How many times did you take his punishment?"

"Just the twice," Aziraphale assured him softly, looking away. "Gabriel didn't even question it. Fifteen the first time, but- but he's right, it was only ten tonight, since I couldn't heal the wounds from the week before."

"How merciful," Crowley spat, standing up with a glower. "That was, by the way, sarcasm, as I can tell some part of you actually believes that tripe. That's not mercy, but there's no sense arguing over it. Right, I assume the lashes are magicked and can't be healed away by me either, but I can at least clean them off and wrap 'em. Get that shirt off, I'll get some hot water going."

"Crowley."

He stopped and turned, waiting as Aziraphale glanced at the floor, then up at him with a small smile.

"Thank you."

Crowley quirked his mouth in an answering smile, then turned to fetch the water. His angel did require some taking care of, but after all Crowley didn't mind.

#whumptober2020 #no.17 #blackmail #good omens #fanfiction #Aziraphale whump #Heaven is full of jerks #Crowley has his back

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rosettahart · 4 years

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Glass-says: Chapter 16

Chapter 1, Chapter 15

Ao3 link

Summary: Princey and Anxiety finally meet in person to their knowledge and everything's going well… until it's not.

Warnings: Brief mention if Disownment.

Chapter 16

Roman smiled down at Virgil, still holding him. "I thought you said you weren't much of a crier." He teased.

Virgil pulled away to scoff lightly at his friend. "Says the one with wet cheeks."

"Hey, yours are equally as wet, Crying Purple People Heater." Roman returned.

"People Heater, huh?" Virgil brushed the few tears away from his face.

Roman grimaced. "Yeah… not one of my greater nicknames, but you're cuddlier than I thought you'd be."

"So… we actually going to do any dancing or what, Princey?"

"Right, yeah." Roman nodded.

They both placed their right hands against the others back, chuckling awkwardly as they both pulled away.

"Do you-" They both started before Roman cleared his throat.

"Do you want to lead or do you want me to lead?"

"Maybe you should lead, you're… taller than me." Virgil decided, resting his one hand on Roman's shoulder and taking his hand.

"You know short people can lead too." Roman returned with a smirk.

Virgil rolled his eyes. "I'm not that short."

Roman slowly led Virgil around the clear space of the gym, his eyes staying on Virgil as he did. "You clean up well."

"You have nothing else to compare this to."

"Except the mad emo vibes you're giving off with the dark purples and blacks, Purple Day."

"And you aren't dripping with your own princely vibes with your gold mask, Princey?" Virgil shot back amusedly.

"I'm taking that as a compliment, that is what I was going for." Roman grinned, twirling Virgil.

Virgil had to catch himself against Roman as he was pulled back towards him, he chuckled awkwardly, his eyes flickering up to Roman's for a second, a light blush gracing his pale cheeks. "I didn't think you'd actually come." He admitted.

Roman's expression became one of deep sincerity, tipping Virgil's head up with his hand like straight out of a scene from a movie. "For you I would be anywhere in a heartbeat."

Virgil softly pushed Roman's hand away, hiding his face again. "Shoulda expected you'd be this corny."

Roman smiled.

Virgil glanced around the gym for a moment to give his face a little bit of time to recover, turning back to Roman. "Do you wanna get out of here?"

"I thought you would never ask." Roman chuckled, eagerly pulling Virgil towards the doors out into the hallway, eyes flickering back to him with a smirk. "Have anywhere you would like to go? I could give you a tour of the school. I do happen to know my way around the place quite well."

Virgil paused, stopping Roman with him. "You do?"

"Well I would hope so I have been coming here for a couple years now. I know which classes go on in which rooms and who teaches what and what plays and musicals they've done each year since I've been here in order." Roman listed off confidently. "I could also-"

"I go here."

"-tell you-" Roman stopped talking mid sentence, going over what Virgil had just said, trying to process it and raising his eyes to meet Virgil's after looking him over more carefully. "We've been texting each other when we've actually been going to the same school?" He chuckled in disbelief, running a hand through his hair and looking up at the ceiling. How had they not become friends offline already? Even if it was a big school they would have had to bump into each other before now, right?

"Ci?"

Roman glanced back down to Virgil, starting in surprise to see the mask removed from his face, held in one hand, his head lowered.

Virgil peered up at Roman while rubbing his arm. "I'm-"

"Virgil? You're- you're…?" Roman had to get closer just to be certain, taking Virgil's head into his hands and tilting it up further.

"Anxiety." Virgil nodded, clearing his throat and awkwardly pulling his face away with a light blush. "So… you recognize me?"

Roman dropped his hands. Virgil was Anxiety? Anxiety was Virgil? The guy he had been texting, his best friend, his crush… He was the same guy who had avoided him for over a year? Who had been hesitant to become his friend. Who-

Roman took a shaky step back away from Virgil. -who knew his parents disowned him. Who was letting him stay at his place out of pity… Who had already seen him at his worst.

"Princey? Princey, you okay?" Virgil took hold of Roman's upper arms to keep him steady. "Can you look at me and take in a deep breath for me?"

Roman quickly shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. The one guy he couldn't quite win over was the one he'd been waiting to meet and charm for almost five years now? He opened his eyes, eyebrows pinching together in distress as he began to distance himself from Virgil, moving towards the exit, growing faster and faster in his movements.

Virgil followed quickly after him, trying to grab his arm to stop him. "Ci, wait!" He pushed himself to pick up speed only to trip over his own feet, catching himself on his hands and knees. Shaking his head and hitting the floor with a clenched fist. What did he do wrong? How had he messed this up? Why wasn't he smart enough to figure this out? He pushed himself back up to his feet, swiping an arm across his eyes. What if Princey got hurt out there in his current state? He could get run over or he could get into a car accident or any number of things all because of him. All because of something he had to have done wrong. He hurried to the theatre, throwing one of the doors open. This was all his fault.

Roman peeked his head out from behind the curtain of the shower, turning and lowering his head so Logan could get a better look at it. "Is it all out now?"

"There are still a few patches of dye on the left side of your head behind your ear." Logan sighed, watching Roman's face as it disappeared again and turning his back to the shower. "Though I do not understand how it is that Virgil did not recognize you, you are the one who is stupid for not expecting Virgil to react as he did."

"I am not stupid." Roman argued tiredly, stepping out after Logan could not find any traces of the temporary dye left and covering himself up with one towel as he dried his hair with another. "I merely was not thinking about how he would because I was-"

"Because you were running away because you assumed he'd reject you as soon as he knew it was you behind your mask." Logan interrupted, pinching his nose. "You did not even stop to consider how badly Virgil might take it with you rushing out of the school after having just removed his mask."

Roman pulled on his white t-shirt, hanging up the towels to dry. "Yeah, that might look bad but-"

Logan turned around to face Roman with a glare, arms folded. "It did look bad, Roman, there are a limited amount of scenarios that Virgil could come up with of why you left him as promptly as you did with no explanation. None of those scenarios are good."

Roman pushed past him, grabbing the hamper of clothes with him out of the room to wash so Virgil wouldn't stumble upon his tux. He rolled his eyes, stepping out of the bathroom. "I'm sure he'll be fine, he has Patton with him to help calm him down." He gestured down the stairs when he heard the garage door being opened and closed. "See, fi-" He shut up when he got a glance down the stairs.

Patton was holding Virgil's mask and vest in his hands, not that Roman could see him without the glasses and in front of the floating fabric was Virgil.

