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goldenkirstein · 4 years ago

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She lives in daydreams with me

or alternatively, when jean and you visit Ikea

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pairing: jean x fem! reader

wc: 1.5k+

tags: fluff, modern! au, female reader, language, mentions of food.

a/n: I was inspired by this post, also I just like Ikea, I think Jean would to tbh. am i living out my own daydreams with Jean by writing this? potentially. i love him lol. Feedback and any criticism encouraged lmao.

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Your head tilted as you stared dead-on at the boy in front of you.

“Jean, what is that?”

“What are you talking about baby, this is a-” He squinted, looking at the tag, of what you assumed to be a night light?

“An-garna.” Jean looked back up at you, grinning widely.

You had come earlier to Ikea, needing to buy some storage baskets for your room, and yet here you were standing in a miniature model of a child’s room, staring at the six-foot three-man holding a children’s night light, that had...Was that panda face design on it?

“Jean, my love, my dear, we don’t have kids; why on Earth would I need a children’s night light?” The toothy grin quickly disappeared from his face, quickly replaced with a stern expression.

“Just because something is marketed towards children doesn’t mean adults can’t buy it, and anyways I was merely suggesting it, knowing how you can’t sleep after watching horror movies.” It’s more like when he can’t sleep after watching, but his ego would never let him admit that.

You rolled your eyes at your boyfriend, “put it in the cart, Kirstein.” He flashed you a smile, coming over and placing a kiss on your cheek before mumbling a small thank you.

As much as you would act annoyed or unamused when it came to Jean’s antics, it was more or less a front. You loved it when he would let his guard down in public with you. He wasn’t always like this; the Jean you met years prior would be caught dead before expressing his affections in public. He would get easily flustered, blush to sport his face if anyone he knew saw him admiring and doting on his girlfriend. It wasn’t something that deeply upset you; in a way, you were able to keep a tiny part of Jean to yourself, the goofy, tender side of him that he only let out when he was with you. However, watching him become more confident in himself and expressing his love for you outranked any desires that you had to keep Jean bottled up for your gratification.

He walked in front, long legs carrying him practically miles in front of you until he turned a corner and found himself situated in a living-room model. You followed shortly after and saw that he was making himself comfortable on a charcoal-grey couch.

“Mm, come sit,” he patted gently on the cushion next to him, gesturing to you to join him on the sofa. You raised your eyebrows and let out a giggle, situating the cart near a side table before accompanying him.

“What do you wanna watch babe,” Jean tilted his head, signalling to the fake flat-screen in front of you. You thought about tormenting the boy; however, you opted to play along with him this time.

“Oooh, I don’t know, check if the new Grey’s episode is out.” He smiled at you, appreciating your willingness to get lost in this daydream with him. His smile quickly shifted into a mischievous grin as he poked your side.

“Heyyy, what the fuck was that for!” You recoiled, shrinking away from him, but before you could get far enough away from him, he pulled you back into his side. You tried squirming away from him, only for his grip on you to get stronger, and you were met with a chuckle—the noise reverberating around the tiny living room.

“Really? Greys? On a night like this?” You shifted your body, turning your head to look at the “window” covered with sheer beige curtains, overlaid with opaque maroon ones. Outside, or rather you should say the wall was painted white, so you began drumming up a scenario in your mind. That was tonight, a spring evening, stars visible in the night sky? Or a cold and snowy winter’s night? The purple tinge of the atmosphere apparent through the translucent curtains. Jean stared at you intently, wondering what you will come up with, his gaze shifting as the corners of your lips upturned; you had settled on an idea.

“Oooh yeah, it’s practically pitch black outside; I can only see the streetlights in the distance. We should really do something about that pesky tree, though. Its branches keep tapping on the window; it’s frankly quite annoying.” A rosy tinge was present on his cheeks, hazel eyes twinkling at you.

You placed a hand on his chest, your focus entirely on the love-struck boy in front of you, “You know what? We should totally watch a horror movie!” Just as you began to immerse yourself in the daydream, Jean shot up from the couch, leaving an indent where he was sitting behind.

“Alright, enough dilly-dallying, we should go home now.” He clapped his hands together, moving to grab the cart to leave the store display.

Dilly-dallying? Did he really just say dilly-dallying?

“What’s wrong, Jean-boy? This is our home! Oooh, don’t tell me you don’t wanna watch because you’re scared.” You fell back on the couch, beaming, elbows propping you up as you teased him.

“Am not. I just decided that I’m in the mood for cinnamon rolls and fro-yo.” He placed his elbow on the handles of the cart, head resting in the palm of his hand. He gave you an unimpressed look.

“Oh really? Who’s that night-light for again? I seem to have forgotten.” This time it was his turn to roll his eyes at you. Without saying anything, he placed his hands back on the cart’s handle and began to leave the “living room.”

You swung your legs over, a giggle leaving your mouth as you walked over to your boyfriend. You wrapped your arms around his middle, resting your cheek on him. “Babe, I was just joking; I didn’t mean to upset you,” you mumbled into him.

He let out a sigh and stopped in the middle of the aisle. You watched as he brought one of his hands down to grasp one of yours that had taken hold of his waist. Jean turned to face you, head tilting as a slight smirk overtook his face. “That’s what I was waiting to hear.” He placed a soft kiss on your forehead before turning around to continue rolling the cart forward to his destination.

His arm extended behind him, motioning to you to hold his hand. You obliged, your palm sliding in his, fingers curling around your knuckles as his. “Whatever,” you grumbled, choosing to turn your head to observe the variety of rugs that were hanging on display. He tugged at your hand, an amused expression painting his face.

“You want those cinnamon buns or not, pretty girl?” The pet name almost made you choke. He knew what it would do to you. He would use it sparsely, only to coax a reaction out of you, but you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of letting him know the hold he had over you.

You whipped your head back to face him, confident to quip back at him, but it all melted when you saw the way he was looking at you; a lop-sided smirk, his tongue peeked out to wet his bottom lip before capturing it between his teeth. He raised his eyebrows, waiting for what you had to say.

“Yeah, I do.” You managed to slip a few words out. He had won this one, using his charms to debilitate any assuredness you had. He brought your linked hands up to his lips, tenderly kissing the back of your hand, humming in delight.

“You know, we should come here more often, live out our domestic daydreams together.” The smells of cinnamon buns were getting stronger as you walked on.

“Sure, but you could also just move in with me.”

The tips of his ears went red, and you paused, realizing what you just said, the weight of what you just said. You had thought about asking him to move in with you, but you didn’t mean for it to slip out in the middle of a random conversation; in Ikea nonetheless. “I- You don’t have to. I was just joking. I don’t know why I said that.”

Your voice dwindled to merely a whisper as you completed your sentence. Jean stopped the cart once more. “Yes. Yes, I’ll move in with you.” His expression was earnest as he looked at you, eyes glittering with adoration as he waited for your response.

“Whoa, whoa, hold your horses cowboy. We can talk about this after you get me those cinnamon buns you promised.” you wiped any sense of embarrassment from your face as you tried to suppress your laughter, which was caused by the zealousness your boyfriend had just shown.

However, there was no doubt that your heart did grow in fondness for Jean, and you were relieved that he wasn’t off-put by your haphazard confession. He was absolutely whipped for you, and you couldn’t deny that you were head over heels in love with him either. You desired to continue to share your life with him, and moving in together would be the next step in your relationship.

“Yes, Ma’am” His voice broke you out of your thoughts as he placed his hand to his forehead to salute you. You giggled at his actions.

“Lead the way, Kirstein.”

a/n: lol, this was practically for my own self-indulgence. and i feel like this was a tad bit ooc idk. Anywayssss, I would like to mention that I'm working on a navigation page with taglists and such and thinking about requests. I wanna branch out write for more aot characters as well as jjk and hq. Again, I'm very new to this so it's gonna take some time. I would love to know ur thoughts on all of this lol.

As always, please leave a like/reblog (i love reading tags makes me happy heh) if you enjoyed this, I appreciate lots <33

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cloudshapedpatch · 4 years ago

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Bells and Whistles

Happy Holidays @ghostlyhamburger, I’m your Lovesquare Obsessed Secret Santa! I hope you enjoy this very indulgent soulmate au 💚🌸

* * * *

Music. It’s all around, and yet, it never gets old. How? How does an arrangement of notes and sounds create wonderful music capable of bringing deep joy and sadness?

Everyone knows people love music. Archeologists always seem to be finding older and simpler instruments used by early humankind. People just love to create their own sounds, if not for their own enjoyment, or perhaps to attempt to share the songs in their heads with others.

For Marinette, it was no different than everyone else. Her song. The leitmotif that seemed to always play in her head. And she could not get it to be quiet. Just once, she wished to take a school test and be able to focus on her paper, and not the wispy bells meant only for her own ears.

It was a nice melody, and the universe had made it just for her (and for her soulmate, but she wasn’t too concerned with this fact at the moment). She never grew tired of it, thank kwami, but it also meant she could never go very long without hearing it. And how the universe loved to play the tune in the least convenient times.

30 chimes of bells.

What is the circumference of a circle that has a diameter of 8 inches?

30 chimes of bells.

What’s 8 times pi?

30 damned chimes of bells.

Marinette let her head drop onto her desk, letting the lone bells play out a couple more times. She only resumed her math test once it seemed it was done.

Thus was a normal occurrence for most people. It still annoyed her.

Her teacher gave Marinette a sympathetic look as she handed in her completed test, bells still ringing in her head.

“Why don’t you just go look for your soulmate?” Alya had suggested one night as they watched a movie.

“I don’t wanna rush it.” Marinette had lied a little too easily for her liking.

“You know if you do, your tune will get beautifuller and—”

“And I’ll get to control when I hear it, yeah yeah.” Marinette tossed a few unpopped popcorn kernels at Alya, a wide smile on her face. “And beautifuller isn’t a word.”

“Whatever!” Alya had laughed then, a really joyous, belly-shaking laugh. As they continued to watch their movie, Marinette could tell Alya was playing her own symphony in her head (she always smiled like the biggest love-sick goofball).

Alya was among the lucky few who found her soulmate quite young. It always brought a smile to Marinette’s face when the young couple spoke of the day they realized. Although, Marinette always had to swallow her pride because she couldn’t let anyone know she was the one who had locked them in that fateful zoo cage.

Speaking of, Alya was leading Marinette out of the classroom, saying something about the test, but Marinette didn’t hear her. She was too busy with her own thoughts about songs and soulmates.

Surprisingly, Nino was the first to notice Marinette’s dazed state. His ‘You good?’ was accompanied with a familiar smile; the one that told her she had missed everything he had said.

Marinette blinked her thoughts away. “Yeah! Yeah, just thinking. What’s up?”

“Alya and I were saying we were gonna play UMS 3 at my house, wanna come make it a tournament?”

Marinette’s sudden perfect posture didn’t go unnoticed by either of the other teens. “Sorry, I have some family things tonight. You know how Thursdays are…”

“Right!” Alya punctuated the word with a snap. “Thursdays are family nights. Funny, Adrien said the same thing.”

Nino got an elbow to his side for snickering at Marinette’s blush, but it couldn’t be helped. They bade goodbye and went their separate ways.

The chilly December air stung her heated cheeks, eliciting a breath of thanks that she lived close to the school. In truth, Marinette’s family didn’t have family nights. Thursdays were allotted for Chat Noir’s visits.

He came every Thursday, without fail, at 9pm sharp. Why? No one had any clue. Her parents always cooked for four those nights to be sure he had food (They learned early on he didn’t get much to eat. This concerned Marinette deeply, not only as his partner but also as his soulmate). She supposed the saying was true, ‘feed a cat once and they will return’. He hadn’t stopped visiting ever since she offered him a cookie one otherwise-normal Thursday night about 4 months ago.

Tonight was no different. He knocked on her balcony window at 9 o’clock on the dot, he came down and ate his plate of food, and Marinette beat him at video games with her parents.

It was only when they had gone back up to her attic room that the night turned south.

Chat was hovering over her shoulder as she sketched a dress, excitedly giving her suggestions. Sometimes they were good, other times… not (memories of the awful purple and orange clown jumper threatened to surface).

Marinette had started to hum whilst she drew. Chat was playing with her hair and whispering encouragement, and all was well.

“Whatcha humming?” He murmured, barely audible above the sound of pencil on paper.

“Hm?” His hands had frozen in her hair, the lack of movement causing a lull in her train of thought. She blinked hard as if to will her thoughts back. “Oh, just a little tune. Should I put a flower or a bow here?”

“A bow, for sure.”

As she sketched the bow on the dress’ bodice, she hummed a little louder for Chat to hear.

And he hummed the last few notes with her.

Before she could comprehend how he knew the tune, she could hear a piano in her head, playing a sweet little harmony with jazzy drums. The familiar sound of ethereal bells played the melody she knew too well. It felt as if she were surrounded by a thousand magical whistles, carrying her up and away to the clouds. And based on the look in Chat’s eyes as he spun her chair to look at her, he was hearing it too.

Damn it.

She would have gotten emotional if she wasn’t filled with terror. Finding your soulmate was supposed to be an important event in one’s life. For Marinette, now it was another secret under her hat.

He was whispering her name, eyes sparkling and the most endearing smile on his face and why is he looking at me like that? say something, anything! to get him to stop!

“Wow it’s late, time flies, you know?” She cringed at her abnormally high voice, playing off the flinch as a yawn. “I should go to bed, haha.”

Her cheeks twitched with the effort to keep the fake smile as he just stood there, staring at her, an unreadable expression on his face.

And then she was in his arms as he carried her up to bed, eyes large and kind. He set her down gently before giving a two-finger salute and jumping through her balcony window. She felt the mattress bounce slightly from his weight. Too late, she registered his parting words to her, goodnight princess.

With a pillow secured to her face, she screamed.

“Marinette! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Tikki. Just overwhelmed.” She threw the pillow down onto her knees.

“You don’t look fine.”

Neither did Tikki, if Marinette was being honest. She looked just as worried as she felt.

“I just… the ladybug and black cat miraculous are always soulmates, so I wanted Chat’s soulmate to be Ladybug, not Marinette. That makes sense, right?”

“Yes! And it was a great idea, but the universe has its own plans, and you can’t override them.”

“I know! It’s just that— I was planning— I didn’t want Marinette to be associated with Chat Noir. It’s too risky! What if people connect the dots? What if— oh no, Tikki! What if Plagg told Chat Noir about the soulmates? What if Chat Noir knows I’m Ladybug?!”

“Deep breaths, Marinette. It’s gonna be okay! I really don’t think Plagg would have told him, he’s really not fond of romance, he thinks it’s mushy.”

Marinette took a few moments to focus on her breathing, but Tikki’s unsure face didn’t calm her nerves any.

“I can go talk to Plagg if you want. And if Chat Noir really does know who you are, then we can work it all out! You make the rules now Marinette, you don’t have to choose a new partner unless you want to.”

The thought of her identity being known made her sick, but she tried to sleep anyway. A night of good rest would help her think more clearly, right?

She couldn’t help but let the song play out a few times more before she finally dozed off, only for it to echo in her sleep.

* * * *

If Marinette had been paying attention, she would have seen Adrien hovering nearby like the confused, enamoured puppy that he was. She would have noticed his lingering gaze, his soft smile. She would have noticed his internal debate over whether to say hello.

(Everyone else noticed; everyone except the object of his affections.)

Alas, she was too preoccupied with her increasing anxiety. She wasn’t sure when Tikki had left her purse, but she had checked ten minutes ago only to find she was missing. Her foot tapped at the floor at irregular intervals, matching the beat of the song in her heart (Jazz was the worst possible genre to pace her life, but then again, when was she ever regularly spaced?).

She played the whistling song in her head once more, too tired to fight her smile. She could have a much worse soulmate, that was for sure. Who wouldn’t want a sweet, considerate, objectively handsome if she really let herself think about it—

A nudge against her side let her know Tikki had phased into her purse. Almost too hastily, she excused herself to the washroom.

“So? What’s the verdict? I haven’t been able to focus all day!” She whispered, having been too anxious to wait for the door to close behind her.

“I’m so sorry, Marinette.”

Another wave of anxiety. Marinette took a shaky breath in. “What do you mean?”

Tikki’s little hands wrung each other dry as she spoke. “There was a miscommunication between Plagg and Chat Noir, and he knows you’re Ladybug now.”

Her charge slid to the floor by the sinks before her feet could give out completely. He knew? How could this have happened?

She fought the urge to cover her face and cringe. What now?

The door pushed in, Alya successfully interrupting her thoughts.

“Marinette! You okay?”

“Yeah!” Faster than a zip of her yo-yo, her hands flew to the hem of her pink jeans. “Just re-cuffing my jeans. What’s up?”

Alya gave Marinette a quirky sort-of look before shaking her head in amusement. “Miss Bustier wanted me to come get you. We’re starting the holiday party!”

“Let’s get going then!” Marinette locked arms with Alya as they walked out. If neither girl talked about the odd scene, perhaps they would both forget.

The party went well, the shiny menorah and shamash reflecting the small tree’s lights in dazzling patterns on the walls. The atmosphere was pleasant, the treats shared were delicious, and their White Elephant gift exchange went very well. The stuffed dinosaur she made ended up with Rose, and Marinette gratefully accepted a new oversized hat from Nino.

Adrien had caught her eyes a few times too many for her own comfort. It felt almost wrong to be thinking only of her partner while searching Adrien’s eyes for hidden meaning. She took his warm gaze and soft smile with a grain of salt, then turned her mind away to think of Chat Noir’s soft, affectionate gaze and his broad, warm smile that never failed to make her grin in return. For some reason, Adrien’s smile made Marinette want to listen to Chat’s song.

All too soon, the party came to a close. She bade her goodbyes, wished her friends a happy holiday break, and started to walk home in the early minutes of dusk. A fun day of sweet treats and party games left her heart warm and content. The soft tinkling of street lamps illuminating all around her brought a small spread of euphoria in her chest. Shadows danced in the corners of her eyes, drawing her gaze up to the rooftops, where her favorite pair of inhuman green eyes peered back at her. Chat leapt across the buildings in front of her, just enough to stop and look back for a moment as she walked.

Her stomach churned as they locked eyes. Feet glued to the pavement, she stared up at him, waiting for him to… well, she wasn't sure what she was waiting for. He was just looking at her, perched up four stories above her, head tilted.

Oh, she thought belatedly, he wants to talk.

With a small burst of resolution, she gave him a smile before willing her feet to move towards her house. By now the sun had set and the sky was gradually turning dark, a deep ocean encouraging her escape. As much as she longed to fall into the stars and float away, she also found herself giddy with excitement.

Their shared symphony played in her head as she opened the door to her home and excused herself upstairs, the melody almost unbidden, but she knew in her heart she had been longing to allow herself to enjoy it again.

Although, feeling ready for the next chapter of life was different than turning the page itself. There was sure to be shaky hands and stuttered words, confusion and maybe a little more bittersweet than she’d like, but, little did she know, there was going to be acceptance, overpowering emotions, tears, and many long hugs (and perhaps a few kisses), but that was life.

Besides, with her soulmate and partner by her side, she could do anything.

* * * *

Also! I may have gotten a little carried away and composed the leitmotif and the soulmate song as well~! You can listen to it here :)

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the-darklings · 5 years ago

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—𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒔;

pairing: john wick x f!reader

word count: 6.5k+

summary: “Tell me a story with a happy ending.”

warnings: strong violence, blood, swearing.

notes: oh wow, it’s been a hot minute, huh? I miss posting my writing on here but life has been hectic and pretty unkind this year so apologies for the inactivity. All I can say is that I got an urge to finally write for Mr Wick. This is set pre-first movie so any spoilers will be up to that movie only. For now, I decided to split this into two, so expect another part some time soon and enjoy!

children of ares series: .. | 02 |

“Tell me a story with a happy ending.”

“I can’t. People like us don’t get happy endings.”

. . .

The first time you meet him, he points a gun to your face with a sharpness that makes your pulse race.

You’re just a second behind him, but you know perfectly well that it would have been a second too late.

“Oh, for goodness sake,” Tarasov grumbles under his breath, waving his hand in irritation. “Will you two lower your weapons, we aren’t in the zoo.”

The man clad in all black does so immediately, and you idly wonder just how tight his leash is if he obeys so seamlessly.

You watch him warily as you lower your arm as well, hesitating just long enough for Tarasov’s gaze to slide your way. While you don’t want to piss off your new boss, the man in black stands beside him with a stoic sort of calmness that makes your instincts prickle with unease.

You know who he is.

You’ve heard stories about him.

Soft, terrified murmurs of his infamy—of his terrifying skill. You would rather not meet him at all, truth be told.

Even amongst killers, John Wick’s name is spoken with a degree of reluctant respect and fear.

