#anyway i have returned from the dead (people who study in university) to drop this seonghwa drabble i started months ago but then simply | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mingkily · 2 years ago

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x objection, your honour ~ p.sh x

CURRENTLY AIRING

starring: seonghwa x gn! reader

features selected: small popcorn (1.3k), romcom

audience warnings: none

skip the wait: @yunkiwii | @absentcaryatid | @littleninja97 | @bananapepper420 | @treasure-hwa

behind the scenes: i promised this to @treasure-hwa months ago but then i simply stopped writing <3 can’t promise i’m consistent from now on but i like. exist

synopsis: ah yes, interior design, which no couple has argued about ever!

“no. absolutely not.”

you look at him with pleading eyes, hoping that your pout will be enough to convince him, because really, how could he say no? how could he be so cruel, break your heart like this, crush all your hopes and dreams and ruin your future and-

“that’s unfair and you know it”, seonghwa’s stern expression a little softer now, though he hopes you don’t notice. but of course you do, the sight filling you with hope, so you push your bottom lip forward even more, almost comically much, widen your eyes even more, until your cruel boyfriend bursts out laughing.

“you look like you just saw... i don’t even know what, but definitely not anything pleasant.”

his words earn him a quiet ‘hrmph’, but at least your expression changes from whatever that was to a normal one, though now you look even more unhappy, frowning at him with as much anger as you can muster, which, considering this is your best friend of seven years and boyfriend of four, isn’t a lot.

”i just saw the man who promised he’d do anything it takes to makes me happy refuse my proposal of decorating our new home in a way that makes me happy”, you inform him, still grumpy, and he can’t help but chuckle at how cute you are, surrounded by different paint samples as you frown at him, apparently not realising how adorable you look right now.

“when i said anything it takes that didn’t include mod podging wallpaper strips onto our hardwood floor boards or painting half our house in different shades of pastel pink, though”, something he has definitely not told you about when he made the promise. there hadn’t been any terms and conditions then, and you tell him so.

“because i thought it was clear!”, a weak defense before the jury and you know, know that oral contracts are just as binding as written ones and that the terms have to be specified, and even though you only know this because you’re a huge fan of watching judge judy it still counts, because the tv wouldn’t lie to you - or that’s what you tell yourself as you try to pretend that you know what you’re talking about in front of your evil, cruel, heartless boyfriend who just promised things that he didn’t intend on keeping.

“but-”, though you change your mind and ignore the logical argument, instead get out the big guns, “but it would make me happy.”

complete with a pout and a small, shaky voice. this is unfair and you know it, but you can’t be bothered to care right now.

instead you continue using methods that would never be legally acceptable but that you know work on seonghwa, and add: “and we could have a lego corner in the living room where you get to build all your stuff completely undisturbed. you can even put up some lego stuff in our bedroom! but those patchwork floors looked so cute and once we’ve settled i probably won’t ever be able to try that again, not with our floors because we have the furniture and it’d be a hassle and i mean, not on other floors either because, well, i don’t live there.”

you bend your knees slightly for the grand finale because you know he likes feeling like he has to protect you, like you are his princess and he is your big, scary knight, take a deep breath - who knows how long you might have to beg, better stock up on oxygen - and use the voice that has worked with your parents and countless babysitters and that has convinced your boyfriend before too, a drawn-out, whiny: “pleeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaseeeeeeeeeeeeee.”

you can see his defenses crumbling, and he’s probably tired of discussing this, too. you know the end is near, know that you’ve almost convinced him, and your final blow is the one to entirely break down the last of his tough persona.

“i mean, if you say no i guess i’ll accept that. just… i think i’ll sleep in the guest room tonight, i don’t want to drag you down with me and like it is a really stupid thing to get sad over, and i don’t want to annoy you when i sob over my pinterest board, that’d be kind of really mean and manipulative.”

though what you’re doing right now isn’t better, and you know that, so before seonghwa can say anything you quickly apologise.

“no, sorry, that was a lie, i won’t go and sob and i won’t sleep in the guest room either. i mean, i will probably be like, sad, but it’s fine, like you know i literally get sad when i see cute animals on tv so it’s not like, deep. but can we do something else now before i end up actually getting sad?”

in a way that apology makes it even worse, because now he knows you’re not being overdramatic, unlike when you told him you’d sleep in the guest room. he knows you’re being genuine, trying to let it go and probably convincing yourself it’s not actually that deep and as long as you get to have your own home with him it doesnt matter what shade the walls are or if the floors are boring. he can tell from the way you try to have a neutral expression and probably don’t even notice your lip is quivering, from the way you avoid his gaze because you don’t want him to see that you really are sad over this.

he is a weak man and he thinks that maybe pastel pink walls would do his fragile masculinity some good.

“we’ll have a shrine in the living room. where i can put my lego star wars collection. and at least some of our floor pattern i get to choose. and i don’t want the bedroom to be fully pink. any other colour is fine - within reason, disclaimer -, but if it’s pink i want some pattern or something. do you accept these terms and conditions or do we have to call in a lawyer to mediate?”

it takes a moment for you to realise that he’s serious, but once you do there’s not a trace of sadness left in your expression.

“wait, for real?”, hoping he’s not just lying, even though you know he’s not the type for that. he also isn’t the type for pink walls, so you can’t be too sure.

“yeah. but the star wars shelf won’t be pink. i have full custody over that one”, a condition you don’t mind accepting at all, and suddenly the paint samples no longer look sad to you but instead tell of a promising future. a future with your very own patchwork floor, and a lot of mod podge involved.

“we can literally center the entire living room around your star wars shelf if that’s what it takes”, you promise, too euphoric about your dream floor to realise that you just made the same mistake that put seonghwa in this situation.

soon you will realise though, because as soon as your mod podge floor and the paint on the walls have dried your boyfriend introduces you to his living room floor plan, and lo and behold, the star wars shelf is the centre of the living room, with all other furniture spreading around it as if it really was a shrine, the centre of whatever universe is contained within your living room.

but “i thought you knew i was joking!” is not a defense that holds up before the jury, and you are painfully aware of this as you accept that the lego collection will forever be the centerpiece of your living room decoration.

#ficscafe #ateez #seonghwa #park seonghwa #ateez seonghwa #ateez fanfiction #ateez fluff #ateez angst #.writings #ateezlovenet #seonghwa fluff #seonghwa fanfiction #anyway i have returned from the dead (people who study in university) to drop this seonghwa drabble i started months ago but then simply #never finished <3 #dont know if i still got the Writing Sauce but well #saturno promised me a mingi fic in return so i will use this to blackmail forever #hope u enjoy wifey xoxo

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wh6res · 4 years ago

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three's a crowd | nomin

synopsis. picking favorites is impossible when you like neither of them.

warning. read at your own risk. abuse, bullying, poly relationship, yandere themes, manipulation, nonconsensual touching, noncon, degradation, smut threesome oop

disclaimer. i do not condone whatever tf i wrote in this nor does it reflect my beliefs or values or morals and such. it is all pure fiction and i also dont think jaemin or jeno would act like this in real life.

note. this was meant to be a new year's gift lmao i obviously got a lil carried away 👀 anyway a late happy new year to you all! we survived 2020, let's start living in 2021, yeah? lmao if covid lets us grr mwah!

the relationship you had with the two of them was a weird one, bordering on taboo, but it wasn't as if you willfully chose to be who they wanted you to be and it took jaemin's unwanted pining and jeno's intimidating demeanor for you to fall right into their arms.

it was a joint effort on their part, you couldn't've possibly stood a chance.

"this many?" the cashier asked. "are you sure?"

stepping back and studying the whole situation, you figured you only had your addiction to caffeine and procrastination to blame. it was a chain reaction you didn't even know will lead up to your inevitable doom.

if you hadn't been slacking off during your first semester of junior year college, you wouldn't be forced to overwork yourself trying to catch up to the looming deadlines, but to be able to 'work yourself to the bone' you need your boost of energy… and that was when you met one of them.

"uhm," you scratch the back of your head sheepishly as you eye the six glass bottles of iced coffee. sure, it looks bad and you kinda appreciate the look of concern the cashier throws your way but it was none of his business.

"yes. now could you, like, you know… hurry up? i'm in a little bit of a time crunch right now."

screw it. although you hardly snap like that with other people on a daily basis, it'll be a whole different conversation if you were under a significant amount of stress and today, unfortunately, is one of those days.

now can he just fucking stop asking questions and give you your six bottles of death drink to keep your fucking brain going so you can pass an eight-page essay tomorrow? thank you very much!

the guy snickered, the beeping sound of a barcode being read sounding a thousand times more annoying than it usually sounds as he keeps his hand busy by punching your items out.

you fail to notice how he studies you through the gaps of his lashes, finding you interesting rather than threatening as you stood before him with your messy hair and oversized hoodie.

"haven't seen you around university grounds 'till today," he tries striking another conversation with you. "you new? i'm jaemin."

this was your first mistake, you shouldn't have been so… downright rude when you met him. if you were granted the miracle of meeting him a 2nd time, you would've acted more nice, throwing yourself at his feet even to blend in with the rest of his fangirls you didn't even know about at the time. you would've done anything to make sure he never gives you a second glance, to never pique his interest.

jaemin is the pep squad captain. flying over colored blue mats and doing tumblings in the air with no ounce of fear. he was the best in his team, that much was evident when your friend dragged you into watching a pep rally practice. his landings were clean, balanced, and executed to the best he can at all times.

no wonder he was popular, his talent is outstanding and his looks are a bonus. his killer combo of a smile and wink after pulling off a tough flip is enough to send them squealing in their seats.

he spotted you that day and since then, he snuck the quickest glances at the bench during practices. recognizing you as the coffee girl he met during his convenience store shift. jaemin tries not to let his disappointment show too much when he doesn't see you, but of course, a pair of cold calculating eyes could see right through him.

"i saw that," his boyfriend said, hand darting forward to hold jaemin's gym bag for him. "you kept looking at the crowd. do you want to see her that much?"

"but she reminds me so much of you, jeno!" he retorts, pouting at the slight grumpy tone the other boy used. "i can't help it. she doesn't seem to give a fuck around me so she's quite interesting. maybe she can even be a great addition to our relationship!"

"well," jeno replies after a beat of silence, plastering a small smirk on his face before slinging an arm around jaemin's shoulder.

"convince me?"

you don't like jaemin's attention. not in the slightest. and it seems that was enough reason for the reign of terror his little fanclub has subjected you too.

it wasn't the petty elementary forms of bullying like pulling at your hair or calling you names. they pale in comparison to the other things they do to you—beating you up, messing with your homework, "accidentally" dumping their food trays on you.

and you weren't stupid.

you knew exactly who was behind it, knew how jaemin spectates the whole thing from afar so that he can swoop in at the end to play your knight in shining armor.

"oh, you poor thing. do you need help?"

the first time you accepted his "help" you ended up in a supply closet near the gym during your free period, cornered and weak as your cries for help drowns under the squeaking of shoes and the booming sounds of rubber balls hitting the floor.

if it weren't for jeno appearing out of thin air and prying the boy off of you, you would've been painted blue and red from the death grip he had on your wrist, neck, and waist.

you can still remember feeling the soreness of your scalp from when he pulled your hair too hard. remembered feeling his teeth gnawing at your lips as if he wanted to tear them off.

that time hadn't been the first time you saw jeno. you've shared a few classes with him and it strikes you how polar opposites they are with one another.

while jaemin likes to bask in his professor and classmates' recognition by confidently reciting his answers, jeno would rather keep to himself. liked sitting at the last row, near the window, so he'd be the first to go once the professor ends their lecture. while jaemin loved the attention of his fangirls, jeno preferred solitude. while jaemin is impulsive and wild, jeno liked to think things through.

it was within these reasons that you decided to do what you did. but your judgement of character has never been more wrong.

you approached jeno one day in the library, tried to make yourself appear as stoic and confident as possible. but your constant slouching and averting eyes was a dead giveaway.

you came to talk to him about what jaemin has been doing, hoping there's one person left in this entire school that isn't under the cheer captain's trance. the one reasonable person that has already saved you once and (hopefully) is willing enough to save you again. the only one that probably has a certain level of control over jaemin, if the supply closet incident is anything to go by.

but you've overestimated lee jeno.

"you should've just given jaemin what he wanted."

"but—but aren't you two lovers? isn't it bothering you?"

you try baiting him, only for an uncomfortable shiver to start crawling down your spine when he chuckled humorlessly, pushing his school materials to the side while pinning you with an unreadable stare.

how can a person make someone feel so small just by a gaze alone? it was nothing like you've felt with jaemin. this is way worse.

"the only thing that's bothering me is why you're not ours yet."

you feel cold fingers creeping their way under your shirt, going higher and higher until it brushes against your bra. and when your eyes meet, the look on his face was unmistakable—what are you going to do about it, huh?

you stood up in lightning speed, the chair you've been sitting on scraping loudly against the floor.

you've never ran out as fast as you did.

and jeno swears it'll be the last.

you tried everything in your power to ignore them for the next following weeks but it soon became useless when the two boys took it upon themselves to give you your space.

although judging by the pinpricks you feel on your back, and the constant weight of a stare you feel on your shoulders, you knew they weren't done with you yet. far from it. and for some reason, you just knew they wanted to lull you into a false sense of security first before striking again.

and while they continued to ogle at you from afar like a hawk circling its prey in a desert, you took it upon yourself to return the favor. not because you were the slightest bit interested in those creeps but maybe, just maybe, if you look hard enough you'll find a way out, a weakness.

but what you realized made your insides churn in great discomfort—although it may seem that jeno holds the reins in the relationship since his reserved nature fits the role, it's actually the other way around.

jaemin might appear too self-centered, too focused on himself to give a fuck about his surroundings but in actuality, he has quite a knack for reading people. even more so than jeno. and it was scary how he used it to his advantage, and paired up with his devoted fangirls? it was hell on earth.

you found it alarming how the two seem to magically appear wherever you are.

although you weren't in the least bit surprised. for some reason, you can't take your eyes away when jaemin's devotees flock around him (and jeno) in a circle.

it almost reminds you of a shoal of piranhas, waiting for their meal to drop into the water before ripping it to shreds with their teeth. only their "meal" isn't actual flesh but the carefully crafted words jaemin says that drive them into a sick frenzy.

one that has them doing everything in their power to satisfy him like the loyal dogs they are.

so this was how he got them to bully you?

"oh, that? don't worry! yangyang just ran into me during cheer rehearsal. no biggie. my cheek stung a little bit, though…" is what he said but really he's telling them "scruff him up a bit for me, why don't ya?"

"of course, i can't be the best all the time. haechan is just too good, maybe even better than me…" is what he said but really he's telling them "can you remind him where his place should be?"

all the while jeno did nothing to hold him back.

no matter how wrong jaemin is, how much of an asshole he is, jeno will stick by his side through and through. so as much as jaemin is a puppeteer that gets a kick for controlling people, jeno is as much at fault for looking the other way.

because in jeno's perspective, why the fuck would he do shit when he can just get off from the entertainment that comes with jaemin's sweet little mind games?

we lost :(

you had been busy sorting through paperwork for one of your professors in the faculty when your friend texted you the results of the intercollegiate cheer dance competition. a frown paints your face, heart feeling heavy at the bad news.

in all honesty, you still supported the pep squad—you just hated the captain and his boyfriend. they've been practicing non-stop for this and prior to the weeks of the competition, jeno looked a lot more tense and jaemin less smiley than usual. you swore you even saw the latter snap at one of his fangirls.

not to mention, they paid less attention to you, too, and it was the best three weeks of your life.

tension starts rising in your shoulders, fingers absentmindedly running through the edge of the papers you had been sorting until you became immersed with your thoughts.

jaemin must be in the worst mood yet.

and jeno too, probably. if anything, that guy gets triggered the most when something bad happens to jaemin or when he catches snippets of people talking shit about his oh so "perfect" boyfriend.

jeno is a lot scarier when jaemin is in one of his mood swings, you noticed. he steps up in the relationship to offer comfort to the other boy and for outsiders? it isn't a great experience to go through—being on the receiving end of jeno's ice cold stare is a position you don't want to find yourself in after that time in the library.

he is still as much a threat to your peaceful life like his lover.

you snap out of it when the blinding headlights of a vehicle seep through the closed blinds. you hear the gentle hum of an engine switching off as the headlights vanished as quick as they had appeared. that must be the cheer squad's bus.

as you look around the empty faculty room, something in your gut tells you to ditch file sorting duty for professor kim tonight and fucking get the hell out of campus grounds as quick as you can.

after haphazardly throwing the unsorted papers back into the cabinet, you groan aloud when the keys to the office drop out of your skirt’s pocket.

the indoor gym where the cheering squad practices is right across the hallway. you sure as hell don't want to bump into jaemin. or jeno, too, if he had decided to ride along the cheer squad's bus on the way home.

you kept looking for the keys underneath the cubicles, cursing aloud when you heard the telltale squeaks of shoes rubbing against linoleum. you almost hit your head against a table when you quickly got back up your feet, darting forward to shut the lights for the faculty room.

they can't know you're here. alone. and if it meant sitting in the dark for a few hours 'till they leave, meant going back home a little later than usual is what you have to do then so be it.

you try not to react so violently when the door you're leaning on jolts when someone from outside slams their back against it.