Virgil's top few buttons of his shirt were undone, his sleeves bunched up over his arms unevenly, but what caught Roman's attention the most was his face. His eye shadow was smeared down his cheeks, his eyes… His eyes were red and puffy, clearly from crying if the few dried streaks down to his chin were anything to go by. He held one hand over his face as he passed Logan and Roman without a word, not even sparing a glance at them as he climbed up the stairs to the attic, shutting the trap door behind him.

Patton paused in front of Logan and Roman, glancing between the attic and two of them. "Hey, Logan... I thought you said you needed to get home."

Logan adjusted his glasses, taking the vest from Patton and folding it up, setting the mask on top. "I was going to but then I realized that it was rude of me to leave you to help Virgil on your own so I requested Roman to bring me here to wait for the two of you to return. I am sorry that I left you so abruptly."

Patton smiled. "Awe, you didn't have to come, Lo, but thanks, I'm glad you did."

Logan gave a curt nod, moving up the stairs and pushing the trap door open, leaving Patton and Roman behind.

Roman kept his eyes on the attic, rubbing his arms with a guilty look on his face.

"Kiddo? Are you okay?" Patton rested a hand on his arm.

Roman lowered his arms, picking the laundry hamper back up and entering his room. "Yeah, I'm good Padre, you should go and check back up on Virgil."

Patton hesitated, not quite believing Roman, but still worried about Virgil. "Okay… If you need me you know where to find me."

"'Kay. Night, Pat."

"Goodnight, Roman." Patton returned, watching as Roman shut the door and moved over to his bed, burying his face in his pillow with a sigh.

"I'm an idiot."

Patton reached a hand out, grimacing when he heard Logan call for him. He dropped his hand, he'd have to comfort Roman later, right now Virgil needed him more even if it did hurt to leave one of his kiddos like this. He turned to leave, glancing back at Roman. "No you're not."

"Patton?" Roman looked up, remembering he still wasn't wearing his glasses he just laid back down when no one replied, curling up and grabbing his phone sending a message to Virgil.

I'm sorry

Chapter 17

Taglist:

@kittiebrick

@absolutesandersidestrash

#sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides #patton sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #thomas sanders #ghost au #romance #ts patton #ts virgil #ts logan #ts roman #glass says #rosettahart writes #prinxiety #logicality

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red-lobster-man · 4 years

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Some tips i should’ve known

1. Use your FAs to their fullest

I only ever started using them properly when i was probably mid to late game, i never really knew what exactly to do with them cuz i’m just lazy to smelt them until one day i just got sick with the almost full inventory of my FAs and i just wanted to clear them out.

So i actually looked into guides online to which FAs i should use and stuff liddat and the difference was so big. They did so much more dmg than ever and that kinda shooked me but not rly either xD

USE YOUR FAs

2. Farming for fame in restaurant

This is also another that i really didn’t know about until late game as well. I was just cooking whatever i wanted cuz why not but in order to lvl up your restaurant, you need fame and i came across some people giving out tips on the official discord regarding cooking so i took em ya know

Butter bread and pineapple juice

butter bread is the best for farming for both gold and fame, pineapple juice is more for fame but it’s good too.

the bad thing bout them is, they take a “short” while to cook so you have to go back into the game constantly but most of us don’t have time for that LOL.

So i looked into the attributes of recipes: flavor is for fame, texture is for gold, aroma is for customer flow and appearance is for reduction of cost.

I looked into the dishes that had high flavor, as well as the time taken to consume them but ultimately, it also depends on how you play. Thus, it’s good enough to concentrate on flavor and texture when cooking.

And here comes my 3rd point

3. Gold is important to an extent

You won’t know how much gold you will spend until you get to that pop-up which says “You have insufficient gold”

I was once chilling in my in-game gold coins ya know, sipping on my mango smoothie just living the in-game high life.

But things like fusions, enhancements and even fishing bait cost so much and once i started farming for fame, used my FAs properly, money just seems to be so insignificant. Dropping like flies like no one’s business.

Solution is: texture , balcony orders(provided you use souvenirs that increase gold), cutting down on bait and all that..

4. Save le stamina

Again, something i didn’t know bout till i chanced upon a post. I’m not really a competitive player so I wasn’t really aware about gate of trials, ikr i’m living under a rock.

I do know that there are artifacts and stuff like that but to me, they just seemed to be like extras and stuff that i didn’t really bother about. Because to get energy, you gotta have cards and stuff like that and i didn’t have much of that either.

Anw, i started to save on stamina, from bentos, the tip shop and not spending it on ingredients so more fishing...which means more bait, which means more money, which means insufficient

5. Join an active guild

I was in an inactive guild for the longest time ever since the start of my FF journey until i read a post on tumblr. It was quite sad ngl cuz there was this other active member. We didn’t talk but ya know it feels sad to leave them behind ;.; i wonder where they are now

I left anw, and got into an active guild, again big difference. You will get more benefits...you basically will get more benefits.

6. Being active daily

I have 111 days not signed in from the previous months and it pains me to see that huge bar of red on the activeness streak report.

You don’t have to go active active, just reach 100 for activity daily and that’s enough.

I’m sure most of you would’ve known all of these LOL, it just took me research and chance-upons to know even more bout progression in the game

Frankly, the tutorial at the start of the game wasn’t the most informative, it just gave the basics of what you need to know, hell i didn’t even know there were restaurant tasks until mid-game not even kidding

At least new journey gave a “guide” on artifacts which i don’t rmb the other ver. having but oh wells.

Anyway these are things i should’ve known from the get go, feel free to include more stuff and discuss what nots xD

#food fantasy #Food fantasy: new journey #ff stuff #ff rambles #tips and tricks #ff tips

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brainsbeauty · 4 years

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High and Dry

Summary: Once again, another Calum Hood fan-fiction; starring my favorite trope, SECRET DATING.

Word Count: 1,444

In this moment, he was ethereal.

The brown eyed boy laid next to her. Everything was soundless, except for the shallow noises of his breathing, chest falling in unison with his fluttering eyelids. She often wondered what that boy thought about, the daydreams are frequent, she knows that. People have their assumptions, yet the chaos was never correct. Somewhere beneath the creative outpourings of that boy resides the kitchen table, always content to stay quietly beneath, yet at times be revealed upon the random cleanings that come as welcome storms. He always said the bed was his safe place, his haven. He'd snuggle into the duvet as happy as a cat in the sunlight, ready for his starry dreams. He'd fall asleep in good time, either slowly or fast, never without a partner. For now, all Marianne could do was hope whatever went on in there, was pleasant.

The blanket is thin and the night is cold. As she wraps it around her shoulders, she knows it is better than nothing but it fails to reach her toes, which sit like ice-blocks on the parquet floor. She can't sleep tonight. Looking down, she realized the blanket was all she had left, the sheets had been scrambled across the floor once again. In their whiteness were as a fresh page awaiting ink, looking so comfortable yet so far away. In that dark room there were shapes in monochrome, of course the daylight could bring brilliant fuchsia or deepest scarlet, but for now it could be a scene from a black and white movie. The silhouettes were already more discernible than they were only a short while before and she gazed from the window; any moment the sun would kiss the sky orange, igniting a new dawn, bringing the chorus of the birds, but for now, she didn't dare move.

When another bite of winter seeps through the cracked windows, Calum moves his hand under her night dress and towards her middle, sharing the warmth as easily as he shared his heart. Shifting her body under his was easy, but moving her hands under the soft curls of his hair without waking him, was hard. She loved to touch him - never in a sexual way, never anywhere other than his face, his hands, his obsidian hair that fell in tousled locks. His warmth would seep into her being and he comforted her without ever opening his mouth. Marianne would melt into him like ice-cream on a warm porcelain bowl, like she belonged next to him, like he belonged next to her; and each time before they parted, the aching to be in his arms would begin anew.