“John, this is our newest associate. I wanted to introduce you personally,” Tarasov explains easily, pouring himself another glass of vodka. “I was rather hoping you will be able to look after her for a bit. Show her how we do business.”

You rather he didn’t. Truly.

John Wick is tall, calm, and deadly focused on every twitch of your body.

Underground world has some certains you can find in any corner of the world: money, blood, drugs, and high egos. The latter goes hand in hand with an inflated sense of self-importance and posturing.

You’re used to that. You know how to handle people with egos. Know how to communicate with those who like the sound of their own voice a bit too much.

Yet, John Wick somehow manages to be the most fear-inducing thing in the room without so much as making a sound.

His dark eyes appear almost black when they finally connect with yours. There is nothing but polite coolness to be found in his gaze.

“Sure.”

Tarasov grins wider, saluting you both with his glass, “Excellent,” he intones in smooth Russian. “I do believe this is the start of something rather beautiful.”

. . .

Three months down the line, and you’re still unsure what to make of John.

Anyone who kills people for a living should be easy to pindown. Sure, everyone has their own reasons, but at the end of the day, they’re all a little twisted.

John is a walking contradiction.

He’s cold, he’s stoic, he’s frighteningly efficient in his field. John rarely speaks, and getting more than a few sentences out of him at any given time seems like an incredible feat.

But he’s also kind in the most subtle ways, thoughtful, and always—unfailingly—has your back on the field.

Tarasov originally wanted you to do three missions together before he sent you on your own. But somewhere along the way, he seems to have concluded that you work better as a unit.

It’s odd at first. You’re not used to working with someone, and you’ve never heard of John having a partner with him either. He’s the man they send when no one else wants the contract or they simply can’t finish the job. So working with him is as bizarre as everyone's reactions when they see you together.

Most of the time, you’re not sure if he even likes you because most of the time, it’s near impossible to read him.

On paper you should never work, you know that much.

He’s older. His name is known. He’s earned the respect of some of the deadliest in the world.

You’re a nobody from nowhere. Sure, your skills are finally being utilized and by merely associating with John and Tarasov, people are starting to take notice of you, too. But doubt still lingers in your mind as you go through one job after another.

Truthfully, you’re still unsure if there’s a place for you here, in this shadowy circle of Tarasov’s gang. Though all the alternatives are so much worse you can’t even entertain the idea of a different life right now.

“A stick of gum?”

John is silent for a long time, and for a second you worry that he may not have heard you over the sound of the wind, but you don’t dare to lift your gaze from the scope in front of you.

Patience you know well. It’s one of the very few areas where you and John are equals.

“Realistically, one,” he finally mutters, his voice low to a point you have to strain to hear. Blinking, you suppress a grin, adjusting your position as you wait for your target to appear.

“Just the one?” you repeat with obvious disappointment. “Huh.”

John’s breaths are quiet next to you, thoughtful, “Sorry to disappoint but choking is the only viable option,” he points out a little dryly.

You hum contemplatively, trying to think of your own spin on this scenario. It has become a bit of a game between you. When you first started working together, John’s company was near painfully boring, especially on long jobs. So you came up with the idea of challenging him with ordinary objects and drilling him on how many people he can realistically kill with them. Of course, he has to fully justify his reasoning for each casualty—that’s half the fun right there after all.

He still likes his space and peace to this day, but at least now you get him to talk with you regularly on jobs.

“See if it were me,” you begin in an unhurried drawl. “I would put slow-acting poison in the gum. Maybe even add a dispersing agent into it, so anyone the target comes into contact with would die as well. Multiple dead, I won’t even have to break a sweat.”

“Sounds dangerous,” he points out idly, but the challenge in his voice is clear. “And highly volatile. How can you be sure it won’t accidentally kill your partner or anyone else that needs to be kept safe?”

“Antidotes, John, c’mon now,” you shoot back playfully, your finger moving to rest against the trigger when you spot slight movement in the building opposite to you. “Oh, the party is a go. Target twelve o’clock.”

You both watch as the men file into the room, chatting and pouring drinks as both parties sit themselves down around the room. A typical setting for deal negotiations. Of course, Tarasov doesn’t want any negotiations to happen at all—hence why you and John are here, and ready to rectify that.

“You have a clear shot,” John speaks beside you after a long pause, and it still unsettles you how composed he is during jobs and outside of them. It’s like nothing can ever affect him. With every job, every interaction, you begin to understand more and more why the nickname The Boogeyman is starting to catch on. “Take the shot.”

You do.

Inhaling deeply, you line the shot and it pierces the air with a deafening whistle that shatters the hotel window to pieces.

Panic reigns and the men scatter like cattle. Some try to find where the shot came from, but by the time they come anywhere near the window, you and John are already walking down the fire exit in a calm, unhurried fashion. The target is dead, and that’s all either of you care about.

“You’ve gotten better.”

It’s not praise, not exactly, more of a tepid assessment. But you take what you can get with John nowadays. In the beginning, it unsettled you, but now you just know that’s how he is.

“Marcus is a pretty nice guy once you break past that prideful demeanour of his,” you joke with a slight laugh as you both get into his car. “I think he tolerates my pestering because of you, to be honest.”

You feel John’s curious gaze on you, and when you turn to glance at him one of his eyebrows is arched slightly. “That so?”

“Drive on, Wick,” you say instead. “I’m starving. I wonder what it is about doing this job that always makes me so damn hungry.”

. . .

“You’re a pain in my ass, I hope you know that.”

John only grunts in reply.

You half drag him with you through the front lobby of The Continental as you slowly approach the reception.

Charon welcomes you with his typical placid smile and a polite nod of his head.

“Mr Wick and Miss Vipress,” he greets politely, unfazed by all the blood covering you both as you stagger to a stop in front of his desk. “Pleasure as always. A room for two?”

You nod your head briskly, shifting on your feet till more of John’s weight is leaning against you. “Thanks,” you mutter, sliding the golden coin across the smooth wood. There’s still specks of blood on it, but Charon takes it without batting an eye.

“Will you be needing a doctor tonight?” he questions with a tilt of his head, ever the helpful hotel concierge.

You’re shaking your own head before he’s even finished speaking, and glance at the still dazed John beside you. He’s already looking better than he did fifteen minutes ago—less pale and clammy—meaning that the poison is slowly but steadily leaving his system.

“We’ll be fine,” you say wearily. “But if you could send us up some X7 and Aspirin later, I would appreciate it.”

Charon hums, noting your request immediately in a notepad in front of him.

“X7 will take a bit longer but consider it done,” he responds pleasantly, sliding your room key across the table. You grapple for it, clenching it tightly between your bloody fingers. “Enjoy your stay,” he adds as you turn to go.

You grunt some vague pleasantry back but your mind is only focused on getting John to the hotel room before his legs decide to give out on him.

By the time you make it to your room on the third floor—Charon has mercifully put your room only a few doors away from the elevator, and you make a mental note to thank him for it tomorrow—your arms are trembling from the strain. John falls on the couch heavily, a harsh groan rattling free the moment he does, indicating just how bad he must be feeling.

His dark, half-lidded eyes track your movements as you stumble towards the bathroom, grabbing the complimentary first-aid kit found in every room. A certain, intent sharpness you’re used to seeing is missing from his gaze and you snap your fingers in front of his face a few times.

“Hey, you still with me?”

John nods his head and groans as he sits up, leaving you once again impressed with his silent strength. It seems like things that would kill ordinary men ten times over barely leave a dent on John. Some part of you can’t help but be slightly envious of the fact that he’s really as brilliant and as unstoppable as everyone makes him out to be.

He shrugs off his jacket under your command, leaving him in only a shirt and a tie and you loosen it, hurriedly wrapping it above his bleeding forearm.

“See, poison is a bitch when it’s not done by yours truly,” you mutter under your breath, carefully tracking his breathing patterns. “Aren’t you a lucky boy to have me on hand?”

His answer to your poor attempt at a joke is a half-hearted glare, and you smile weakly, grabbing a small blade from your boot to cut off his shirt sleeve. The white material flutters towards the ground and you grimace at the deep gash running at least eight centimetres down his arm. It looks angry and inflamed; a side effect to the potent poison the blade to make that cut was laced with.

You brush the damp strands of loose hair away from his sweaty forehead, and press your palm against his skin. A pleased hum escapes you and you nod your head, satisfied, before turning to sanitize the needle you’ll be using.

“The fever is going down,” you tell him when you feel his silent question hang in the air between you. “That means the antidote is working. You should be back to normal in another hour or so. Gelsemine though? Jesus. I miss the days when people used Thallium and thought they were efficient poisoners.”

You grab your belt, taking it off with a hurried jerk as you offer it to John who looks up at you in confusion. “For the pain,” you supply, shaking your hand a little.

“Just get me something strong,” he grunts, pointedly shifting his gaze to the table where a bottle of something that looks like whiskey sits untouched.

Clicking your tongue, you shake your head, “Not if you want to start vomiting blood. The poison is still in your system. Alcohol will make it worse and likely kill the antidote too. Take it.”

John looks away and you roll your eyes, dropping the belt to the ground as you step between his legs to get better access to the wound.

“Right, okay, this will hurt.”

John doesn’t say anything—not that you expect him to. You start with cleaning the cut first, and John’s fingers sink into the couch but he remains stubbornly silent. His eyes focus on a spot just above your shoulder as you work quietly. Cleaning wounds is meticulous work, and your line of work assures that you’re always meticulous. By the time the needle finally pierces John’s skin, it already looks better.

His jaw clenches tightly as you move the needle in and out of his skin. You know it’s excruciating but he makes no protests aside from occasional soft grunt of pain. His blood is warm on your fingers and you work as quickly as you can without messing up, a slight tremor shaking your hand.

“How,” he begins before clearing his throat. “How did you get involved in all of this?”

You make a small sound at the back of your throat, unsure if he’s trying to distract himself from pain or truly asking because he wants to know.

“How does anyone get involved with this sort of thing,” you answer dully, not taking the bait. “We’ve known each other for almost a year and you’re only asking about my tragic past now? Tsk, tsk.”

You feel his eyes focus on you, and pull on the needle harder, tightening the stitches much to John’s clear discomfort.

You’re both silent for a long moment after that, and much to your surprise John doesn’t push further. Most people would.

But John Wick is not most people, you’ve come to find.

He’s the type of man who never tries to make passes on you, never makes unnecessary comments about you or your appearance, and always insists on two beds. If there’s no spare bed, he always offers to sleep on the couch or the floor—the only exception to this rule is if he’s injured himself.

“My parents,” you speak softly before stopping. There’s a sudden tightness in your chest and throat as you swallow, gripping John’s arm tighter so you don’t slip with all the blood coating your hands. You feel his attention turn to you, and work to control your breathing. “They worked for Tarasov when he still ran his drug operation in Moscow. Everyone owned him. He practically ran the city. People were watched, police bought out. I didn’t know about any of it. My father was tasked with the export of drugs from and into the country. My mother worked directly in one of his drug houses. Keeping the books.”

You pause, breathing deeply, and grab the nearby towel to wipe away the blood on John’s arm. Hesitating, you glance up at him. He looks alert again, sharp, and you wonder if you should continue.

This man is already lethal—the last thing he needs is leverage over you.

But—

You move towards the desk where the bottle of whiskey is sitting while you wipe your own hands on a towel, hiding the visible trembling of your fingers as you resume your story.

“They decided that it would be a good idea to have a side gig on the side,” you continue, your words flat, emotionless. By now, you don’t feel grief when thinking about your parents. Just anger. The destructive, bubbling sort of rage that festers under your skin every day. “My mother started adjusting the numbers. Little by little. Nothing Tarasov would notice. Never more than thirty thousand rubles per shipment. That may sound like a lot but actually, it’s less than five hundred bucks. Seems laughable now when I think about it. For us, of course, every month that kind of money made a big difference. We didn’t need many luxuries. But they say your greed grows as you eat.”

You turn back towards John, bringing the bottle over to him. Sitting down on the table in front of him, you pour some of the whiskey on a fresh towel and press the soaked material against his arm. John’s expression twists slightly but you can tell from the way his eyes focus on you seconds later that he’s listening intently to your every word.

“They started taking a bit more every month,” you whisper, swallowing your anger, “More and more. Just a bit. But penny after penny and it all adds up. Tarasov eventually found out, of course. He gathered everyone who works for him and had my parents shot in front of them. That’s how you keep sheep in line. You scare them till they’re too afraid to do anything, even help. I don’t blame them though. Those people had nothing. Elderly. Orphaned kids. Immigrants. Fear and hunger are all they’ve known. And well, after...”

Your head dips, and you nibble on your lip for a second, tasting blood. For the first time in a long time, the coppery tang makes you feel queasy.

“Tarasov came to our flat that same afternoon. Had me make him dinner practically at gunpoint,” you explain further, a sardonic smile twisting your mouth as you meet John’s steady stare. So far, he hasn’t made a sound. “We discussed my parents' debt to him. He could have just had me shot too of course. But he said he didn’t want that. He said that my talents with chemistry were too valuable for him to waste. So he gave me a choice. I work for him until my parents' debt is paid off or….”

For the first time since you began your story, John speaks, “Or?”

You chuckle under your breath, removing the towel from his arm, and lightly press your fingertips against the tender flesh.

“There’s many uses for a healthy, young woman, John,” you state flatly, your lips stretching into something that could never pass for a smile.

You can’t exactly pinpoint his expression, but you know it’s not pity. Perhaps it’s sympathy or even compassion. Some deeper understanding that can’t be expressed with words alone. But for once you feel like John is looking at you openly and without that uncrackable armour he usually wears like a second skin.

“I’m sorry,” he says, at last, his voice almost gentle. “About your parents.”

You scoff, taking a swing from the bottle and wince at the stinging burn the drink leaves in its wake. “They were stupid idiots,” you deadpan harshly. “I love them dearly. But they were fucking idiots.”

John nods once because you both know you’re right, and you swallow shakily, blinking your eyes rapidly.

For a few minutes, it’s quiet between you. You expect it to be awkward yet somehow it isn’t. In fact, it’s almost peaceful.

“Anyway, I made my choice and here I am,” you mumble, carefully pouring him a tiny amount of the drink. He should be fine to drink it by now. Probably. “Tarasov said that once the debt is repaid, I’m free to go.”

“And you believe that?”

Your eyes meet as John takes the glass from your hand.

“No,” you reply frankly, your smile pained. “But when you have nothing, you have to believe in something.”

. . .

You settle into an odd little routine, you and John.

Tarasov gives you a mission, you go, accomplish the impossible somehow and get to go on breathing for another day.

The longer you work together, the easier it becomes to correlate. Your only weakness—if one can even call it that—is that you’re both stubborn individualists. He’s a brute, relentless strength to your sly, vicious subtlety. That’s what makes the fact that character-wise you couldn’t be more different so stupidly hilarious to you. The only real arguments you have is the way in which the job should be approached.

That thought makes you chuckle and you wince in pain immediately after. The ice pack against your jaw shifts slightly, and you shift in your seat, trying to get more comfortable. Most of your body aches painfully, but your jaw feels especially sore. One of the idiots has managed to get three heavy hits in before John splattered his brain all over you. In return, you’ve been forced to kick John out of the path of a bullet hail.

He’s the one who pressed ice against your jaw while you were busy cleaning his bruised and bleeding knuckles.

Then you sat in silence, digesting another job well done, and basking in the tranquil air of the hotel room while the pain-reducing solution you’ve made works its magic.

And odd routine indeed.

“Hey,” John’s voice breaks the soft tranquillity, and you jerk up, realising that you’ve come dangerously close to dozing off. “Do you ever think about getting out?”

You blink slowly, clearing your head as his words register. Then, confusion blooms, “Out? Get out of what?”

John doesn’t look at you though. His heavy gaze focuses on something outside, out of your sight. The slopes of his profile have become familiar to you—the raven hair, dark eyes, the small crinkles that appear around his eyes on the rare occasion he does smile. He’s not standoffish in the way others often accuse him of being now. If anything he looks softer somehow, more human than a weapon Tarasov boasts of so smugly. More than a living nightmare so many fear.

He looks like a man. Simple as that, and when he finally turns to face you, you see the fresh cuts and bruises on his face. Just a man.

“Getting out of this life,” he replies slowly, his voice rougher from the lucky hit one of the guards managed to get into his throat. “Getting away from everything. From Tarosov.”

It strikes you then that John is asking from a genuine place of interest—something he rarely indulges in with you, considering nine out of ten times all conversations between you are started by you.

The second thing that strikes you is a genuine surprise. John is not the person you would ever expect to hear this type of question from. It’s private, it’s raw; he knows about your debt, about the chain around your neck. Better than most, perhaps better than everyone. But because you respect him enough to at least give it actual thought, you consider his question for a long time.

It takes at least five minutes until you finally speak and when you do your voice sounds hollow in your own ears, “I never wanted this life,” you begin softly, your voice thin. “I never asked to be involved in any of this. I didn’t ask for my parents to take me from country to country, never allowing me to settle down anywhere or make friends. When they kept secrets and were barely home. I didn’t ask for adventure, or danger, or even wealth, John. But—”

John stares at you, considering you, no doubt analysing your words, and you swallow the sudden lump in your throat at his show of keen interest.

“But,” you repeat again, your tone harsher. “I’m here, and I have to make the best of it. I’ve never been good at anything in my life. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned about myself in this last year is that I’m very, very good at this. I’m starting to think that violence is in my blood, and I don’t know what that means just yet but…”

You exhale, eyes fluttering shut and you only open them after counting to ten inside your head. Slow and steady as you meet his gaze straight on. “So to answer your question: no. No, I don’t think about it. Even after I’m finished dealing with Tarasov, I don’t see another path for myself anymore. It was taken from me.”

John peers at you for a long, long time after you fall silent. You’re not sure what he discerns from your expression or what he’s searching for, but you doubt he finds it as his obsidian eyes eventually slide away from you and towards the window.

The sun is rising in the East.

Milan is beautiful this time of year.

You sit together through the sunrise, not saying a word.

Years later, you would look back on this as the last true moment of peace for an interminable number of years.

. . .

Separation comes only two short months later like a punch to the face.

Tarasov’s argument is simple: he needs two jobs done on different sides of the world. One requires the lethality John is infamous for, another requires the most subtle of touches; a snake’s slyness.

Tarasov needs the Boogeyman and the Vipress but for vastly different things this time.

John must sense your unease—this will be your first solo mission after all—and he stops you as soon as you’re both out of earshot of any prying eyes.

“You’ll be fine,” he says so simply, effortlessly, with enough confidence in his low voice that for a second you believe him too. “It’s the perfect job for you.”

“Of course I’ll be fine,” you shoot back with forced nonchalance. “I’m not that helpless.”

Your smile is forced, and John knows it too.

He doesn’t point it out because deep down John is kind—no matter how ironic it is for a deadly assassin to be that.

For once, you expect him to say something else but he doesn’t. One of Tarasov’s men shouts him over because his flight is leaving in three hours. John’s gaze lingers on you for an insignificant second but he still walks away, leaving a cold kind of silence in his wake.

His name burns at the back of your throat as dread bubbles in the pit of your gut.

But you don’t call his name out.

. . .

It doesn’t go bad.

It doesn’t go well either.

It goes thoroughly and wholly to shit.

You grasp at your shoulder where blood is still pouring freely, and your eyes sting with tears of pain as you make your report to the silent Tarasov over the phone.

They have known.

They have prepared.

The target got away at the last moment.

You are lucky to still be alive.

“Better you weren’t then,” Tarasov purrs in Russian, the letters curling like a death grip around your throat. “Report to me tomorrow.”

“But—”

The line goes dead.

You pull the bullet out yourself. Through gritted teeth and sweat dripping down your forehead. You cry twice and throw up once before you pass out from pain and terror. Still, you manage to patch yourself up.

The lack of John’s presence stings in an unexpected, violent way when you wake up, bleary-eyed and shivering.

You have gotten dependent on him and his help.

Now it feels like a weakness.

Now, you hate yourself for shaking in terror as you make your way to Tarasov’s new office in New York.

You’re strong (but not strong enough), you’re smart (but not enough), you’re—

You wonder if you should pray, or perhaps plead for help from some higher power. Tarasov as good as admitted that you will be dead by the end of this meeting. There is no helping you now.

Sickness cramps your stomach and you dry heave in an alleyway behind his office. Your vision swims, your blood rushes in your ears and for a second you consider simply lying down on this cold, dirty ground and letting the world consume you.

You failed, you fucked up. First solo mission and you failed in the most spectacular way possible. The target got away. There’s no one to blame but yourself.

You’ve considered poisoning him, but that seems so unlikely to succeed now. His lackeys will never allow you to walk through the office door without ransacking you, nor would Tarasov be stupid enough to let you anywhere near him.