"it's not like we didn't do our best, right guys? i don't have regrets. it might sound fucking cheesy and although i'm sad myself, atleast we did what we can."

it's jaemin. his voice clear as day.

you try peaking, craning your neck up from your place on the floor. only to see the back of his head leaning against the glass section of the door. someone else joins in on the conversation, followed by coach park himself, and you slowly tune out whatever they're saying as you stealthily start scanning the faculty room.

you curse under your breath. is there no other exit other than this door? jesus christ! even classrooms in this university had two doors—

"what are you doing here?"

the switch flickers on, basking the once dark room with light. only when you hear an echo of your name being called, did you snap out of it and quickly picked yourself up from the floor.

"i said, what are you doing here?"

their coach asks, drilling the question as he looks at you skeptically with his arms crossed. you try not to look at the people behind him.

particularly, not at his cheer captain standing on his right.

particularly, not at jeno, who stands out like a sore thumb with his blue hair, a protective arm snaked around jaemin’s shoulders.

this isn't your lucky day, too, you guess.

"i was…" you cursed yourself for stuttering. "i was, uhm, i was file sorting for prof—professor kim, sir."

coach park looked like he didn't believe you as he narrowed his eyes in scrutiny. your nerves are going haywire and you can feel the sharp pins of their stare with how close they are.

you kept juggling your weight with the balls of your feet, hands fisting and unfisting behind your back. you want to leave. you have to leave.

"file sorting… in the dark?" he asked incredulously.

fuck this.

"uhm, you can ask professor kim himself tomorrow, coach. for now, uh, i'll be going now. i'm sorry you guys lost…"

originally, the exit is on the right side, at the end of the hallway. but no, you are not going to pass by those two while on your way out so you ducked behind a random student standing on the coach's left instead and practically ran away from the scene.

everyone had been too busy. too busy looking at your retreating form to even notice jaemin and jeno exchanging glances, too busy to notice the latter untangling himself from their captain to slip away unnoticed, his hurried steps filled with a burning purpose.

you didn't know why you ran, but you did. your shoes practically booming against the floor as you sped away through darkened hallways. you're sweating profusely, heart hammering in your chest. you can worry about professor kim tomorrow but right now you just had to—

"why are you in such a rush, pet?"

crashing into jeno felt like crashing into a wall. if it hadn't been for his arm quickly wrapping around your waist, then you would've landed on your butt before him.

with the small distance between the two of you, jeno could see as clear as day through your eyes.

jaemin was right.

it was addicting to stare into them.

especially when he can see every single one of your thoughts flying through your pretty little head. but hey, it wasn't their fault you were so easy to read.

jeno barely conceals the wicked smirk on his lips when your hands come up to his chest, trying to push him away but to no avail.

he can see your eyes shifting from shock, to confusion, until it finally settles on fear—to which it's slowly becoming a favorite emotion of his to see on your face.

"you know, jaemin is in a really shitty mood right now. and we were wondering, maybe you can cheer us up?"

no. this can't be happening.

"jeno, please." your dilated eyes and disheveled hair made his blood run south. "let me go. you don't want me. you don't need a third party in your relationship."

you yelp when he lets you go, literally shoving you against a wall—which you found out is actually a door, as it swings open as soon as your body crashes against it.

with jeno looming unforgivingly before you in his full height, the tears stung extra hard but you won't let them fall.

if he wanted to bask in the image of your weakness then it'll be something you'll deprive from him for as long as you can.

"i don't need a stupid bitch like you to tell me what i feel." he scoffs. "don't fucking kid yourself, you little whore—i don't want you. i'm not jaemin."

the echo of the classroom door shutting closed surged through you like a wake up call.

this is really happening.

you've always led a decent life, had done nothing too questionable and you've always thought maybe life will spare you if you lived quietly enough. but the feel of jeno's freezing hands crawling against your skin felt like life itself had spat at you in the eye and left you to rot in a ditch.

"i've always liked how you wore skirts," he comments. playing with the ruffled hem of the soft fabric as he purposely grazed his knuckles against your supple thighs. "gives me easy access, don't you agree?"

you scream when he flips your skirt up to reveal the innocent pink of your cotton panties. it was as if a switch had flipped inside of you and the will to fight started coursing through your veins.

"stop! jeno! i don't want this!"

his brows furrow, grunting as he struggles to push the waistline of your skirt up higher with how much you're thrashing underneath him. you buck your hips, tried curling in on yourself, anything to prolong what he wants to do to you.

with your legs trapped underneath his, you blindly reach forward, relying on your upper body instead to push and scratch whatever your palms and nails reached.

you continue screaming like a banshee until he shoved two fingers into your wet cavern.

"stop fighting me," he sounded strained, as if he's holding himself back. you feel him fisting the fabric of your skirt and you fear he's simply going to rip it apart.

you tried responding to him, only the sound had been muffled, gurgled by the flat of his fingers pushing down against your tongue mercilessly. when you reach forward to push him away, your hands land on the apple of his cheeks, nails digging through skin.

until it slips and—

you lie rigid when red scratch marks in the size of your fingernails slowly appear on jeno's skin, his head turned to the side as he paused. your actions slowly start sinking in to him as he shuts his eyes and bit his lip 'till it looked like it was about to bleed.

oh no.

"jeno—"

the slap he planted on your cheek left your ears ringing. all those hard earned muscles of his put to good use—if the tears hadn't fallen for the last few minutes, then it definitely started falling now.

the hit had been so strong, a few of your hair flew astray, the buzzing feeling of your skin tempting you to reach a hand up to soothe your abused cheek.

until jeno let out a low growl and your hand immediately drops limp against your body, afraid of whatever else he can do to you other than a slap.

"that's more like it," he whispers under his breath. you let out the tiniest of whimpers when his hand darts forward to fist your hair. "do you know what happens to bad girls? they fucking get busted up. do you understand me?"

his patience is nonexistent.

jeno slams your head against the floor when you don't answer because you thought his question had been rhetorical. it felt like your skull had been split in two as you wail in pain.

"are you fucking deaf—i asked you a fucking question!"

the hand that cups your jaw is painful as he squeezed your cheek with his blunt nails. your hand shoots up to wrap around his wrist, silently pleading for him to let up as you sobbed out loud. you started nodding as best as you can despite his firm grip on your face.

your reply was nothing short of pathetic. with lips forcefully pursed and the steady stream of your tears and snot rolling down your face, your response is gargled and hardly incoherent and jeno seemed to thoroughly enjoy your anguish if the condescending curl on his lips is anything to go by.

"look at you," he whispers, his face coming close to yours as he holds you down. there was something in the way jeno stared so intently that it made your skin crawl.

"i think you're prettiest when ruined like this."

with his nose touching yours, he felt too close, bordering on intimate as you felt his hand creep back up your thighs, trailing up with feather-like touches that made goosebumps appear on your skin.

you tried wiggling your legs underneath him but one sharp look from jeno is enough to make you stop.

the hand holding your face moves. coming down from gripping your face to encircling his hand around your neck.

"do you like it when i touch you? freaky bitch."

his hands trail further up, up, up until you felt him slotting a finger underneath your panties.

jeno didn't like how frozen you were underneath him as he pulls at the hem before letting go. the elastic snapping back against your skin.

the action evokes a strong feeling through the young male, promising to have you writhing and screaming and begging because by the end of all this, you'll be so needy and frustrated that you will have no choice but to give in to what your body wanted.

"jeno, didn't i tell you to play nice?"

someone stands by the door, the minimal light from the hallway creating a silhouette with his form but you knew who he was. that deep voice, with the same annoying flippant tone, is a dead giveaway.

you didn't know why you even hoped in the beginning. as if there'll be someone who can save you from these two.

you thought the flash of hurt in your eyes was quick to disappear but jeno noticed it quicker.

in a span of seconds, he pulled you up from your position from the ground and tugged you towards his lap. you haven't even gotten the time to settle on your new position when he already smashed his lips against yours.

it was messy. too much saliva. too much teeth. no tenderness to it at all.

the fabric of his jeans felt rough, not to mention the ice cold belt buckle made you severely uncomfortable as it seeps through the thin fabric of your skirt.

when you attempt to hover over his lap, jeno grunts as he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you back down without your lips breaking away from each other. you didn't know why he let out a whine, but you understood the moment you fully sat down on his lap and you felt a tent on his jeans hitting your clothed entrance perfectly.

in a normal circumstance, you would've found everything hot and might've actually gotten off from it but not when it's him who’s doing this to you and you didn’t consent to any of this.

you start squirming again. palms lying flat against jeno's chest as you attempt to push him away and jaemin sees this as the opportune moment to slot himself behind you, caging you in between them.

“i want my turn,” he hisses and without an ounce of hesitation, jeno stops to do what he's told.

jaemin doesn't waste any second to grab your face, awkwardly craning your neck up to meet his lips in the same feverish kiss.

while jeno had been all teeth and aggression, practically forcing you to open your mouth and kiss him back, jaemin on the other hand is more soft, more romantic, you daresay. he seemed to like taking his sweet time by clutching your face, kissing you like he actually meant it.

he pulls away slightly, resting his forehead against yours as he murmurs something incoherent under his breath and then he's kissing you again.

you think you heard something along the lines of, "finally."

you've been too distracted by jaemin to notice jeno's nimble fingers quickly fumbling with the buttons of your blouse. it was only when you feel the sensation of his tongue laving against the swell of your breast did you turn away from jaemin, jerking backward in surprise.

"no—!"

your scream is cut off by a hand cupping your mouth. jaemin pulls your back towards his chest, molding your body against his as jeno licked and suckled all he wanted, thankful to have the other boy there to not worry about restraining you and keeping you quiet while he has his fun.

"ah, ah, ah," jaemin teases, going hard over the pleading and teary look you sent his way. it looked pathetic, he wasn't going to lie, but it doesn't mean he didn't love it. "just keep still and appreciate jeno's efforts to take care of you, alright baby?"

you don't like how he talked as if this was all a mutual thing, how he talked slowly like you were some toddler who didn't understand anything.

it's cruel how jaemin giggled and basked in your vulnerable state as he kept his eyes pinned on you while undoing the zipper of your skirt. your muffled cries of his name only serving to egg him on.

the way he stared was similar to jeno, too intently and intrusive, like he wants to burn your image of despair in the back of his head.

you whined involuntarily when jeno got bored of all the licking and thus decided to start biting and nipping at your chest instead. he was hypnotised by how responsive you were, how every little bite and nibble made you shudder.

it was a shame that jaemin had to cover your mouth. he didn't get to hear your pretty mewls but it wasn't as if he'd let the night end without hearing them loud and clear.

jaemin is fast in undressing you, feeling slightly betrayed by how quick your skirt and blouse fell under his hands.

you know what he wants, what he's going to do, and the tears fall harder when you can't dodge away from him. forced to endure and accept whatever they give you.

"you act like you don't like it but look how fucking wet you are," you bit your lip hard when jaemin starts circling the pads of his fingers against your clit, fascinated by how more juices streamed down your thighs.

"jeno, do you see this? fuck."

you can only blink in defeat, staring off to the side as you force down any noise bubbling up your throat, forcing yourself to think of anything else other than what's happening right now.

you try not to think about how they managed to tear all of your clothes off while they're left completely dressed. tried not to think about the fingers lazily drawing up and down your slit to collect your essence.

if they're doing this as a way to further humiliate you, it's working.

"slut," jeno mocked, a wicked curl on his lips when he wraps his fingers around your throat. the moment he dives down to claim your lips again is the same time jaemin pushes two fingers inside you.

"look at how wet you are because of me," jaemin whispers hot against your ear and you feel a sick churn in your stomach when you feel his smile against your skin.

he purposely drives his fingers in and out quicker, settjng a brutal pace, wanting you to hear the lewd squelching sounds. "hear that? do you hear that, darling? that's because of me—"

"don't go talking big now, jaem," jeno retorts, pulling away from your lips to start nibbling on the back of your ear. "i was here first. did you see how she fucking reacted when i sucked on her tits?"

you're quick to catch how jeno particularly loved degrading you. but how he talks about you as if you're literally not in front of him naked made you hit a new all-time low.

you felt… filthy.

his hands find purchase on your butt—only because jaemin has already claimed the front. for now.

you close your eyes tight when he painfully squeezes the flesh of your ass. you swear, his blunt nails will paint your skin black and blue.

"i'm the favorite!"

as someone who's part of a varsity team, you already knew a competitive nature runs through jaemin's veins. but never had you thought jeno would share the same sentiment. once again they prove that they're cut from the same cloth.

all of a sudden it wasn't all about claiming you as theirs anymore rather it was all about who can make you moan the loudest, who can make you cum the most, who can make you feel the dirtiest you can be.

you're absolutely terrified for the hours to come.

thankfully, they have yet to ask for your verbal opinion or validation. they let your body do all the talking—every repressed shudder and sharp gasp is enough.

but it's game over once they pop the million dollar question.

"who do you like best?"

you don't want to find out the consequences if you actually answered their question because you didn't know what could be worse.

jaemin's manipulation or jeno's aggression?

but it was all normal. trial and error is inevitable in order to build and mold you into the ideal lover for the both of them.

because adding someone new to the mix has never been easy—after all, three's a crowd.

#nct imagines #yandere nct #yandere kpop #nct smut #nct scenarios #yandere jaemin #yandere jeno #jaemin imagines #jeno imagines #jaemin scenarios #jeno scenarios #jaemin smut #jeno smut

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ahtsumu · 4 years ago

Text

the mystery of love ; kuroo tetsurou

pairing: kuroo tetsurou x f!reader

synopsis: kuroo tetsurou does not believe in soulmates. he believes in science, himself, and sometimes other people. but that doesn’t mean he can’t believe in love.

tag(s): sweet summer lovin’, friends to lovers, inspired by call my by your name, university student!kuroo tetsurou, lab intern!kuroo tetsurou, so much pining lol, fluff, angst, slow burn ; warning(s): profanity, mentions of alcohol ingestion (it’s legal bc they’re in italy!), suggestive themes ; wc: 4.8k

a/n: happy birthday tetsu!! i hope you guys like this. i really enjoyed writing it ♡

Kuroo Tetsurou does not believe in soulmates. He believes in science, himself, and sometimes other people. At least, that’s what he tells you. Sometimes you treat this information as a source of hope; other times, you’re not sure what to make of it.

This, you realise with his shoulder pressed against yours and both your bodies sprawled across his wrinkled bed sheets, is one of those other times. You turn your face to look at his.

“What?” he asks, one side of his mouth curling up in a smile.

For a moment, you wonder what would happen if you just said it. You could blame the alcohol. Get away with it scot-free. While you mull the option over in the dead silence of his room, your brain suddenly registers the music still playing from the living room. The low bass reverberating through the walls. How close your lips are. The sound of his breaths.

“Earth to Y/N?”

And like that, the little what-if that rose in your mind falls back with its tail between its legs. You bite your lip, look around his room like the walls have a script printed on them. Unfortunately, they do not.

“I was just thinking about my shirt.” It’s not great, but it’s the best you can do while still feeling the vodka and orange juice burn in your stomach. And smelling it on yourself.

Kuroo’s laugh booms through the room and you can’t help but giggle along with him. “I said I was sorry!” he says, hazel eyes twinkling with mirth. He pauses and glances at his closet, then nods his head in its direction. “Take a hoodie. Your pick.”

A smile–– one you try to downplay but fail miserably to–– creeps up your face. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Kuroo replies. “You can also shower here if you want. It's the least I can do after spilling my drink all over you.”

When you emerge from Kuroo’s bathroom in one of his thinner hoodies, a lot soberer and drying your hair, he’s not on the bed anymore. Quietly, you step out of his room and look for him through the house. People are crashed everywhere–– on the sofa, over the kitchen counter, even propped up against walls. The floor is covered with plastic cups and mysterious pools of liquid. Wrinkling your nose, you try your best to step around the messes, looking in every corner in the house for the raven-haired boy.

You find him back in his room, actually. He’s back on his bed scrolling through his phone, the light illuminating his sharp features. When he hears you close the door behind you, he looks up, eyes immediately zeroing in on the black hoodie over your torso. The corner of his mouth twitches up.

“Where’d you go?” you both ask at the same time. He chuckles; you grin. Crawling back onto the bed, you tell him to go first.

“I went around to make sure nothing’s broken,” he explains. “Perks of being the only sober intern in the house, I guess.”

A beat passes.

This house is rented. You forgot about that. All his expenses are paid for by your mother’s lab. You forgot about that. He fits in your world so well, like maybe he’s always had a spot there, that you forgot that Kuroo Tetsurou is only here for the summer.