France was known for being cold in the winter. Without sunlight, the place was simply hopeless. Nevertheless, it was beautiful, especially to her, after all those years of living in England, this place seemed absolutely extraordinary. Tomorrow, maybe, the promise of spring will blossom as flowers do, yet today the wind blows cold. The last serenade winter's song. Upon the grass there is snow, much like sprinkled sugar over cake. The frigid air has a way of keeping us in the moment, wicking away body heat faster than it is replaced. It was no secret today would be one of those days when normal clothes aren't enough, when they feel thinner than they are. It hadn't taken her long to realize the brown eyed boy accompanying her was not enough to resist the grating of winter.

The balcony there was a concrete ledge, square rough edges and a rusty rail, but in that moment it was her oasis. The hotel workers had filled whatever space the table for one did not occupy with potted plants and in the spring and summer seasons, she was told, was a riot of color. On her balcony she could enjoy the early morning breeze, the sun and even sometimes sit out in misty rain, no matter how cold. Below the city flowed in it's tense way, bustling and honking. But ten floors up she seemed far enough removed from it to be a passive observer, not troubled by its strife. She'd always been fond of balconies. She felt that if she could only manage to stand on one long enough, the right one, wearing a long white trailing gown, preferably during the first quarter of the moon, something would happen: music would sound, a shape would appear below, sinuous and dark, and climb towards her, while she leaned fearfully, hopefully, gracefully, against the wrought-iron railing and quivered. But this wasn't a very romantic balcony.

She stepped outside, toes flinching as they touched the chilled ceramic floor. She was no longer naked, taking her time wrapping the tattered bathrobe around her shivered body as she glided. It wouldn't be such a shame though, people seeing her naked; after all, men payed for that. The sunlight had come quickly that morning, as if it had missed the sky and wanted nothing more than to warm up those blues to a radiant gold. Just another person wanting warmth, she assumed. Looking back, she watched as Calum stammered over the laundry and tossed sheets from the exiting nights before, his only heat shield being a pair of boxers, ones accompanied by stretched fabric and many, many holes.

He walked up to her slowly and pulled her closer to him wrapping his arms around her. His embrace was warm, and his big, strong arms seemed very protective when wrapped around her frail body. His forearms were streaked with green veins that sat comfortably on his silky, almond skin. The beauty spots that speckled them jumped at her when he clenched, tugging her even closer, the veins pulsating with concentration. The world around her seemed to melt away as she squeezed him back, not wanting the moment to end.

"It's early, you're not supposed to be awake yet," his lips alight on her cheek then, like a dew freckled petal caught in a breeze, so soft and with the smallest hint of coolness. "Come back to bed, please." He took her small calloused hands, as his eyes still adjusted towards the soft light; causing him to move cautiously while maneuvering the generous amounts of pillows and the chairs drenched in used jackets. There’s a finger. Two. They faux sashay in tandem up her leg from her ankle as if they were two legs of their own, and they splay into a palm to grip onto her thigh mid-journey. She returns the advance with a small smile, leaving the sky in which her attention was previously occupied with alone.

Thats not all, of course, it never is. In seconds someone is at the door, knocking ever so loudly. The noise came quietly at first and then there was silence. Someone was desperate for Calum's attention, but at just the wrong times. There is a kind of fast movement that is precise and well thought through that rose from the panic in both their eyes. Not the impulsive and random swipes of the cornered, yet more with the calculation of a chess player as she huddled behind the whitewashed bathroom door. Silence washed her system once more. She listened intently as the door opened, creaking, for it couldn't be quiet unless politely asked. She recognized the voices quickly enough to know this was bad, the situation she meant. They weren't supposed to find out and, by now, all she could do was hope no one needed the washroom.

Today she was unlucky. The footsteps approaching were not Calum's, they weren't heavy and slow, they were quick and stammered as the boy crept closer, and closer, and closer. Her heart rate was elevated to serious extents, and if she hadn't been holding her breath, she'd be traveling towards the nearest hospital. "Wait!" she could see him through the crack and, thanks to the bad carpentry, the gap was just narrow enough for him not to even notice her existence, just Calum's sudden volume adjustment, making everyone, even Ashton, freeze. "I had gotten a call from Luke earlier, he said it was urgent," his fingers twirled around each other and, just like that was not enough, he continued, "I'm kind of worried, perhaps we should go. We could form a search party, maybe."

Just as he had tugged Marianne to bed, he took Ashton's hands and scrambled out of the room, pants seeping off his waste as he searched for the nearest belt. Closing the door behind him, he looked back one last time and winked, before exiting out to his own doom. They hadn't been caught this time, she thought, thank God.

Note: I could really use some help. I would like to continue this storyline, yet I have no substantial plot, so, if anyone has helpful tips or hints, I’m always wide open!

Note: Thanks for reading, ao3 username is mikethemechanic, follow me if you’d like more!

#calumthomashood #calumhood #5sos #5sosfam #fanfic #fanfiction #someone please help me #help

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mollymauk-teafleak · 4 years

Text

but they’re one and the same

Nureyev is a man of contradictions, Juno realises when he sees how he interacts with children in a situation all too familiar

Please consider reblogging or leaving a comment on Ao3, it makes my day

---

When Nureyev had told Juno how amazing it was to see new planets practically every week, to never stay in the same place, to experience the uniqueness of every corner of the galaxy, he hadn’t believed it, not really. It had felt like something a character in a stream or a novel would say, and you could trust that they believed it but it would never be true for you, not in the world you lived in.

Juno thought he knew all planets were the same, at their core. If people never changed, how could the surfaces they walked on? He’d assumed the solar system was just eight and change repetitions of the same rotten system he’d seen on Mars, people either hurting others or getting hurt themselves. Heartbroken cities with paint over the cracks, a nice neat circle around the people who had money and the people that didn’t you could read in the amount of parks and unbroken windows.

And he’d been right, to a certain extent. But he’d realised, as a bona fide member of the Carte Blanche, that both could be true. A crowd of impossible things that didn’t seem to go together could all actually be true, he’d found.

Nureyev would always say that his favourite planet was whichever one they were currently on. So right now it would be Saturn, second largest in the system, with it’s beautiful pale blue sky with its layers and layers of billowing, translucent clouds, streaked with those ever present rings, like giant parenthesis around the whole thing. Only a fraction of the planet was habitable, most of it being clouds that solidified and thickened as you moved further in, making glancing up feel like being at the bottom of an immense, white well.

The markets of Saturn’s surface were famous, Nureyev told him, because where other planets had modernised from the early settlers and shifted to brick and stone and metal storefronts, Saturn had kept it’s stalls of wood and flowing silk in a hundred different colours. It was for the aesthetics, apparently, to mirror the bazaars and souks you could have found on Earth centuries ago, to remind them that they hadn’t come all that far from home.

But this wouldn’t look much like the history books, Juno thought. The bones of it were there in the fluttering, colourful hangings and the wares laid out on woven blankets. But he doubted that twentieth century Earth had shifting holograms projected in the air to entice customers, stalls selling spaceship parts and AI downloads and cybernetics or food stalls with fruit from half a galaxy away. And he doubted the stray cats looked at you with quite so many eyes.

But it was beautiful and it was alive. About ten songs from ten different buskers swirled together in the air, meeting in a strangely non-cacophonous melody. Juno could smell spice and honey and herbs he couldn’t even name, he heard voices in dialects he didn’t know and fashions he could barely wrap his head around. It was all just noise and colour and bodies, bright and beautiful in ways he hadn’t encountered yet, things he’d spent so much of his life being unable to see.