Death, now more than ever, seems like an inevitably.

John will save me.

A harsh bark of laughter tears from your throat at the sudden, invasive whisper of your mind. How pathetic. To mess up is one thing, to know that there’s close to nothing you can do to rectify the situation is another, but to actually hope someone else will save you…

Even if you are to allow yourself the overly indulgent thought, that still doesn’t change the fact that John is in Europe right now. Half a world away—too far away.

John.

Knees quaking, you stand up.

Squaring your shoulders, and ignoring the burn of pain in your left shoulder, you start walking.

John would face this with dignity, with that same cool detachment he does most things.

John would not quiver in some dingy alleyway. He would not cry like some pathetic idiot because of his own mistake. He would face it, and he would fight back.

Your forehead presses against the freezing wall of the building as you pull yourself together piece by piece.

You are no longer that same girl who wept over your parents because you have no idea where they are buried, or if they even had a burial. If perhaps their bodies have been thrown onto the streets, or woods, or simply fed to the dogs.

That girl has been killed by your parents' stupidity.

Now only the Vipress remains.

Vipress who is a master poisoner, whose name is no longer whispered with mockery but with reluctant respect that’s starting to rival John’s.

With every step, you stand straighter, walk with more confidence. Your shoulder throbs terribly but you step into the building as through a fog.

Tarasov greets you with a glass of vodka and a wide grin.

The hardness of his gaze is chilling though, and you try to keep your cool demeanour, emulating John as much as possible. Two other guards lurk in the dark corners of the room, and you still entertain the thought that you can take them if it comes to that.

Your heartbeat is so deafening in your ears, you barely catch Tarasov’s words.

“Sorry?”

His grin stretches even further, and he tuts, “My, my, I almost forgot. How’s the shoulder?”

He doesn’t sound like he cares. But not answering would be a stupid thing to do. “It’s fine, sir.”

Tarasov makes a small sound at the back of his throat before his fist strikes your shoulder with enough force that you crumble to the floor. A cry of pain manages to escape before you bite your cheek, hot blood flooding your mouth as you tremble on the floor before him.

“Oh, my,” Tarasov comments in sharp Russian as if surprised by your predicament while one of his guards hands him his glass. “Seems like you’re not as ‘fine’ as you say. You’ve disappointed me, (Name). Greatly.”

Tarasov pats your head, the contact heavy and patronizing, as he jerks your head up. He stares at you with a hum, shaking his head as his powerful features rearrange into a look of genuine disappointment.

“Stand up,” he orders sharply and lets go of you, allowing you space to stagger to your feet. “It would be undignified to shoot you like this. Believe it or not, my hopes for you were high and you’ve been rather useful to me. I at least respect that.”

The two guards shift in the dim room, and you bare your bloody teeth on instinct, lowering your blood-covered hand from your shoulder. If they want to fight...

Tarasov laughs genuinely this time, loud and booming, suddenly reminding you of your father. “You’ve got fire, little viper. I will need that ferocity for our expansion. But you also fucked up. Badly. But you will never fail me again, isn’t that right?”

You don’t answer, staring at him through a pain-fueled haze. Tarasov ‘tsk’s and the back of his hand strikes your face with numbing force. Your lip splits on contact, one side of your face tingling with raw pain as your head snaps to the side.

Few droplets of blood hit the pristine floor, and you stare at it dumbly, breathing harshly through your mouth.

“I grow impatient,” he mutters coldly in clipped Russian. “Isn’t that right? I expect an answer. What did you think I will kill you? No, no, my dear. Not yet. You’ve made a mess but it can be sorted. How severe your punishment is going to be, however, is entirely dependant on you.”

Swallowing thickly, you lift your eyes to his, “I won’t fail you again.”

Tarasov laughs again, and salutes you before drowning the half-full glass in one gulp. He exhales, looking rather pleased with himself.

“Of course you won’t,” he hums pleasantly, and pats your injured cheek with heavy intent. “Because if you do, I will have John himself put a bullet in your pretty little head. Now get out of my sight and don’t come back till I call for you.”

. . .

The knock on your door comes two days later.

You aren’t expecting guests so the first thing you do is grab your poisoned needles and your gun.

Gripping the familiar weight in your palm, you cautiously approach the door, levelling the gun against the wood. “Who is it?”

“It’s me.”

Your hand drops instinctively, and you crack the door open, only to find a familiar pair of dark eyes already staring at you. Your fingers tremble slightly as you open the door fully and John’s familiar stocky frame comes into view.

He, in turn, takes a good minute to no doubt take in your bandaged shoulder and bruised face. Even though you added ice the moment you left Tarasov’s office, one half of your face is still swollen. Ugly, blotchy bruises litter your skin and you swallow shakily upon noting the hard, near frightening intensity in which John is taking in your injuries.

“Why did you come?” you finally force out, and clear your throat when your voice cracks a few times. “Didn’t you have—”

“What happened?” John speaks instead, and there’s an icy undercurrent to his words you’re unused to hearing from him.

Turning away, you walk deeper into the room, and John follows you silently.

“I figured you would know. I’m the talk of the town,” you mutter dryly, and feel a stab of anger at the thought.

When you turn to face him, John’s expression is still oddly severe though his demeanour appears as calm as always. You’re not quite sure what to make of it.

“I do know what happened on the mission,” he replies, his mouth a tight line, and voice dropping into almost whisper. “I want to know about this.”

He reaches out and for a stupid—purely idiotic second—you think that he’s going to touch your face; maybe run his thumb over your tender jaw to soothe the pain.

But John stops halfway and allows his hand to drop back to his side, patient and quiet as he waits for your explanation.

There’s an odd tension in the air that you can’t quite pinpoint. The relief of seeing him, at knowing he cares enough to at least come and see you, is already enough. Which doesn’t explain why you feel a distinct stab of disappointment at the realisation that he’s not going to hold you or comfort you, regardless of how naive it would be to expect something like that from him. That hard demeanour of his is near impossible to crack through most of the time.

“Tarasov wasn’t happy,” you settle on the easiest explanation you can give him. “Reminded me that I will never fail him again or he will have you shoot me next time.”

John’s expression twists. “I—”

He cuts himself off and you smile sadly, wincing when you scabbed lip stretches too wide. You know what he was about to say. That he wouldn’t do it—that maybe he simply couldn’t. Even in the world of killers, there are grey areas no one likes to tread on. Friends, family, associates.

But you also know the truth.

You both work exclusively under Tarasov’s contract. John would have to do what he’s told regardless of his own feelings on the matter. And maybe even if he does care, even if he considers you an actual friend, it won’t be enough to deliberately place himself in danger by showing disobedience.

“It’s okay,” you say softly, and you wonder why you sound so sad without even meaning to. “We do what we’re told. We don’t ask questions. We just pull the trigger, right? It’s who we are. We’re made for violence and isn’t that fucking sad? We don’t even question it anymore, John. Do you think—”

His head tilts, his loose hair brushing against his forehead. “Do I think what?”

You exhale slowly, shaking your head, and give him another tiny smile. Somehow even ignoring pain is easier with him beside you.

“It’s nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

For a moment, it looks like John will say something else but he stops himself at last second and nods his head as if accepting your words.

The distance between you feels like a ravine even while you spend the entire evening in the same room, breathing the same air. But perhaps that’s just the endless paradox between you.

. . .

It doesn’t happen overnight. Or days. Or even weeks.

It’s slow. So much so that you don’t notice for a long, long time and by the time you do, it’s already painfully clear that there’s no going back.

Much like the name John wears, much like the man himself, it creeps up on you. Little by little. Bit by bit.

There’s no groundbreaking moment, there are no fireworks. There’s just the knowing that sits deep in the pit of your stomach. It’s a foolish, idiotic thing. You brush it aside because you know better. Because you’re not naive enough to hope for anything in a world like this.

Hope is a dangerous thing, and you’ve had yours broken too many times to rely on it anymore.

So you don’t.

You know not to expect good things anymore, to never try and rely on anything or anyone. Every good thing you’ve ever had has either died or been taken from you.

So you really should have known that this would never last.

. . .

Tarasov’s imposed “time out” lasts for three months.

It marks the beginning of the end.

And it starts with an accident that turns into a tragedy.

. . .

an: wooo, I hope you all liked that. I’m sooo rusty it’s not even funny but I hope you found some enjoyment in this. Also sorry for the very slowburn relationship I suppose? This isn’t super romantic. But considering the type of man John is (and the fact that he’s younger here) I actually don’t see him falling for someone immediately? Also, I love angst so....this is gonna be exactly that! Thank you for reading everyone!!

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick imagine #keanu reeves #john wick fic #fic: children of ares

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vangoghmusings · 4 years ago

Text

status | keigo takami x reader

a/n: hello! this is part five of my hawks multi part fic :) is y/n warming up to hawks yet? lets seeeee

pairing: kiego (hawks) takami x fem!reader

previously: chapter four

word count: 1.2k

warnings: cussing, sexual innuendos, mention of death

links: playlist | wattpad

taglist: @mixfi @lilacskyura @katsuhoee @star-mum @moonlightinsanity @domhoni @izuku-sakura

Y/N found herself cornered. She had only met Keigo that morning, yet now she was drinking with him while the paparazzi were watching their every move. And worst of all, it seemed that Keigo was catching on to her less than innocent intents of getting to him. He was still waiting for her to reply to his snarky remark. But frankly, she didn't know what to say.

If Y/N was being honest, she had very little experience with dating and relationships. She had dedicated all her time to work and when she was off, she was looking for short term gigs in order to get her name out there. While it paid of carrier wise, now she felt helpless.

His yellowed eyes narrowed at her as she looked down at her drink, unsure of how to answer.

"Bird caught your tongue?" He hissed with a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. Y/N rolled her eyes and scoffed.

"No, you just caught me off guard. I'm not used to people being so rude to me-"

"Rude?" He chortled. "I just want you to be authentic. None of that for-the-camera bullshit. I'm not going to hurt you."

She didn't expect him to say that. While the words came out sounding malicious, their intent was kind. She sat in her thoughts before shaking her head and looking back up at him.

"Fine. I'm from the Osaka district, I'm adopted, I have, er, had a little brother-"

"Had?"

Y/N looked up at him and back down at her glass.

"Yeah."

She took a deep breath, blinking away the tears of regret welling up in her eyes. With a small sniff, she looked back up at Keigo. "He passed away...I couldn't save him."

Keigo felt pain tug at his chest. He knows that feeling, of not being able to save someone no matter how hard he tried. He couldn't imagine how much worse she felt, not only was that her brother, but she was quirkless. Her strength was limited.

"We don't have to talk about that if you don't want to."

"Its fine, I'm just not used to talking about it. The only people I'm really close to is my mom and Ruisu."

He nodded as she reached for her drink and took a large sip. She had finished it and was considering ordering something stronger. She needed to loosen up. Luckily, the waiter walked by.

"Hi! Sorry to bother you, but could I please get a whiskey on the rocks? Thank you!"

The waiter nodded and quickly retrieved the drink, replacing the empty malibu sunset glass. She thanked him and took a large gulp of the drink.

Keigo watched mesmerized, he didn't know many girls who could take hard liquor. He watched the scrunch of her nose as she swallowed and set the glass down. A blush crept up to his cheeks as you let out a satisfying 'ah'.

"That's better," She grinned at him while fixing her hair. "I got all emotional there, sorry. Anyway, what do you want to order."

He blinked and look back down at his menu.

"I'm thinking an eel roll and miso."

She nods, "I'm getting miso for sure, but I think I'm getting yellow fish sashimi."

He nods and when the waiter comes by, gives him their order. While the waiter wrote the order down, Y/N peeked out the window to check if the paparazzi were still there. They were, lingering and watching their every move. It was inevitable, a global sensation supermodel and the no.2, a very attractive hero at that.

Y/N turned back to look at the hero before her. She never really took in his features and looked at him.

He had blonde hair that wild messy locks. His yellow eyes were hooded with thick eyelashes. The light stubble on his chin framed his straw jaw perfectly. His ears were pierced and he wore tiny black studs. She had to admit, he was incredibly attractive.

He looked back at her and heat rose up in her face.

"Were you staring at me?" He smirked.

"N-no! Just dissociating," She answered while trailing off. Y/N mentally scolded herself. If she was going to use Hawks' image to her advantage, she couldn't fall for his dreamy exterior or clever banter. She would just have to fake it. After all, he was a hero, she hated him.

The night continued with light chatter and dining. Y/N had at least two more glasses of whiskey and felt like she was on the moon. Keigo took notice and smirked softly.

"How are you feeling there?"

"Pretty goooood," She said with a giggle.

Keigo chuckled and gently reached out to touch her face, taking her cheeks and squishing them together with his large hand. She giggled and batted her eyelashes innocently, her doe eyes captivating him. Her pouting lips mocked him as if something inside of him was desperate to taste the whiskey on her lips. Not something, he really wanted to kiss her.

He pulled his hand away and she frowned slightly, missing the warmth of his hands on her face. Y/N knew she was further than tipsy now, as she gazed at Keigo. He really was perfect looking. She wanted to look away, but she just couldn't. Maybe she could forget her mission of revenge for one night...

He paid for their dinner and helped Y/N from her seat. She wrapped her arms around his strong arm, and he looked down at her, surprise in her face from the affection. He paused.

"Are you good to fly?"

She nodded quickly, excited to not only be up in the air with him once again but to have his arms wrapped around her. He smiled softly at her eager response and continued to walk outside with her. As soon as they stepped out of the restaurants, the cameras went off and their vision was filled with bright flashes. Neither of them were phased, they had been in the spotlight for so long, paparazzi were as normal as flies in the summer to them. The paparazzi shouted questions and snapped photos as Keigo gave them a cheesy salute while Y/N giggled. Her sense came back to her as she saw the bright flashes fill her retinas. It was her first opportunity to use Hawks to her advantage.

As he wrapped his arm around her waist, she placed a soft kiss on his cheek. He tried to contain his blush and with one large 'flap' they were in the air.

Once again, Y/N clung to him tightly. Except for this time, she didn't fear his touch or to look out to the city below. It was dark now and the lights of the buildings and streetlights looked magical. She inhaled the air deeply, the crisp air filling her lungs. Keigo looks down at her, a grin plastered across his face. She always looked gorgeous, but now, with the wind whipping her hair around as she looked down at the city in awe, he couldn't help but swoon.

"Where's your place?"

"I was hoping I could stay with you tonight?" She looked up at him with her classic pout. He blinks and prays his blush isn't noticeable. It is, but Y/N was too focused on looking out at the city lights to care.

"If you say so."

He swoops down, an excited squeal let out from Y/N. He chuckles softly as he hovers above the entrance of his home. With a subtle drop, their feet meet the ground. Once Y/N gets her barrings, he opens the door and walks into the large home. While Y/N was used to fame and luxury, she was always impressed with the homes of the rich. She grew up in the lower-class of Japan with very little. And after her brother's funeral, her mother was in immense debt.

The home felt homey, with leather and tan accents. Authentic and ancient wood furnished the house. Keigo took off his coat and shoes and before he could ask if she wanted to watch a movie, Y/N had jumped up and latched her lips unto him.

There it was, that whiskey that he was so desperate to taste.

19 notes · View notes

therainroguefanfiction · 4 years ago

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🎃 Frightful October Act IV, #10 ~ Forbidden (Chenle Zhong)

📑 Table of Contents

Genre: High school AU, Slice of Life, School, Supernatural, Romance, Crossover, Halloween, Vampire AU

Word Count: 3,293

Pairing: Reader x Chenle

World: NCT ft. GOT7

───── ⋆⋅🎃⋅⋆ ─────

“Ah, it’s finally over!” you groaned, leaning back in your desk chair. “That test was brutal.”

From beside you, Jackson leaned forward on his desk dramatically. “I almost died.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Jinyoung sat behind him, organizing his items into his school bag.

“You can only say that because you’re smarter than us,” You scowled at him. “For idiots like us, it was torture!”

Siwon, your homeroom and math teacher, cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t go so far as to call you idiots. However,” he picked up your test, glancing over it. “You could definitely use some help.” he did the same with Jackson’s paper. “You, as well.”

Both of you sunk down in your seats, embarrassed.

“I’d suggest finding someone to tutor you. If you can’t find anyone, let me know and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Yes, sir,” you glanced at your best friend, sharing his look of dread. It’s not that you both didn’t try – on the contrary, you both tried really hard, especially with Jinyoung there to encourage you both, but math was just like another language to you. Granted, Jackson had a little less trouble than you did.

The bell rang, signaling the start of lunch.

Mark stood up, gently grabbing the back of your neck. “Come on, some food should lift your spirits.”

You nodded, standing up and following your brother. He wasn’t your brother by blood, but the Tuan family had adopted you when you were a small child. You grew up with him and considered him your family – blood didn’t matter.

Jackson threw his arm around your shoulder as you walked down the hall. “So, I was thinking about our annual scary movie fest. What about a Michael Myers marathon?”

You hummed, tapping your chin. “Sounds great, but… I’ve seen them all already.”

“You watched them without me?!” he put on an offended look, his hand over his heart. “You have betrayed me, Y/N! Dishonor upon you!”

You were about to respond when you ran into someone as you turned the corner. The impact knocked you back into Jackson, but the person you had run into didn’t move. You recognized him as a second year named Sicheng.

His cheeks dusted with pink in embarrassment as he bowed quickly, muttering an apology before rushing off.

“That guy’s so weird,” Jackson muttered under his breath.

“He seems nice enough, though,” you shrugged, continuing on your way.

“He just has his own circle,” Jinyoung commented. “Just like we do.”

“Guess that makes sense,” Jackson folded his hands behind his head.

The lunchroom was already bustling with students and loud chatter. Jaebum, Bambam, and Yugyeom were already at our usual table with their food. Their classrooms were closer to the lunchroom than yours, so they were always one of the first ones there.

“Lucky bastards,” Jackson muttered as we got in line.

You snickered at him. “I’m gonna get the last hamburger~”

“You better not!”

You suddenly felt like you were being watched, the hair on the back of your neck standing on end. Glancing over your shoulder, your eyes scanned the lunchroom. Jaebum and the others weren’t paying you any mind, engaged in a conversation led by Bambam. On the opposite end of the room was Sicheng’s group, a rather large group of boys across all three years. He said something to the blonde boy sitting beside him and he looked up, his eyes locking with your own.

Your breath hitched, chest tightening. Something inside of you was screaming for you to look away but you didn’t have to strength to break away. His gaze was intense, eyes so dark they were like black holes just waiting to suck someone in. Your heart was pumping hard, pounding in your ears. Just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, Jackson nudged you in the ribs.

“Oi, earth to Y/N.”

You whipped your head around, thankful to be free. ‘What… the hell was that? I’ve never felt like that before.’

Mark frowned, putting his arm around your shoulder. “Are you okay?”

You could still feel his gaze. No, there were more now. It felt like the whole room was staring at you, burning holes into your back. “I, um… I’m feeling a bit sick, I think I’ll skip lunch.”

“I’ll come with you,” Jinyoung said. “I had a pretty big breakfast, so I’m not very hungry.”

“No!” you snapped. The three looked at you in surprise and you cursed yourself, knowing they were just worried. “I think… I think I just need some air.” Before they could question the flimsy excuse, you ran out of the lunchroom, feeling the eyes following you as you went.

You burst out into the courtyard and took the bath that led to the back of the school. There was a small garden off to the side, in the center of which was a cherry tree. A single bench sat beneath it. This was your happy place, the place you went to when you first started high school and was overwhelmed. The place you visited when that girl, Melissa, started to tease you because she thought you were interested in Mark. The place you ran to when you got into your first real fight with Mark. The place you cried at when you failed your math final last year and were at risk of repeating your second year.

The tree was like magic. Sitting there beneath it always seemed to calm you down.

You fell onto the wooden bench, hearing it creak from your weight. The bench was old, having been there for near a century at that point.

A chilly wind whipped around you and you closed your eyes, inhaling deeply. It was the first week of Autumn, so while the air was slowly turning cold, it wasn’t so much so that you needed a coat. By next week, everyone would be wearing their winter uniforms.

You leaned your head back, staring up at the orange and brown leaves of the cherry tree, watching them sway in the breeze. ‘Who was that guy? Why did he affect me like that?’ Your eyes slid closed as you thought about the different explanations for such a thing. One stuck out amongst the others and your eyes flew open, cheeks burning bright. ‘Is this… love at first sight?!’ You quickly shook your head, slapping your cheeks. ‘No, no, no, that doesn’t exist!’

“You okay?”

You glanced over, seeing Youngjae staring at you like you had just grown another head. You smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of your head. “Uh, y-yeah, I’m fine. Totally!”

He didn’t look convinced. “Why aren’t you with the others?”

“I could ask you the same.”