“Right.”

Kuroo raises a brow. “And you?”

“I went to look for you.”

He smiles and holds his hands out like a magician at the end of a trick. “Well, you found me.”

“Yeah,” you muse. “I guess I did.” Aren’t you lucky.

With that, something shifts in the air. A contemplative expression crosses Kuroo’s face. Maybe he’s realised how his words come out sometimes. Kuroo often says things that sound like they have more than one meaning and it used to throw you off, but now you just go with it. You’ve even picked up that habit yourself. “Do you ever wish that you’d met someone earlier? Maybe under different circumstances?” he asks.

Sighing, you fall back against his mattress and stare up at the ceiling. Telling the truth feels easier when you can’t see him. “Yeah. All the time.” A few seconds pass. “Do you think we would’ve been friends if we went to the same college?”

He also lies down. You’re both back in the same positions you were in an hour ago, but something’s changed. “No,” he admits. You’re not surprised–– that’s what you’d expected. “I’d be a junior and you’d be a freshman. We probably would’ve never met. And even if we had, I wouldn’t be caught dead hanging out with a… freshie.” He chuckles softly at the end. “And look at me now,” he adds softly, more to himself than you. You look over at his face. A contemplative smile rests on his lips.

That urge to just say it returns.

“Kuroo, I think––”

“You’re my favourite p–– oh, my bad. You first.”

And it goes away again.

“Um, uh,” you stutter, “how long do you have left here?”

Kuroo raises his brows. “On this planet? Hopefully a while, Y/N.” He sees your unamused expression and drops the front. “Three more weeks.”

Your eyes widen. Eight weeks have already passed. Blood rushes to your ears. Eight entire weeks have already passed, meaning that in three weeks, Kuroo Tetsurou will leave forever. And in four, you will, too. Except you’ll come back. You’ve done so every summer since you were born, probably will do until you die.

But this place will never be the same as it used to. Not after him.

“Y/N?” Once everything comes back into focus, you see the concern riddling his features. “Everything okay?”

“Hmm? Yeah.”

Say it.

“You didn’t have too much to drink, right?”

Say it.

“I just got buzzed. What about you?”

“The only drink I was planning on having all went to your shirt.”

Say it.

“Kuroo.”

“Yeah?”

Not yet.

“Let’s go on an adventure.”

At two AM, everything is different. The streets feel different, the villas look different, and you–– you can’t put your finger on it but Kuroo Tetsurou has changed, too. He sits behind the wheel of your father’s white 1953 Cadillac with the convertible roof down, unruly hair blown back by the breeze, a euphoric grin stretched over his face. In the passenger’s seat, you sit with an equally large beam and your hands raised into the dark sky.

“Where to, Miss?” he shouts over the wind.

“The stars,” you shout back with a laugh. Kuroo’s cat-like eyes briefly flit over to your side profile, lips curving to form a smaller, more tender smile. But you miss that–– your gaze falls on him just a second after his return to the road.

“I heard you say Jack’s,” he says, smirking.

The 24/7 diner sticks out like a sore thumb in the row of sun-baked stucco and stone buildings with its bold neon lights and shiny exterior. During the day, it seems gaudy, way too American for a small town in northern Italy. But at night, this place feels like home. You’ve been stumbling into Jack’s completely shit-faced since you were sixteen. Of course, all those other times had been with the kids of your mother’s coworkers. All those other times, you could hardly remember what you even ordered when you woke up hours later.

But this time, you walk in with Kuroo Tetsurou at half-past-two in the morning, the chemicals running through your bloodstream epinephrine and dopamine, not ethanol; if you’re drunk then it’s on a feeling and your only poison is the boy next to you. You study his face and consider that thought. No, he’s not poison. He’s the antidote.

“Y/N!” the server exclaims, rushing over with two menus. “And Kuroo! My two favourite customers, but together this time!” Giovanni ushers you two to a booth by the window and takes your orders, purely for show, of course. He knows your orders by heart: the Lorenzo for Kuroo and the Quentin for you.

“With fries on both, please,” Kuroo adds, throwing you a wink. “Aren’t I a gentleman?”

“You only did that to have more for yourself,” you reply drily. Having him over at your house for dinner every night made picking up his idiosyncrasies so unbelievably easy. You know them like they’re your own. You know him like he’s your own.

Kuroo clutches his chest and pretends to be offended, then changes the conversation to what happened at the lab today, or rather, yesterday. That your mother and the other researchers are so close to finding a cure for the strain of virus that’s recently hit crickets in southern Italy.

“You should drop by again sometime,” he says. “Last time you came around was, what, two weeks ago?”

Your face breaks in a grin. “Are you saying you’ve missed me? Chemistry getting boring?” you tease, drawing a loud laugh from him.

“Sodium hydrogen, you little shit.” Your mother’s used this one on you before, but hearing it from him makes you giggle anyway.

Giovanni comes back with two plates, each loaded with fries. You both say your thanks and he retreats to the kitchen again, but not before wiggling his eyebrows at your reddening faces. Wordlessly, you grab your fork and knife and transfer at least half of your fries onto Kuroo’s plate. Kuroo stares at you with the slightest smile. That look sends your stomach into flips.

“What?” you question nonchalantly, cutting into your burger.

“Nothing,” he says, mirroring your actions. “Nothing at all.”

It’s hard to imagine that after spending almost every day together for eight weeks straight that there’s still more to learn about each other, but there is. You tell him more about your real home. Your best friend who called you at 3 AM last night because of timezones. Stories from every summer before this one, when you were a different person in the same place you are now.

He tells you more about Kenma, his best friend from high school. How they played on one of the best volleyball teams in Japan. Stories from training camp, literature class, the metro ride home after school–– you listen to every single one in rapt attention. There’s not enough time in the world for all the things you want to know about Kuroo Tetsurou, so you take what you can get. If only you’d known him before you’d known him.

“If we’d met earlier here, do you think we would’ve been friends?” you ask after paging Giovanni for the check.

“No,” he replies, picking up a few remaining fries with his fork instead of his fingers. The corners of your mouth turn up. That’s your thing. He considers the scenario seriously. “I think we met right when we should have.”

“What about the future?” you press, leaning into the conversation. “Let’s say we meet in two years here, instead of now. Would we be friends?”

Kuroo sets his fork down, eyes you steadily. “What’s this about?”

You blink. “What?”

“What’s with all these hypotheticals today?” Perhaps worried that he came off too harshly, Kuroo adds, “I thought I was the scientist.”

“I just… it feels like I’ve known you since forever.” This feels like it was meant to be, you don’t say. And I want to know you forever.

A sigh–– fond, but still a sigh–– blows through his lips. “Don’t tell me you believe in soulmates,” he says with a wicked grin.

“Are you calling me your soulmate?” The question, shamelessly genuine, painfully hopeful, leaves your mouth without you intending it to and you regret it instantly. Because Kuroo Tetsurou has told you many times that he does not believe in soulmates.

Is it so bad to dream, though?

You watch him carefully but he doesn’t say anything, just continues smiling wryly like you’d intended to tease him. Like he knows that you know better. But you don’t.

“Are you?” he suddenly replies. Sharp eyes hold yours, daring you to respond. Do you dare?

At that moment, Giovanni returns with the check. “Who’s paying?” he asks, unaware of the tense exchange that just occurred across the table. Inaudibly, you sigh in relief. Kuroo is about to say that it’s on him when he catches himself in the middle of his sentence, looks your way, then back to Giovanni. He says you’ll go Dutch. You nod in approval.

“So,” Kuroo drawls once you’ve both paid for your meals. “Where do we go from here?”

Good question.

Kuroo Tetsurou has never been to an outdoor club period. And though he’s been clubbing, he has never once gone dancing in his lifetime. You tell him that’s about to change as he parks the car in a lot near the venue. Before him, all your summer nights were spent here.

“You’ve been here for two months and you haven’t been to an outdoor club yet?” you ask while unbuckling your seatbelt. That can’t be possible. If you’d been in his shoes… an attractive college student in a foreign country for the summer, you would have gone wild.

“Nope. I’ve been a little busy, y’know, spending my days in a lab, handling chemicals, studying viruses, washing lab equipment, writing up reports for your mother and her colleagues, working on my own research on the side… the usual.” He flashes you a bright, sarcastic smile.

“Poor baby,” you coo, ruffling his hair. Kuroo laughs while you continue messing with the dark locks. “Was your first full day here the only tourist-day you’ve had so far?” His weekends, you already know, are spent either lounging around cafés, pools, or the great outdoors with you or the interns. But you’d assumed he’d had time to do some exploring on his own.

Kuroo nods. “And my guide wasn’t even that great,” he mutters, shooting you a dark look. “She sped through every attraction and hardly spoke a word outside of the tour to me. I think she hated me.”

You giggle and open the door, letting the music from the outdoor speakers infiltrate the bubble inside your car. “Maybe she was just nervous!” you say as you get out. That’s a lie.

“About what?” Kuroo follows suit, the gravel crunching beneath his feet. “I was so friendly to you and you just brushed me off each time.” He pouts.

But you don’t reply. Instead, you just grab his hands and pull him towards the venue. As you step into the boundaries marked by fairy lights and rustic wooden fences, Kuroo stops in his tracks and tugs on your intertwined hands. You glance down before up, trying to memorise how his hand looks around yours in the few seconds you can steal.

“Y/N,” Kuroo says. The strobe lights paint his skin pink, blue, purple like it’s a canvas. “Tell me why you were nervous.” Grammatically, it’s a command. And yet it sounds like he’s begging.

“What’s it mean to you?” you ask, feeling your heartbeat speed up in your chest. So what if you just… said it? What would happen?

“Everything?” he replies with a cheeky smile. The odds that he seriously means that are slim. But… they’re there. You shake that possibility out of your mind. That’s just the hope talking.

“Depends how convincingly you say it.” You tug on his arm. “C’mon. Let’s dance.” But he doesn’t budge–– he just continues to stand by the entrance of the club with an expectant look on his face. People are starting to stare.

“Fine,” you say with an eye roll. “I’ll tell you." Kuroo smirks, something self-congratulatory ready to leave his mouth, but then you let go of his hand and dance backwards into the throng of moving bodies. “But first, you’re gonna have to dance with me!”

You allow yourself to be swallowed by the lively music, the people, the moment. Seconds later you’re deep enough into the crowd that you lose sight of Kuroo. Something in you says that he’ll show up soon, though. For now, you let yourself breathe. Forget about the heaviness of what-if’s, the itch to confess, the dread of the aftermath. Feelings are a lot like gravity. Sometimes they keep you grounded, other times, they weigh you down. This is one of those other times.

You dance up to a friendly-looking group of teens your age. Three guys and two girls. You shout your name and follow up with how it’s nice to meet them, hoping one of them finds you nice enough to keep around. Dancing alone in a club is one of the worst things that can ever happen to someone. Luckily, one of the girls–– the one wearing a purple wig–– pulls you in for a hug, drunkenly shouting back, “Bianca!” Bianca pushes you into their circle next to one of the guys and, just like that, you two start moving to the beat, feeling it in your feet, shoulders, hips. At one point, you turn around and take a good look at his face. The guy’s cute enough, but he’s not Kuroo. Still, you say nothing as he moves closer to you and grabs your hand, lifting it up and motioning for you to twirl.

Suddenly, a pair of hands grip firmly onto your waist and pull you out of the circle. “Hey!” You look down, suddenly realising they’re Kuroo’s. A shiver runs down your spine. He spins you around to face him. His lips are set in a firm line, eyes completely devoid of humour, nostrils slightly flared.

“Hi,” you say quietly, testing the waters.

“Hi,” he replies curtly. His hands are still on your waist. Selfishly, you choose not to point that out. Instead, you try to defuse the situation with a light question. Playful tone.

“Where were you this whole time?”

“Looking for you.”

“Well… you found me.” You flash him a sheepish grin. A peace offering of some sort.

“I did.” He doesn’t take it.

“Lucky you.”

Irritation finally seeps through his features. “You just left me on the dance floor!” he snaps. “And then when I find you after searching the entire venue, you’re dancing up on some random guy!”

“It was in good fun!” you retort, wriggling out of his grip. “And I wasn’t dancing up on him.” You want to ask if he’s jealous so badly, but you take a good look at his face and decide against that.

“Fun?” he asks incredulously. “Worrying about losing you, worrying about myself getting lost, then having to worry about that guy after finding you isn’t very fucking fun to me, Y/N!” The words fly out of his mouth like daggers without pause. Once finished, he looks at you with a disappointed gaze, shaking his head lightly, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath.

“I’m sorry,” you say, looking down at your shoes. It doesn’t matter if you disagree with him–– a sort of shame drills itself so deeply into your conscience that all you can think about is making things right again. “I didn’t think my actions through.”

A second passes. You wonder what he’s thinking.

“Hey, look at me.” Kuroo lifts your chin up with an index finger. Your wide eyes meet his narrow ones. Just as a pink beam glides over his face, his gaze softens, falls down to your lips. And then you feel his thumb on your chin, barely grazing the skin of your bottom lip. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. The revelry in the background fades to dull beats against your eardrums. Suddenly, you register that he smells of, as usual, blackcurrant and amber.

But now you also smell of blackcurrant and amber.

You’re wearing his clothes. You smell of him.

Kuroo’s eyes crawl back up to yours, wide like he’s just been caught in the middle of a crime. You blink expectantly, ignoring the furious way your heart pounds in your chest. Shallow breaths puff through your slightly parted mouth.

“I am.” It comes out barely a whisper. C’mon. Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me––

You gently touch the hand he has on your chin. Kuroo jolts back like he’s been burned. “I’ll, uhm, I’ll be in the car,” he stutters, looking away from your face. He pushes through the sea of people, leaving you all alone on the dance floor, body doused in blue light, fingers touching the area his thumb had been as if preserving its print.

Kuroo hardly notices you slip into the passenger’s seat minutes later. He’s got his forearms hanging over the steering wheel and gaze fixed ahead into the darkness, mind probably running off to a place he wishes his body was, too.

As soon as you’ve buckled yourself in, Kuroo starts the car.

The entire drive home is silent.

Once Kuroo pulls into your courtyard and parks, he turns off the engine, unbuckles his seatbelt, and steps out of the car. Wordlessly, you follow his actions and meet him by the stairs to your door.

“Hi,” you say quietly. He doesn’t look at you.

“Hey.”

The two of you stand outside your front door in silence as you both consider what to say next. This can’t be the way it ends.

“I shouldn’t have… done that,” Kuroo says first.

“Done what?” You choose to play dumb. Call it selfish, but you want to hear him say it. Maybe then it’ll feel as real as it had been. Kuroo sighs and leans his shoulder against the stone wall, crossing his arms over his chest. There’s no way he can dance around what happened. Perhaps the past two months can be summed up as the development of a strong friendship with skilled doublespeak and metaphors and just enough artistic licence, but this can’t. And Kuroo knows that. He can’t feed you an alternative truth like he’s done so many times before. What’s more, he can’t lie to himself anymore. So maybe it’s better just to not speak at all.

Your eyes burn holes into the side of his face. Fine. You’ll concede first. “I was never nervous.”

Kuroo blinks, turns his head around to look at you. “What?”

“I was never nervous. I was playing it cool because I didn’t want to risk befriending you and getting attached.” I’m still playing it cool, you don’t say. And I’m already attached. “Guess I just came off as a bitch instead.” You laugh. “But can you blame me? You were this cute, older guy. Smart, too, since you were interning with my mom. You were my dream guy.”

An amused breath blows out of his nose. “Were?” he questions, grinning, only remembering the fragility of your platonic relationship a second later. “Um––”

“Are.” It slips out of your mouth without you realising. Fuck. Kuroo stills. It’s too late to take back your words now, so you might as well just keep going. “You still are my dream guy.”

Seconds pass and neither of you says anything. Sweat gathers in the palms of your hands. You start to feel your heartbeat through your neck. The buzz of the cicadas grows louder. Oppressive. Behind Kuroo, the sky is starting to turn pale blue and pink in the horizon. That means it’s almost sunrise. The night is almost over, and, hopefully, so is this awful conversation.

“And… you don’t feel the same.” Funnily, you feel like you’re lying. You’re telling Kuroo how he feels and you think you’re lying. Does that make sense? None of this night even feels real. God, you hope this has all just been a dream. Mustering a soft smile, you say, “That’s okay. Thank you for the party. And the adventure.” It was fun while it lasted. You feel the house key in your pocket and turn to unlock the door. “I hope this doesn’t change anything between us, Kuroo. Can we still be friends?” The words leave your mouth feeling like barbed wire. You know damn well you can’t still be friends.

And suddenly, you feel his calloused hands around your cheeks. Suddenly, his hot breath fans over your face.

“Can I kiss you?” he murmurs.

Your eyes close instantly. “Yes, please.”

And suddenly, his soft lips are on yours.