It helped when his hand was in Peter Nureyev’s. They had a day off while their latest haul was sold, what Buddy jokingly called their shore leave, and all week Nureyev had eagerly been talking about this one particular stall that made the best honey cakes in the galaxy. Juno had been surprised his refined, wine connoisseur husband even entertained the idea of street food but he apparently had a must visit on every planet and wanted to watch Juno’s face while he tried each one for the first time.

Juno was more than happy to go along with whatever he wanted. His smile hadn’t slipped once from his face since he’d woken up that morning, he was comfortable and content and being eagerly pulled through this colourful new world by the man he loved. He would have ran to any one of Saturn’s eighty two moons if Nureyev had asked him of it.

They finally found the stall he was after, a tiny one that was little more than a blanket and a small awning covered in red silk, hemmed in by much bigger and flashier ones. It was manned by an elderly person who Nureyev tipped double for two paper cartons of small, circular cakes dipped in translucent gold.

“Okay, okay,” Nureyev grinned, spearing one on a tiny wooden fork once they’d collapsed onto a bench, “Close your eye.”

Juno chuckled, “Babe, come on, I’m starving! I didn’t have any breakfast cos you said we were going to eat our weight in these things.”

“Please?” he put on a playful pout and batted his eyelashes, stretching out the word, “Just for the first one. It’s worth it, I promise.”

Never having had any intention of saying no, Juno closed his eye and dropped his jaw for Nureyev to feed him the cake, imagining how it would taste better on his lips when he kissed him.

It was five seconds before he realised he’d been waiting a little too long.

“Uh...babe?” he prompted to no response but the background noise of the market.

Finally he opened his eye, seeing he was suddenly alone on the bench. For a split second that felt like an eternity, Juno scanned the crowds around them in a panic. Their last job seemed to have gone smoothly but what if it hadn’t, what it they’d left something or someone had caught wind of it and Dark Matters or a rival group had taken Nureyev in that moment his eye had been off him.

Fortunately, he saw him before too long. He wasn’t struggling in the grip of some sunglasses wearing suit and he didn’t have a hack job modded laser knife being held to his throat. He was just crouching at the mouth of an opening between the stalls, what they would call an alley if the buildings here were made of brick, facing something in the shade, something hiding from even the weak sun of this outer planet.

Juno frowned, approaching slowly just in case there was some kind of threat. Not that he didn’t think Nureyev could get himself out of any trouble that found him but there was value in some back up. And it wouldn’t have been the first time one of their dates had turned into a firefight.

But all he saw when he came up behind Nureyev, walking so his boots didn’t disturb the gravel under them, was a young girl. She clung to the shadows of the waving silk above them but that didn’t hide how her hair was long and uncombed, her cheeks were smudged with dirt and eyes wide with want and hunger. There were no shoes on her feet, just knotted strips of fraying cloth, and all she wore was a dress that didn’t fit, getting ragged at the edge.

Juno inhaled softly, feeling his chest tighten.

Nureyev was already talking as he approached, mid sentence, his voice low and comforting, “...would you mind telling me your name? Mine is Peter.”

The girl didn’t know what to make of him, it was clear. She wouldn’t be used to people actually acknowledging her, not just letting their eyes slide off her form like she didn’t really exist.

“May,” she eventually murmured, her eyes not settling on Nureyev’s face.

“That is a lovely name,” he said gently, “It makes me think of springtime. That’s my favorite season. What’s your favourite season?”

May shifted from one foot to the other. She was so small though whether it was from her age or her malnutrition or just the way she was holding herself so she could hide better.

“I like...when the fireflies come out,” she whispered, directing it at the ground between them, “Summer.”

“That must be beautiful,” Nureyev spoke like this was any normal conversation, rather than one happening in a hidden corner at a volume barely above a murmur, “You seem like a very nice girl, May. I’m very glad I met you today.”

Wariness fringed her gaze as she risked a glance up at his face, her hands knotting in anxious fists at her side. But she didn’t look like she would bolt at any moment.

“Do you know that stall over there, May?” Nureyev pointed back the way they’d come, “The cake stall? A person called Olla runs it?”

May nodded immediately and Juno realised what his husband had just done. He’d made sure the girl would know the cakes had come from a trusted source, that they were safe.

“Here, I ordered some but I don’t think I’m hungry right now,” Nureyev held out his still full parcel, still warm and steaming in the air, “Would you like them?”

The girl had clearly been living on the streets for a long time, she hesitated before she reached out and took the cakes. Almost immediately she began to eat, unable to focus on anything else. Nureyev just waited patiently, not even having to look as he took Juno’s carton too when he held it out to him.

The second portion allowed May to slow before she gave herself a stomach ache, honey on her fingers as she glanced back up at them and murmured, “Thank you…”

“It’s our pleasure, May,” Nureyev insisted, “This is my husband, Juno, by the way.”

Juno raised his hand and waved, smiling gently. How many smiles had he gotten when he was that age?

Nureyev pulled out his purse, “May, you don’t have to take this if you don’t feel comfortable, but I’d like to give you something to help you get by. Is that okay?”

May’s eyes widened when she saw the creds he held out to her, the full purse without hesitation.

“It’s okay,” Nureyev smiled crookedly, “I know this must seem strange. But I was a lot like you when I was your age and I’d like to help however I can.”

May considered that, clearly still unsure if she was dreaming or not, but she took the purse all the same. Better to take it and consider afterwards.

“Thank you. Inside there is a card with my number on it. If you ever need anything, May, or you feel like you’re in trouble, please consider calling me. I know people on this planet, good people, who’d be pleased to help you. I’m just sorry I can’t stay and talk for much longer.”

May held the purse to her chest and nodded slowly, managing to meet his eyes.

“It will get better, May,” Nureyev promised, his voice strong and sure, “I promise it will.”

With that, he stood, still moving slowly so he didn’t startle her. He bowed slightly, thanked her sincerely for her time and walked away casually like he’d just met an old acquaintance in passing. Juno flashed May another smile and followed, finding he had to jog to catch up. Nureyev was walking faster than he’d realised.

He couldn’t help a glance back over his shoulder into the shadows but May was gone, just two cartons with honey still clinging to the inside left on the gravel.

When he was side by side with Nureyev again, he wasn’t surprised to see tears behind his husband’s cat eye glasses. Wordlessly, Juno reached out and squeezed his hand, giving him as much time as he needed. As it happened, he needed as long as it took them to cross half the markets.

“I just…” he said suddenly, the words bursting out of him, “I just remember when I needed to hear that. When all I needed was for someone to see me. So every child I meet who's clearly struggling, I just take the time to talk to them. And when I have the ability to help, I do.”

Juno nodded, lacing their fingers together even tighter, “I wish there were more people like you. People who cared.”

Nureyev gave a sigh with a slight tremble to it, stroking the tears from his eyes with his thumb, “But there’s still millions more…”

“And you’re just you,” Juno murmured, “You can only do what you can do. Don’t take the weight of it all on yourself, not when you’ve just done everything you could do.”

Nureyev glanced at him, the corner of his mouth quirking up, “So the next time I say that to you, will you believe me?”

“Probably not,” Juno admitted with a rough chuckle.

Nureyev came close, leaning into him as they walked into the night, already gathering with Saturn’s shorter day.

Reality could hold several contradictions at once, Juno had learned. Things that made each other impossible, things that were impossible inherently, it welcomed them all. People never changed but each one was unique. Planets were the same. People could be thieves and family. Someone could be gone while also being in every move you made, every word you spoke as yourself.

The universe could be cold and cruel and brutal, chewing most people up into bits and spitting them out. It could be beautiful, full of music and laughter.