Now it was his turn to blush, which he tried to hide behind his hand. “I had to return a book I borrowed from another class. I was on my way when I saw you running away.”

You giggled. “Was this book borrowed from a girl~?”

His cheeks darkened. “S-So what if it was?” He scowled, plopping down beside you. It creaked again.

“Aw, does little Youngjae have a crush~?” You tried to pinch his cheek but he slapped your hand away.

“Y/N~” He whined, pouting at you. His expression then turned serious. “Are you okay? Mark hyung looked really worried.”

You frowned, feeling guilt settle in your heart. “I just needed some space. I feel bad for yelling at them… do you think they’re mad?”

“Absolutely not,” Youngjae’s response was full of confidence. “Why don’t we head over there? If you’re really worried, you can apologize to them.”

It sounded like a good idea, and you almost agreed, but that boy’s eyes flashed in your mind and you lost all of your resolve. “I need a bit more time… I’m gonna head back to the classroom. I’ll apologize when they get back from lunch.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I am,” you smiled, ruffling his hair.

“Y/N!”

“Thank you, Youngjae.”

He pouted again, fixing the hair you had just messed up. “You’re family, after all.”

The two of you walked back to the school together, parting ways once you were inside.

───── ⋆⋅🎃⋅⋆ ─────

Ever since that day in the lunchroom, you had been doing your best to avoid that boy and the group he hung out with. It was fairly easy since he was a first year – you didn’t have to worry about getting stuck in the same class or having to work together on some stupid group project. You did some information gathering in secret and found out his name – Chenle Zhong. From what you gathered, he was pretty popular among the first years. You didn’t understand it, but deep down, you had a desire to get to know him. At the same time, your brain told you that he was trouble.

“Are you going home?” Jinyoung asked as we gathered up our things.

School had just ended, but each boy had his own club meeting to get to. Jackson was getting ready for the fencing tournament next month, Jinyoung was part of the student council and Mark was on the volleyball team. You, however, had never bothered to join a club since none of them appealed to you.

“I think I’ll hang out in the library for a bit,” you answered.

Mark smiled, ruffling your hair. “You’re working hard to improve your math grade. I’m proud of you.”

Jinyoung nodded in agreement. “So am I. Let us know if you leave. If not, we’ll come to get you once we’re done with our after school activities.”

“Yessir~” you saluted, parting ways with them. The library was nearly empty, occupied by only a couple students that either loved reading or were also studying tirelessly to improve their grade. You sat down at one of the tables in the back, near the window. From that position, you could see the cherry tree swaying in the distance.

You pulled out your notebook, the math book and got to work. Twenty minutes passed with no problems, aside from the headache you were beginning to get. Why did math have to be so difficult for you?

“You’re doing that wrong.”

You looked up and nearly jumped out of your skin. Chenle was on the other side of the table, his dark eyes looking at your notebook. Even though he was seeing it upside down, he could read it with little effort.

When you didn’t respond, he raised his eyes to meet yours. The feeling wasn’t nearly as intense as it was the first time, but you could still feel the pull at the back of your mind. Your grip tightened on the pencil and you forced yourself to look away. Still, you said nothing.

Chenle pursed his lips, taking the seat across from you. “I can help you if you’d like.”

You were torn. From your research, you knew that he was at the top of his class in all subjects, but the way he made you feel and the way your brain screamed at you for just being in the same room… You chewed on your bottom lip thoughtfully.

‘He’s just helping me with my math… what harm could that do?’ “I, uhh… I’d appreciate that,” you murmured, feeling your cheeks grow warm.

He smiled, tugging the notebook away from you. For the next hour, he explained the different formulas and how to calculate them. Several different people had explained the exact same thing to you, but your brain just couldn’t comprehend it. When he explained it, though, he did so in a patient way, breaking it down to the simplest form possible.

He wrote out some test questions in the book before sliding it over to you. “Answer these.”

You nodded, reading the first question on the paper. For the first time, you didn’t feel out of your depth. It still took a lot of writing and erasing before you were confident with your answers, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it usually was. Hesitantly, you slid the notebook back to him.

Chenle hummed thoughtfully as he looked over your answers. You looked out the window as he marked them, not wanting to see how badly you had done. “Not bad, you only missed two out of fifteen.”

“What?” you whipped your head around, snatching the book back. True enough, only two answers had red X’s next to them. “No way… I’ve never done this well before!”

He chuckled. “What can I say, I’m a pretty good teacher.”

“You really are!” you caught his eyes again, ignoring the nervousness you felt. “Would you… I mean… If you want… I could pay you… I mean…”

He laughed, slapping his palm down on the table.

“Quiet!” The librarian, Souyu, glared at the two of you.

Chenle apologized before turning to you, making your blush increase. “I would love to tutor you, Y/N Tuan.”

───── ⋆⋅🎃⋅⋆ ─────

Two weeks passed, but it felt as if months had.

Every day after school, you spent a little over an hour with Chenle in the library. He always seemed to leave just before one of the boys came to pick you up, which you were thankful for. They were quite protective over the group, and you worried about what they would say about spending so much time with him. It was a secret that lay between the two of you, and you wanted to keep it that way. It felt special, intimate.

You stifled a yawn, stretching your arms above your head as you walked down the hall. You hadn’t gotten much sleep last night because Jackson insisted that you both play this new MMORPG that was just released. By the time he passed out, you managed to get an hour and a half of sleep before Mark was waking you up for school.

The amount of time you almost fell asleep in class was outshined by how few times you had gotten caught by the teachers. You almost wanted to skip your tutoring session, but something within you spurred you forward. You just wanted to see Chenle.

A loud bang caught your attention and you paused, looking at the classroom the sound had come from. The door was cracked, so you approached as quietly as possible. You recognized two third year boys, Taeyong and Taeil, and Chenle, who looked less than happy.

“You need to stop tutoring them,” Taeyong spoke, but it came out sounding like an order.

“Why?” Chenle questioned.

“You know why.”

“You’re getting too close to her, Chenle,” Taeil said softly. “I understand how you feel, but – ”

“No, you don’t,” Chenle responded, his fists clenching at his sides.

“Whether we do or not is irrelevant,” Taeyong folded his arms, narrowing his eyes. “You know the rules. It’s forbidden to fall in love with a human.”

“‘Against the rules,’” he scoffed. “Rules made by a bunch of old men thousands of years ago!”

Taeyong’s eyes flashed red as he stepped forward. “Don’t disrespect our ancestors like that!”

Chenle did the same thing, his eyes flashing a brighter shade of crimson than the older male’s. “It’s my life, not theirs!”

“The rules are in place to protect us,” Taeil stood between the two, trying to calm them down.

“Do you honestly believe she’d be okay with dating a vampire?”

The word ‘vampire’ clicked in your brain and everything fell into place. You backed away from the door, bumping into a student that had been passing behind you. At the noise, all three boys whipped their heads towards the door. Chenle’s red eyes bore into your own and you panicked, taking off down the hall.

The door slammed open and Chenle ran after you, calling out your name but you just ran faster. He could have easily caught you if he used his powers, but he didn’t want to take that risk. He also didn’t want to scare you more than you already were.

“Y/N, wait! Let me explain!”

You slid around the corner, running face-first into another person. Both of you stumbled back.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” It was Youngjae.

You were breathing heavy, eyes glancing around frantically. Chenle was gone.

‘Vampire…’

For the rest of the night and the next day, you kept to yourself. You felt bad for pushing your friends away, but you just didn’t have to energy or the will to pretend to be okay. They were worried, and they never missed an opportunity to try and include you in the conversation. You never took the bait, though, and remained silent.

When lunchtime arrived, you stood up and left the classroom before they could even leave their chairs. You headed straight for the cherry tree, whose leaves were scattered onto the ground beneath it. You plopped onto the bench harder than you meant to.

It creaked loudly before snapping in half.

With a squeak, you fell backward onto the hard ground, staring up at the sky peeking through the branches of the tree. Your butt and back were throbbing and you were sure they would be bruised and sore tomorrow.

Boots crunched on the fallen leaves as someone approached. “I knew I’d find you here.”

Your body tensed up at the sound of Chenle’s voice, your heart picking up speed.

He frowned at the bench. “Are you hurt? I told the principal he should replace the damn thing, but he insisted it was safe.”

You didn’t answer.

“Are you… scared of me?” his voice was soft, barely above a whisper. It tugged at your heart and you slowly sat up. His eyes were trained on the broken bench.

Were you scared of him? You had automatically reacted when you heard the word ‘vampire’, but were you actually scared? Now that you thought about it, you couldn’t remember ever feeling afraid of him. He made you nervous, that much was true, and your brain had always insisted that he was trouble, but… you never felt afraid.

“No,” you whispered back.

His eyes jumped to yours and he took a step forward. Then another, and another until he was standing over you, holding his hand out for you to take. You slid your hand into his and he pulled you to your feet effortlessly, never breaking eye contact.

“I wanted to tell you,” he mumbled softly. “The first time I saw you, that day in the cafeteria. I wanted to tell you everything, about me and about my clan. But Taeyong forbad it,” he paused, seeming to search for the right words. “Sorry about that day. When a vampire finds a suitable mate, a connection is formed. Depending on the strength of the vampire, the connection can be quite overwhelming, especially for… for a human.”

You blushed. ‘Suitable m-mate?!’

He chuckled, resting his hand on your cheek. His eyes flickered down to your lips. “Can I… kiss you?”

You were about to say yes without hesitation but you restrained yourself, remembering the interaction yesterday. With a frown, you pulled away, rubbing your arm awkwardly. “I don’t think we should…”

“You don’t like me?” He questioned, confused.

“No, I do!” you whipped around to face him again. “It’s just… it’ll cause problems for you.”

His eyes widened in surprise. ‘Y/N is… worried about me?’ Before he could contain himself, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into a tight hug, breathing into your neck.

“Chenle…” You clutched at the leather jacket he wore, his cologne making you feel dizzy.

“I love you, Y/N,” he breathed, tightening his grip. “I don’t care if it’s forbidden. I don’t care what I have to deal with, as long as… as long as you’re by my side I can do anything!”

Hesitantly, you let your arms wrap around his waist.

───── ⋆⋅🎃⋅⋆ ─────

2 notes · View notes

thecorpulentbeagle · 5 years ago

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Okujima Week 2020: Coffee

Today’s topic is “Coffee”. Those of you who read my Okujima Week 2019 Challenge fanfiction might remember that I promised to do a continuation of the date proposed in the “First Date” prompt if there was a 2020 version of this challenge. Well, it’s time to put my money where my mouth is!

And if you haven’t read that previous prompt, no worries! You will be able to read this without that context and understand what’s going on, as I will explain any references/give a brief background of what happened. But definitely feel free to read it and come back to this if you’d like.

Here is the fanfiction.net link.

Please enjoy this fifth part of the Okujima Week 2020 Challenge!

As always: THIS STORY WILL NOT CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR PERSONA 5 ROYAL, BUT WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR PERSONA 5.

Okujima Week 2020 Challenge:

Only the Beginning:

Coffee

-Makoto-

“A date… with Haru… I can handle this! Right?”

Thoughts (and doubts) like these raced through Makoto’s mind as the two seniors stepped off of the subway that had just pulled into the station.

Makoto had asked Haru on said date just yesterday. After making a bet with Ann and Ryuji, Makoto had been forced to, as they had called it “make a move” on her crush. She had been extremely nervous, and had actually asked Haru on more of a friendly outing. She’d been content to leave it at that, but Haru, ever perceptive, had deduced that Makoto was really attempting to ask the gardener out on a date.

Once the two had confessed attraction to each other, Makoto had been floating on a cloud. All of her nerves had drifted away, and a bubbly feeling of giddiness had taken its place. They had held hands in the Student Council Office for a few minutes before parting and promising to meet again the next day.

When Makoto had arrived home, the feeling of happiness began to change into one of apprehension. She had thought that confessing would be the hardest part, but now she had to actually go through with the date!

Seeing as the girl had never been on one, she thought furiously about what she should consider.

“My appearance should be planned first, I suppose,” she had mused aloud to herself, seeing as Sae was out working late.

She had entered her room and turned to her closet, trying on multiple outfits before ultimately settling on what she usually wore as casual wear when the weather turned cold. A blue jacket with a black turtleneck underneath, black pants, and brown boots that came up to just below her knees. It was a simple outfit, but one that was comfortable and elegant enough to be considered “first-date” attire. She hoped.

Makoto wanted to look nice, but not like a completely different person. Haru always tried to make Makoto feel comfortable in her own skin, which was one reason Makoto cared for the girl so much. She wanted her choice in outfit to reflect this trust.

By the time Makoto had decided on her outfit, she realized that she had a mountain of homework that she would need to complete, seeing as she wouldn’t have time to do it tomorrow. She had taken one last look at the outfit she laid out for herself before striding over to her desk, hoping formulas and equations would distract her from thinking about tomorrow.

After thinking back to everything that had brought her to this moment, Makoto took a few steps away from the subway before turning to look at her companion. Upon seeing what Haru had decided to wear, Makoto was instantly glad about her own decision of apparel.

Haru was wearing what she normally wore for cold-weather outings as well. A light blue coat with a fluffy white collar, followed by a pink skirt, white leggings, and brown shoes. It was a look that really suited her, and Makoto had to make sure that she didn’t stare too long.

It seemed that Haru had noticed her looking, however, as the girl smiled at her and said, “Ready to go, Mako-chan?”

Makoto nodded back and smiled shyly. “Of course.”

The two turned and walked side-by-side towards the exit. Even though it would be nice to hold hands, Makoto was far too nervous for public displays of affection just yet. The two weren’t really even “together” yet, as this was their first date. Of course, Makoto hoped that it would be the first of many.

Haru seemed to sense this, as she did not make any attempt to hold onto Makoto, for which the other girl was grateful.

Once the two made it out into the streets of Yongen-Jaya, they continued to walk down the road without pausing to get their bearings, seeing as they made their way here quite often to meet up at the Phantom Thieves’ headquarters at LeBlanc.

As they made their way past the familiar café, Makoto saw that Futaba was crouched outside of the building, tapping something out on her phone. Makoto gulped. She had hoped the two would be able to sneak past the café without running into any of their friends. Not that she didn’t enjoy seeing or spending time with the rest of the Phantom Thieves, but the student council president wasn’t quite ready for the group to know what was potentially blossoming between the two seniors. Other than the two blondes who already knew of course.

As the two passed by the café, Makoto saw the younger girl look up from her phone and make eye contact with Makoto, instantly giving her a toothy smile. Makoto couldn’t help but smile in return, though internally, she was panicking.

“Makoto! Haru! What’s up you guys?” Futaba pocketed her phone and stood up, giving the two of them a quick salute.

“Futaba. It’s lovely to see you!” Haru walked over to the girl, giving her a small wave.

“Hello, Futaba,” Makoto replied, hoping her voice remained steady as she too walked over.

“Whatcha two doin’? Going to the batting cages?” Futaba winked at them, knowing that the only person who really seemed into that was Akira.

“We’re actually about to see a movie at the theater,” Haru answered.

“Oooh!” Futaba smiled, and for a moment, Makoto wondered if the hacker had figured them out.

“I’m pretty bored. And there was a really cool sci-fi flick that just opened up here. We could all see it together!” It turned out that Futaba was on the completely wrong track.

“Well, uh…” Makoto fumbled for a response. The last thing she wanted to do was discourage Futaba from doing things in public with friends, but she couldn’t exactly join them. How awkward would a date be if the third person had no idea that she was being a third-wheel?

Luckily, Makoto was saved from answering as the door to LeBlanc swung open to reveal Akira, who looked at them all curiously. “I didn’t tell you guys that we were having a meeting, did I?” He scratched the back of his head, looking worried.

“Nah. I was just hanging out here until you decided to show up, and I saw Haru and Makoto passing by.” Futaba gestured towards the two, both of whom smiled at Akira.

“Good.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s hard to keep track sometimes. It feels like all these days are blurring together.” He straightened his glasses, which had been slightly askew. “Probably not enough sleep.”

“Sleep is for the weak!” Futaba proclaimed, smacking him on the back. He coughed.

“Anyway, what’s the occasion?” Akira asked once he recovered.

“We’re going to see a movie,” Makoto answered quickly. She hoped he wouldn’t ask which one. The two girls had decided on a rom-com, seeing as that was generally a light-hearted affair and matched the tone for a date. Haru didn’t mind action movies, but Makoto knew she wasn’t particularly keen on them, and she wanted them both to have a good time. Makoto had vetoed the newest horror film instantly, not wanting Haru to see her crying and whimpering. That would not be a good look for a first date.

However, announcing that would probably lead to a lot of questions, so Makoto offered no details.

“Wanna go with ‘em, Akira?” Futaba asked.

Akira looked at Makoto. She saw that he was thinking deeply about something, and she wondered if he had picked up on what was going on. After a few moments, she saw him smile. “That sounds like a good time. I’m gonna have to pass though.” He turned to Futaba. “I was actually thinking of going to Akihabara. They’ve got some new controllers that come in a rainbow design.” He wrapped an arm around Futaba’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “Want to come with me? My treat.”

“Really?” Futaba looked up at the boy, starry-eyed. Makoto couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight.

“Yeah.” Akira looked back to Makoto and winked at her. She blushed slightly. How was it that Akira always knew everything?

“Well I can’t say no to free tech. We’ll have to meet up some other time, you two!” Futaba practically dragged Akira to the subway station, the two disappearing down the street in no time.

“So you’d rather not have anyone know about us at the moment?” Makoto looked at Haru to see that she was giving her an easy smile.

Makoto laughed nervously. “You make it sound like a bad thing.”

“That’s not how I meant it! Really, Mako-chan.” She blushed. “I’m fine with not letting any of our friends know for now either. We’ll become a hot topic of discussion once it comes out, and I’d like to spend some quiet moments with you before that happens.”

Makoto signaled her agreement. She had to admit, seeing Haru blush was rather adorable. And the fact that she wanted to spend some plural “moments” with Makoto made her heart beat faster.

“I’m not sure how long we’ll have. It seems like Akira already has an idea.”

“So you saw that too?” Haru giggled. “I think you’re right, but he’s pretty good with keeping secrets. I’m sure he won’t tell anyone until we’re comfortable with it.”

Makoto thought back to how this date had even become a possibility. She wasn’t so much worried about Akira spilling the beans. It was that knew that Ann and Ryuji had trouble keeping secrets sometimes – she’d found out about the Phantom Thieves in the first place from Ryuji’s excited phone call to Akira after all.

But she didn’t want to share that this was part of a “bet” with Haru. Makoto figured that the gardener would definitely take it the wrong way if she told her. Besides, Makoto couldn’t care less at the moment what brought up this opportunity. She was excited to be spending quality time with Haru, and delighted to see that she felt similarly.

“I hope you’re right.” Makoto gestured down the street. “Let’s go. After that little detour, we might be late.”

“I highly doubt that! You’re always so punctual. And we left with plenty of time.” Haru turned back in the direction of the theater and started walking, with Makoto next to her side.

“Well then, that’s more time that I can spend with you,” Makoto blurted out. Though it was true, Makoto could feel herself cringe internally at how cliché that had sounded.

That feeling increased exponentially as she watched Haru’s face turn slightly red. What made it worse was that Haru said nothing in return.

“I… uh sorry. Was that… too much?” It took all of Makoto’s willpower to not slap her hand to her forehead in embarrassment.

“N-No. That’s not…” Haru took a breath to compose herself. “I’m just… not used to someone being so… forthright about wanting to spend time with me.”

“Really? But who wouldn’t want to?”

“Well, it’s not so much people not wanting to be around me, and more why they want to.” Haru sighed. “I’m used to people pretending to be close to me to gain access to my father. It’s… been that way for a while now.”

“Oh…” Makoto didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t even been thinking when she had made that comment, and now her thoughtlessness was causing Haru undue worry and stress.

“But when you say it…” Haru turned to look at Makoto. “You sound so… sincere. So honest. It makes me really happy.”

“Oh?” Great. Now she was just saying the same word over and over again. This first date was not going well at all, was it?

Haru seemed to find the situation funny at least. She giggled at Makoto’s response. “I suppose I shouldn’t have brought it up. What I mean is… I appreciate what you said. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Though Haru had bumbled her way through her explanation, Makoto understood what she was trying to say. Haru had to analyze every interaction in her life to see if there was a hidden agenda. That sounded like it was exhausting.

Not sure what else to say, the couple walked the rest of the way to the movie theater in silence. The silence itself wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable, so Makoto decided to let it be for now.

The two entered the building and made their way over to the box office to get their tickets. The cashier asked which film, and Makoto pointed to the rom-com that the two wanted to see. She hoped the boy wouldn’t put two and two together.

She reached into her purse to retrieve the money for the tickets. The two exchanged.