Kuroo breaks the kiss seconds later. “Fuck,” he whispers, resting his forehead against yours, touching the tips of your noses together. “Y/N, I don’t want to be friends. Fuck.” A dry chuckle leaves his mouth. He pauses to collect his thoughts but decides that that can wait. Instead, he presses another kiss to your lips so fervently that he backs you up against the wall with no space between your bodies. You wonder if he can feel your heartbeat like this, chest to chest. Kuroo’s hands travel down your waist and rest on your hips. His tongue runs across your tongue, your teeth, the insides of your mouth. You gently suck on it, drawing a satisfied moan from him. When the kiss ends, you see that his lips are red and cheeks are swollen. A warm feeling spreads through your chest. “I thought I could be happy just being friends with you but I can’t. I want you so bad it hurts. Not to mention, when I saw you in my hoodie?” His fingers pinch the material. “I thought God was testing me or some shit.”

“Sure didn’t feel like you wanted me that way,” you retort, still breathless.

“In my defence,” Kuroo says, thumbs tracing your cheekbones, “I was very scared.”

“Of what?”

It looks like he’s about to tell you, but he changes his mind and doesn’t answer. He grabs your hand and pulls you back to the car with a cheeky grin. “I’ll tell you only if you tell me where we can watch the sunrise.”

Kuroo holds your hand, stroking your thumb the entire drive there.

After a short hike, you plop down on the grassy hillside, supporting your body with outstretched arms in the back. Kuroo sits down beside you with one of his hands covering yours, fingers intertwined like a honeysuckle vine around a hazel tree. You tell him that you grew up running along this hill with your parents. It used to be your playground. Maybe, you think, it’s time to make new memories here.

“Beautiful,” Kuroo breathes, a wonderstruck look in his eyes. The sun’s just risen halfway above the pink and blue horizon, the saturated orange casting the entire city below gold. It’s not just the city, though. He’s also gold. He’s just as beautiful. You watch him with a soft smile on your lips, noting how his wide eyes and slack jaw return to normal as he stares off into the distance. After resting your head on his shoulder, you fix your eyes on the sunrise ahead. You wonder what he’s thinking so quietly about.

“Penny for your thoughts?” you finally ask once the sun has finished revealing itself.

Kuroo blinks, returning to reality, but continues to stare straight ahead. “I was just thinking about… soulmates.”

You lift your head off his shoulder. “Don’t tell me you believe in soulmates now,” you tease.

“Hmm.” He turns to look at you, the sun turning his hazel eyes the colour of honey. That same wry smirk from Jack’s returns to his face.

“You wanna know why I was so scared?”

“Pray tell.”

“Because I’ve never felt this way towards anyone.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“No,” Kuroo laughs, laying his head down in your lap, looking up into your eyes. “I’m serious. I used to purposely stay away from girls in high school. Same in college. Same all the way until you somehow wormed your way into my life. That’s why we wouldn’t have been friends.” You cock your head to the side.

“Why?” you ask, running your fingers through his hair.

Kuroo’s eyelids flutter shut. He inhales deeply before talking. “My parents are divorced. The years before the divorce were… very ugly.”

(He spares you the details of the midnight arguments, the smashed plates, the holes in the walls. He spares you the details of how he only ever knew how to fall asleep with his head sandwiched between two pillows, how he hasn’t seen his sister in a decade, how he’ll curse and snap but never yell because he always feels like a child again around the noise. That’s for another time, if you’ll have any.)

“I still remember all the fighting and yelling. For the longest time, that’s all I knew about marriage and relationships.”

“Did you think all relationships were like that? Fighting and yelling?” you ask.

“For a while, yeah. I’m still a little scared of that, to be honest. Ending up in a relationship where all you do is fight.” Kuroo sighs. “But that’s not the only thing. I thought I wouldn’t know how to love someone, growing up like that.” At that, your fingers pause in his hair.

“Wait,” you say, furrowing your brows. A wave of immense sadness (not for yourself, for him) washes over you. “You think you wouldn’t know how to love someone else?”

“Thought.” Kuroo cracks open his eyes and smiles up at you. “I’m in the process of changing my mind.”

#kuroo tetsurou #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo tetsurou scenarios #kuroo tetsurou imagines #haikyuu!!

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pyrrhiccomedy · 3 years ago

Text

the People have requested my book report on The Library at Mt. Char so this is now a Mt Char book club.

if you have not read The Library at Mt Char there is no reason to keep reading. I hope you're having a nice day, stay safe and don't do drugs.

So Mt Char has a couple of problems, but in my opinion only one grave problem.

Not a grave problem:

Erwin doesn't need to be in this book. An astonishing amount of ink is spilled on giving us Erwin's POV and I am at a loss in regards to what that's supposed to bring to the story. I mean, it's kind of neat to see Carolyn's "trick shot" from the POV of one of the people being manipulated, but that perspective could have just been provided by Steve. Everything Erwin does of any plot significance could have been done by Steve, a character who actually matters.

Please note that I don't hate Erwin, he's perfectly fine as characters go, he just contributes nothing, and it is baffling that he and Carolyn get the last scene in the book (instead of just ending on her reunion with Michael, a scene that was emotionally affecting and felt like a natural end point to her story). We are taking no questions, Erwin needed to be cut.

Also not a grave problem in my opinion, but I am sure others feel differently and I understand why they would:

Yo, the scope of what the catalogs cover is mad vague. I mean, I get that that's the point: when you have a character whose magic powers are "anything that has to do with death or murder," that's a broad license, and I'm fine with that. These are supposed to be demi-gods. I don't require a rigorously explicated magic system.

But then like...why can't Jennifer, the healer, also heal minds? That seems weird. Or like, it's implied that she kinda can, maybe, but none of the kids talk about their therapy sessions with Jennifer: they explicitly call out that she heals their bodies. But then she talks about how Margaret and David are sick (meaning mentally) in a way she can "no longer help?" Aren't you supposed to be the God Of Healing? Why can't you help anymore? And were you actually trying to help them before - or anyone else? That's never shown. You could have just said you only healed bodies, not minds, but then it's repeatedly implied that she CAN diagnose mental and emotional problems (and therefore should probably be able to do something about them).

So that's weird.

Or like, why is there Alicia, who "sees the future," and Rachel, who "sees possible futures?" That, uh, just sounds like the author was running out of ideas. Also, if Alicia could see the future, she probably shouldn't have been in that house when the SWAT team hit, yeah?

Stuff like that. The magic the kids can do is very "they have the powers the author needs them to have when the author needs them to have them, and they can't do anything the author would find inconvenient for them to do" but that's not a deal breaker for me because overall the vibe being put off by their various magical specialties works for me. Still, there were ways of getting us where we needed to go without begging quite so many questions.

Also not a grave problem, although more of a problem than the other stuff:

You know that anime trope where a super-genius character is having an entire conversation with another super-genius character through a screen, and it's revealed that the whole conversation was a distraction and pre-recorded so that Character 2 could Complete His Scheme against Character 1? And used his super-genius brain to predict every single thing Character 1 would say? And your suspension of disbelief staggers bloodied into the alleyway and collapses because you're really trying to hang in there, Code Geass, but that's fucking stupid, you're asking for me to believe that this character's intelligence is flat-out supernatural now and you've given me no reason why that should be?

That's how I feel about Carolyn, by the time she takes over the Library. Like, okay. The kids canonically have not even been at the Library long enough for any of them to master their catalogues except for Jennifer. None of them but Jennifer are masters of even their own subject.

Carolyn has been studying in secret from multiple catalogues - which is cool! I like how she slowly reveals over the course of the latter half of the book that she has powers from other people's specialties.

...But like...

She seems close to mastering her own catalogue. She is a competent healer and can raise the dead (Jennifer's catalogue). She can block attempts to read her mind, beats David in a fight, and understands how to kill Father (David's catalogue). She speaks lion and controls the dogs that surround the Library (Michael's catalogue). She could make the mathy "Denial That Rends" thing that kicks off the whole plot, and she can make a new sun and correct orbital rotations around it (Peter's catalogue). She can predict the future with such specificity that she knows how to cause Steve to drop a clip of bullets while he's being attacked by dogs exactly where Erwin will need to pick it up later (Rachel's catalogue, also this one is stupid, she could have just given Erwin an extra clip or something, but whatever).

That's half the catalogues. Carolyn doesn't seem prodigiously more intelligent than the other kids. She's smart, sure, but they're all weird demi-gods with a genius for their specialties. The rest of them haven't even mastered their own catalogue, and I'm supposed to swallow that Carolyn has attained 'competent or better' status in six? When she has to research five of them in secret? Without falling behind in her own studies?

It would be fine if they had all been masters of their own catalogues for years and years; that would mean they would begin to stagnate, while Carolyn kept learning. But that's not the case. By the end I wasn't impressed anymore at Carolyn's resourcefulness, it just felt like she could do anything and everything, shh, don't ask questions, she's the Chosen One so she just can.

The reason this isn't a grave problem to me is because Carolyn's journey isn't about becoming more powerful: it's about her emotional journey, which isn't affected by her being stupidly OP for no reason by the end of the book. She still sucked at the things that mattered, like "feelings" and "relationships" and "not being a shitty person." But I do think it hurt the story. I should be cheering on my protagonist when her wild schemes come together, not rolling my eyes.

Anyway. All that was the aperitif. Let's talk about

THE GRAVE AND GLARING PROBLEM AT THE CENTER OF MT CHAR.

So everything that happens in the book stems from Carolyn's thoroughly justified hatred of Father (and David, but David was made that way by Father). Father treated her, and all of the other kids, with extravagant cruelty. If you haven't read the book in a while, here's a sample of the kinds of things Father did to the kids, or, if David did them, that Father did nothing to prevent:

- Cooked David alive over 2 full days in a giant bronze bull (and made the rest of the kids bring the fuel)

- Put Michael's eyes out with a hot poker every night for 2 weeks (and made the rest of the kids watch)

- Murdered Margaret every few days, often in drawn-out and painful ways

- Made Rachel repeatedly give birth, raise the babies to about 9 months, then murder them with her own hands

- Allowed David to rape all 11 of the other kids (except Jennifer, probably because she was the healer and he wanted to stay on her good side)

- Allowed David to crucify, brutalize and rape Carolyn and Peter

- Gave Carolyn a loving new family for a year when she was nine years old (those two deer), then had David murder them in front of her and blame it on her for not remembering her homework well enough, then served the two deer at a feast to 'celebrate' her returning to the family

- Whippings, skinnings, and bone-breakings as standard disciplinary actions

Whoo-ee! Okay! We are talking about mythological cruelty. I am fine with this! The story takes place on a mythological scale. As outlandish as all of that is, the cruelty feels proportionate in a story about killing and replacing god. Father is cruel, indifferent, controlling, and alien. I have no questions, Carolyn please proceed with your revenge. We seemed on track for a tale in which Carolyn defeats Father, but in doing so she runs the risk of becoming him. Will she step back from the brink and retain her humanity after all of the trauma and brutality she's endured? Let's find out!

And then

and then.

Oh boy.

And then.

...It turns out, Father is a good guy after all.

And let me be clear: THIS IS NOT, IN AND OF ITSELF, A PROBLEM.

By the time you learn that Father is actually benevolent, and loved those kids, and cares about being a responsible steward to the world, and tried to leave the universe a better place than he found it, and genuinely regretted the suffering he inflicted on them when they were growing up, it feels kind of...natural? Like, I was surprised, but also not, because there were 90 pages of book left and Carolyn had already become god. This seemed like a thematically meaningful place to take the rest of the story.

It turns out Father was training Carolyn to replace him the entire time. He had to make her hate David because it was important that she "defeat a monster" on her path to becoming god. (It's not explained why she had to defeat a monster, but sure, okay; it's the kind of mythic feat that fits with the story we're in.)

Why did he choose Carolyn to be his successor? Well, originally he chose David, but David wasn't strong enough: every time Carolyn was the monster in David's story, she defeated him, and went on to rule the universe as an unspeakable tyrant. Since Carolyn always won, Father swapped their roles. He knew he had made the right choice when he put David into the bronze bull, and heard David begging for mercy: because when Carolyn had been the fated monster, she had never begged.

...Okay, so...hang on.

Hang on.

The only rule that we've established on "how to become god" is "you have to defeat a monster," right? I'll even grant you for free that it has to be a monster who is personally meaningful to you, although that part is never stated. Overcoming a great evil which has cast you down and abused you many times before, sure, okay.

...Why the FUCK did all that other awful shit have to happen??

I did not have this question when Father was just evil! That was a good enough explanation! But now that he's not evil, you HAVE TO EXPLAIN why he treated all of the kids so brutally!

Like dude you're GOD. If you need a monster for Carolyn, I'm sure you can make that happen without TORTURING CHILDREN FOR DECADES.

There didn't even need to be any other children! You could have two kids: the languages-kid, who is the chosen one (the chosen one has to be the languages-kid so they can read the Onyx Codex or whatever it was called at the end, the one written by Original God), and the war-and-murder kid, who is the monster. They could have just been forbidden to read the other codices, if it's important to you that your chosen one still prove her resourcefulness or whatever.

Why include all of the other kids??? It wasn't to give your chosen one a sense of family: Carolyn didn't feel close to any of them except for Michael (who I liked, but whose contribution to the plot was negligible).

Or keep the kids! But then why make them, and Carolyn, hate you?? You could just say, "Hey Carolyn, I am raising you to be my successor, you have to figure it out yourself because part of proving your worthiness is this kind of abstract, big-picture thinking, but I love you and whatever you end up deciding to do, just believe in yourself." And meanwhile you're off torturing the fated monster in order to get him piping hot and ready to be served.

Was the idea that Carolyn had to endure so much horror in order to prove she was 'tough enough' to be god?? Because that's not how trauma works! Kids who have been brutally traumatized are usually not made tougher by the experience! A fact that even the book understands, because 10 of the 12 kids are completely destroyed by their upbringing (I'm giving marginal exceptions to Michael and Carolyn herself).

And like

if Father doesn't have a good reason for having treated them so badly, the whole book falls apart!

Because getting revenge for that cruelty is Carolyn's whole motivation!

We are clearly supposed to feel okay about Father going to make a new universe at the end of the book: he's going with his cool tiger friend and that little girl with the connection to the elemental plane of joy who used to be the sun, he's happy to see Carolyn embracing compassion and kindness, which means he cares about compassion and kindness. He invented light and pleasure. Carolyn does nothing to try to stop him from going. He seems like a pretty good candidate for god. And I do feel okay with him leaving! I was convinced! Father is not evil after all!

But then you have! to explain! the abuse!!

It can be a throwaway line!! "Carolyn realized that everything she and her siblings went through had to happen the way it did, because [X]," embedded in the middle of a paragraph! That would have been enough! But I need an explanation!

"They were raised the way Father was raised himself" WHY? He was raised by the Emperor, an on-the-record awful fucking dude! Father proceeded to rule the universe in a far more benevolent way than the Emperor did, why would he feel like he had to raise his kids the way the Emperor raised him?

"Carolyn needed to overcome challenges on her path to godhood" how is TRAUMATIZING HER SO BADLY SHE ALMOST BECOMES INHUMAN - SOMETHING YOU WERE OSTENSIBLY TRYING TO PREVENT, see Steve being preserved as something that could give her hope, etc - A "CHALLENGE??"

Again, none of this is a problem if Father is just evil! YOU CHOSE to make him not evil! And that's fine!! I think it's a good choice for the story actually!! But then you have to, you have to, HAVE TO explain why all of that bad shit happened!

Because all of that bad shit is the reason Carolyn made there be a story.

And it turns out it doesn't make sense.

#the library at mount char

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caiuscassiuss · 4 years ago

Text

Birched⎮D. Sicheng (M) P.2

Description: There was something that lurked beneath that pretty boy smile of Dong Sicheng— something dark, something dangerous… something you knew you would get pulled into once you got too curious. (Or, your ill-tempered coworker turns out to be your dominant.)

Part One is HERE

Genre: BDSM/ enemies to lovers winwin! smut | romance | angst WC: 11k+ Warnings: graphic smut (dom! sicheng + sub! reader, BDSM (Bondage, Dominance, Submission, and Masochism) choking, rough sex), taboo relationship, blatant sexism, TW: mentions of an abusive relationship

(A/N: Thank you to my amazing beta @won-markiepooh-woo for helping me. This wouldn’t have been possible without you!)

Saturday February 1st, 2020

Y/N’s Apartment

10 AM HKT

The little jingle of a FaceTime call echoed through your silent apartment, and you snuggled into the sheets of your bed.

“Hello? Kun huang?”

A flash black hair and a sweet smile appeared within the view of the camera.

“Huang Gua!” you exclaimed.

Instantly, the happy smile slipped off his face and transformed into an annoyed expression.

“Can you not? We’ve been over this,” he complained.

“Oh come on! It’s so funny,” you jibed.

“It’s not.”

“You only used to eat cucumbers for years. You earned that name yourself.”

“So?” he snorted. “You used to eat shrimp chips as a kid. I don’t call you shrimp, do I?” A devious expression flashed over his face.