And it could have someone in it like Peter Nureyev.

#jupeter #tpp #the penumbra podcast #juno steel #peter nureyev #Peter Nureyev needs a hug #hurt/comfort #angsty

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rubymoon-snape · 4 years

Text

Disclaimer: I don't own Voltron Defender of the Universe. I only own the character Ruby.

Author Note: This is basically an author insert, though you could just read it as an OC. This is Keith/OC (Ruby).

"First Meeting"

Ruby hadn't been at the castle for long, but she had gotten into a fight with Nanny about the clothes. She refused to wear the standard maid outfit. It was hard to get stains out of the white and light colored clothes most of the others wore. Nanny begrudgingly let her wear a different type of clothes, but it was still a long skirt. It was a calf length, full black skirt with a solid white lace trim. She paired it with a black wrap sleeveless shirt with light blue trim on the v-neck and the accents that look like belts. Barely visible under the sleeveless shirt was a light blue, off the shoulder top. Her golden arm bands were hidden under the straps of the blue top. She also wore white knee high boots with a small heel on them. One reason she didn't like the maids' uniform was because she was quite pale. She was also unique among the maids with her hair color and style. Her light purple hair went down to her mid-back, and there were dark purple streaks in her bangs. Her hair was kind of messy no matter how much she brushed it, and it reminded her of Commander Keith's hair. She blushed and adverted her blue grey eyes at the thought of the handsome Voltron Commander.

She shook her head and patted her right pocket, making sure her device was still there, before she retreated to the laundry room. She was doing laundry, and the load in one of the washers should be done. She entered the laundry room and went over to the washer. She sighed, not really liking doing the laundry. She was just a tad too short to reach the bottom of the top loading washing machine, but it had to be done. She started unloading the clothes and tossing them into the dryer, slowly inching up until she was balanced on her tip toes, trying to reach a shirt that was at the bottom of the washer just out of reach. She hoisted herself up until her feet were off the ground. She was just glad no one was coming down and would see her bent over the machine.

%%%

Commander Keith was not used to having people do things for him, especially when he was perfectly capable of doing said things. One of those things was his laundry. The maids were busy enough without having to stop by and collect his clothes, not when he was capable of doing his laundry. He was on his way down to the laundry room, unaware that there was someone down there.

The moment he walked in, his eyes sparkled. He had been told by Lance that his eyes sparkle when he sees something lovely, and even though he couldn't see her entire figure, what he /could/ see of her was exceedingly lovely. The white boots covering her strong legs reminded him of his own, right down to the heel. The black skirt that was draped over her legs and rear highlighted the fact that she was bent over the washing machine. He was frozen, embarrassed for seeing her in such a position but unable to leave.

%%%

Ruby was finally able to grab the shirt with her right hand and used her left hand to push herself off of the machine. She landed on her feet, stumbling slightly. She felt strong arms encircle her, steadying her and letting her know she was safe. Her blue grey eyes landed on the red and white covered arms that still held her. Her eyes traveled up the strong arms to the chiseled chest adorned with two patches she knew she had seen before. She tilted her head back and locked eyes with Commander Keith, who was looking at her with the softest look she had ever seen, a slight blush on his cheeks.

%%%

Keith saw when she stumbled slightly after getting off the washing machine and jumped into action, dropping his laundry basket. Her caught her, closing his arms around her to show her she was safe. He took this time to look at the rest of her. Her hair seemed to be a longer version of his hair, just a different color, but it was no less pretty. The rest of her clothes were as different from the other maids as her skirt was. Gold glinted on her arms from where her sleeves had been moved when he caught her The blue and black color combination was quite pretty, even moreso when combined with her fair skin and hair color.

He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks as she looked up at him. "A-are you all right?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"I don't think I've seen you before. What is your name?"

"Ruby. I've been here for several weeks."

"Ruby. I like that." Keith stooped back down and grabbed his laundry basket.

Ruby threw the wet shirt that was in her right hand into the still open dryer to her left. She started it before turning back to Keith. He was still standing in front of her with his basket, seemingly unable to take his eyes off her. "I can do that for you."

Keith blinked. "What was that?"

Ruby gestured to his basket. "Your laundry. I can wash them for you."

"Would you be the one to deliver them to my room?"

"If you'd like."

"I would very much like it."

Neither one noticed their proximity even though they were mere inches apart, and neither was surprised when their lips met in a soft kiss. Ruby's hands automatically buried themselves in Keith's soft raven locks. She never knew that doing the laundry could bring her into the arms of the dashing commander of her dreams, and yet, there she was, kissing him, and there was no place she would rather be.

Fin

@queenscene2 @80sgaytrashgoblin @breadstickcat @dotuindex @toastess-with-the-mostess @lion-time

#voltron keith #voltron dotu #Voltron Defender of the Universe #keith kogane #my oc

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out-of-jams · 5 years

Text

Airplane Mode | Track 07: 21st Century Girl | jhs

Summary: Inspired by Love at First Touch by bagelswrites

In a world where a bruise marks the first touch of your soulmate, time is the only thing that matters. The marks take hours to appear, sometimes even days if you're really unlucky. Once First Touch is initiated, both parties only have a few weeks to find the other. From then on, the body begins to reject any form of sustenance other than the touch of the other. If one fails to find their soulmate in time, they starve to death.

So what happens when your soulmate is a world famous idol?

And you're just one fan in a sea of many who can't even speak the same language?

Pairing: Hoseok/ FemOC

Word Count: 5.1k

Genre: Fluff. Angst. Idol!au. Smut. Soulmate!au. Explicit language.

Warnings: Explicit language. Anxiety. Somewhat brief depiction of a panic attack.

Words written in bold are spoken in Korean.

Previous | Next | Track List | Masterlist |

“It’s cold as hell.” Eunjae’s mumbled complaint passed through the black face mask pulled over her mouth and dissipated into the winter air.

With teeth chattering, she quickened her pace to keep up with the older woman next to her. Eunjae’s over the knee black boots clicked against the sidewalk and she took a moment to be grateful that they were only three inch stiletto heels. Even with the sleeves of the thick, red Supreme hoodie that she’d borrowed from Hoseok’s closet that morning covering her hands, she was still freezing.

There wasn’t much that she could have used from his wardrobe without looking like she was playing dress-up, so Eunjae did what she could. A small, cute black belted fanny purse that she’d designed months ago was hooked around her slim waist. With her silver hair loose down her back and tiny rings through her cartilage piercings, Eunjae was pulling off a very Ariana Grande-esque look.

She’d been lucky that while her clothes were nowhere to be seen, most of her shoes and accessories had been shipped out to Seoul early. So after digging through two boxes worth of various shoes, she’d found her favorite pair of boots. Even though Eunjae wasn’t necessarily self conscious of her short height, her footwear collection might say otherwise. Almost every pair she owned were either platformed or heeled. Though she did own the occasional regular pair of running shoes.

“Let’s go in here.” Eunjae barely got a warning from the woman walking beside her before she cut to the right and almost left Eunjae in the dust.

At eleven am on the dot that morning, the doorbell to Eunjae’s apartment rang, effectively scaring the hell out of her. She’d been in the bathroom inspecting herself in the foggy mirror, the steamy air from her recent shower billowing out into the hallway.

The sound had startled her so much that Eunjae’s hand jolted from where she’d been drawing on winged eyeliner. The brush jerked, leaving a huge black streak down her cheek, which she scrubbed at viciously as she stumbled to the door. Luckily, the bruises had faded completely from her skin due to the impromptu cuddling session in the car with Hoseok on the way back from the airport.