Makoto handed one to Haru. “Here you are.”

She smiled as she took it. “Thank you.”

They walked over to have their tickets checked before walking by concessions.

“Ah. Would you like to get some popcorn? Maybe a drink to… share? If that’s okay?” Makoto wasn’t sure how this should work. The two had spent time together before today, of course, and had seen movies in this very theater.

When they did though, it had almost always been in the context of a Phantom Thieves friendly gathering, where everyone would share popcorn, drinks, snacks, and candy. Makoto usually shared with either Haru or Ann, but now that she could potentially be going steady with the former… she wasn’t sure if this sharing had more of a suggestive or inappropriate context now.

“It’s definitely okay, Mako-chan!” Haru giggled. “In fact, why don’t I pay for it, since you paid for the tickets? It’s only fair, after all.”

Makoto nodded. “That works for me.”

Haru smiled. “Great! I know the perfect snack to purchase!”

“Oh?” Makoto walked over to the counter, Haru next to her.

“Yes. I had some chocolate-covered coffee beans the last time I came here.” Haru ordered the snack, in addition to some popcorn and soda. “It’s sweet and bitter at the same time. It’s a real treat!”

“I see.” Makoto had to admit, she was curious. If Haru’s glowing reviews were anything to go by, she was sure that the treat would be delicious.

As Haru paid for the food and drink, Makoto took hold of the popcorn, not wanting Haru to have to carry it all. Haru took the rest, and the two made their way to their theater.

When they arrived, they decided to sit a little bit further in the back so that they could remain relatively undisturbed. As they took their seats and made themselves comfortable, Makoto began to worry.

Now that they were sitting, what exactly was she supposed to do? Should she just watch the movie? Should she make some kind of move? Was it too early to do so? If not, what sort of move should she consider?

She was interrupted in her thoughts by Haru shaking the candy box in front of her face. “Would you like some?” she asked quietly, not wanting to disturb the other patrons.

Makoto relaxed. This was just like other outings she’d had with Haru. She should just act like her usual self. “Yes please.” She reached her hand into the box, pulling out some of the beans. She tossed them into her mouth.

The initial texture was creamy, but as she bit down, she felt the crunch of the bean. The chocolate and the coffee mixed together well, though she noticed that the bean left a gritty residue as she swallowed it. She took a sip of the soda.

“How is it?” Haru was looking at her expectantly.

“Pretty good.” Makoto smiled. “Thank you for suggesting it.”

Haru nodded, popping a few into her mouth. “I’ll try my best not to eat it all.”

The two laughed.

A few minutes later, the movie began. Makoto was curious to see how it would be. With most rom-coms, she either enjoyed them or thought them to be completely cheesy and unrealistic. Either way, she usually got a good laugh or two out of them.

Makoto took a glance around at the other movie patrons, and saw that the theater was mostly populated by couples. One such couple in front of her seemed to be cuddling together, with the boy kissing the girl on the cheek.

Should… Was Haru expecting that from Makoto? She shook her head to rid herself of that thought. Those two could have been girlfriend and boyfriend, maybe even having dated for years. Right?

She looked to see what Haru was doing. Watching the film. Which was normal. Why wasn’t she watching it herself, again?

She went back to the film, hoping the few lines of dialogue she had missed weren’t crucial to the plot.

A few minutes passed, and Makoto started getting into the film. It wasn’t too cheesy, and the leads appeared to have great chemistry.

“Mako-chan?”

“Hm?” Makoto looked over to see Haru offering her some more chocolate. “I wasn’t kidding about eating all of these myself. Please, have some more before it’s gone.”

“Sure.” Makoto reached out her hand and Haru leaned over to pour some into her palm.

She tossed them into her mouth, relishing in the distinct flavor again.

“Hm…” Instead of moving back into her original position, Haru continued to lean further until she was resting her head on Makoto’s shoulder.

Her action surprised Makoto so much that she choked a bit on the food she was eating. Luckily, she was able to ingest it without incident, but once she recovered, she focused on the warmth that she was feeling from Haru.

She wondered if the other girl was comfortable, laying her head on Makoto’s shoulder. She should… reciprocate in some way, right?

Makoto slowly lifted up her arm, carefully draping it around Haru’s shoulders. This seemed to be the right move, as Haru snuggled closer without Makoto’s arm blocking her. She nuzzled into the space between her shoulder and her neck.

Makoto was glad for the relative darkness of the theater, as she could feel the heat radiating off of her face. She wondered if Haru was feeling something similar.

The two spent the rest of the film in this position. Makoto wondered if this might mean that this would lead to a second date, and maybe a third, and then, many more after that?

But it seemed that she was getting ahead of herself. For now, she resolved to enjoy the most out of this date as she could. And if it led to something more, she would deal with it then.

She couldn’t wait.

Woohoo! First date fanfic complete!

When I wrote the prequel to this last year, I wasn’t sure what their first date would entail. I spent some time wondering what I would do, and then the prompt of Coffee turned me in this direction. I’ve had these chocolate-covered coffee beans myself, and they are delicious!

Anyway, hope that you enjoyed. See you tomorrow!

#okujima #okujima week #okujima week 2020 #makoto niijima #haru okumura #makoto x haru #haru x makoto #p5 #persona 5

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taste-thewaste · 5 years ago

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Truth or Dare (Madderton fic)

Anon asked me for prompt #20, truth or dare. Thank you anon! This one’s pretty long, almost 1200 words, and as usual it’s FLUFFY lol. Boys are just friends in this one, at least at first ;) Thanks for reading!

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

The beer bottles- six in all, split evenly between the two of them-were lined up on the coffee table like fallen soldiers. Taron looked at them blearily through hazy eyes, and briefly considered saluting them and thanking them for their service.

“Dickie, ‘m a bit pissed, the hell’s in them? I only had three,” Taron said, his tongue feeling thick and heavy in his mouth, the words coming out soft and blurred at the edges. A smile eased slowly onto his face, and Richard laughed at him, his own face soft and fuzzy.

“They’re ten percent, mate. You’re used to that light crap you drink, this is real beer,” Richard said, his hand brushing against Taron’s lightly as he reached for the remote to the telly. Goosebumps peppered Taron’s arms; the hair stood up on the back of his neck.

He’d been pretending for months that his growing feelings for Richard were just everyday affection for his best mate; but tonight, when he was three sheets to the wind and all he could think of was running his fingers through Richard’s hair and the light touch of his mate’s fingers sparked tiny bolts of electricity under his skin, he couldn’t deny that his feelings were romantic. His heart thudded in his chest, prevalent.

Richard clicked off the telly, tossed the remote onto the table. He scratched his chest through his thin black t-shirt; Taron took in a sharp breath, wanting to feel the way the shirt clung to Richard’s body. A bright flush rose to his cheeks, and somewhere in the back of his mind he was grateful for the beer to blame it on.

“I’m bored,” Richard said lazily, stretching and sprawling his body out on the couch.

Taron picked at his fingernails. “We could watch a movie?”

“No,” Richard said, shaking his head.

“Video games?”

“No.”

“We could hit a bar?”

“I’m too tired to go out,” Richard said whinily. Suddenly, a wicked grin spread across his face and he sat up eagerly. “I know. Let’s play truth or dare.”

Taron’s brain lit up. Truth or dare would’ve been risky if he was sober; he took games more seriously than he liked to admit, and he would be honest to a fault. But playing it when he was more-than-slightly tipsy? That was just downright dangerous. “What are we, twelve? I’m not playing truth or dare.”

The wicked smile on Richard’s face stretched even wider, and he looked over at Taron and wiggled his eyebrows. “What are you scared of, T?”

Taron’s face turned even more red. “N-nothing. I’m not scared of anything.”

“Then why don’t you want to play?” Richard asked cheekily.

Taron sighed, unable to look at Richard’s eager puppy face and not smile and give in. “Fine. Let’s play.”

Richard grinned. “Okay, okay. Sit up.” Richard reached over and grabbed Taron’s arms-the fucking sparks, Taron thought-and dragged him closer until they were both sitting cross-legged on the sofa, facing each other. Richard’s eyes were slightly hazy, his hair disheveled, and his lips were so pink and full that Taron wanted to reach out and run his thumb across them. He wanted to feel Richard, he wanted to--no, stop. STOP.

Richard leaned in. “Okay. Truth or dare?”

Taron sighed. “Truth.”

“Okay, we’ll start out easy. What’s the most embarrassing nickname someone’s ever given you?”

“Easy. ‘Duckie’. Next.” Richard’s face fell, and Taron let out a laugh.

“I thought you liked Duckie.”

“I do, mate, I do, I was just kidding.” Taron said, reaching out and loosely grabbing Richard’s wrist. Richard looked down at him instantly, and Taron let go, his face flushing again. “Uh, your turn. Truth or dare.”

Richard mulled it over for a moment, nibbling on his lower lip gently, driving Taron absolutely mad. “Truth, I suppose.”

Taron thought for a moment, took a deep breath. “Okay. What are you most afraid of?”

Richard leaned back a little and chuckled under his breath. “You’re not starting out easy on me, are ya?”

“Not a chance.”

Richard nodded. “Alright then. I suppose I’m most afraid that...this’ll all go away. I’ll fail. People will realize that I have no talent, and that I’ll be a failure.” Richard ducked his head, a blush creeping onto his face. Taron could tell by his voice that Rich felt vulnerable as all hell.

“Hey, Rich.” Richard looked up at Taron, his eyes wide, still hazy, and Taron slowly reached out and took his hand. “You’re not a fraud. You’re not a failure. You’re one of the most talented people I know.”

Richard smiled a little. “Thanks, T,” he said quietly. “Alright. Enough of this. Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Taron answered quickly. Richard chuckled and shook his head a little.

“This isn’t truth or truth, T, one of us has to do dare eventually.”

“Well it’s not going to be me. You’ll have me running down the hallway naked or something,” Taron said wryly.

“Fine.” Richard sat up straight, leaned forward slightly. Taron looked into his eyes, mesmerized by how deeply blue they were, almost ethereal, almost unreal. He took a sharp breath in again. “Truth. How do you feel about me?”

Taron’s heart stopped. Fuck. His brain, still fuzzy and drunk, scrambled for something to say, anything. “You know how I feel about you. You’re my b-best mate.”

Richard shook his head. “No. No dancing around the question this time. How do you...really...feel about me?” Richard scooched closer to Taron, his knee brushing Taron’s, and Taron bit down on his lower lip.

“Rich, come on…” he breathed, his heart pounding, his eyes trained on Richard’s knee that was grazing his own.

“Tell me.”

After a beat, Taron looked up at Richard. “Dare. I pick dare. I meant dare, not truth,” Taron stuttered.

Richard grinned. “Okay. I dare you to kiss me.”

“Oh, fuck,” Taron exhaled, and Richard chuckled.

“Can’t back out of this one, Duckie,” Richard whispered, leaning forward, settling his hand on Taron’s knee. He was so close that Taron could smell him, a mixture of beer and cologne and the faintest whiff of clean laundry. “Kiss me.”

Taron’s brain allowed him to think about it for a split second, one tiny moment where he let himself continue to be nervous, and then the alcohol took over and his one tiny thought changed to ‘fuck it’. He leaned forward and kissed Richard, hungrily, passionately, his hand snaking around behind his neck and finally reaching up to touch the hair he’d been dying to touch all night. He pushed his tongue insistently into Richard’s mouth, his heart continuing to beat out of his chest. He felt Richard’s hand inch forward on his leg, start rubbing his thigh. He broke the kiss apart with a gasp, his chest heaving as he stared into Richard’s eyes again.

Richard laughed, his own chest rising and falling. “Oh, I knew this game would be fun,” he said, gripping Taron’s shirt and pulling him into another kiss.

#my fic #madderton fanfiction #richard madden fanfiction #taron egerton fanfiction

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bechloe-are-acadorable · 6 years ago

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Butterflies - Bechloe (Pt5)

Part 5/?

Chloe had fancied Beca the moment she set her eyes on the scrappy little alt girl and immediately felt attracted to the personality of the shorter girl, even when she was mocking acapella. She was just so... intriguing. Beca had set Chloe's gaydar off when they first met and it wasn't until she saw Beca and Jesse interacting that she realised that Beca was in fact straight. Chloe's heart sunk at this as she was hoping to be more than just friends with her, but even though Chloe knew that Beca was straight she couldn't help but pine after the DJ.

She was just so... so Beca. Everything about her Chloe loved. She loved how talented Beca was at mixing songs. She loved how Beca would always stand up for herself. She adored Beca's voice when she sang. She thought the shorter girl was drop dead gorgeous. She loved her sense of humour and sarcasm. But most of all she loved her reluctance to show any form of physical affection to anyone bar Chloe. It made Chloe feel special and every time Beca hugged her back she felt safe and comforted, she could hug Beca forever and not get bored.

Chloe had never met anyone she felt as strongly about as she did Beca, sure she'd had a boyfriend for a few years in high school but she didn't like him like she liked Beca. Hell, she'd even broken it off with Tom because she thought she might have a shot with Beca. After that shower she was convinced the brunette was gay, the way she was so embarrassed and the glances and sneaky peaks she took of Chloe's naked body didn't go unnoticed by the ginger.

Chloe just hoped beyond hope that one day Beca would decide she wasn't entirely straight and then she could swoop in and sweep her off her feet. It was hard -soul-crushing almost- living in hope but ultimately knowing that the likelihood of it becoming a reality was so slim. Chloe tried to stop feeling the way she did but she couldn't so in the end just went with it, she couldn't help flirting playfully with Beca, she couldn't help snuggling into her at any given opportunity. She couldn't stop herself needing to seek comfort from Beca when she was down or having nightmares about losing the girl she cared for so deeply and needing the reassurance that her Beca was still alive and well.

Chloe however was fortunate that Beca was so oblivious to how wrapped up in everything Beca Chloe was. The same however, could not be said for Aubrey who knew all about Chloe's slight obsession with the alt girl. Aubrey had noticed it almost immediately and it was the main reason she gave the younger girl such a hard time as she was convinced that she would break her best friends heart. Aubrey knew how deeply Chloe felt for Beca even though they rarely spoke about it and sympathised with her friend but tried to steer her away from Beca, certain that Beca would only cause heartache and grief for the ginger.

Chloe had ignored the warnings from her friend and even managed to persuade the girl to give Beca a real chance as both a Bella and as a friend. Aubrey would never admit it aloud, but she was wrong about Beca – not that she would break her friend's heart, she was still sure that that would happen – but she now knew that Beca was a valuable member of the Bellas and a nice person albeit one with walls that are hard to penetrate.

"Earth to Chloe" Beca said waving a hand in front of her face as Chloe snapped out of her thoughts about Beca and smiled at her "I said we should go hang out with the Bellas, they've text us on the group chat" Beca smirked "Oh yeah sure, let's go!" Chloe followed Beca downstairs to see the Bellas setting up a movie "Ughhhh I should have stayed in my room" Beca complained "Nope its family film time" Stacey said "Now sit!" Beca saluted Stacey mockingly and looked around for a seat, there was space on the big chair but only really for one person.

"Come over here with me Becs" Chloe beamed grabbing Beca's hand and leading her over to the chair. "Dude that's a one-person chair" Beca complained "Nah we'll fit come on" she said letting Beca sit down and snuggling in next to her, so close she was practically sitting on her knee. Beca rolled her eyes playfully but secretly enjoyed being so close to Chloe. Beca felt her heart beating rapidly and hoped that the older girl, whose head was resting on her chest as she watched the film, couldn't feel it. She shrugged the feeling off and tried her best to watch the film with the rest of the Bellas.

#bechloe #pitch perfect #bechloe fanfic #bhloe #butterflies #butterflies part 5

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mikazukikannagisjourney · 5 years ago

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A Deeply Personal Post about Suicide

A very personal and dark post about depression, its relapse, and suicide**

*you have been warned*

**A post with a whole lotta trigger warnings~ STAY AWAY if you can’t, or if you must. Otherwise, thank you for taking your time reading. This is not clickbait, and definitely not for the faint-hearted. You have been warned. Don’t blame me for any negative effects**

Yes, there, I have said it. I always had the urge to write this down but I kept getting depressed over and over and I really can’t write it if I’m still in that dark, constricting place. But I am so far OK so I shall be posting this stuff. If this post prevents at least, or even just one person from taking their own life and gets a new lease in life then my broken and torn heart will have its peace. It’s harder to live and easier to die. But if you’re spiritually awakened, then the commitment to stay alive is even more pressing. I salute you for staying alive. You can do it!

OK, that’s enough cheery stuff for now. Anything beyond this point can turn dark and ugly in a manner of letters so again, if this is a strongly-triggering topic for you, and you can’t face it, that’s ok. Just stay away, till you think you can handle this. Also I wrote this on the morning of August 28, 2019 but I also had to purge the energies on this post so it would be healing more than destructive, so it pops up a day later as a queued post.

Edit: accidentally clicked POST instead. Not that I mind, I was gonna anyway. Divine realm kept nagging me so.. here you go. 😆

I *MAY* HAVE BEEN BATTLING DEPRESSION AND SUICIDAL THOUGHTS SINCE I WAS A CHILD

I don’t think I have the need to completely spell out what depression is because again, the internet can do that for you. I will just focus on how it was, and is still manifesting in my life. But how did it materialized in my life then? Well... Mostly I just internalized all of my demons. If I was angry or upset or I feel envy or jealousy, I just sucked it all in. My household growing up was a battlefield of emotional suppression, thus I can’t cry, throw a tantrum, even laugh out loud for being too happy. What’s even more ironic is that I am actually a very emotional person, which made a whole lot of sense once I understood my natal astrological, human design, and gene key charts. So even if my sun was in Gemini and my ascendant in Libra, I pretty much have all the water signs in my chart as well, along with having a strong sacral center that thrives on generating emotionally-charged energy, and that’s where the waterworks come from. Thus the fact that I’m a Gemini cry-baby who gets too-emotional at just about anything makes perfect sense now.

But back to the subject at hand: Emotional Suppression caused my mental instability and depression. Because each time I had to stop expressing what I feel deep inside, I feel like I kept killing a part of me. Each time I kill a part of me, a gaping hole in my heart and soul would grow even larger. Like literally I feel chest pains as a child, which of course don’t show up on laboratory exams and thus I have been deemed healthy, a lot. I already started wanting to kill myself around 7 years of age, because I was forced to grow up quickly so I could take care of my siblings and myself. I really hated myself and the world a lot because I can’t do what I want and I can’t have anything I want, among other things. I mostly play alone, which was fine until the thoughts of wanting to die keep coming up. Maybe for some people these things are nothing, and they’ll start bragging about their own difficulties and that’s OK, I mean, what you feel will always ring true to you, no matter what the world tells you. The brain can lie to you, but your heart and your emotions never will. Feelings and emotions are always true, and what you feel is always valid. If something hurt you or made you happy, it’s because you have those things inside you. If people trigger you deliberately, then that’s on them. If you get triggered by other people, well that’s a whole other matter... BUT, whatever you do when acting under that feeling or emotion is entirely up to you, and you cannot blame other people for making you act in certain ways. Remember, YOU ALWAYS HAVE A CHOICE IN YOUR ACTIONS, THUS THE CONSEQUENCES ARE ALSO OF YOUR OWN DOING. The bottomline is: PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GLOB DON’T PLAY DOWN WHAT I AM WRITING HERE AND SAY THAT I’M IN THE WRONG. This entire thing is a personal account, and it’s mine. I get to write this thing because the whole thing is based on what I have experienced. *see? I told you I easily get emotional lol*

I got sidetracked, I apologize. OK, now back to regular programming

Anyway, thoughts of killing myself got even more intense, especially with not meeting parental expectations as well as neglect, abandonment, and rejection issues that popped up as time went on. To be honest though, I was, and still am a bit surprised that I haven’t taken my own life then, and up to this point. Either it’s because I am highly-sensitive to pain *my pain threshold is quite low*, or because I am still trying to find ways to kill myself without the hassle or pain. Basically I fear pain more than death. I guess that’s one of my major motivators for not choosing to end it yet. I just hate physical pain in all forms, even more so right now. So even if it kills me inside, I try to live one day at a time. Back then, I had to live because my siblings need me to cook their food, and I had to do my sister’s homework (she has autism spectrum disorder, which my parents just chose to ignore because they have no idea how to interact with special needs).

How is depression connected with suicide? Well, for one thing the hopelessness, helplessness, feeling worthless, or thinking that living is not worth it can just push a person to the edge. I am quite familiar because I have lost a sizeable number of people ranging from relatives to friends, to classmates and even a work trainee from suicide. I haven’t even counted those who died from natural deaths, those who got killed either in combat or by rebels, or through illnesses. The suicide-related ones just affect me so much because I felt survivor’s guilt, because I haven’t ended my life yet and these “seemingly-happy” people did. My stomach got all knotted up right now, just thinking about it. Especially when I recalled the trainee that killed themselves due to depression. I didn’t mentor them personally but I sorta felt that this person had depression and again, I didn’t reach out. Even then when I was already aware of being an empath and all that jazz. I just gave myself a break after sometime because to be honest, I had no idea how to heal others back then. So... Yeah. But still, survivor’s guilt is real.