“Kun Huang…” you warned.

“Maybe I should start now. Right, shrimp?”

“Oh my god, stop!”

“No, shrimp. I can keep going, you know.”

“Okay, fine, fine. I submit!” You laughed.

He chuckled. “That’s what I thought.”

“So how are you now, Hendery? How’s your mom and dad? Oh my gosh, Hengwai!”

“I’m doing fine, as are mom and dad. Hengwai misses her little sister. They all want you to call them more. Sometimes I think they miss you more than me.” He pouted.

“Awww, poor baby. But give them my well wishes too! I miss everyone so much,” you said. For some reason, tears welled in your eyes.

Obviously, Hendery could tell you were about to start crying and started to panic.

“Y/N? Talk to me. Oh, you know I can’t take it if you start crying!”

He never really could. Even after many years spent together in your childhood, he was still awkward as hell around your tears.

You waved him off, swiping the tears. “I’m fine, I’m fine. It’s just so lonely around here.”

“Y/N…”

“I’m fine! I swear!”

“Literally, one word and I’m on a flight to Hong Kong. I’m not playing,” he said gravely.

“Hendery, no. Besides, don’t you have some farms to run? I would never expect you to do that.”

“One word, Y/N. Just one.” He looked you dead in the eye.

You looked away. “Anyways, how are your farms going?”

A smile split his face and his eyes sparked. “Guess who just got their hundredth farm?”

Your jaw dropped. “No way, you’re fucking joking! One hundred?! I’m so proud of you! Kun Huang!” you squealed.

“Yeah, I know right? It’s so weird knowing so many people depend on me for their livelihoods now. I get sort of scared when I sit back and think about it…”

As Kun Huang went on about his day to day troubles in agriculture, a small, wistful smile played upon your lips. Why didn’t you just stay back and fall in love with Kun Huang? It would have been so easy. Being with Kun Huang was like breathing, and you could’ve spent the rest of your life like this. No Minghao, no BDSM, and most importantly, no… him.

Dolos.

Master?

Sicheng.

You hated how smoothly the puzzle pieces fit together. Sicheng always left early on Fridays, even though he always stayed late. At office parties, he lacked a significant other by his side, even when many would drop everything if he so much as winked at them.

It was hard not to think about him. You had started to feel an increase in your heartbeat whenever you thought of Dolos before Wednesday. You had originally wanted to know who was behind Dolos’ mask and if he returned those feelings. But, fuck, he would be so mad if he found out who you were.

Not to mention, how humiliating it would be if he knew. You had staked everything on being a cold-hearted bitch when Sicheng took particular pleasure in sneering at “the inherent submissiveness” of her gender. So if he found out Dove, who liked to be slapped during sex, and her, the la dame sans merci of the company, were the same person, it would destroy any chance of credibility you may have had in his eyes.

This was all one big mess. One big, gigantic and catastrophic mess. For so long you had rigorously kept your professional and personal lives apart, but the universe had conspired against you: to make the best dominant you ever had to also be your work nemesis.

Some higher being was laughing at you, you knew it.

Sunday February 2nd, 2020

The Dong Family Villa on the Shek O Peninsula, Hong Kong

1 PM HKT

A curl of disgust twisted his lips as he looked down on the lawn party going down below him.

“Don’t you look happy, Sicheng.”

Sicheng acknowledged ChengCheng out of the corner of his eye and went back to glaring at the party in contempt.

“This is not how I wanted today to go.”

His childhood friend snorted and plopped himself down in a lawn chair, contemplating the blond haired man.

Sicheng spun around and picked up his glass of wine, downing the drink in one gulp. He settled himself next to ChengCheng with a frown.

“I just wanted to come here and fucking relax, but, no, my parents just had to use it for the fucking party. Fete. What-fucking-ever.” He exhaled loudly and ran his hands through his hair.

Chengcheng looked over the balcony railing curiously. “Looks like a luncheon to me.”

“Fuck off.”

“Christ, what’s up your ass?”

“Just some work stuff. It’s nothing.”

The brown-haired man frowned. “Then why aren’t you at Black’s then? Nothing can’t be resolved by a good fuck.”

At the mention of the club, a pained expression flashed over Sicheng’s face and his knuckles inadvertently tightened around the stem of his glass. The tension that had been in shoulders wounded itself up even more and this clued ChengCheng in.

Something other than work had Sicheng in knots. Very rarely did the blond man ever show he was angry—not even when his father lashed him as a child, nor when the family forced him to work for the company—so he was evidently very troubled by this ‘something’.

Sicheng’s phone rang and broke the silence. The man himself fished it out of his back pocket irritatedly.

“Excuse me for a moment, ChengCheng. I need to take this phone call.”

“Sicheng speaking,” he spoke as he stalked into the study.

“Hello sir, how are you—”

“Did you get the information or not?” Sicheng asked, cutting off the family’s retainer. His leg bounced, as he sat against the desk and he ran a weary hand through his hair.

“A-ah, unfortunately, Black’s doesn’t record pseudonyms digitally or on paper…”

“Fuck!” Sicheng yelled. Mr. Lau just had to be fucking careful, he thought irritably.

“... However, sir, I was able to obtain a membership list since the club was digitally updating their monthly list. I then compared it to the list from the previous month and found several missing names, indicative of them terminating their membership. I have compiled a dossier of several females that match your description of Dove and forwarded it to you.”

Sicheng quickly logged into his laptop, his blood rushing through his ears. The identity of the most perfect submissive he’s ever had could literally be sitting in his inbox right now.

With trembling fingers, he opened the attachment.

Wang Fang, age 25—

“Sir?”

The blond man glared at his phone. “Thank you for your service, Liu Wei. Goodbye.”

Wang Fang was a tall, spindly woman with a face like a horse. The policy of privacy by masks was kind to her at Black’s. However, the jaw was all wrong and he knew in his gut she was not his Dove.

He scrolled to the next page. Leila Williams, age 27—British expat, was absolutely gorgeous. But, even through the screen, she exuded an unshakable aura of self-assurance. A dominatrix, probably, so that excluded her from his search.

He went through 2 or 3 more documents; each one too plain or too ordinary to be Dove.

Y/N L/N, age XX.

Sicheng blinked rapidly, sagging into his office chair.

Y/N is—was—a member at Black’s?

The picture provided was the one from her LinkedIn profile: a professional headshot with a grey background. She was smiling tightly, coldly—just as she was in the office. The other image provided instantly tented his pants.

It was her, clearly on a night out. She was in attire that flattered her body and he could easily see himself running his hands over her. Y/N looked fucking fantastic with her unbound hair, so unlike her tight updos at the office. However, what drew his eyes was the most vibrant shade of red painted on her lips, which was parted slightly as she was laughing.

He recognized that lipstick. The same shade of firetruck red had been smeared across Dove’s cheeks many, many times. YSL Rouge Satin Lipstick—the one he told her he liked and she, like a good girl, had religiously worn.

Could that mean…?

Glancing at the side bar, he noticed there was one more page left in the dossier. Please let the next one be Dove…

His hopes were instantly deflated. Kwon Myunghee was too old and too artificial to be his gorgeous submissive.

With his heart in his throat, he scrolled back to Y/N’s page. Enlarging the picture of her laughing, he put a hand over her eyes and leaned back to observe.

Sicheng would be an absolute fool if he did not recognize that mouth. Red fuck me! lipstick on an equally fuckable mouth parted in pleasure, or screaming his name while strung up on a cross. He would be an absolute fool if he did not recognize that neck, covered in purple and red hickies or his fingermarks. An absolute damn fool.

Yet, at this moment, he would’ve given anything to be one.

He felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. Y/N was… Dove? And Dove… was Y/N?

So why did she leave? How did she end up at Black’s? Did she know? Did she end up there on purpose? Why—

Eventually, all the questions piled up in his head until he was left winded. Sicheng buried his head in his hands, pulling at his blond locks and breathing heavily. Something was bubbling in his chest and—

He started to laugh. He cackled, howled, at his shitstorm of misfortune, luck, and confusion until he was sprawled undignified on the Oriental carpet, staring up at the intricate wood carvings on the ceiling.

Monday February 3rd, 2020

Sinochen Enterprises, Chater House, Central, Hong Kong

6 PM HKT

Shutting the door to your office, you collapsed into your chair and massaged your temples.

Today was the day Mr. Lee had left the office, leaving his official resignation. The top sales officials (including an off-color, brooding Sicheng) gathered in his office to congratulate him and give him an official goodbye. What was supposed to be a quick meet-up turned into afternoon drinking when Mr. Lee pulled out the good liquor from a secret cabinet underneath his desk. You accepted a drink with a grimace, but Sicheng declined and remained uncharacteristically detached the entire time. Granted, you too were detached from the conversation, uncomfortable with the lewd retirement and mistress jeers spouted by the older sales officials as they steadily got drunker and less inhibited.

As the time ended and a consensus to leave had been reached, you thought you could escape and actually work... that was until Mr. Lee walked alongside you and stuck himself in the elevator with you.

The bastard had the audacity to grope your ass in the crowded elevator. You shivered, remembering the awful and grimy feeling as his hot breath whispered in your ear that he was available any time for a “catch-up”.

This day was a mess. You had a shit-ton of work to catch up due to that fucking meeting and you had been sexually harrassed; you were also anxious about the promotion and, on top of that, you couldn’t seem to stop thinking about Sicheng.

Huffing, you ate some red-bean bread as you powered up your desktop. This was fucking ridiculous. You knew Sicheng had noticed your odd, reticent behavior around him and this skittishness was impeding your ability to work. Well, no better way to forget about your problems was to solve other ones at work.

For the next two hours, you slogged through work emails and analytics as the sun set over Kowloon Bay. Your hair had been unbound and your blazer had been messily thrown over the back of your chair as your work progressed. Since most of the office had left by now, you figured it was safe to relax in your office.

It was night time by the time you had finished your last project and you sat back in your chair, staring at the skyline. Was this how your life destined to be? At the top, surrounded by the comforts of life, but alone?

A knock sounded at the door, jolting you out of your thoughts.

Who the fuck would be at the office at 8 PM?

“Come in.”

You caught sight of a golden head of hair slipping inside of your office and you sighed. Of course, it was Sicheng.

He took a seat unbidden and stared at you with an indecipherable expression on his face. His eyes roamed the contours and curves of your features.

You arched an eyebrow. “Can I help you with anything, Sicheng? I’m about to leave the office.”

He fought with himself inwardly, his mouth opened and closed several times before he finally settled on what he wanted to say. “I’d like to ask a question.”

You adjusted yourself in the chair. “Feel free.”

From his blazer’s pocket, he pulled out an aged sheet of paper and slowly opened it, before setting it in front of you. Sicheng settled back in his chair and steepled his fingers over his lap, the lights of the Hong Kong skyline playing across his face and making his sharp features stand out.

“Do you recognize this?”

The blood literally froze in your veins as your eyes caught sight of your handwriting in the letter, along with the tear-stains that blotched the paper and the text. Your heartbeat rose to your throat and all you felt was the blood rushing in your ears.

“Y/N?” he prodded.

You gulped and straightened out your top, your fingers trembling as you did so.

“No, I don’t. W-who’s Dolos? Why does this concern me?” you lied, stumbling a bit.

He watched you, his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed.

“Don’t lie to me, Dove.”

“I-Dove? My name is Y/N,” you replied shakily. Grabbing your purse, you hurriedly stuffed all your personal belongings in while avoiding catching his seething stare. “Excuse me, I’d really like to get home.”

His jaw clenched and his palm twitched as he saw you had no desire to come clean.

“Look at me.”

Unthinking, you ceased all movements, put your trembling hands in your lap and looked up at him. “Sir?”

Your eyes widened and you slapped a hand over your mouth; your eyes darted around the room in search for an escape. You felt akin to a caged animal as he grinned meanly, incongruous on his cherubic features.

“That’s what I thought.”

“No—”

“You thought you could get away with this? You thought you could fucking play me?!”

You were aghast at seeing Dolos and Sicheng finally merging together in front of your eyes, and the result was grotesquely beautiful. His grin slipped off his face and twisted into a malevolent sneer. The naked fire in Dolos' gaze was finally unveiled in Sicheng’s eyes and, for the first time, you could see who Sicheng really was.

“Answer me, Dove—Y/N! Fuck, I don’t even know who you are anymore!” Sicheng shouted, running his hands through his hair while he paced around your office.

You stared unblinkingly at the bookshelf at the corner of the room. Fuck, this was all your nightmares coming true. You were going to be ruined and he was going to laugh on and on now that he knew you and Dove were the same.

“It was never supposed to end up like this,” you whispered hoarsely, tears welling up underneath your lashes.

“How was it supposed to end, huh? Fuck, you strung me along for six months—half a fucking year—”

“I didn’t fucking know, you ass! I wouldn’t have touched you with a ten foot pole if I knew who you were!” you hissed.

He laughed harshly. “You did a hell of a lot more than touch me, Dove. But after you got your fix, you pretended that this never happened.”

“You would’ve done the same, so this never did happen. Walk out right now and this will have never happened and we can go back to our normal, spiteful dynamic—”

“You’re out of your fucking mind, if you think—”

“You don’t understand, Sicheng! Can’t you see I’ll be ruined by this? That we’ll both be ruined by this? I can’t afford that!”

“So you thought to just leave me? With just a fucking letter and nothing else?”

“I didn’t know, okay! I didn’t know what to do!”

“You lied to me, Y/N. Fucking lied to my face!”

“I had to! Because you and I were never supposed to find out!”

Sicheng moved to yell, but clamped his jaw shut. “You lying, cheating, slut,” he seethed.

Your mouth trembled for a moment at the sheer vitriol that sprouted from his lips, but you stood tall. “You know what? Maybe I am. But I can live with that if you’d just fucking let it go!”

“You think I’d be able to let go of this?!” He cupped your jaw roughly and pulled you into a hungry kiss.

It wasn’t a smooth kiss—not one with even a hint of finesse. Lips smashed into lips, with tongue and teeth grappling against each other as his hands bruised your wrists.

Your back hit your desk and he swept your belongings off the desk haphazardly, letting go of your chin to lift you onto the desk with no effort.

“Forget my tongue on your skin? Forget my hands in between your thighs?” he murmured between hungry dips of his tongue. “I’ll fucking show you.”

He kissed down your neck, stopping to nip at your collarbone, and left a trail of stinging lovebites all over your shoulders. Sicheng’s hips pinned you into the desk as he popped each button of your blouse, hurriedly ripping it to the side to leave more hickies upon your chest and breasts.

You moaned as he pushed the cups of your bra down, using his wicked tone to swipe complicated patterns but never once touching your tips. Finally, he nipped at them hard causing you to squeal embarrassingly.

“S-sicheng,” you whimpered, gripping his hair as he pushed up your skirt.

The blond man carelessly pulled your underwear aside and thrusted two fingers in.

“Fuck!” you gasped, as you buried your red face in the crook of his neck.

You couldn’t see it, but you knew he was smirking smugly so your hands drifted down to his tented trousers and gripped his erection hard.

“You wanna fucking play? Let’s play, baby,” he grunted and hastily unbuckled his belt. His glorious cock sprung up in the space between your thighs.

Sicheng pushed your back down onto the desk, leaving him to tower over you. Without warning, he roughly pushed his cock into your slit.

You both groaned at the pleasurable friction. Fuck, how could you forget this? His length stretching you out deliciously? His broad shoulders heaving in exertion?

He bottomed out slowly, stilling as his hips pressed into yours. A sly smile glanced over his face as his hand drifted over your neck.

“Sicheng! You asshole, fucking move!” you said to him, thrusting your own hips weakly for effect.

His devilish smile split his angelic features, and he shook his head. “Wrong name, Dove.”

His hips pushed into yours roughly and you whined, scratching at the edges of your desk. Sicheng withdrew just as quickly and thrusted in again, watching the lust ripple upon your expression. He had missed the way your left eyebrow ticked when he brushed against your G-Spot, your nose scrunching as you clasped his shoulders. Finally seeing your full expressions fulfilled something in him that he didn’t care to reflect upon.

After deep, staccato thrusts that had you gasping for breath, he settled into a smooth rhythm. You slapped a hand over your mouth as your back bowed, thrusting your breasts up to his hungry perusal. Unable to resist temptation—the godless Tantalus he was—he settled his plump lips over your nipples, raised his eyes to yours, and sucked.

Even with your palm practically stuffed in your lips, your keen echoed around the room loudly and slick dripped down your thighs, making the desk underneath your bottom sticky and wet.

He tsked, lifting his head up and looked deeply into your eyes. A slight grin settled over his lips and Sicheng tilted his head mockingly. “Oh sweet girl, haven’t you forgotten we’re in an office?” His eyes darkened even more. “I’ll have to keep you quiet, then, whore.”