Unlike earlier that morning, there was only one ring of the doorbell as the person on the other side waited patiently. With sudden nerves invading her senses, Eunjae hastily ran a hand down the hoodie she converted into a dress. The hem fell a little lower than mid-thigh and she was grateful that her boots were tall enough to help prevent her from accidentally flashing someone.

Eunjae took a moment to take a deep breath before pulling open the front door. She wasn’t normally so nervous about meeting new people. In fact, she was actually pretty outgoing. But something about the whole situation just made her a bundle of nerves that she tried to hide behind the bright smile she pasted onto her face.

Standing on the other side of the door was a woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties. Though it was hard to tell for sure. The woman’s wavy black hair was cut into a fashionable bob that did well to accentuate her elf-like face. She was dressed business casual, with a white blouse underneath a black blazer, french tucked into a pair of jeans. The woman had on a pair of short white heels with a cross body purse hanging from her shoulders.

She gave Eunjae a polite bow of the head and extended her hand with a smile on her red painted lips. “Hello, Morales Eunjae-ssi. My name is Park Soyeon and I’m here to show you around Seoul.”

Soyeon’s soft, accented voice soothed Eunjae’s nerves and she reached out to take her offered hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“You as well.” Soyeon brushed her hand through her short hair, the gold watch on her wrist glinting under the lights. “I work as an English interpreter for the company, so I’ve also been appointed to tutor you in Korean, if that is something that you’re interested in.”

With a hand still swiping the excess eyeliner gel from her face, Eunjae stepped to the side and waved the woman in politely. “Absolutely. Yes. Come in and please ignore the mess that is my face.”

Now, almost two hours later and a healthy amount of shopping to break the ice, Soyeon’s personality was beginning to emerge. The woman was professional, that was a given, but the more time the pair spent together, the more Eunjae discovered that the woman’s initial innocent appearance was far from true. Her energy was enough to rival Hoseok and despite being in her mid thirties, she gave off a very spirited vibe. And the woman loved to shop.

Eunjae found that out the hard way when she had to physically hold Soyeon back from dragging her into all the high end stores in Gangnam. While yes, Big Hit was paying to supply Eunjae with enough clothes and necessities to last until the rest of her belongings arrived in Seoul, she didn’t feel comfortable racking up a huge bill. Soyeon had pouted all the way to the less expensive, less high end designer stores. But she’d perked right back up at the cute displays in the windows. Apparently, Soyeon’s girlfriend was huge into fashion, which only served to prompt the woman into even more of a shopping fiend than normal, since their anniversary was fast approaching.

Sitting across from Soyeon at a corner table inside a cozy cafe, Eunjae sipped idly at the sweating glass of water in front of her. With one hand fingering the sleeve of her too big hoodie, the other tapped across the screen of her brand new iphone. That had been something that Eunjae decidedly couldn’t pass up on, since she needed it to communicate and all.

Soyeon had nearly run her down in the Apple store when Eunjae tried to pay for it herself. While she didn’t have a job, she still kept up a somewhat steady flow of income into her bank account. Sometimes Miles would invite her to costar in some of his YouTube videos (or she’d just invite herself over since she practically lived there anyway) and since he made so much revenue, he would split the profits with her. Despite explaining this to the interpreter who snatched her wallet, the woman refused to acquiesce. So Eunjae reluctantly let Soyeon swipe the black company credit card to purchase it.

The first app that Soyeon had insisted she download was something that everyone in South Korea had. The air in Seoul wasn’t always clean enough for the human body to inhale, so the app forecasted when and when not a face mask was needed in order to step outside. Hence the face mask currently pulled down below Eunjae’s chin.

“So I think after this, we head back to the company. Sound good?” Soyeon’s voice came out muffled as she chewed on the end of her straw. The iced latte in her plastic cup was almost completely drained with more ice than coffee left.

“Sure.” Eunjae closed out of the most recent text thread with Miles and set her phone on the table. “If you want.”

Soyeon paused in her vicious chugging to eye Eunjae over the rim of her coffee. The woman’s eyes were narrowed in thought and she pursed her lips as she stirred the remainder of her drink. “You nervous to meet the boys?”

Eunjae huffed a laugh and dropped her gaze to her cup, using the tips of her pointer fingers to push it back and forth across the table. “I’m just surprised you’re done shopping is all. You were like a tornado of fabric and credit cards back there. I thought they’d have to call in a SWAT team to stop you.”

“Uh huh.” Soyeon leaned forward on the table and placed her chin on her fists, lipstick stained straw pressed between her lips. “You have nothing to worry about. The boys will be nothing if not respectful.”

She reached out a hand to stop Eunjae’s fidgeting ones, pausing long enough for Eunjae to look up. “Besides, you barely speak Korean and not all of them completely understand English. What could possibly go wrong?”

With a playful roll of her eyes, Eunjae snorted in amusement and fell back against her chair. “That’s like, exactly what someone says right before shit hits the fan.”

“Whelp.” Soyeon shrugged, taking one last noisy pull of her drink. “What’s that weird English phrase you showed me earlier?”

Eunjae simply raised a brow in response, lips pursed in mirth.

Soyeon giggled before standing from her chair with a wink. “‘Ain’t nothing to it, but to do it.’”

“I regret showing you that video so much right now.” Eunjae groaned but followed the older woman’s lead, standing and shoving her phone into the purse around her waist.

The ride to BigHit Entertainment was spent with Eunjae anxiously playing with the sleeves hanging over her hands. Numerous bags stuffed with more clothes than she needed spread across the backseat in a multicolor rainbow of plastic. A radio station streaming Seoul’s most current popular music blasted from the car speakers. Soyeon had turned the volume up to an obnoxious level, her fingers drumming on the steering wheel along with the beat.

Eunjae sank down further in her seat, causing the top of the hoodie to bunch up closer to her nose. The faded scent of, well, Hoseokstuck to the fabric and she had to stop herself from burrowing into it. She felt strangely comforted by the smell in a way that she didn’t understand. Maybe it was just a soulmate thing? Or perhaps it was because he was the closest person that she knew in the whole country? Who knew. Which was a little sad in and of itself since she barely even knew the guy.

The closer she got to the company, the more her nerves came out to play. Eunjae tried to push the thoughts--the reality--of the situation to the far recesses of her mind for as long as possible. But now she was less than two miles away from coming face to face with the boy group that she’d been fangirling over for a while now. Not only that, but she would have to put all of her nerves, her doubts, her starstruck anticipation aside because her soulmate was J-Fucking-Hope.

What if the members of Bangtan hated her? What if, for some reason, they couldn’t get along? Where would that leave her with Hoseok? Would he grow to dislike her too? Eunjae didn’t want to imagine being rejected by the one person in the world that the universe decided to pair her with. She didn’t know if she could handle that.

Over and over, the thoughts played in a continuous loop in her head until she’d worked herself up into an anxious mess. With her bottom lip caught between her lips, Eunjae fiddled with the golden crescent moon shaped earrings in her lobes. She clenched her eyes shut and turned her focus back outward, grasping onto the closest thing to keep her grounded.

Some song from Red Velvet was blasting from the speakers and Eunjae let the lyrics flush the dangerous thoughts from her mind. She had a habit of doing that sometimes: working herself up with situations that always turned out to be way less of a problem than she’d feared. And Eunjae didn’t want to turn into panicking mess before she even stepped foot out of the car.

Just as she got her anxiety under control, Soyeon whipped the compact SUV up to a gated parking lot. The woman barely had to slow to a stop and flash her employee badge before the security guard at the gate let her in. The car maneuvered around the various filled spaced until Soyeon finally pulled into an empty spot. As she cut the transmission, Eunjae took one last steeling breath.