RELAPSE ISSUES CONCERNING SUICIDAL THOUGHTS (HOW I HAD THEM)

This is the part where I will be explaining based on my own experiences why some people who were openly-depressed that “seemed” to have gotten a lot happier and brighter suddenly end their own lives with no warnings. Not sure about other people’s ideas, living or dead, but for me, it’s all about the relapse.

Depression relapse, that is. You may be much more familiar with alcoholics or drug-addicts who went to rehab, got all better *or so it seems* but then goes to relapse and either ends up getting even more addicted or worse, having an overdose and dying. Well, again, this is based on my own experiences but for me, because I am not on any kind of medication for my chronic depression so naturally, despite all my conscious efforts on fending it off, it comes back, with a vengeance. All the pain that I feel, all the thoughts that consume what small speck of happiness I have left become even stronger than before, and whatever I did to relieve myself of the pain just stop working no matter how many times I do it. Everything just feels sucky and my pains do not get relieved. I just cry and cry and let the wave pass, allowing a bit of relief, but then they just come back in waves of endless and bottomless anger and feelings of doom and gloom. It feels like I’m forever falling into the abyss of nightmares and frankly, the only solution I see clearly at that point is again, killing myself. Again, because I’m scared of pain, I did whatever I can to escape the pain, thus me ending up learning a lot of bankable and unbankable skills that, quite frankly amused some people I meet once the depression has been controlled somewhat and I got to socialize again.

If I survive long enough to at least raise my happiness levels a bit, I can continue to live, even for a day. I just tell myself “Well, I guess I’ll just have to die another day.” For each time that I tried to escape my pain and my urge to kill myself, I find something new to experience, learn, and have fun with. Thus, the skills I have, the dumb experiences I had, the movies and shows I gave so much of my love to, the ties to people I hold dearly, were not only borne out of a small curiosity, but mostly to prevent myself from ending my life right now. I don’t know how people will react to that, but for me, my hobbies, my passions, are not just due to the fact that these things are worthwhile. For me, these are my LIFELINES. If I didn’t have them, I MIGHT HAVE DIED A LONG TIME AGO. These are also the reasons why despite how many people or the public would shame other people for having weird hobbies or passions, I just let them be happy. I like seeing passionate people, because not only do they look so happy and pure, but also because for me, that might also be their lifeline. So that they CAN STAY ALIVE, because LIFE SUDDENLY HAS MEANING. And who am I to tell them what they or what they cannot do? *unless it’s illegal or hurts other people deliberately, or both. I have limits*

And... Unfortunately, for some of the people who took their own life out of their own accord they may not have been fully aware of it, but when they got out of the funk, they might have thought that YES I AM NOW FREE FROM ALL THAT GUNK. I’M GONNA BE HAPPY, I CAN LOOK FORWARD TO THE FUTURE, ETC. ETC. but noooope, depression is pretty clingy. It comes at the most inconvenient time, right about the time when you thought you’re almost at your goal, or at the time when you feel like you’re about to have that breakthrough. Once anybody who has been recovering from depression falls back into it, the urges, the pain, everything just gets even worse. Everything sucks maybe a hundredfold compared to last time, maybe a million times more. Everything just feels so overwhelming, and heavy, and it cuts through your entire being. The way out just got caved in and now there is no way out other than suicide. THAT FEELS AND SEEMS LIKE THE ONLY WAY. And for some of these people who actually take the plunge and succeed, this is the part where their loved ones who were left behind would comment things like “But I thought they were happy.. They were looking forward to the future.. They had so many plans.. They weren’t showing any signs...” etc. etc. Of course they won’t, and they probably had plans. If anything, they probably wanted to get out of the funk for the rest of eternity. BUt DEPRESSION IS ONE CLINGY F****R my friends, seriously. It is. It will slam everything in your face if it isn’t properly handled, either though holistic means or modern medicine methods, it will certainly choke out the light of any person who just do not have the means to fight it, let alone keep it at bay. Especially when it gets pushed aside. A lot. Each time you succeed at pushing it away or dealing with it, if it creeps into your being, even through just a small crack, it comes to you with a force stronger than a wrecking ball. It’s more of an avalanche. And it will bulldoze anything away till the entire path has been completely covered. Still scary as heck. Thus with each round of its return, it gets more and more strong, thus the need for better ways of fending it off. Or better yet, just facing it head on by all means necessary.

FACING (MY) DEPRESSION HEAD-ON (BY ALL MEANS NECESSARY)

Disclaimer: Again, before I start this section, I will remind everyone that this entire post is all my personal experiences as well as my own opinions on this matter, so please do not take this as a medical or health advice. You can take this as a spiritual advice and you can even ask me about it. I’m glad to help. Other than that, please seek professional help. BY ALL MEANS NECESSARY. I am not responsible for any losses of any kind due to following my own personal methods here, any bodily harm or mental injuries sustained by the end user are done of their own accord, and I am not liable for such losses. Everything here with regards to methods are RISKS. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

OK. Now that’s out of the way, I will now write here how I deal with my own depression and suicidal thoughts,assuming that I’m still here. I’m not saying that I will not kill myself yet, but I am fully aware that other things can kill me and therefore those won’t count. Also, I haven’t watched the entire Fantastic Beasts franchise yet, and my need-to-watch anime and series lineup is still long, plus Avatar The Last Airbender is gonna be on Netflix next year so nope, I still need to live.

Kidding aside, here is what I USED TO DO whenever the relapse comes in full-swing:

Binge-watch anything I’m interested in

Binge-read whatever is available

Binge-doing whatever activity I’m into at the moment (drawing, reading Tarot cards, learning Japanese, cooking weird food, etc.)

Binge-like anything on my tumblr feeds

Get super-obsessed with the canon and headcannon biographies of fictional characters (Hi wikia and AO3 lolol)

Cry and cry and cry even if I don’t know why (It doesn’t even matter how hard I try lolol did you sing that part in your head lol kidding I am trying to lighten up things here)

Of course, after doing all of these, I eventually end up wanting to die because the problem or the cause of my depression remains unsolved. Notice that I didn’t put “contacting close friends” or “connecting to loved ones” there. Because I don’t. I was never raised to ask for help, I was raised to do shit alone. And that also killed a huge part of me because quite frankly, I know that I need help but whenever I tried to reach out I get put-out or shushed, so eventually I never bothered to ask for any help. I just stuck it out all alone. While this method is typically great for doing GROUP PROJECTS by yourself (and cursing the other members out loud or in your head), this is definitely NOT ADVISABLE when dealing with mental health issues. Of course I didn’t know these back then, there was no internet, I didn’t have friends or relatives to talk to, plus I had no idea (or the people around me for that matter) that I was actually depressed. At 7 years old. Maybe 6. Around that time. This was in the early 90s.

But in this day and age, thanks to the internet, more and more information can be shared. Even better is that support groups are actually available, and you can join forums too, so people get to share so many stuff. Of course, I tried that, and it worked for about 6 months before I realized that in most groups I joined in, they weren’t exactly dealing with the depression in the most empowering way, so I got stuck in the victim mentality for a very long time. And the cycles of off-on depression mode kept getting worse each time. That’s when I decided to do things differently, and again, without drugs. FACING THE DEMONS IN MY HEAD is what I call it.

These are currently my go-to combination of methods when dealing with a depression relapse:

Shadow Work - Originally by Carl Jung, the principle is basic: identify the parts of yourself that you rejected due to external pressure, and heal them by understanding why it was rejected and suppressed, releasing the emotional charge by crying it out or something to that effect, and accepting that rejected part fully and without any regret. These aren’t the exact steps by Jung, but I just modified the method for myself. It’s pretty harsh because you need to face past trauma without any emotional attachments, and well, it can also do more harm than good. Only recommended to be done with a professional. Unless you’re a masochist. Just search the internet for Carl Jung and Shadow work for more info, I’m sure it’s quite famous.

Inner child healing - same as previous, but this time focusing more on the inner child (duh). Usually anything that persists for me, I would readily attribute to inner child issues so I would go to that part of myself and relive the trauma. Then pat my inner child and hug her till I stopped crying. By the way, crying is definitely included in almost every step. It’s soothing and also is a great way to transmute trauma. Provided that you’re fully aware of how the trauma happened and you’re able to release it fully. Again, if symptoms persist, consult a professional.

Kundalini Yoga and Meditation - amazingly there are many methods or kriyas and some are for dealing with depression. I call this method “killing two birds with one stone”, mainly because you get a real hard-core workout especially the upper body, and you lift your spirits up. Just search the internet for various methods, but I think 3HO is the one-stop shop for binge-reads. Again, crying is very much a part of this method because at some point, it will all just flow out.

Sound therapy - crystal singing bowls, gongs, tingshas, binaural sounds, isochronic music, subliminal messages, the works. I usually go to Youtube and just binge whatever I need at the moment. Sometimes I feel at peace, other times I just randomly cry. It just happens.

Energetic healing - again, there are numerous methods. I usually go for Reiki since it works for me, and because I can channel a bit more energy either from the original video or music, or on my own. Crying is again, an optional but very helpful step.

Emotion Code - This is the latest method I have learned, and tried. Created by Dr. Bradley Nelson, this method allows suppressed emotions, those you experienced yourself as well as the ones you inherited to be released from your body. You only need this chart, a fridge magnet, and determination. Also crying, if you can.

The stuff in my WHAT I USED TO DO list. - Seriously, self-healing depression is a very tiring and exhausting activity. Please, by all means, make yourself happy. In fact, YOU HAVE TO CHOOSE TO BE HAPPY TO SURVIVE THIS GRUELLING ACTIVITY. Whatever means necessary. Don’t worry, I won’t judge.

Other methods I tried in the past:

Parts work - It is like Shadow Work, but the rejected parts of your self have different age groups. I discovered it before Shadow work and for a while I tried my best to do it, but I still didn’t mesh with it after 2 months so I did Shadow Work instead. Maybe I’m just not cut out for it. I recommend the late Pete Gerlach’s website for more info and even methods and stuff. Super-educational, with some drawbacks. Still it maybe useful for others so please take a look.

Diet adjustments - Some say that food and nutrition affects moods,and maybe yeah, because many foods do create metabolites that become converted into chemicals that eventually become hormones. But for me, it didn’t work as well as the other methods. I mean, I eat a lot of veggies and fruit even before I was depressed and spritually awakened, and quite frankly nothing in this area changed me so I don’t include this in my list.

Again, note that I still haven’t included talking to other people in my list. Because again, I just can’t accept help properly, and I still want to do things on my own. HOWEVER, I tell the people I care for the most and also care for me that I HAD a depression relapse. I tell them after I won the battle, even for that moment. It kinda helps a lot. But this time I don’t want to energetically tie myself to others, I have to transmute my own shit so people won’t have to get mine. I also shield myself so their stuff won’t stick to me. It’s how I understand how karma should be worked out of our systems, it’s a DIY thing. Otherwise you just add more karma on top of your own.

Well, I don't know how to end this post, apart from the fact that this is still an on-going process for me. Case in point, honestly I am literally crying right now as I type this last part out. It took me 5 hours to type and it's a post worth almost my entire life so far, but I hope it's all worth it, for anyone who needs help in any way. I am not glorifying depression or suicide or even addictions here, I am putting this out there as information. This post has been at the back of my mind since the Lion's gate but I relapsed and I just got back so I could write it as orderly as I can. So please, I hope this post won't be misquoted or skewed or even be taken out of context. Again, this is mostly for educational purposes only. Especially when you feel like you're in the dark night of the soul.

Anyway, I hope this was helpful in any way possible. If you need any help *spiritual and/or energetic only, not a doctor guys* just shoot a comment or a message, and I'll see what I can do.

I hope you find the healing you seek. In love and hugs from Source above.

Mikazuki

三日月

**Special Note: While this whole thing is free to heart, share, attach a link-back of the original html (href, if you know what I mean), and to cite in any style (APA, MLA, Turabian, etc.) around 10-20% of its content, please, under any circumstances, FOR THE LOVE OF GLOB DO NOT COPY AND PASTE AND DECLARE THIS AS YOUR OWN. These are my own personal experiences, basically these are parts of myself that I need to transmute in order to heal. However, as this is already an output it is now included in the do-not-steal-entirely-or-else sections of the internet. Especially for people who just simply steal other people’s work as their own. I used to work as an editor and even now I do my best to cite sources, or at the very least insert links to sources that I actually used. Be respectful of content creators, large or small. Don’t take away from us the things that we made with all of our hearts. Those are the only things that help keep us up. Also, because you have no right do that you know. And just a reminder, Karma is a real b****. Just saying. Thank you very much for understanding. PS. If you found the information in this post to be very helpful, insightful, and of great value to you and your own personal journey, please feel free to reblog, share and heart/like, or if you feel super-generous, energetic exchanges are welcomed! Please click here and use this email address: [email protected] you so much and be blessed!

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riverheadbooks · 7 years ago

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READER HOROSCOPE FOR FEBRUARY 2018

Fight the power: February’s revolutionary reads

AQUARIUS

Welcome to February, Aquarius! After the endless slog that was January (no offense, but it was the month that felt like one thousand years), you are happy to welcome a brand new month. And thank goodness, because it’s coming in HOT. You’ve received more invitations in the past week than you did in all of January, and your calendar for the rest of the month already makes you want to take a nap. Don’t! Exciting things are afoot, dear Aquarian, and if you resume the same fetal position in the couch that you took comfort in these past few weeks, there’s no telling what will pass you by. This is not the time to be a recluse; on the contrary, getting up and out will have a wonderful effect on what you consider the normalcy of everyday life. It’s always a wonderful surprise when the universe throws situations and new people in your path that force you to question beliefs you’ve always held, from the most mundane to downright fantastical. This month, those surprises abound, but, of course, it starts with you. Practice opening your mind to new possibilities, rather than sticking to the status quo. This can look like accepting a wild job offer, taking on an ambitious fitness challenge, or simply taking the scenic route home. It may also be time to step outside of your comfort zone in a much deeper way: attend a spiritual ceremony, political rally, or volunteer in a shelter. What you put into the universe, you’ll return a hundredfold: give yourself the time and freedom to be wowed by the world around you. Your lucky book this month is a fascinating, eye-opening short story collection that delves into the complexities that lie at the heart of several seemingly run-of-the-mill relationships. A short read, but worth a second or even third look--another instance in which you’ll benefit greatly from setting aside your first assumptions.

LUCKY BOOK: You Are Free by Danzy Senna

PISCES

Lovely Pisces, this month we salute your generous soul. Maybe it’s the proximity to Valentine’s day, or maybe you’re just experiencing a surplus of affection--either way, you can’t get enough of your loved ones: friends, family, pets, whoever is important to you. Not only do you care about their happiness and well-being, but you believe in them, too! You’re thrilled for the opportunities you see them going after and often feel compelled to help them achieve their dreams. While this is an admirable trait (friends like you are truly diamonds in the rough!), a word of caution: know when to remove your rose-colored glasses. Your loved ones are still human, and humans make mistakes. Placing people on a pedestal very rarely ends well, for you or for them: you need to preserve some of your emotional real estate for YOU, and they need to know that your happiness isn’t totally reliant on their success or happiness. Know how to draw those boundaries, and even cut ties, if it ever comes to that point. Don’t override your intuition, ever--your gut is usually much more attuned to the reality of difficult of situations than your heart is. Your lucky book this month is a deeply visceral portrait of what happens when a close relationship is severed, and the lasting effect that divisions across identity lines can have. There is much more to this story than meets the eye--there’s a reason why this book was a runaway bestseller at publication! Read closely, and then maybe call someone just to tell them that you love them.

LUCKY BOOK: Caucasia by Danzy Senna

ARIES

Slow down, Aries! After the January slog, you’re chomping at the bit to get all the things done this month. Understandable--it’s frustrating to feel like you’re so far behind, like you’re miles away from inbox zero. But let’s get real: too much stress and too little rest is a perfect recipe for getting sick. You can scoff, but no one ever plans to get sick, do they? If you feel like you’re constantly pushing yourself, that’s because you are: take a hint from your body’s exhaustion and relax. Question your motivations: are you desperate to take action because you actually care, or out of a misplaced sense of obligation? Guilt? A favor you owe to someone else? If it’s not coming from a genuine place, the results of your labor most likely won’t be to your standards, and it’ll feel like a waste of time and resources. Let February be your strategy month: what is it that you want to accomplish in the next few months? What are your mid-year goals? What can you believe putting into place? Once you’ve figured that out, then you can narrow down steps that you can take now, from the comfort of your home or office, that don’t require a large amount of legwork. Think of it as playing the long game: not every successful day has to leave you running on E. Work smarter, not harder. By the time March rolls around, you can hit the ground running. To quell some of that anxious energy, though, your lucky book this month has you covered: an unputdownable thriller set in Jamaica, surrounding the events of Bob Marley’s assassination. This hefty novel has it all: drugs, sex, reggae, and some truly unforgettable storytelling. Enough action to keep your need for adventure satiated! Now go take some Vitamin C, and don’t say we never did anything nice for you.

LUCKY BOOK: A Brief History of Seven Killings by Marlon James

TAURUS

My staunch and sturdy Taurus, brace yourself: February is going to be an exercise in an activity that isn’t exactly your favorite. There are some exciting new developments on the horizon for you, but as always, the universe rarely gives free gifts. You pride yourself on your take-charge attitude; you’ve been complimented more than once on your ability to bring order to chaotic situations, to think ahead and it seems everyone else’s head is in the clouds. In life, there must always be balance, and this month, it’s your turn to be just a tiny bit airheaded yourself! You’ll need to let go of some of your more rigid beliefs and behaviors in order to tap into the opportunities headed your way--they could be in the realm of your relationships, your job, or your side hustle, but either way, it’s uncharted territory. Try to figure out a way to relinquish a bit of control without feeling like you’re betraying your truest self, difficult as that may be. Change is a part of life, and positive change can only come with growth. If you’re struggling to adjust, keep yourself grounded by checking in with your family and closest friends; shifting your focus will help you maintain perspective on what’s important, at the same time that it reminds your loved ones that you care. After all, when things get rocky, their presence will make all the difference: it’s infinitely harder to get through brand new challenges all alone. In your lucky book this month, one family is put to the ultimate test when their entire home is taken from them--by the shifting powers of colonialism, and then by shipwreck. Three siblings have only each other to rely on as they navigate a brand new world together. Take courage in the face of what they struggled through and overcame, and believe you can handle whatever comes your way. We certainly do.

LUCKY BOOK: Land of Love and Drowning by Tiphanie Yanique

GEMINI

Do me a favor, Gem. Open your planner, bullet journal, schedule app, or wherever it is you keep track of your appointments. Notice how your rate heart has picked up? Yeah. You’re doing A LOT this month. This compulsion to reconnect with old friends and break bread with new ones is a part of what makes you you, after--one is silver and the other gold, right? Not to mention your many professional and extracurricular commitments. Movies you need to see, museums you need to visit. Just keep that appointment book handy from this point forward; you’re quickly approaching the point of saturation. You may find that some quick thinking is required towards the middle of the month, if you want to avoid disappointing friends or making terrible first impressions. While you are completely aware that a few of these awkward situations could easily have been avoided if you practiced saying “no” more, take this as a chance to stretch those muscles of ingenuity and outside-the-box thinking. Stay open to the unexpected and when appropriate, let yourself go with the flow. Luckily for you, these are traits you already possess--just be sure to keep everyone on the up and up. Sometimes your machinations can lead to people wondering what’s happening, and people don’t tend to appreciate being left in the dark. Be forthcoming about what’s going on, in the general sense, but also within your particular spheres of influence. Honesty is key this month, in a big way: a few simple white lies you told in the past may very well come back to bite you very soon. Be humble and clear the air: small lies can become big ones, very quickly. This month, your lucky book is a short story collection that lies at the intersection of identity and choice. How does your perception of yourself affect that way you navigate the world? How does systemic inequality play into that? In the midst of your buzzing social life, take some time to wrestle with how your persona and beliefs affect your community in small and large scale ways.