His featherlight touches on your rib cage was replaced with a bruising grasp to your throat, stealing the air out of you. His wrist settled into your collar bone and his slender fingers mimicked playing the piano, placing pressure on different parts on your throat to an unheard rhythm. The blood rushed to your ears, the dizzying sensation of it blurring your sight and distorting your thoughts. The veins on his forehand, twisting and rippling in the light, caught your vision and he moved—ever so roughly—into you.

Sicheng set a new pace, stretching your legs even wider and your head fell back onto the desk with a thunk. You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe; you just felt the numbing sort of pleasure that radiated from your pussy.

“Fucking slut,” he gasped. “You’ve bewitched me, haven’t you? Wrapped yourself around my brain and haven’t let me so much as breathe without thinking about you.” His grip tightened around your neck. “I’ll show you.”

Suddenly, your phone on the floor rang and you both froze. He released the grip on your neck and bent down.

His back was like one of those old sketches the masters of the age practiced with, the light played upon his back and his muscles rippled under his skin—belying the power hidden within him.

“Who the fuck is Kunhuang,” he said flatly, wrath bubbling in his words.

You sat up. “H-he’s a friend. Nobody. No one.”

“See you soon, love,” he read mockingly. “Call me when you have time.”

Sicheng crowded into your space, your eyes jumping around to avoid looking at his incensed face.

“Kunhuang.” He spat like it was filth upon his lips. “You left me for him?”

Feeling his constrained fierceness and his frantic gaze, you pushed harshly at his chest and bared your teeth at him. “It’s not like that. He’s my childhood friend!”

His rage bubbled to the surface and his nostrils flared. It was all the warning you had before he suddenly took your hips and flipped, forcing a scream out of you.

Your chest and breasts now pressed against your desk. Sicheng tugged you down to his hips, lifting one of your legs to rest on your desk and exposed your core to him shamefully.

“I’ll take you from behind like the whore you are,” he stated. His rough tenor the grating upon your ears and scraping upon your skin.

He lined up and thrusted hard and you bit your lip, cheek against your deck and tears streaming down your face. It felt so good to be in his embrace, feeling every vein and ridge of his cock rub against your muscles.

Soon, you felt that feeling rising in your stomach, burning behind his eyelids as your orgasm began to build. His hands grasped your throat and he pulled, bowing your back to his chest and forcing his mouth to yours.

Teeth and tongue clashed and his cock hit this spot in you and you screamed into his mouth, tensing up beneath him as you shuddered painfully.

A grunt left him as he felt your muscles nearly strangle his cock and he only lasted a few, staccato thrusts until his vision went white.

Wednesday, February 13th, 2020

Sinochen Enterprises, Chater House, Central, Hong Kong

7 AM HKT

You purposely did not look into Sicheng’s office window as you strode briskly down the hall with a coffee in your hand.

A few days ago felt like a watershed moment, but after you two had caught your breaths, the sheer amount of emotions in the room—frustration, satiation, anger, hunger—weighed upon your lips and forced them shut. He had quickly dressed himself, not saying a word, but he casted a glance in your direction that was undecipherable and left.

You, at the moment, did not know how to feel. Hurt? Angry? Sad? But you settled upon your usual solution: ignoring that anything had happened and resuming the normal.

Alas, the fates were unkind. They neatly disposed of your plans to avoid the man when the two of you were scheduled to meet with other sales heads in the afternoon. Unfortunately, when the time came to be, you and Sicheng were the first ones there.

He studiously avoided looking at you, busying himself by opening up his laptop and flipping to a new page on his legal pad. You ignored him as well, scrolling through the latest news on your webpage. However, as the seconds ticked by, you could not resist resting your eyes upon him. It felt like a damn magnet was pulling your gaze to him.

He looked good today, from the brief glances you stole at him. Freshly shaven, his hair was styled neatly and he was in a dark green, cashmere sweater. Was this your fate? To be shamefully attracted to a man that equally repelled you?

“Interesting.”

The both of you shot a look at the door, where an unrecognizable, lanky man with a proud, straight nose was peering down upon you and swinging a plastic bag in his hand.

“Chengcheng? What the hell are you doing here?”

Completely ignoring Sicheng, he settled his lidded gaze upon you before his eyes lit up in recognition.

“So you’re the one that has shaken him, then.”

Dead silence permeated the room. He looked at the two shocked faces, both ashen. “What? Are you going to tell me I’m wrong? Please. I’d have to be deaf, blind, and dumb to ignore the way you two gravitate to each other.”

Your two quick glances that were meant to be unnoticed clashed, resulting in your eyes meeting. You both turned your eyes away.

Chengcheng snorted, as if that moment confirmed everything for him, and he chucked a bag at Sicheng.

“You forgot your lunch, remember?”

Sicheng’s jaw tightened. “Thank you.”

Once again, awkward silence reigned and ChengCheng’s eyes switched back and forth between you like a particularly exciting tennis match.

“You two need to talk. You’ll both age prematurely at this rate, with the angst you two are producing. Talk.”

He left with a wave, striding down the hall casually and stealing many of your female coworkers’ gazes.

“... He’s right, you know.”

Sicheng’s eyes flicked up to yours and he focused his full attention on you. Intensely, he contemplated you, tongue poking at the sides of his mouth.

“I agree. We can meet—” he cut himself off, looking around surreptitiously. “—at Black’s.”

You sucked your lip in between your teeth. “Fine. Neutral ground.”

He took a good, long look at you, like a man seeing water after seeing nothing but sand.

“Tonight. At 8.”

Thursday, February 13th, 2020

Black’s

7:50 PM HKT

Strangely enough, you felt comfortable despite the jittery nerves under your skin as you walked into Black’s.

The receptionist had given you a knowing look as you repeated the guest password, letting you in without question. You strapped on the standard, white lace mask and steeled yourself, opening the mahogany doors.

The club was abnormally busy; the guests and members crowded the couches and loitered on the floor. The quiet string music that could usually be heard was masked by the loud chattering of the people in the room.

“Is that you, Dove?”

You spun around to see the smiling, wizened face of Mr. Liu.

A grin broke out on your face and you took his hands. “Mister Liu! It is wonderful to see you.”

“I am happy to see you as well.” He chuckled with his eyes gleaming fondly at you. “Have you decided to visit this old man?”

Playfully, you lightly smacked his shoulder.

Mr. Liu was an important figure to you. All those months ago, when you arrived at Black’s to be screened, as a potential member and straight out of a relationship with Minghao—broken, shattered, hollow—he took one look at you and said no.

Why? You remembered asking tearfully. Am I not pretty enough? Rich enough?

He searched your pale, wan face, as if seeing the emotional scars Minghao had lashed into you, before sighing.

You shouldn’t be asking me that. Are you enough for yourself?

Confused, you had asked him to elaborate. He sympathetically replied that he could see you were entering the club for the wrong reasons. You were different, he’d said. You looked so innocent that he could not morally allow you into the club, despite the depraved patrons that gained membership. He knew, at the time, entering the club would cripple you.

So, what now? You asked, confused. He said he would keep your file open until you came back ‘at the right time.’

The ‘right time?’

You will know it when it comes.

And somehow, you did. After a few months of picking the pieces of yourself together and stabilizing your life, you had grown into a physically and emotionally healthy person. The “right moment” came and you sat in his quaint little office again, opposite of a smiling Mr. Liu as he stamped his approval.

After chatting a few moments, the volume in the room increased slightly and you frowned.

“Why is it so busy today?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Do you know what today is?”

“No?”

“Today is the evening before Valentine’s day, dear girl.”

“... Oh.”

New information in hand, you looked at the scene more closely. You could see that some couples in the crowd seemed to curl into each other, the affectionate brushes and knowing glances giving you a sick, sick feeling.

And that’s when you saw Sicheng.

Even masked, he drew attention from the members—attached and non-attached. His lean, fit form struck a figure and you couldn’t turn away from him.

He looked directly into your eyes and only a few seconds passed by as you two observed each other.

“Sicheng somehow found out, hm? Clever, devious boy.” Mr. Liu observed the dynamic much like ChengCheng earlier. His gaze was enraptured how the two of you clashed yet sunk into each other, the way two tidal waves—in a rare moment of offbeat rhythm—struck each other and subsequently merged. Push, pull, push, pull.

“Listen to him and he will listen to you. You two match more than you think,” he advised, bowed, and sunk off into the backrooms.

“Sicheng.”

“Y/N.”

Frustratingly, his face was unreadable. Nevertheless, he offered you his arm (a surprising show of manners) and he led you to a place you had never seen before.

This place was much less pristine than the rest of the club. The wallpaper was older, much more faded, and the wood looked much more worn.

This was one of Mr. Liu’s apartments.

The pair of you entered a comfortable sitting room with the lights low, to which only large candles had been lit.

He made sure you were properly ensconced into an armchair before he turned his back towards you and made his way to the drink carts.

“Would you like something to drink?” Sicheng asked, voice measured.

“A gin tonic would be wonderful.”

After carefully making your drink and pouring himself a healthy 4 fingers of bourbon, he handed your glass to you and sat down in the chair opposite of you.

Silence permeated awkwardly and you turned your eyes towards the tapestry in the middle of the room, giving yourself something to do.

“Were those feelings true?” he asked, not looking at you.

“Elaborate, please.”

“The last night…” He looked quickly at you, before turning his eyes away and clenching his jaw. “The last night we were together.”

“Ah.”

Absolutely, unequivocally. Dolos was everything you had searched for in Minghao and, while your relationship was unusual, you could not deny the string between you two.

Something burned at your eyes and you bit the inside of your cheek.

“Yes. Then and now,” you stated, opening yourself up for an attack.

His eyes widened and the twitching in his fingers stopped.

“And you, Sicheng?” you enquired boldly.

“Always,” he stated without hesitation. “It was never something as trivial as pillow talk.”

Seeing as he was on the brink of closing off, due to his rare moment of vulnerableness, you wrapped your hand around his.

His eyes shot to yours, then to your linked hands, before tightening his grip.

“I don’t know where to start,” you confessed. “I… One thing that has always been on my mind—why did you dislike me so much?”

He smiled bitterly. “Sometimes, I forget that you don’t see the way I see you. You are a smart, dauntless woman, who’s pushed all my buttons. It all just built and built upon each other until I found you—Dove—here.” He pauses. “I projected my frustrations onto Dove—you—here. But never, for a moment, doubt my feelings aren’t genuine.”

You pursed your lips. “Forgive me, but I cannot accept your accusations of me being the office slut—very rude, by the way—were without malice. You constantly pushed me down, clashed with me in the workplace and you were just plain classist.”

Sicheng’s eyes were casted down, but his grip was steady. “I will not lie. Those words I spat at you were with malice. But now, in retrospect, they were nothing more but words of immature frustration that I channeled towards you. I know that I cannot take them back and they will forever linger in the air between us, but I can apologize and recognize those words were completely unacceptable.”

He angled his body fully towards you and clasped your hand in both of his. “I am sorry for my actions. My anger was misplaced and the sentiments do not represent me anymore. I am sorry and I hope you can forgive me.”

“And then what? What do you want now, Sicheng?” An edge of desperation tinged your voice.

He smiled bitterly at you. “Everyday, the smell of you lingers and I, like Pavlov’s dog, cannot help but feel an ache in the marrow of my bones when I see your crimson red lips. Every night, when I go to bed, you are seared across the back of my eyelids and I cannot escape you, even in my dreams.” He paused. “I want you, or whatever scraps you’re willing to toss me.”

A sharp exhale left you nose and you blinked rapidly. “I don’t want to get hurt. You get off on hurting people.”

“With your consent.”

“Say I want a completely vanilla relationship,” you challenged. He didn’t flinch. “What about then?”

Sicheng clenched his jaw and held your gaze fiercely. “Anything.”

“I hate that you are all I’ve wanted in a man,” you admitted unwillingly. He hummed. “Will we be each other’s destruction? Or will we be each other’s maker?” you pondered nonsensically.

“Aren’t we already both?” he retorted.

Slowly, without releasing his hand, you rose from your chair and lowered yourself into his lap. His eyes traced your every movement. For a few, brief moments, you looked into each other’s eyes without the obsurance of a mask or the encumbrance of a workplace rivalry. Your left hand cupped his cheekbone and stroked the skin underneath his eye.

“This will be interesting,” you said.

He gave no sign of reaction, but tilted his head into your palm and closed his eyes. “After us, the flood,” he recited.

Monday, March 2nd, 2020

Sinochen Enterprises, Chater House, Central, Hong Kong

7:50 PM HKT

A secret grin tugged at your lips as you looked across the table at Sicheng, who was intensely focused on the presentation your coworker was giving. Perhaps he’d felt the weight of your gaze on him as he chanced a glance at you and gave you a small smirk.

The past month in your relationship with Sicheng was equally fulfilling and frustrating. There were times where both of you deliberately looked for a fight or misinterpreted each other, but there were also times you could shed your layers and just be yourselves with the other.

Even each fight, where you or Sicheng stormed out, or broke things, you came back to each other at the end. Pushing, pulling, pushing, pulling relentlessly. The flood, indeed.

You focused back in on the meeting and contributed to the smatter of clapter for the end of your coworker’s presentation. As he turned off the projector and people stood up to leave, Xiao Daiyu—the interim head of the Sales department—stopped you and Sicheng.

“Y/N, Sicheng, please stay back for a moment. I’d like to talk to you about Mr. Lee’s replacement.”

You and Sicheng glanced at each other and you sat back down. A while ago, you had both agreed the decision wasn’t going to break the quiet relationship you had built. It was going to be sour. You knew, when someone was chosen, things could get messy and awkward. But this… this was too good.

Daiyu sat down and put her hands together. “After much decision and going through your interviews, the CEO has stepped in and we are sorry to say neither of you are getting the position.”

You jerked your head around to Sicheng and he did the same—wild confusion and anger in both of your eyes. Both your years of loyalty and dedication are being passed over?

“Instead, we have decided to hire outside the company for some fresh intake. He may be young, but it comes to us that he’s highly recommended and would fit in with our culture well.”

A sour feeling came to your stomach and you narrowed your eyes, resisting the urge to frown. They had decided to hire outside the company? This is how they decide to reward their workers? This was betrayal.

Glancing over, you could see Sicheng felt the same. His right hand grasped the arm of the chair tightly and you could see his knuckles turning white.

“I’d like to meet him and he’s coming—” She took a glance at her watch. “—right about now.”

A knock came from the door and a head of messy black hair peaked into the room.

“Daiyu laoban, great to see you.”

No. This could not be happening to you.

The wire glasses. The tall, lanky frame that filled the doorway. The almond shaped eyes hiding behind pitch-black hair, as black his shriveled little heart.

Daiyu, like the little bitch she was, giggled. “Y/N, Sicheng, please meet your new Sales Head: Xu Minghao.”

His eyes focused on you and your world suddenly felt tilted, careening sideways while the nausea hit you all at once.

“Nice to meet you,” he said cheerfully.

You could feel Sicheng’s concern radiating from him at your ashen face and look of shock, but you couldn't even think as flashes of blood and tears and pain shuddered throughout your body.

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m pleased to be working with you!”

(”After us, the flood” or “Aprés nous, le deluge” is an expression from Madame Pompadour, King Louis XV’s lover.)

And it’s finished. Thank you. Please don’t forget to read, comment, and reblog. I love you all and goodbye.

485 notes · View notes

shyrose57 · 3 years ago

Note

YOO BROTHERS ANON BACK FROM THE DEAD? My phone started to fucking die half way (like extreme lag, keyboard stopped working at times, sudden shut offs, etc) and I was too scared to work on this in fear it'd get deleted. But im fucking back and have a new phone so I was able to finally finish. Plus after I finished the Brothers AU stuff I decided I hated Tip of The Iceburg AU lore and wanted to redo it so held off til I got that mostly done. I'm also trying to redo From Future to Past a lil bit but thats going slowly and decided I already waited way to long. Some other stuff happened as well like falling out of the fandom (Breath of The Wild and Linked Universe I got into and am actually still kinda in) then getting tossed back in but, anyway there's some smaller details I left out of Rans time living in the wild but everything here is the big stuff.

Keep in mind most of this happens when he's just 13. And he never acknowledges or treats his trauma, leaving it to build and affect him more and more over time.

When Ran first steps out of Mizu and into the world, he has nothing but a sword at his back and a book with little information on how to survive at his hip. The book really only provides him how to make certain things (like tools) and some basic information (Spiders are passive in daytime, how to farm, and basic information about each nether biome). The book acts more like a brief overview of the overworld and little information on how to survive than an actual survival book. Because of this the book is basically useless, Ran eventually uses it as a way of marking down notes and ripping out papers to cover wounds and tie things. He quickly learns that sleeping in high places (like a tree or a hole in a mountain) is the safest possible place to sleep, as no mobs or people can get him. Though due to the nights of constant screaming from mobs, his own internal fighting, and eventual hunting, he develops insomnia and paranoia. Leaving him unable to close his eyes in fear of being ambushed, believing himself to be forever unsafe and in danger. When he does manage to sleep he keeps his weapons nearby (like in his hand or under his pillow) and jumps awake at the slightest sound.