“Come on, kid.” The woman patted her shoulder comfortingly before she opened her door and slipped out.

The cold air from outside shocked Eunjae back to her senses and she scrambled out to follow. The stiletto heels of her boots clacked against the concrete parking lot as she followed Soyeon inside the building. For once, Eunjae was thankful for the cold because it forced her to pick up the pace to prevent herself from freezing to death.

Instead of taking the front entrance of the building, the parking lot led to a back entrance for what appeared to be employees only. Soyeon bounced on the toes of her shoes as she quickly slid her laminated employee card through the scanner at the side of the door. With a beep, it flashed green and the woman rushed to pull the door open. She barely gave Eunjae two seconds to scramble in after her to avoid being locked out.

White marble floors and beige painted walls greeted the pair as they slipped inside. Eunjae had been expecting some kind of grand, showy interior. There were absolutely zero pictures of the inside of the BigHit Entertainment building online, which left ARMY to speculate what it was actually like inside. What she hadn’t been prepared for however, was how normal it looked.

Where they entered looked like any normal office building. They were in a wide, open hallway with a bright green exit sign glowing above the door they’d entered. To the right was another door that led to a stairway that Eunjae presumed went all the way up to the top floor. The rest of the hallway was empty of life: no doors, no employees, nothing. Just a security camera perched on the ceiling with a red light slowly blinking in and out of existence.

Soyeon turned to Eunjae with a sigh of relief, most likely from having just escaped the biting cold. The puse dangling from her shoulder swung with the moment and Eunjae had to shuffle out of the way to avoid being hit. “Well, this is where we part ways. I have a lot of work I need to catch up on.”

Eunjae blinked in both shock and confusion, stuffing her facemask into the purse around her waist. “Wait, you’re just going to leave me here?”

A short laugh left Soyeon’s red painted lips, the sound bouncing off the walls. “Not--”

Before the woman could finish her sentence, the metal door to the staircase swung wide open. It hit the wall with a thud as whoever pushed it put too much force against it. A sheepish looking Hoseok poked his head out from the doorway and he checked to make sure he didn’t put a dent in the wall.

“--exactly.” Soyeon finished her statement with a smirk of amusement. Tilting her head to the side, she raised an eyebrow at the rapper. A string of rapid Korean left her lips and if her teasing tone was anything to go by, Eunjae could take a guess at what she was saying.

Hoseok’s eyes scrunched as he let out a loud laugh; a shrug lifting his slim shoulders. “Whoops?”

The words had barely left his mouth before his attention turned to Eunjae. Quicker than she could process, he scanned her from head to toe. His expression morphed into something unreadable, eyes darkening in the fluorescent light. But before she could try to discern it, his eyes flashed back to hers with a dimpled smile, hair pushed back from his forehead like he’d ran his hand through it repetitively.

“How was shopping? Good?” The question left Hoseok’s mouth carefully, like was was trying to make sure that he was translating the correct words.

As with every other time Eunjae found herself around the man, the corners of her lips pulled up into a smile. She was the type of person where the energy of others directly affected her own. While he wasn’t as goofy and loud as he was on camera in person, the man’s friendly disposition rolled off him in waves so strong she could almost feel it on her skin.

“Yeah. Very good.” Eunjae shoved her still cold hands into the pouch of her borrowed hoodie.

“Aw, my little protégé!” Soyeon’s icy cold fingers pinched one of Eunjae’s cheeks playfully, earning an annoyed nose scrunch. “You’ll be fluent in Korean before you know it.”

Soyeon, much to Eunjae’s benefit (or horror), had been throwing random Korean words and phrases at her all day. After making her repeat them a few dozen times, the woman would give her random pop quizzes at the most inopportune times. And if that wasn’t enough, Soyeon had the habit of sometimes abandoning Eunjae at a store counter to fend for herself (“Immersion is the best learning tool, kid.”). All-in-all, the woman’s teaching methods were completely abnormal, but Eunjae couldn’t say they weren’t a little effective.

“Yah.” Eunjae waved the Soyeon’s hand off with a pout. “You’re such a bully. I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Sucks to suck, kid. Anyway,” Soyeon put a hand between Eunjae’s shoulder blades and pushed her towards an amused looking Hoseok. “Go hang out until the boss man sends someone to come get you two. Shouldn’t be too long, but also, who knows with how long business meetings usually last?”

The woman left no time for anyone to reply before she turned on her heel and strutted down the hallway. Pointing a finger at Eunjae from over her shoulder she added, “I’ll have someone drop those clothes off later today. And I’ll meet with you sometime either tomorrow or the day after. Seeya!”

All Eunjae could do was stare as Soyeon disappeared around the corner. She’d evaporated just as quickly as she’d appeared.

The sound of Hoseok clearing his throat brought her attention back to him and even with the added height of her boots, she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. He nodded his head back towards the door to the staircase.

“After you.”

Murmuring her thanks, Eunjae stepped past him into the stairwell. It was just as empty as the hallway and the drab colored steps seemed almost endless, twisting up and out of sight. Turning back to Hoseok as he followed behind her, Eunjae raised a brow, half curious and half anxious. “Where to?”

“Studio. Everyone..,” Hoseok flashed her a reassuring smile, hands gesturing with his words. “Excited to meet you.”

Well if that didn’t send a jolt of nervous anticipation down Eunjae’s spine, she didn’t know what would. She wasn’t sure if she should be thankful that the rest of the members were excited to meet her or if she should feel more pressured to make a good first impression. With her finger pointed to herself, she squeaked, “me?”

Hoseok’s contagious laugh forced the tight muscles in her shoulders to relax a tad. He opened his mouth to respond, but before any words could make their way out, a loud rumble sounded from his stomach. His eyes widened and he looked down at his body as if he’d been betrayed.

“Hungry?” Eunjae stifled a giggle behind a sweater paw. It reminded her, however, that she had yet to eat for the day. The dread that had been weighing down her stomach all day had effectively chased away her appetite. Now though, it mingled with a twinge of hunger.

“A little.” Hoseok smiled sheepishly with a hand resting on his stomach like that would stop the sound from escaping again.

“Have you eaten?”

His tongue darted out to wet his lips and Eunjae’s brows pinched in concern at the grimace on his face. Hoseok’s shoulders lifted a little in a shrug. “Tried.”

“But?” She urged.

“I..,” Hoseok’s nose scrunched as if the memory he was reliving was unpleasant. His head tilted to the side slightly, eyes raising like the words he was searching for were etched into the bottom of the staircase above them. “Got sick.”

Eunjae’s eyes widened at what he was saying. She quickly did the mental math in her head, counting the weeks since they’d initiated First Touch. The timeline just about matched up to the normal statistic of when food would become totally obsolete to the body. Since she hadn’t eaten anything that day she didn’t know if her body would react the same.

And she didn’t really want to test that theory.

Slipping a hand out of her hoodie pouch, Eunjae extended it out towards Hoseok. The movement pulled his gaze down to her outstretched hand and she wiggled her fingers with a small laugh at his questioning eyes. “I’d be a bad soulmate if I let you starve.”

His slender fingers intertwined with hers slowly, almost completely wrapping around her smaller hand. Any remaining tension in her body dissipated at the electric current that burst through her veins with the feeling of safety, warmth, home. With a flash of his dimples, Hoseok gave her hand a quick squeeze of thanks and turned to the stairs.

“This way.”

As they ascended the steps, Eunjae couldn’t help but silently thank the fact that the touch of a soulmate also took away the feeling of pain. While she was used to walking around in heels, the toes of her shoes were starting to pinch her feet and it would only be a matter of time before she had to change her confident strut into an awkward shuffle.