LUCKY BOOK: Before You Suffocate Your Own Fool Self by Danielle Evans

CANCER

Hey Cancer, February is coming in hot. You may feel like life is holding you back, forever keeping your dreams on the back burner, but take a step back and reflect. Better yet, look around. Sometimes we receive our lessons as a result of mistakes made, but you have the advantage this month of your vantage point. What do you notice in the people around you? Coworkers, professional contacts, friends, acquaintances? Can you identify areas of growth and weakness, missteps and triumphs? Use their journeys as cautionary tales or inspiration as appropriate, and rest assured that things happen in due time. This is not to say you should try to be like everyone else, but rather, use their examples, both negative and positive, to craft a way forward for yourself. There’s a reason the universe keeps pumping the brakes on your own forward motion, and that may be because you’re attempting things you’re simply not ready for. In your lucky book this month, you’ll encounter a young woman who made a very difficult decision because of a responsibility she wasn’t ready for, and the ways her life changed as a result of that choice. While the ultimately figures out her own path, she only reaches that point after much introspection, as well as reflecting on the choices that the people around her made. Like her, you don’t exist in a vacuum, shut away in your own world. All of our actions affect each other, so be open to the lessons that others can teach you--we’re all in this together.

LUCKY BOOK: The Mothers by Brit Bennett

LEO

Just a little bit further now, Leo! While others were slacking off and bemoaning the dreariness of January, you were on your grind, and you’re about to see the results of your labor in a major way. Congratulations! From a job promotion to exclusive invitation to recognition from a long-time role model, be ready to accept the accolades and praise coming your way this month. Be sure to avoid the burnout that tends to set in the final stages, though; you’re almost there, keep going! One of the best ways to find your second wind is to find someone you really trust you help you bring it on home--who can that be for you? If the very thought makes you bristle because you’re unwilling to share the spotlight, that’s a red flag. It may be time to reflect on why you began this project or endeavor in the first place. Was it to solely to be praised? To make money? To prove someone else wrong? It’s not too late to redirect your energy if you started this off from a place of negativity or spite. But just be aware that you may not find the results you seek if you continue in the same ungracious vein. If you’re truly committed to seeing this through and giving it your all, this is probably the best time to bring someone else in, if you haven’t already. What are your blind spots? What could use a bit more feedback? Someone you trust to tell you the truth and treat your creation with care and dignity is someone you should absolutely have on your team. No man is an island, Leo, so disabuse yourself of that notion before you unwittingly sabotage yourself! Turn to your lucky book if you need some more reminders of the wily unpredictability of the world--and how sometimes, the only way to make sense of it is with someone who can offer a slightly different perspective.

LUCKY BOOK: Five-Carat Soul by James McBride

VIRGO

You know that feeling you get when you properly clean your glasses for the first time in a few days, and put them back on only to be astonished at how clear the world actually is? Virgo, that’s pretty much what this month is going to feel like. For the first time in a long time, you’re seeing things much more clearly: relationship dynamics that previously stymied you have laid themselves bare, workplace grievances or petty disagreements have fully come to light, previously held beliefs borne of ignorance are being turned on their heads. There may be many factors as to why these truths are revealing themselves, but regardless, enjoy this moment of understanding. Revisit some of the questions you puzzled over in past months when your head felt more cloudy: what do you feel confident in attempting now? What habits do you feel the need to put back into practice? Most importantly, is there anyone you owe apologies to? Despite your newfound lucidity, personal relationships may continue to be the one area that confounds you. People don’t act according to specific rules, and that may be more frustrating this month than it usually is. Intuition will come into play this month in a major way: listen to it, use it, trust it. Your gut is rarely wrong. Your lucky book this month is a deeply engaging and enchanting tale that draws on childhood myth but reflects with unerring clarity some of the more disturbing truths about our world. How much power does our outer image truly hold? And how we begin to reckon with the complexity that lies beneath? Keep this book in mind as you do some deep thinking with your newfound enlightenment this month, Virgo--there’s plenty more to this Snow White redux than meets the eye.

LUCKY BOOK: Boy Snow Bird by Helen Oyeyemi

LIBRA

Libra, Libra, Libra. February is a month when card and chocolate companies compel us to think about the people we love and how we express that love, and this month, the universe will be asking the same questions of you. Regardless of how you feel about the holiday of pink and red, you’ll need to reckon with where some of your closest relationships are going, how they’re changing, and who you should finally say goodbye to. Think about those you want to keep close--are you making time for them? Showing them that you care? You may think that is the case, but when is the last time you simply...asked? Intent is one thing, follow-through is quite another; if the other person isn’t picking up on your attention and affection, it may be time to amend your methods. As for you single Libras, this may the month that begins to change. Keep an open mind, but temper your expectations: a few dates does not a healthy relationship make. As you examine your existing connections and begin to think about establishing new ones, remember that people are human and prone to mistakes. Don’t allow yourself to be so swept away that you open yourself up for heartbreak too soon. It takes a careful eye and a good dose of intuition to identify an emotional vampire--practicing openness and caution at the same time is a difficult but necessary endeavor for you this month. Your lucky book is by one of the modern masters of intrigue and fantastical storytelling, and her novel will feel particularly relevant to you right now: a thrilling tale of what happens when a sentient house that holds a bed & breakfast unleashes its rage at the constant stream of unknown visitors. A classic English horror story told in a strikingly original voice, you’ll begin to appreciate the security that comes with only letting those with the purest of intentions get close to you.

LUCKY BOOK: White is For Witching by Helen Oyeyemi

SCORPIO

New month, new you! Sure, it’s the new year catchphrase, but feel free to apply it as liberally as you want. In February, the universe is nudging you abandon some of your old ways of operation and being open to new ideas. Particularly in your relationships with other people. Your usual ways of communicating may not be the best ways, particularly if you’ve found yourself reverting to subtlety and subtweets rather than direct and honest communication. At the end of the day, no one can read your mind except for you, and expecting people to pick up what you’re putting down is simply unfair. The time has come to be direct, take the time to figure out what exactly you mean to say, and say it. Your friends, family, and even coworkers will be much more receptive when your message is clear! That said, making the transition from subtle to direct can be emotionally exhausting, which translates very quickly to physical. If you find your energy levels flagging mid-month, pay attention to them and give yourself some time to recoup. (Ignoring your body’s signs is sure-fire way to get sick, just saying.) Take a bit of time to reconnect with yourself and figure out if there’s anything else you need to get off your chest. What’s the status of your intimate relationships? Are there tensions still swimming beneath the surface? How are you communicating in the workplace? With your creative team? Give yourself the time and space to square these away in your head, and feel confident about moving forward with more energy in a few weeks. Your life will be waiting for your once you’ve had a bit of a break. In the meantime, of course, get into your lucky book of the month, a fiction collection containing fresh insight and wide-ranging storytelling that will assist you in this month’s hard reset. As you aspire to clear and honest communication, Drinking Coffee Elsewhere is a perfect companion to have along the way.

LUCKY BOOK: Drinking Coffee Elsewhere by ZZ Packer

SAGITTARIUS

Bust out the paper and pen and let the genius flow, Sagittarius! February is a month of exhilarating creativity, and you have everything you need to unlock it. That’s not to say that you can expect to sit in a quiet room and have inspiration simply come to you, of course. You need to go to it! Leave the apartment and walk streets you’ve never explored before, take a flight to that city you’ve always wanted to visit and stay for a weekend. Take a class, fly a kite, paint a portrait--ease yourself outside of your typically prescribed behaviors and discover how firing up these new parts of your brain lend themselves to new ideas. The key to this is allowing yourself the freedom to accept what the universe is giving you, even if you don’t fully understand it now. You’ll only stifle yourself if you attempt to prune and edit as you go, so as much as you can, stifle the urge to rationalize every idea that enters your head. Record it, in whichever way feels most natural for you, and then come back to it later to see what you can glean from it. Bringing ideas to fruition takes time, this is just the beginning stages. This is thrilling time for you, and one that you absolutely cannot take for granted. Your lucky book this month is a charming accompaniment to this time of creative wonder--a collection that offers new delicious morsels each time you pick it up. Blurring the boundaries between reality and fantasy, this is playful and loosely connected meditation on the function of the key: is it a gate, a gift, or an invitation? There are no easy answers here, and you’ll be all the more enriched for it.

LUCKY BOOK: What Is Not Yours Is Not Yours by Helen Oyeyemi

CAPRICORN

Timing is everything, Cap! This month will be a bit of a holding pattern for you: there’s something brewing, either professionally or personally, and there isn’t much to do right now but hang back and see where things go. This shouldn’t be a major struggle for your typically patient Capricorn spirit, but when you combine your strong ambition with your very real and human need to see things through, this could wind up being a struggle. So here’s what I’ll say to you: trust in the process. Accept your emotions as they come--confusion, frustration, worry--and then do your best to let them go. If you try to seize control and make things move faster than they should, you’ll end up with a total mess on your hands, and way more stress than you’re experiencing right now. How do you distract yourself? Figure out a good way to spend your time, and do that. Take a mini road trip, lose yourself in a good Netflix binge, take that pile of clothes you’ve had bagged for months to the thrift store. Ultimately, Cap, you won’t regret making the time necessary for whatever is happening in your life to fully germinate. Change is inevitable: sometimes it happens fast, but more often, it happens slowly. Growth is what comes from allowing these processes to happen at the speed that they should. While you get to where you’re eventually going (because believe me, you WILL make it!), dive into some lessons hard-won by one of the most influential artists in the music world: The RZA. From a rough upbringing in the projects of Staten Island to international superstardom as founder of the Wu-Tang Clan, RZA’s spiritual memoir has been called “a nonfiction Siddhartha for the hip-hop generation.” We all have our journey-- don’t try to rush yours.

LUCKY BOOK: The Tao of Wu by The RZA

#riverhead #riverhead books #reader horoscope #readerscope #astrology #february horoscope #aquarius #black history month #black authors #tbr #february #winter #reading list #wutang

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blushlouise · 7 years ago

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How it affects us

“Hey, Hot Spot, what’s with your brother?”

The Protectobot leader looked up at his companion. Hound wasn’t looking at him, though. He was looking across the room to where First Aid was shuffling over to the energon dispenser, head down oozing dejection.

“Oh,” Hot Spot replied, understanding. “He’s grieving.”

Hound stared at him then. “Grieving? Who died? Did he watch that dumpster builder show again?”

Hot Spot grinned and shook his head. Aid had not taken the sight of all those discarded things well. “No, we banned that channel. This time it’s a movie.”

Bumblebee canted his head at them. “A movie?”

“Yes,” Hot Spot confirmed. “We let him at The Hobbit. He just watched The Battle of the Five Armies.”

“You didn’t,” Bumblebee gasped, open shock on his faceplate.

“I did,” Hot Spot replied. “And believe me, I wish I hadn’t. But he’s been ranting about Tolkien since he watched the first Lord of the Rings film, you know that. He’s still got that poster on the back of his door. And the bedlinens. And the sword replica. Pit, the only reason he didn’t actually get the ring was because it was being sold as the One Ring, which he said it obviously wasn’t.”

“Yes,” Bumblebee said pointedly, ignoring Hound’s grin. “But it took him three weeks to get over Haldir. And even longer to get over Frodo leaving! Now he’s going to be moping for months! And don’t look at me like that,” he shot at Hound. “It’s a spark-breaking scene. Even Sunstreaker was upset the first time we watched it.”

“Hush,” Hound said, trying hard to kill his grin. “Here he comes.”

First Aid sat down on the fourth chair, slumping forward over his cube. He was the picture of abject misery.

“Hey Aid,” Bumblebee said sympathetically, ignoring Hot Spot’s exasperated look. “How are you doing?”

First Aid slumped all the way down on the table, hiding his helm in his hands. “They didn’t have to kill them!” he wailed. “Kili never even got the chance to – and Fili was – and Thorin! Thorin was supposed to be King under the Mountain! Not dead!” And then he broke down into spark-wrenching sobs, his body shaking.

Bumblebee shot a look of pure murder at Hot Spot and put his hand on First Aid’s back, stroking him comfortingly. “I know,” he crooned. “I know, that was horrible. But you knew that would happen, right? You’ve read the book.”

“Yes,” First Aid replied tremulously. “But they changed so much other stuff, I thought they would change that, too! And the book didn’t have Tauriel! And there Bilbo’s just told they’re dead, it’s much easier that way!”

“I know,” Bumblebee repeated in that soothing voice. “Come on. Bring your cube, we’re going to go back to your room and watch the bonus material. You haven’t seen that yet, right? Come on.” He tugged at First Aid until the white mech stood up, cradling his cube. “There you go. Come on, Aid.”

Hound stared after them until he left the room, and then he grinned widely again. “Poor kid. He really goes into it, doesn’t he?”

“Way, way too far,” Hot Spot sighed. “But that’s Aid. He just cares. About everything. Even figments of someone’s imagination. The best we can do is limit what he has access to. After this, it’ll be nothing but restoration programs for a while.”

Ratchet walked over then, from where he’d been sitting with Wheeljack. “I’ve taken him off the rotation for now,” he grumbled. Hot Spot wasn’t surprised that the ornery medic had noticed Aid’s outburst – he was pretty sure the whole common room had. “He’s no good until he gets some of it out of his system, anyway. And you -” the red digit stopped only an inch away from Hot Spot’s faceplate, and he flinched backward “- shouldn’t be making a mockery of this. You’re better than that.”

“I’m not mocking him,” Hot Spot protested. “I just don’t understand. It’s not real.”

“It is to him,” Ratchet spat. “You know that. And you know how deeply he feels.”

“Why, though?” Hound asked. “Why care so much about something that doesn’t matter?”

Ratchet sighed and sat down. Hot Spot had a feeling they were in for a lecture. “Because it does,” he replied. “I don’t know why, I’m not a psychologist. But I bet it’s the same thing that has Cliffjumper so upset when his team loses that he takes on slagging Sunstreaker just to get an out. And has Eject crawling into Blaster’s lap at the end of each World Cup because he’s just so overwhelmed that he can’t think straight. That has Mirage –“ and here Hound got a pointed look “- so absorbed in those novels of his. First Aid just feels deeper than most, so when he finds something that draws him in he’s really drawn in. You should respect that. There’s nothing wrong with it.” With a last glare to each of them, he stood up and left.

Hot Spot nodded thoughtfully, then looked at Hound. “You know, he’s right. I think I’m going to go find them. I’ll see you around.”

Hound nodded back as the big mech stood and walked away.

He wasn’t alone for long. His mate was soon occupying the seat Bumblebee had vacated.

“Hey, Mirage,” Hound said, reaching out to touch the black fingers gently. It was the most contact Mirage allowed in public – at least without highgrade involved. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Mirage replied politely. “I’ll answer as best I can.”

“What is it about those romance novels that draws you in?”

Ratchet watched as Hot Spot went the way his younger brother had gone with Bumblebee earlier. He allowed himself a small smirk.

“Now that expression bodes ill for somebot, Ah’d wager,” a voice whispered in his ear.

“Shut up, Jazz,” Ratchet replied, turning towards the saboteur. “Do you have it?”

“So impatient. D’you know what Ah went through t’ get this for you? It’s not even available here yet. You get the Japanese version without subtitles.”

“You know I’ve implemented Japanese, Jazz. Give it to me.”

“Fine,” the saboteur grinned. “Remember our agreement.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ratchet said, distracted by the datachip in his hand. “I won’t tell Prowl that you’re using your hacking skills for less nefarious purposes than fighting the ‘Cons. And I’ll cover for you next time you’re caught red-handed with medical-grade shock inducers.”

“Excellent.” Jazz flashed him a lazy salute and faded into the shadows.

Ratchet hurriedly subspaced the chip and walked briskly towards his quarters. He had an hour or so before he was supposed to be on shift. That would be just enough time to see how Chise and Elias were doing.

#ifdshare #transformers #g1 #fanfiction #wtf jazz #ratchet #first aid #hot spot #bumblebee

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caramel-and-pine · 7 years ago

Text

12 - Friends and Emotions

Max is leaving David’s house in the morning, after a good night’s sleep, and a big mug of black coffee.

“Can I ask something before you leave?” David asks at the door, and Max only nods in response. “Will you save my number and call me sometimes? Add me on Whatsapp or something like this so we can actually keep in touch?”

“I’m not really a fan of phone calls,” Max says but he reaches for his phone and unlocks it before giving it to David. “But if you swear not to send me lame good morning images we can talk on Whatsapp.”

David smiles as he enters his contact on Max’s phone, when he gives it back he makes the Camp Campbell salute. “I swear not to send lame good morning images!”

“You’re unbelievable,” Max says fondly and he leans up to give him a quick kiss. David melts a little. “I must go now, Christine said she wanted to discuss the new outfits and performances for the club today.”

“What is wrong with the performance and outfits you have now?”

“Nothing really, but she likes to create and Sid always gives her free reign of the ‘artistic direction’ of the club.” Max shrugs and smiles anyway. “Well, she enjoys it so it is okay to me.”

“Tell her I said hi, and that I’m curious about the new performance.”

Max grins and raises his eyebrows suggestively. “Do you want to see me dancing again, David?” To emphasize his point Max crudely grabs at his own crotch making an overly dramatic face.

A deep blush overtakes David’s face and he splutters a little before speaking.

“You are both very good performers, I am curious. That’s all!”

“Well, If I know Christine, and I do, she must have everything set up for next week. You should show up next weekend to check it.” Max’s demeanor is suddenly coy as if he isn’t sure David will accept his invitation.

“Oh, I will!” David says all too enthusiastic. “But just to make sure I don’t forget or anything, you should message me some time to remind me.”

“Loser,” Max says softly but he smiles as David leans down to kiss his cheek. “I really must go now…”

“Okay, I have some work to do too and I don’t want to keep you here too long. Don’t want to make Christine wait for you,” David says with a pleasant smile. “Take care, okay? And send me a message when you get home so I know you’re safe.”

Max is half annoyed, half endeared by David’s motherly behavior. “Yeah, mommy, don’t fret,” he says without much heat. “I’ll be careful,” he adds when he sees David’s smile turning into a little frown.

David is still pouting a little bit but Max quickly fixes it by kissing him, sweet and brief, before stepping out of the house. When Max reaches the gate he looks back and David is still at the threshold watching him with a silly smile on his face. Max waves him goodbye and David’s smile goes bigger as he waves back.

Max’s heart is full of fluttery feelings and he bursts into tiny fits of giggles as he remembers the previous day. He attracts a lot of attention on the bus home, but most people just look at him fondly - one old woman sighs dreamily once she sees his blushing and giggling. When he gets off the bus his ears are red with a strange sort of embarrassment.

When he arrives home he sees that Christine has taken the entire table in the kitchen as her workplace. There are at least three sketchpads, her laptop opened on a youtube video, and a box full of art supplies Max has absolutely no hope of ever learning the name and use for. She is deeply focused on the video but when she notices his presence she pauses it and practically tackles him as she makes a million questions in under thirty seconds.

“My god, Christine, don’t you breathe?” Max extricates himself from her clutches and makes it to the sink where he drinks some water.

“You’ve been keeping me in the dark on purpose, Max!” Christine whines and pouts as she sits back on the chair. “Seriously, I am so curious!”

“I know you are, let me enjoy torturing you a little longer,” Max says smugly which just makes Christine make pitiful little noises.

“Max, please, I am serious,” suddenly, her behavior turns serious and she looks at him with a worried expression. “Was he nice?”

“The nicest,” Max says as he takes a seat in front of her. “I mean it, Chris, he was absolutely… perfect?”

Christine raises her eyebrow slightly but the look on Max’s face is so soft when he speaks it placates her worries efficiently. She rests her chin on her palm as she studies him.

“He cut your hair,” she observes and Max makes a show of pointing to his shaved head.

“He cut my hair! And we watched movies together on the couch and he was so into the cuddling and watching TV he never realized I sat in front of him and not by his side because I was hard for him the whole evening…”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Max rubs his neck, a little self-conscious. “Can you believe it? And when he finally got hard he was so fucking cute! We were back at his room and he was still asking if I wanted it and he kept saying how good it was. But it wasn’t gross or condescending, it was just spontaneous, you know?”

“Max, you are so very much in fucking love,” Christine says, at last, a smile on her disbelieving face. “I’ve never seen you talking like this about anyone else before.”

Max doesn’t reply immediately. Is he in love with David? Surely he does feel something but he can’t call it love. Not yet. David has shown him much more respect, care and attention than he’d ever received in his life and maybe that’s why he doesn’t know what to do. He has never truly known affection, how can he properly gauge the situation when his referential is null?

“Do you really think I’m in love with him?” He asks in a small voice. Christine holds his hand across the table and squeezes it lightly.

“I’m sorry, Max, I shouldn’t have said it,” she says in a very serious voice. “You were very cute talking about him, and you looked very happy on the selfie you sent me yesterday but I have no right to label your feelings. David seems like a very nice guy but your feelings are your own and you have as much time as you need to figure them out. I’ll be here for you if you need but the conclusion is only yours to make.”

“He is very nice,” Max says defeatedly.

“He is.”

“I have to text him.”