He moves around constantly, never staying in one place for more than 2 weeks. He eventually finds a snow biome and after seeing the little amount of mobs and knowing the snow is to deep for any sane human to try to travel through, he decides to stay there for a entire year and a half before moving again. During this time he grows both physically and mentally. He goes from being a small, lithe 5'5 13 year old to being a strong 6'7 15 year old. He also uses this time to come to terms with what happened and swear revenge against Ranbob for everything he's been through and everyone who's died. Even when Ran came to terms with what his brother did, the promise "Ill never abandon you." Continues to ring in his head, which does nothing but fuel his hatred, believing his brother has been lying to him ever since he was a child. While also growing his knowledge on the world and his survival knowledge, becoming an almost perfect survivalist.

When he was first alone and dealing with all the emotions brought upon him, he finds out he's hunted very suddenly. He first approached Raq (who he didn't know at the time) when he was desperate and fresh out of Mizu, asking him if there's any nearby town or city or really anything. Raq pretends to want to help Ran and let's him stay at his camp, giving him food and a warm place to sleep. But its 2 full days later, deep in the night when Raq finally trys to attack him, aiming to incapacitate him. But Ran is able to escape him and run away but not without a injury.

During the fight Raq manages to hit him, specifically on his left ear. He manages to cut deep, but not deep enough, leaving the top of his ear just barely hanging on. Ran runs away and actually has a bit of a head start due to him tripping Raq. But Raq manages to follow/track him, due to the blood flowing out of Rans ear. Ran eventually realizes Raq is tracking him by the blood trail he's leaving, so he stops, steals himself, and rips off the remaining part of his ear, barely holding back a yell, then Ran pushes his hand down on the wound and continues to run. Raq finds the ear and simply hums, intrigued by the lengths Ran will go to escape, before turning around, deciding to let Ran escape this time, because he knows he'll see him again. Ran continues to run, terrified and borderline crying due to the fear and pain. For the next 3 days he believes he is still being followed by Raq so he continues to run, never resting until he eventually collapses from exhaustion. His ear eventually heals over but never grows back, it becomes a reminder of the fact he is being constantly hunted by people and will never escape them.

Ran encounters Raq a total of 32 times during his time living out in the wild. And every time Ran manages to get away, though sometimes more injured than others. Eventually it gets to the point Raq greets Ran like a old friend. After their 3rd encounter Raq starts to bring others with him, eventually he has 5 others helping him hunt Ran. Though Ran grows and is able to either outwit them by using traps or is just simply able to avoid them most of the time. Though he still gets hit at times, once he made a mistake and a trap failed, leading to him getting stabbed and passing out cause blood loss.

The Nether is less than kind to Ran but kinder than the overworld. He gets shot a lot from both ghasts and skeletons. And almost falls into lava multiple times. He gets stabbed and trips more times than he can count. But he actually manages to make acquaintance with the Piglins he meets due to him being polite to them and giving them gold for nothing in return. He actually is close enough to them to get directions for free and is even given resistance potions when Ran states he is leaving and not coming back as a farewell and stay safe gift. He ends up staying in the Nether for much longer than a normal person would and becomes adapt at traversing and surviving in it. It almost becomes his safe spot because the hunters have never followed him into the Nether. He would've lived there if he could, but due to the heat he isn't used too and the fact he just despised Ghasts more than the hunters, and they were everywhere in there, he didn't stay. But would often vist. Eventually he found netherite which he quickly covered his first and only diamond sword with. His sword also had the enchantments, sharpness 2, unbreaking 3, and sweaping edge. Over time and use the enchantments dimmed, only faintly remaining. At this point Ran had to flee his snow biome house due to a sudden attack, leaving behind the materials he needed to fix the enchantments and his sword. So he abandoned using it, but kept it cause it helped him through years of fighting, he can't exactly drop and leave it.

Extra stuff I couldn't find a way to fit in:

-Ran manages to find a village but actually gets kicked out cause he punches the blacksmith for upping the price of an iron sword.

-Ran slowly grows more cold, uncaring, rude, and harsh over time due to trauma. He doesn't realize he became this way due to untreated trauma until he arrives to The Pit where Watson is able to help him start to slowly heal. Which is why he becomes more open and joking in The Pit because he feels safe and loved.

-When the group leaves The Pit he becomes cold and hard again due to habit. Its his way of subconsciously defending himself.

-His body is covered in scars due to the hunters and his brushes with mobs.

-Ran knows how to tailor his own clothes and has made many different kinds of clothes, all designed for certain biomes.

-Ran never farmed, he always hunted.

-Ran never really built anything, instead he preferred to dig into the side of a mountain or make shelter in a cave. Its only in the snow biome did he actually build a house. And even then it was very clearly meant to be a temporary house. Though he did end up living there longer than he intended.

-He was at first extremely reluctant to kill, but was forced to kill hunters and animals multiple times. To the point he became almost numb to it and wouldn't hesitate to kill if he was threatened.

-He would sometimes dream about his family only for it to end with them being slaughtered, which really messed him up and he would just lay in bed mindlessly every time it happened. These dreams still happen.

Also a edit to when the brothers met in the Pit, Ran actually gets his hands on a broken trident accidentally left in the arena (its the front end only, and the middle spike is shorter than the rest due to a error when being made) and ends up tripping Ranbob then stabbing the trident into the ground over him (if that makes sense?), actually trapping Ranbob, with the middle spike just above his throat, leaving him unable to move unless he wants to cut his neck and trapped on the ground.

Tip of The Iceburg:

So Karl's watch is still damaged. And Isaac is still the one to convince him to seek help from the others. But midway through the meeting Phil speaks up, mentioning how he found a book in a ruined village that had a replica of Karl's Watch etched into the cover, but is in a language he's never seen. After passing it around the table no one recognizes it. Everyone's discouraged until Foolish suggests they look for the other Travelers (what ima call the Tales people) and maybe one of them will know. Eventually, with picture pinning of supposedly who could be in their world, they all split off into groups to look. Ran is still the first found, but when he's shown the book he actually confirms a part of it is in a old enderman language that fell off long ago, he's able to translate half of that section but says that Ranbob, who studied old languages much more thoroughly than Ran can do the rest (cause here their still brothers but nothing in Brothers AU happened). Giving everyone hope. Eventually Ranbob gets found and translates the rest, but a great amount is still untranslated, which is a problem. So now its a journey of finding more people and mixing languages to find out the rest.

A sudden twist to the story happens when Billiam joins, and due to his experience with the egg is actually able to translate a random page in the back of the book (the egg made its own language to prevent its plans being discovered). Where they find out the egg is what broke Karls watch, because to it humans are nothing but entertainment, and it gets joy seeing them suffer and wants to mess with their lives. When it gets revealed to the rest of the SMP what the page says, everyone gets pissed. And even when its found how to get the Travelers home they refuse to leave until the egg is destroyed, a few are mad at it and want revenge, others are scared and want to try to prevent it from coming into their time. Karl eventually relents and lets them join in making a plan to take down the egg.

Also have some fluff scenarios with the brothers since its been a while:

-There's two types of resistance potions in their world, fire resistance and water resistance. The latter of which the brothers have memorized how to make. Their friends do not know water resistance exists. Which leads to the brothers pranking their friends by drinking some then jumping into a lake. Giving Watson a heartattack and making Isaac sob. The two quickly reemerge seeing their reactions and calm them and reassure them. After the explanation you can bet they got a talking too and where grounded.

-Ran teaches Ranbob to fight!

-Ranbob teaches Ran to fish, Ran complains the entire time.

-Ranbob responds by threatening to teach Ran how to farm. Ran stops complaining after that….mostly

-Everyone has found the brothers either asleep against each other or one asleep on the other at least twice.

-*insert Arthur get out of the tank meme but instead it's Ranbob trying to get Ran out of a tree so he can greet people.*

-Ran has his first night in years without a nightmare!

Now something else I'm planning to work on soon: What happened to Ranbob after Ran left Mizu?

I hope me sending stuff is still ok after so long of sending nothing.

Good to have you back, Brothers Anon! And sorry to hear about your phone, that sounds like it must've a day.

--------

Brothers AU:

I see we're back to Traumatize The Brothers Time, fantastic.

The fact that Ran has these items on him is interesting. Did he just have them with him when he was fleeing? Did he have the time to grab them? Was he preparing ahead? What led to him having these useful tools on hand when he was forced to flee?

How does he fare with mobs, being a mob hybrid himself? I think it's somewhat been implied that he's good with Endermen, but what about others?

How do the gladiator gang go about helping with his insomnia and paranoia, if they are aware of it?

What's it like for him during his time in the snow-biome, since he's there for awhile? Does he make a more-permanent camp/shelter? Do anything particularly interesting?

Poor Ran! That must've been quite the shock for him, and I imagine it didn't help his trust issues.

How does he get to the Nether? Does he have a base there? What do the piglins think of him, and vice versa? How does the Nether life effect him overall?

What happened to those materials left behind? Where they discovered? Does he manage to go back and get them on the roadtrip? Do they visit his homes on the trip?

How does the group react to his sudden change when they're leaving? What kind of clothes does he make? Does he ever make some for the others? Does he enjoy it, or is it just because it's necessary?

How do the fishermen feel about the close call with the trident, and what happens to the weapon?

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

Tip Of the Iceberg:

I don't remember if this was mentioned before, but was it Karl's watch that caused the issue then? Who wrote the book? Does the egg have a connection with them?

How do they fare with their plans to take down the Egg(and potentially the Eggpire, if that's a thing here)? How do those with previous experience with Egg feel about this, and what part do they play?

--------

Fluff! At long last!

I love how their thought process went to that. 'We can make water resistance potions, lets jump in a lake in front of our friends'.

That sounds like it should be entertaining.

Ranbob knows how to farm?

That's such a funny mental image. 'Ran, get out of the tree, you have to socialize'. 'Hissing'.

Yay, good for him!

Ooo, what?

Always.

#Brothers AU #dream smp #dream smp au #tales from the smp #Tip Of The Iceberg AU

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hatsukeii · 4 years ago

Text

Fam I needed to just write something to restart my brain and jumpstart some shit so

Just yeah you can ignore this fic if you’d like but I’d say still maybe give it a read because I don’t even know what I’m doing it’s 6am and I was brainstorming and got this

Angst btw, haven’t done that in a while

Okay but before that look at my baby though like he’s so perfect and precious and I love him sm🥺 so let’s make him suffer more on my blog hm🥰

Proud// Tsukishima Kei x Reader

Word count: 1.6k+

Warnings: Depression, self hatred, self harm, dead reader

Summary: I honestly don’t know at this point I just wrote down everything I could think of

All that clouded his mind were thoughts of disappearing. Staring mindlessly over the school’s rooftop, he felt a sense of euphoria. Maybe it was just his suicidal tendencies, or maybe it was more, but at that very moment, Tsukishima was imagining how it would feel to jump right off. It didn’t matter, really, did it? People took it as a joke. They took his attempts as a joke. “You’re just being overdramatic,” they’d say. “There’s no way you’d ever do that.” “Stop chasing attention.” Even with cuts on his bare skin, nobody reached out. “You wanna die? I’ll buy you pills later, yeah?” Well, yes, he did want to die, but the team never realised he was serious about it. Nobody ever realised he was serious about it. High schoolers took mental illness as a joke anyways. A twisted, disgusting, horrid joke that Tsukishima could do nothing about but smile and laugh along in order to hide his pain.

Except you.

He still remembers the way you would smile at him. God, you were the only one that would do that. How you sat with him in an empty classroom every single day, rubbing circles into his back as you told him everything would be okay. All those library weekends and study dates together, and not once did you ever complain about his need to rant. You were there to listen to him when no one was, yet all good things had to end. You were gone, and he wasn’t sure what to make of your death. It hurt. Everything hurt. His mind wasn’t stable enough to process it.

It was when you finally gave your last breath in that stupid, stupid hospital ward, did he realise how much he needed you. All the times he’s stopped himself from overdosing were because of you. He knew how devastated you would be if one day you woke up to the death of him on the news. You’ve done so much for him, he would never let himself cause you pain. Never. Yet now, he was back to square one. He was alone again. He was left on his own to fight through this dull, torturous, cruel world. He had to push on with his life, yet there was no one here to push on for. His one reason for living was gone.

The rooftop was quite chilly. Wind blew across Tsukishima’s, as if it was slapping him across the face. Did he look good at that moment? Tucking his shirt back in properly, he grabbed a jumper from his bag, pulling that over himself. If he was going to mourn, might as well mourn looking at least decent. He didn’t remember the wind being this cold. Was it always this cold? “Hey (Y/n), do you need a sweater...” He turned around, expecting to face you, when another gush of wind sliced across his cheeks. This was going to take a while to get used to. He used to let you wear his sweaters when it got chilly like this. You would always pull the sleeves over your hands to make sweater paws, the one thing that never failed to make Tsukishima smile stupidly. The extra sweater he habitually brought to school now sat in his backpack, with no one here to wear it. Sure, he could give it to someone else, another girl even, but it wouldn’t feel right. It never would.

“Ahh, it really never lasts does it?”

And he would be right. The best relationships never last for him. Was it a curse? Some kind of sick hex on him? He would never know. Two good relationships down the drain. First his brother, now you. Why didn’t he see the signs? How you oftentimes skipped school without a warning, the way your face went paler and paler by the day, it almost made him laugh at how utterly stupid and unsuspecting he was. How could he have let all those little things slide? He hated himself for not noticing earlier. If he knew he would’ve done anything to make you the happiest person he knew. There were so many things he wanted to do with you. He was planning on bringing you on a date someday, before telling you how he had quit the cutting. He wanted to show you all the constellations someday, as per your request to him. He wanted to feel your arms around him, hands stroking his hair and his neck tickly from you mumbling sweet nothings into it. He wanted to one day hold your hand in his, comparing the sizes as he laced his fingers with yours. He was trying so hard not to disappoint you. He made a promise to himself that he would let you be the first to know, yet that won’t work out now that he can’t tell you anything. He was so close to his goal, going from cuts all over his arm to occasionally a cut or two on his wrist. He could imagine the way you would cover your mouth like you do when you cried at the movies out of joy, before lunging forward and holding him tight, not letting go, just like how you usually would when he made you proud. Would someone else ever do that for him? No, that would be over demanding for anyone else. High schoolers didn’t have time for shit like this. Nobody cared enough to sit there for hours on end trying to unravel the puzzle that is his mind.

He could almost hear you next to him, patting his back and whispering into his ear just like the old days.

“Kei, I’m so sorry. I really am. But I... please don’t hate yourself. Hate me. Hate me for leaving you so soon. Hate me all you want, but never, ever hate yourself. You are the best thing I’ve ever com across. Your poor soul needs to heal, and I promise, I’ll be watching you from above.”

The thought of your last words snapped the fragile string in him as tears rolled down his cheeks, the rooftop breeze blowing them into his mouth. He would never hate you, even if you wanted him to. He simply couldn’t and that goes without question. When he heard about you being in a hospital ward, he practically dropped everything he was doing and zoomed over, praying he could see you at least one last time.

“I... fuck- promise..?”

He shakily held out his pinkie, his eyes shut tightly as he tried to stop the tears. For a moment, he felt your pinkie graze against his, before it fell.

“(Y/n)..? (Y/n) wake up, wake up please! Please, you can’t leave me now, I can’t handle it by myself, please... I’m begging you...”

Your parents stared as the unknown blond boy wailed, pouring his tears onto their child’s hospital bed as he refused to accept it.

“(Y/N)! I’M SORRY, I’M SO, SO SORRY! I’M... I’m sorry, I couldn’t make you the happiest person in the world.”

It’s okay, you thought.

You already did, Kei.

He never got a reply to his question.

“Tsukki? Tsukki! Lunch is about to end!”

“Ah, shit”

Rubbing his eyes, he looked down, eyes painful from crying. Was it already the end of lunch? Probably, but it wouldn’t hurt to skip a class or two once in a while.

“It’s fine Yamaguchi.”

His friend was the most concerned after your death. He knew that Tsukishima was bound to have a hard time accepting the death of his anchor. He may not have realised it himself, but Yamaguchi knew Tsukishima well. And from everything that he’s seen, he was absolutely sure that he was in love with you. He was so in love with you to the point where he would probably never recover from losing you. He could see that you were such an important part of his life, that losing you would be equivalent to dying. Yet now, his best friend was alone again. Yamaguchi never fully understood Tsukishima, you were the only one that was able to dig deep into his mind and console him properly. You were the definition of his comfort and vice versa. The two of you were inseparable. Yamaguchi truly didn’t know how to help at this point. Tsukishima was damaged beyond return.

“Tsukki, I know it’s really hard on you, but I promise it’s going to get better. Please don’t do it even if you think it’s worth it because it’s not. I’m not saying this out of pity. You helped me up at my lowest and I want to do the same for you. Losing you would be losing the person I’m the most thankful for.”