Hoseok pushed the metal door open once they reached the third floor and Eunjae followed him out into the hallway. The heels of her boots sunk into the soft carpet and she sent him a questioning look when his hand slipped from hers.

He simply nodded his head at the doors lining the length of the long hallway. Words embedded in the frosted glass doors read out the names of some of BigHit’s main producers. Hoseok threw a wink over his shoulder and held a finger to his lips. “Shhh.”

Eunjae just hummed in understanding. From what Sejin had said weeks ago at their initial meeting, the nature of her and Hoseok’s soulbond had to be kept on the downlow. She just wasn’t sure who was or was not informed. Did anyone outside of Bangtan and their management get to know? With the way Hoseok didn’t touch her as they walked down the hallway, Eunjae hazarded a guess that none of the producers knew.

The hallway was quiet except for the occasional sound of drums or piano keys drifting from the closed studio doors. Eunjae couldn’t help her inner fangirl from internally screaming. Where she was walking, Producer’s Row, was where all of Bangtan’s songs were made. Just a few feet away from her could be the key to their next big hit.

Lost in thought, Eunjae almost ran into Hoseok’s back as he stopped in front of one of the frosted glass doors. His lips quirked up in amusement and she had no warning whatsoever before he twisted down the handle. All she could catch were the letters spelling out MonStudio.

As soon as it opened, music poured from the room and spilled out into the quiet hallway. Eunjae couldn’t see anything past Hoseok’s tall frame and she took that moment to gather herself. That was it. The moment that she’d been preparing for all day. She was about to meet the members of one of the most famous boy groups in the world.

She didn’t get much time to prepare before Hoseok’s hand slid back into hers and he lead her into the room. Whether he was grabbing her hand to soothe the nerves wafting off her in waves, or to sate his hunger, Eunjae wasn’t sure. But she didn’t give it much thought because there was only so much her overwhelmed brain could process at once.

MonStudio, Kim Namjoon’s studio, wasn’t very spacious. The walls on either side of his desk were taken up by glass shelves displaying numerous amounts of bears and trinkets gifted from fans. There was a leather couch pressed up against the wall closest to the door and a small coffee table in front of it. The knee high table was littered with paper, some balled up haphazardly and others with words and sentences scratched out in black ink.

Taking up a seat on the couch hunched over a notebook furiously scribbling was one of Korea’s most famous rappers. With his blond hair pushed back by a thick headband, Min Yoongi paused in his writing to look up at the sound of their entrance. The end of the pen in his hand tapped a staccato rhythm against his pale cheek like he couldn’t contain the words it itched to spill.

The rolling chair that had been facing the desk across the room spun around as well. Eunjae was grateful for Hoseok’s hand in hers keeping her grounded against the starstruck feeling creeping up her throat. Kim Namjoon, in all his dimpled, long-legged glory greeted them with a smile.

His pressed a button on the computer keyboard behind him that caused the music spilling from the giant speakers on his desk to cut off. Namjoon’s hair glittered a dark grey underneath the lights of his studio. The baggy green sweater and beige cargo shorts he wore almost blended into the beige painted walls. It was just those two waiting in the room and Eunjae felt her fear dwindle a little at the fact that she wouldn’t meet all six members at once.

“She’s here?” Tilting his head, Namjoon tried to peer around Hoseok, who almost instantly moved out of the way.

Eunjae suddenly felt like she was on display. At the corner of her vision she could see Yoongi’s eyes flicker down to where Hoseok’s hand was wrapped around hers. An uncharacteristically shy smile tilted at her lips and she wiggled the fingers of her free hand in a wave. “I’m here. Hi.”

Hoseok gently pulled her farther into the room and motioned back and forth between her and the two other men in the room. “Eunjae, Namjoon-ah. Yoongi-yah, Eunjae.”

The use of the informal nickname didn’t seem to bother Yoongi as both him and Namjoon dipped their heads in a respectful bow. Both men spoke their greetings at the same time, Yoongi’s deeper voice blending in with Namjoon’s.

“It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.” Namjoon’s English was perfect and Eunjae couldn’t help but feel a little relieved at the fact that he could translate between the four of them. Gesturing towards the couch that the eldest rapper was perched on, he smiled. “Please, have a seat. Get comfortable.”

Yoongi gathered the notebook in his hands and the stray pieces of paper scattered around him and shifted to sit on the floor at the other side of the coffee table. Eunjae’s eyes widened. “Wait! You don’t have t--”

“Too late!” Hoseok released her hand only to grab onto her shoulders and guide her to the now empty couch. She didn’t have time to argue as he dropped onto a cushion and pulled her down next to him.

Instead of taking her hand again, Hoseok simply threw an arm over her shoulders. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye and she smiled in answer to his silent question. While he acted casual about the skinship between them, Hoseok repeatedly made sure that she was comfortable with it.

“So,” the sound of Namjoon’s voice brought her attention back to the other two in the room. Thankfully, neither of them made a comment about the fact that she was pressed into their best friend’s side. “How are you settling in?”

“I don’t think it’s fully hit me yet, to be honest.” Eunjae huffed a laugh, sinking further back into the comfortable couch. It was no wonder that the rappers would sometimes sleep in their studios if all of their couches were so plush.

“That’s understandable.” Namjoon’s golden cheeks dimpled. “It’s a pretty big change.”

“That’s one way to describe it.”

Namjoon snorted in amusement and crossed one of his legs over the other, the chair beneath him rolling back a little at the movement. “Well if you ever need anything, you can come to any of us. We’ll try to help you the best we can.”

Eunjae could feel Hoseok’s warm stare burning into the side of her face as she gave her thanks to the grey haired man. Yoongi simply sat cross-legged on the floor, attention wavering between the conversation going on around him and the open notebook on the coffee table. The words begging to be etched onto the page conflicted with his desire to participate. That and the fact that the blonde wasn’t entirely comfortable speaking in English.

Hoseok spoke to Namjoon, the end up his sentence lilting like a question.

“Hobi-yah wants to know how old you are.” Namjoon translated for the rapper at her side.

Blinking at the question, Eunjae almost smacked her forehead at the realization. Korean manners were based a lot around how old somebody was, with more respect going towards those who were your senior. And she couldn’t recall ever telling Hoseok her age, so she wasn’t offended at all by the question. “I’m twenty-three.”

Hoseok made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded halfway between teasing and something else that she couldn’t decipher. He tapped a finger against his chest and hummed, “older.”

“I know.” Eunjae’s answer pulled a smile from his lips.

“Speaking of,” Namjoon rested a cheek against one of his hands, his forearms propped up on the chair’s armrest. Whatever he was about to say got cut short as the door the MonStudio echoed in a knock. All attention turned towards the figure on the other side of the frosted glass. “Come in.”

The door swung open to reveal Sejin in all his exhausted glory. The man sent an apologetic smile at the occupants in the room, finger pushing up the falling frame of his glasses. “Sorry to interrupt, but Bang PD-nim is ready to see these two.”

Whatever slight comfort that Eunjae felt within the confines of the cozy studio was wiped away almost instantly. The anxiety that had turned to a gentle simmer cranked itself all the way up, threatening to bubble over. She held it in though, pushed it down until it hid behind the small upwards tilt of her lips. Hoseok moving his arm from around her shoulders had her bracing herself for the inevitable.

She followed him as he stood from the couch, and with a few quick parting words to the other two men in the room, Eunjae trailed after Hoseok’s fleeting back.

Time to put on your big girl panties, bitch.

#bts #bts fic #bts fic rec #hoseok #hoseok fic #hoseok fanfic

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