“You do?”

“He asked me to text him when I get home,” Max picks his phone with his right hand, the left still holding Christine’s hand as if taking strength from her. “He told me to take care.”

“Isn’t it a little possessive?” Christine furrows her brows as Max searches for David’s contact on his phone. He smiles a little and turns the screen to her - the contact is saved as David *pine tree emoji*.

“I don’t think so, when he asked he had a genuinely worried look on his face,” Max types a short message and places the phone, screen down, on the table. “I think he still blames himself for losing me when I was a child, all that camp thing I talked about the other day, remember?”

“Oh, yes, when you were kidnapped by your own mother.”

“It sounds unnecessarily ridiculous when you say it like this, Christine,” Max frowns and Chris laughs.

“Talking about your mother, does Hannah know about him?”

“Not yet,” Max says pensively. “I’ve been meaning to tell her but I don’t know what to say.” Max makes an imaginary phone with his hand and talks on it with a nasal voice, “Hi Honeybear, there is this guy who took care of me for a while when I was a kid and now we’re maybe dating and I’d like you to meet him because he is amazing but the nuns would probably say we’ll both burn in hell.”

“Now who is making things unnecessarily ridiculous?”

Max groans and deflates. “I am sorry. I want Hannah to know about him but until I figure out what I feel for him I think it would be best to keep it to myself.”

Christine pats his shoulder sympathetically. “Take your time, darling. I am sure David can wait; and so can Hannah.”

Silence falls over them for a moment, both immersed in thoughts until Max suddenly stands up and starts to rummage around the kitchen cabinets.

“I’ll make lunch today,” he says, suddenly full of energy. “How was work yesterday, anyway?”

“The usual,” Chris says, turning her attention back to her sketchpads. “Guess who was there asking for you?”

Max groans. “Sam?”

“Ding ding ding! Right answer.”

“And what did you tell him when he figured out I wasn’t there?”

“Well, I’d have said you were home with a terrible virulent sickness that would make you untouchable for the rest of your life,” Christine says dutifully and Max thanks her. “Unfortunately, Ivan was there and he told him the truth.”

“Damn you, Ivan,” Max mutters with a frown. “And how did he react?”

“As well as you can imagine,” she says darkly. “He literally asked for the other client’s number so he could call and ask what time you’d be free and where he could pick you up.”

“Man, that guy is a lost cause,” Max shakes his head. “He acts all ‘oh look how manly I am’ and then he cries when he takes it up the ass!”

Chris snorts a little but she quickly goes back to a more sober demeanor.

“Ivan managed to calm him down yesterday and he left without incident but I swear I was a bit scared,” a cold shiver runs down Christine’s spine at the memory. “I hope he and David never meet.”

The same cold drips down Max’s back. “Oh, please, no!”

***

From: Gwen Hi David! Are you free tonight?

To: Gwen Yes *smiley emoji* Do you want to go out? We could go somewhere new.

From: Gwen Nah, I don’t want to go out *weary face emoji*

From: Gwen How about dinner in your place? I can drop by the supermarket after work pick wine and cake and then go to yours

To: Gwen Merlot and dark forest?

From: Gwen Of course

To: Gwen 8pm?

From: Gwen Deal

David smiles at his phone, it’s been a while since he and Gwen got to hang out together. Actually, the last time he’d seen her in person was when she took him to The Fruit Bowl. After that, they’ve only texted and talked a bit on the phone. Once again the urge to tell her about Max starts to itch but he steels himself and starts to make a mental list of topics of conversation that would lead away from dangerous subjects, like the bar.

It isn’t difficult to get a long list, he and Gwen still have a lot in common despite the different paths they’ve taken in life. They rarely ever talk about Camp Campbell, but they have plenty to talk about their jobs, their friends, Gwen’s pet snake, David’s travels… The list goes on and on.

It’s barely past noon when Gwen sends the first message, so David has a lot of time to tidy up the house and cook. David enjoys cooking despite knowing only three recipes, luckily Gwen likes all three of them. Since she offered to bring wine he decided to make salmon with vegetables, a good combination according to the fancy site he and Gwen liked to scroll through when they were still dating.

David has a meeting with an editor of a magazine in a few days so he works on his portfolio until about three in the afternoon. After some deliberation, he adds two of Max’s photos to the file alongside with many landscapes and some product images he produced in the studio earlier in the week. With a satisfied groan, David finally turns off his computer and goes downstairs to prepare for the dinner.

Being a naturally organized person has its perks. Tidying the house takes him very little time, some sweeping in the living room and a little cleaning product on the floor of the kitchen and he is done. He turns his attention to the food after this.

He prepares the fish and vegetables efficiently and cleans most of the utensils he uses in the process. Gwen will surely ask to do the dishes since he’s cooking and he doesn’t want to leave too much work for her. She will probably be tired from her shift at the clinic and the traffic across the city to David’s house, so it won’t hurt to take it easy on her.

David is satisfied with his preparations. He sets the table with his good plates and a pretty towel and puts the timer on the oven as he goes upstairs to take a shower.

***

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, trust me,” Christine smiles. “Sid said we’ll have a lot of bachelorette parties in the next month, so we think an all-male performance to open the nights will be a good idea.”

“Okay, it makes sense,” Max concedes. “But you know I don’t like dancing without you.”

“I know, Maxy,” Christine pinches his cheek. “It is adorable but I need you to work with the guys on this one. It will be a short number, just to open the nights, okay?”

Max groans. “Okay.”

“Good, now, pay attention here.”

Christine shows him a video clip with a group of four men dancing in some sort of prison corridor. The narrative of the video is confusing at best and nonexistent at worst but the visuals are very strong, the beat well defined and the choreography amazing. And insanely complex. Christine’s eyes shine with a touch of maniac glee as they watch the video.

“And this is what you want us to do?” Max asks, incredulous.

“Yes,” she answers decisively. “I mean, we’ll have to make our own version, but this is the idea, yes.”

“They are wearing high heels, you crazy bitch,” Max deadpans. “You want me to sprain my ankles? Ivan won’t fill in for me if it happens.”

“Oh, please Max,” she rolls her eyes. “Just give it a try, okay? I’ve learned to walk on them, surely you and the guys can too.”

“I’d rather not,” Max pouts.

“Don’t be a baby, Maxy,” she says rolling her eyes.

“I invited David to go to the club next weekend,” Max says pensively. “Do you think we’ll have it ready until then?”

“Oh, you want to impress your boyfriend!”

“Shut up, Christine!” Max pushes her away and she almost falls from her chair, but she is laughing all the while.

“I don’t know, do you think you can stop bitching and work with me?”

“Yes…”

“Good! So, pay attention again because after this we’ll go to the club talk to the guys and hopefully have it all set until next Saturday so you can make David’s heart throb. And hopefully, other parts of his anatomy too.”

***

“Sorry, David, the traffic was awful,” Gwen says as she hugs David at the door. She is barely fifteen minutes late but she knows how much David values punctuality.

“Don’t worry, you sent me a message so I knew you’d be late,” they separate and David takes a good look at her. “I hope you’re not too tired to enjoy the evening. You surely look exhausted.”

Gwen rubs her eyes lightly but shakes her head in a negative.

“I’m fine, don’t worry. It was the traffic, you know how much I hate those slow drivers who think they are on a field trip in fucking rush hour.”

“Yeah, I know,” he smiles a little and rubs his hands together excitedly. “But you are here now, and dinner is about to get ready.”

Gwen smiles at him and there is something off about it. It is small, so subtle he isn’t quite sure if it even exists. This is a rare occasion nowadays, after so many years David and Gwen are pretty proficient at reading one another. David can’t tell what is more alarming if it is the fact that he can’t immediately tell that there is something wrong, or that something happened and Gwen is trying to hide it from him.

They move onto the kitchen and David decides to put it aside for the moment. Maybe Gwen only needs some time to relax and gather her bearings before telling him what is the problem. Or maybe after some conversation, he’ll realize there was nothing wrong to start with.

In the kitchen, he busies himself with the fish and Gwen goes to the drawer get a corkscrew to open the wine. She pours two glasses and sets the bottle aside before putting the cake on the fridge to cool down a little, the hot weather had melted some of the frosting. David places the tray on a heat mat in the center of the table and Gwen brings the wine with her as she sits down.

“How you’ve been?” She asks, taking a sip of the wine.

“I’m very good,” David says with enthusiasm. “I’ve just set up a studio upstairs. It is small, just a background on the wall and some floodlights but it is mine and I am very excited about it.”

Gwen smiles benevolently at him. “This is very good! Are you planning on quitting the tour guides?”

David frowns a little as he serves Gwen a generous piece of salmon.

“No, I wouldn’t be able to quit the tour guides,” he says fondly. “You know how much I enjoy them, but I want more options and it is important to widen my repertoire.”

“Do you have anything in mind?”

“I’ll have a meeting next week,” he tells her. “It is a new magazine, focused on alternative fashion and culture. I am very optimistic.”

“What a surprise,” Gwen says with a little eye roll. She takes a bite and makes a pleased sound as she chews on it. “Oh, this is better than I remembered.”

“Thank you,” David starts to eat his own food. Gwen is right, it does taste better than the last few times he’d made it. His good humor might have infected the food.

They eat in silence for a while. A few times, David is certain that Gwen will finally tell what is wrong, but she just shakes her head slightly and continues eating. He doesn’t remember the last time they had such a silent meal. David’s plate is still half full when he gently sets his knife and fork down to look directly at Gwen.

Her eyes are sunken, and she is looking very tired. Not ‘tired from work’ or ‘stressed because of traffic’, but a deep kind of tiredness that David is all too familiar with. It is the exhaustion of a person being consumed by a problem that seems too big to face. David had had this look for ten years, but Gwen had overcome it when she started to work at the clinic and made her peace with Max’s disappearing. If she is back at this kind of mental space, something really serious might have happened.

David clears his throat to call her attention. Her reaction is slow, it takes a long second for her eyes to meet his.

“Gwen, is there anything you want to tell me?”

Gwen looks down and she tightens her grip on her cutlery. Silence stretches between them, dense and dark for a long while. Gwen gently places her knife and fork down before cleaning her mouth with the napkin.

“Did I tell you about Simone?”

David frowns. This isn’t what he was expecting.

“I am afraid not,” he says carefully. “Who is Simone?”

“Simone is an eight years old girl who was abused by an uncle,” Gwen tells him with a heavy expression on her face. “She was taken to the clinic by a social worker because they needed her testimony on the trial but she refused to speak. I’ve been working with her for a few weeks. In fact, the last time we met I had to leave earlier because they needed me to go to the court see her for the first time.”

“I am sorry, this is a very sad story,” David says, genuinely heartbroken.

“It took me a long time, but she is finally talking more freely with me,” Gwen continues. “Two days ago she said she wanted to talk on the court because she was worried about Bianca.”

“Who is Bianca?”

“Bianca is her ten years old sister,” Gwen explains and something happens to her face when she says it. Her expression hardens all of a sudden, but the vulnerability in her eyes becomes more evident by the change. “Bianca went on a trip with this uncle one year ago, but she didn’t return. Simone thinks the uncle might have hurt her sister,” the emphasis on the word make her meaning clear.

David swallows dryly, any trace of good humor gone. He knows this is the kind of reality Gwen faces on her work, and he wants to be there to help and support her, but it is so difficult. It is such an awful, terrible thing, and despite being a different situation he can’t help but think of Max and how close to this he was during his childhood. David’s throat close.

“So, two days ago I started to look for signs of Bianca,” Gwen says. voice breaking. “And you know that I have quite the experience with missing children. I still remember all the sites, all the forums. I still have all the usernames and passwords.”

Tears start to form in her eyes and David wants to hold her and comfort her but he is too paralyzed to act.

“And since I was there I decided to look our old topics looking for clues about Max… David, why did you close them?” Gwen’s tone is not accusatory, it is confused and somehow betrayed. She is shaking slightly, her lip trembling and her eyes glittering with unshed tears.

“Gwen… I….”

“I am sorry I gave up,” she says pitifully. “I wish I was stronger but I couldn’t keep up with that life. But I did it because I knew you’d be strong for the two of us. I knew you’d never give up,” her voice breaks in a big sob and David’s chair falls when he stands up to go around the table and hold her.

“I’m sorry I abandoned you,” she says between wavering breaths. “I’m sorry I left you alone on this, I’m sorry you had to give up too.”

“Gwen, Gwen, please stop crying,” David holds her in a tight embrace and she weakly holds the front of his shirt in reply. “Gwen, you were right, I’ve never given up.”

“But you close the topics,” she whines. “Now you’ll never receive new information, we’ll never find him!”

“I found him.”

Time seems to stop when David says those three words. It stretches like molasses, slow and heavy around them. David’s brain catches up with what he’s said a fraction of a second too late; at exactly the same moment Gwen processes the information.

She slowly pushes him off, her face a painful puzzle of feelings.

“You what?”

“I…” David takes a deep gulp. “I found him.”

Check this chapter on AO3.

#chapters #chapter 12 #Friends and Emotions

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iamtaekooked · 7 years ago

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Butterfly Love

For @juanichi

A/N: I chose jimin just because he is your bias!! I hope you like it :D

38.) I wanna be more than just friends with you

41.) Whenever we’re together I feel at home.

Pairing : Jimin x Reader

Word count: 1.2k

Excerpt: Its not some grand confession of love. It cant even really be classified as one. He didn't confess anything to you. He merely spoke what his heart desired. Its all very poetic just like a butterfly shedding its cocoon. Maybe it really has shed its cocoon, and as you looked at Jimin you were reminded of butterflies.

Your eyes follow his moving figure from one place to another. You have seen him do this countless times, yet your heart flutters at the sight. Jimin moves every part of his body in sync with each beat. Its almost like watching a butterfly come out of its cocoon. Thats what he reminds you of. His body moves effortlessly as if he is made of nothing but water.

He swings out his arm forwards and leaps into the air with one leg stretched front, and the other back. He lands the move perfectly. You watch him in awe as he switches the style from contemporary to popping in just a matter of seconds, as the song switches from slow to fast. His eyes stay focused on the mirror as he watches his every move, and calculates what comes next. He never wavers in his concentration and continues to move his body left and right. He finishes with one last roll of his body and crouches on the floor with a hawk like expression on his face.

As the song fades into silence you clap as loud and as hard as you can. He turns around, and smiles at you. The seriousness in his features is replaced by softness, and you wish he hadn't stopped because you liked the serious him a bit better.

“How was it?” He breathes out as he takes swig of water from the bottle you hand him.

“Arent you tired of hearing me say it?” You ask. But you knew you were the only one nice enough to tell him that in order to humour him.

He shakes his head and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’ll never ever get tired of it” he huffs out.

You roll your eyes at him. It is typical of him to say that and safe to say you would have been highly disappointed if any other words had been uttered by him.

“You were amazing and absolutely breathtaking. You have jams Park Jimin”

“There it is. The source of all my happiness. The words that define my life” he grins toothily.

You attention is diverted to the tall figure of Taehyung entering the studio, who flips the door open. The sound is loud enough to send the whole floor into panic.

“Hey Jiminie” he greets. He waves at you and throws his hat which you barely manage to catch. He then proceeds to practice like Jimin had. Only he isn't as focused or disciplined. You won't expect any seriousness from him either. Its Taehyung after all.

Jimin takes a seat next to you. He sits awfully close and the entire hour that Taehyung practices your mind keeps wandering to the almost non existent space between you and Jimin. You mentally scold yourself for feeling so whipped for him. You glance at him as he follows Taehyung’s every move.

You avert your gaze to the boy dancing in front you, and watch as he huffs. He falls to the ground, half conscious. He is lying on his back with feet facing the mirror. He glances up at the two of you and smiles like he knows something.

“What?” You look at him.

“Just date already” he laughs and sits up. He spins himself around so he is facing you two and points to your hands.

You look down and are very surprised to see your hand tangled in with Jimin’s. Embarrassment overcomes you and you hastily pull your hand away from his.

Avoiding the fierce eyes of both men on you, you mumble your response.

“Its not like that Tae. We are just friends”

As soon as the words are uttered, Jimin gets up on his feet and walks away. He doesn't give you the time to react. You watch him as he exits and turn towards tae who still has a glint of amusement in his eyes. His lopsided smile gives it all away.

“Are you sure?”he counters.

You stare at the floor, unable to coherently put your thoughts together. What was Tae trying to imply. It surely couldn't be that your interest and your feelings were reciprocated? You looked back at Tae hoping to get some sort of answer. But he shrugs in response and looks at the door.

“You might want to follow him” he says.Finally catching on you stand up. Before you exit to chase down Park Jimin, you look back at Tae and thank him. He gives you a two fingered salute and a wink.

You run out of the studio and into the cold winter morning. The snow is falling gently, and all around you the surroundings are covered with white. Your eyes dart around, scanning, for a sign of a red haired boy. He should have been easy to spot because of his bright red hair if it wasn't for the fact that he had been hiding behind a nearby tree. The grass under the tree is spot free and your figure the tree must have prevented the snow from falling down. Jimin is sitting with his knees hugging his chest and he is playing with a twig that he must have found nearby.

You cautiously approach him. He sits with his back to the tree and his scarf pulled up to his nose.

“You will get sick” you quitely say, avoiding his eyes.

Only a sniffle comes a reply and you wonder whether he is crying. You glimpse at him and look straight ahead again, just as you had done before.

You clear your throat. “Since when?”

“I dont know” he mutters

You nod in understanding. You both let silence engulf you as your minds draw a blank. He looks everywhere but you and you do the same. After a while, you don't know how long you have been sitting there, you decide to get up because you couldn't feel your legs. As you get up, he grabs your wrist. He looks up at you, and motions for you to sit back down. You assume your previous position and still avoid him

“I dont wanna be just friends with you” he says as he pulls down the scarf revealing his very red lips. He says it because he doesn't see the point in beating around the bush anymore.

Your heart rate speeds up, and your breath hitches in your throat. You slowly turn your head towards him and your eyes roam his profile.

“Look I don't know when it changed. I cant remember the moment but all I know is that I like you. I like you more than a friend should like another friend. I don't know if you feel the same way.. “ he trails off and his eyes find their way to the ground.

“I do” you reply.

This time its his turn to face your and your turn to look ahead.

Its not some grand confession of love. It cant even really be classified as one. He didn't confess anything to you. He merely spoke what his heart desired. Its all very poetic just like a butterfly shedding its cocoon. Maybe it really has shed its cocoon, and as you looked at Jimin you were reminded of butterflies.

“I feel like we’re in a movie” you smile at him. He returns the smile, and nods.

“Its a bit angsty isn't it? This whole thing?” He wonders out loud

“No, not angsty. Just very bad timing” you chuckle.

You were both seemingly back to normal, despite all the awkwardness. He scoots closer to you and puts his arm around your shoulder and tugs you into his chest. You lay your head on his chest and inhale deeply, feeling content.

“Let me make this more cheesy” he snickers.

“How” you ask him as you play with the scarf that had somehow dangled around his neck.

“What if I say… whenever we’re together I feel at home?” He makes a partial statement.

You break out into laughter and so does he. You laugh till your stomach hurts and your throat starts to feel dry because of the cold air.

A bright light flashes, and he covers your eyes with his hands while he closes his own.

“Picture perfect moment” Tae click his tongue as he captures the genuine moment of affection between you two in his camera.

You sort of want Tae to leave because you want just Jimin with you, but you also know that without Tae this would not have been possible.

You leave Jimin’s warm embrace, and walk towards Tae who stands with his hands shoved in his pockets. You wrap your arms around him and whisper a thank you.

“Are you sure your boyfriend will like this?” He jokes

“I am sure he won't mind” you laugh

Jimin yanks you by the arm and pulls you away from him “Okay enough”

Tae puts his hands up in surrender and back away. “Your girl” he smirks and turns around and leaves. Jimin holds you close by your waist. He sways side to side with you in his arms. You look at each other lovingly for a few moments. He can see your lips quivering because of the cold.

“Are you cold?” he asks. Your hands find their way to the lapels of his jacket and you hold them tightly with your numb fingers.

The next moment you find your lips pressed against his, and his hands roaming all over your body. The kiss is wet and sloppy, and kind of gross. Too much tongue, but with Park Jimin is it really too much? Your head starts feeling fuzzy and you smile into the kiss. His lips are warm against your own and heat spreads into your body, even in the cold frigid weather. You expect him to taste like sweat, but instead you find nothing. Its a nice surprise. He deepens the kiss by pulling you in with the help on one the hand that he places at the back of your neck. You groan and he you can feel his lips curving into a smile. You pull away for air.

His lips are swollen and red, and his cheeks are flushed pink.

“Warm enough now?” He smiles brightly at you.

You shake your head and he kisses you until your body feels like its on fire, and your heart feels content.

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