Tsukishima would kill himself with no problem. What stopped him was knowing that even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to meet you. He could never see you again no matter how hard he tried. A person like you, who selflessly helped him during his hardest times, greeted everyone with a smile, you were bound to end up somewhere nice, whether it was heaven, or reincarnated into a millionaire. The universe would never accept someone like himself. He hurt himself and others in many ways, he was going to hell for everything he had done, and although that would be okay with him, a promise was a promise.

So he was going to live.

He was going to live on, stop cutting, and be the best person he could, all in honour of you.

He was going to live and make you, watching him from above, proud, even if the two of you were to never meet again.

Tags:

@izzyphantomgamer @sunshines-and-tatertots @tiredgr3mlin @tiger1719 @skyeackermans @macaronnv @ewfilthymundane @samanthaa-leanne @kaylacinderella @inlwlevi @random-fandomlover @majorfangirl37 @itmekisuu @trashcanweeb @sakusasgarbage @eightaces @fandomwriter73 @mariechan123 @iwaigroomi @oyasenpai @sneezefiction @emsvegetables @poppirocks @shoutsukii @bokutokoutarou @artsamber @xonfusedsoul @justachillgirl @just-another-bored-writer

I’M BACK FUCKERS

I’ll do some requests now lmao

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu tsukishima #hq #hq x reader #hq imagines #hq scenarios #hq headcanons #hq tsukishima #hq tsukki #tsukishima #tsukishima kei #tsukishima x reader #haikyuu angst #manga #anime

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doctenwho · 4 years ago

Text

The Man Who Should be Dead

Hello!! I’m glad you like my writing, it means a lot! I’m always down for a good fic idea! This was such a cute idea, thank you for the prompt! It was a lot of fun to write, and work with!

I changed it up a bit (but stuck to the prompt too), this is just where my mind went when I sat down to write this! So, I hope you like it anyways!

Warnings: Almost Death (kinda). No one dies though.

Word Count: 3,864

Summary: Read the prompt above! Also, male!reader fic just in case you missed it above!.

(Gif does not belong to me, credit to creator!)

The Doctor had been travelling with (Y/N) for a while now. A few months at least, if he were to guess. Time tended to blend together when in the TARDIS, so he was never really sure when, or where he was in any specific timeline. It was usually a surprise, unless he had a destination and time in mind.

And, well, he could always look at the TARDIS information screen if he really wanted to know, since his TARDIS was almost always right. He liked a bit of mystery in his travels though, so he rarely set actual destinations. Destinations were more a thing when he had companions with him, since he really did like showing them the best the universe had to offer.

He still didn’t really know how he’d managed to find the other man. It hadn’t been on earth, that was for sure. And there hadn’t been any other humans around on the planet. The Doctor wasn’t even really sure how the man had managed to survive on the planet without earthly foods and water.

But he had.

The man had survived, and been right as rain when the Doctor located him. Not by trying, just by pure coincidence. The Doctor had really thought the planet to be uninhabited. He’d been travelling for a while, and thought the small planet would be perfect to land on and give the TARDIS a bit of a break before continuing on their way.

He’d been beyond surprised as (Y/N) walked up to his box and knocked almost right after he’d landed on the all but abandoned planet. It was a waste planet of sorts, a dumping ground for nearby planets. The man had asked for a lift off the planet, but had no destination in mind.

He just wanted off the planet, and the Doctor couldn’t refuse him because he knew the feeling of needing to get away all too well at this point.

Any and all hesitance the Doctor had of the man who’d begged to be taken along in the TARDIS had disappeared the following hours as the Doctor got to know the man. He didn’t remember much about himself. Had no family as far as he could remember, no recent memories of anything besides the junk planet. He was almost a blank slate.

It was almost as though the man hadn’t existed before being dropped on the planet. Or possibly crash landed on the planet? The Doctor hadn’t seen a space craft, nor any signs of a ship going down, but it could always be an option. (Y/N) had a very bad case of amnesia if that were the case, and if it wasn’t, well, the Doctor wasn’t quite sure what to think.

The man was one big question mark, but that Doctor liked that in a companion.

It could be a trick, of course it could, but the Doctor didn’t think it was. The man was too honest, and he’d have to be putting on one hell of an act to pull that off. (Y/N) was genuine, and kind, and the Doctor couldn’t see him ever trying to deceive anyone.

So, the Doctor had let the man stay aboard.

It wasn’t a hardship at all. He’d actually been a bit lonely alone aboard the TARDIS. The Doctor had been craving another companion, since dropping off his most recent human one. As much as he loved the humans, and bringing them a long, all he really got was heart break in the end.

They all travelled for a while, saw what the universe had to offer, and then they left. When they got scared, or emotional, or homesick, or just... done with the space travels, they all retired to earth. Leaving space, and the Doctor himself. They just... returned to earth like nothing had happened.

It was always the same deal, so you’d think he’d start to expect that outcome. He always had some sense of false hope though, whenever he came across a new companion excited to see what the universe had in store for them. He always hoped that one day he’d find someone who... wouldn’t abandon him as everyone else had.

And he really couldn’t fault them for leaving him in the end. They lived such short lives, and he rationally knew none really wanted to spend the rest of their lives with him—nor would he like to watch another person he’d grown to love die, whether from old age (a measly hundred if the human was lucky), or by his dangerous escapades.

He supposed that’s what he deserved for luring humans away from their home planet, and their families with the promise of the universe and once in a lifetime travels with him. He’d always get burned in the end, because nothing, and no one stood a match against his regeneration. Not since the time-lords became a very, very critically endangered species.

He hoped that this new human, (Y/N), would possibly want to stay for a while. The man didn’t seem remember a home planet, and he really had no plans to visit a family he couldn’t remember, so he really was an ideal companion for a time-lord.

Honestly, the Doctor wasn’t sure he’d be able to let another companion go. It was getting harder and harder with each human companion leaving him. He’d known, way back when-- when he’d had to make the horrible decision between his own people’s lives, and the entire universe’s safety, that he was setting himself up for a lifetime of loneliness.

It was just hard to accept when he wanted nothing more than someone with him. Someone who would stay with him, and not leave when things got hard, or when they faced intense problems—someone who... wouldn’t die out before his eyes in old age, with that awful curse of human life expectancy.

Within the short amount of time the Doctor knew, and travelled with (Y/N), he was really starting to like the companionship the other man offered. The other made no comments about earth, or possibly leaving, or comments about the Doctor being an alien.

He just accepted everything and went with the flow. Never seemed put off by the dangers around them. He never seemed to mind anything—the travel, the creatures, the Doctor himself. He really was the ideal companion. The ideal human companion.

And that was refreshing.

There had been a point, after meeting the other man, that the Doctor had thought that maybe (Y/N) was who he needed. That his TARDIS had led him right to the other man, because that’s just how amazing she was.

There was just something about (Y/N) that the Doctor couldn’t place. He really liked the guy, and that wasn’t always the case with other companions he found.

Honestly, if (Y/N) didn’t look so human, the Doctor would’ve thought he was an alien himself. But he was human. He was so incredibly human. There wasn’t anything else he could be, besides a human.

And just like always, humans come to untimely ends.

He’d been shot. They were on a planet not really known. The Doctor himself had only been once before, and that was many, many years ago. It had once been a peaceful place, that last time he’d come around, but the was clearly no longer so.

His companion had gotten shot. A critical shot to the stomach, with a ray gun that was much like the guns on earth, but with a far deadlier alien twist. It wasn’t an instantaneous death, instead a drawn out one. It took minutes for the effects to settle into the body and... very few could survive something like that.

There was very little the Doctor could do, besides help (Y/N) to the TARDIS and be with him in his last moments.

He hadn’t had long to study the firearm, but he knew that the shot would be critical to any living being—a human more than anyone. The human race was weak and frail, and barely stood a chance against weapons they’d created themselves.

The Doctor was devasted and angry with the outcome of this. He’d expected years with (Y/N). Years of travels, and adventures, and a companion who didn’t want to go—who had no plans of leaving him and his crazy life. But that was coming to an unexpected end.

(Y/N) was going... just like everyone else always did. It was against his will, but he was still going and... and it was such a human thing to do. He’d be alone again. There was really nothing to be done about it though. He couldn’t go back in time to save him.

He had no right to be angry with (Y/N), but he was a bit. He’d wanted so much more with the other man, and now there would be nothing. (Y/N) was going to die, and he had to live with that, just like he had to live with everyone else leaving, or dying, or getting stuck in another dimension.

The Doctor had somehow managed to get (Y/N) into the TARDIS, and off of the planet in an inhuman speed. It was crazy what adrenaline does to a time-lord. He was moving speedily around the TARDIS console to get her up, and out of this planet’s atmosphere. He’d stabilized her just as fast, and then he was back to (Y/N).

He’d gone pale, the life draining from his face. His eyes were open, but blinking shut occasionally. He’d make eye contact, and then he’d look away and shut his eyes. The Doctor was kneeled at his side, trying not to cry as he watched, and just sat with the other man.

It really was the least he could do—just sit with him.

He’d grown attached to the other. In the short time he’d known him, he’d gone and gotten himself attached. It made this a hell of a lot harder, but he couldn’t help himself. Some companions he just can’t control himself around. He knows he shouldn’t, but he just can’t stop.

Companions were like drugs to a lonely time-lord. That was the best comparison the Doctor could come up with. Human companions were like a drug.

The Doctor pulled his companion’s upper body into his lap, “I’m so sorry,” he whispered to the man. “I’m sorry this happened to you, (Y/N).”

As expected, he didn’t get a response. (Y/N) was still conscious. He was holding on for dear life, but the Doctor knew his human body was no match for the space equipment he’d been shot with. The Doctor settled his hand on (Y/N)’s head, brushing his hair from his eyes. He stared down at the other’s face, lips curling down in a devastated frown.

“It’s alright,” the Doctor mumbled to the other, “you’re alright, (Y/N).”

(Y/N) shifted a bit in his lap, and the Doctor thought that would be the end. The other man’s eyes drifted shut, and his face relaxed. The Doctor gave a quiet sigh, shifting around a bit, but holding onto his companion for just a while longer. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

The Doctor let his hand settle on the other man’s chest, laying it flat against his fabric of the shirt (Y/N) was wearing.

That’s when he felt it. A heartbeat. A strong and steady heartbeat. The man gaped down at the other in his lap, pressing his hand just a bit harder, where he felt... another heartbeat?

That... couldn’t be right. Humans didn’t have two hearts.

The Doctor blinked once, then twice before laying the other man flat on the floor and leaning over to press his ear to the man’s chest.

It was unmistakable, two heartbeats. Two heartbeats in this very human body. Two heartbeats when there was supposed to be no heartbeats-- heartbeat.

(Y/N) was still alive. But... how could that be? He had been shot with the ray gun. The Doctor had seen the man get hit. Had seen him falter before losing his footing and collapsing.

He heard a low chuckle from in front of him-- (Y/N)’s distinct laugh. The Doctor would know it from anywhere. He shot his attention down, stunned to see bright eyes staring up at him, and a tiny, pained smile curving the other’s lips. The man who should be dead.

“You... you might want to stand back,” (Y/N)’s breathy voice called, croaky and hoarse. The man had no energy left, but he still had that same spirit he always had. The Doctor’s body followed the command on autopilot, shifting backwards on his knees, the grates that were the TARDIS’ floor scraping his knees as he went.

The Doctor watched as (Y/N) pulled himself to his feet slowly, flailing to find anything to hold onto and steady himself with. The Doctor could do nothing more than watch, mouth agape and eyes widened as his companion all but walked himself off of his death bed.

Then, before his eyes, regeneration energy shot out from where his companion’s head and arms should be. (Y/N) was regenerating. He should be dead, but instead he was regenerating before the Doctor’s very eyes. This... this whatever he was, was doing something only a time-lord could. But the Doctor was the last time-lord in existence.

It had been so long since he’d witnessed a regeneration, instead of lived one. The Doctor didn’t envy the other man suffering through the brutal regeneration process.

All he could do was watch. Watch intently and suffocate under all the questions he needed to ask. Because he was at a loss. (Y/N) was regenerating. (Y/N) had been so, so close to death, then regenerated. This honestly shouldn’t be possible. Nothing about this should be possibly, but here he was.

(Y/N) was defying the odds against him.

The Doctor couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. A companion who’d just... regenerated. A companion who evaded death fluidly like the Doctor himself had on so many occasions.

The process took a bit longer than what the Doctor was used too. It wasn’t the same as his own regeneration, it just felt different, even watching. There was no possible way this man could be one of the original time-lords. There was just no way. It was almost impossible, and the Doctor knew it.

But that knowledge just raised so many more questions for him. If he wasn’t human, and he wasn’t a pure-blood time-lord, but he was able to do as he was, then... what was (Y/N)?

The Doctor waited patiently for his companion to cease with the regeneration. He studied the other intently the whole time he’d been trapped in the process. Watching and coming up with possible explanations and hypothesis. Staring in awe at the man before him.

When (Y/N) finally came out of the regeneration he fumbled where he stood, legs shaky as an exhale of energy left his lips.

“Whot?” the Doctor blinked from where he was still kneeled on the floor. “But... whot?”

(Y/N) glanced towards the Doctor, managing a small, exhausted smile. He hadn’t really changed. Not like the Doctor would if he were to regenerate. The other man’s hair had darkened in colour a little, and his eyes lightened just a smidge. Almost unnoticeable, but the Doctor could see right past it. He’d regenerated, but had gotten the same body and the same face.

This was so, so familiar, but different entirely. So, time-lord but not all the same. And the Doctor didn’t understand it. How could anyone understand this?

“...whot?” he couldn’t help but ask again as he hesitantly pulled himself to his feet and watched as the other man swayed where he stood. It was a familiar fatigue that everyone had coming out of a regeneration. Sometimes it was hard enough to knock someone out, and others it just left people drowsy. “How did you... whot was that?”

(Y/N) opened his mouth to reply, but the Doctor continued before he could get a word in, “no, better question-- what are you, (Y/N)?”

“I’m a generated anomaly,” (Y/N) sighed out, moving slowly and cautiously to the seat in the TARDIS, where he finally allowed himself to sit. The Doctor watched with hesitance as the man did so, feeling an undeniable pull to help the other.

“You were created in a Progenation Machine?” the Doctor blinked in surprise, “you’re a generated anomaly created with someone’s DNA. You’re... but you regenerated. That shouldn’t happen, regeneration shouldn’t be carried over like that... it’s, it’s not possible.”

“Is that what it’s called? Regeneration?” (Y/N) asked cluelessly from where he was sat, “I never knew what it was called, it just sorta... happened.”

The Doctor remembers the machine well, from when he, Donna and Martha had witnessed it in action. How it had collected a sample of his skin, and only moments later was spitting out a fully grown, educated human (time-lord). Jenny, who he’d, uh, fathered.

So, (Y/N) too had to have come from a Progenation Machine. But that couldn’t be right because despite the two hearts Jenny had had, she’d still died. But here (Y/N) was, with his two heart and complete regeneration. Living on passed a fatal shot from a ray gun.

The Doctor finally made his way towards the other man, pushing him back on the seat to a reclined position so he could set his ear against his chest again and listened to the two distinct heart beats.

He really did have two hearts, and if that weren’t proof enough that the other man wasn’t as human as the Doctor thought, then the whole regeneration he’d just witnessed certainly would’ve been.

“Whose DNA are you comprised of?” The Doctor couldn’t help but ask. He had to know. Was there another time-lord somewhere in existence? Had another one of his people survived? “You’ve got to be made of someone else’s existing DNA; the machine can’t create lifeforms out of thin air.”

“His name was the Master, I believe,” (Y/N) recited, looking down at the Doctor while the man pulled away from his chest, satisfied with what he heard. “I didn’t get a chance to meet him before he was left.”

“No kidding,” the Doctor huffed, “the Master, really?” He wasn’t sure if he were sad, or happy with the answer. He’d known the Master had survived the war, but then again, it was the Master who’d created this life form, and he’d tried to take over the earth.

“Know him?” (Y/N) asked, voice light like a curious child.

The Doctor have a short, surprised laugh before shaking his head lightly, “you could say that.”

There was a paused, the Doctor lost in thought, and his companion still woozy from the regeneration. It really was hard to believe. But it wasn’t the weirdest thing he’d come across. “So... you’re a time-lord. For the most part. You’ve got the abilities we’ve got, but you’re not... completely a time-lord, in the sense of traditional reproduction.”

“I guess so,” (Y/N) shrugged, “I never thought about what I was, just that I was different from everyone else. I’m a time-lord huh? That’s... pretty cool. Glad I know what I am now.”

The Doctor had told (Y/N) that he was a time-lord, but they’d never gotten into his ability to regenerate. He hadn’t been fatally wounded enough to show that, nor had it come up in conversation, so (Y/N) didn’t quite know the details of being a time-lord.

Which was why they hadn’t known the other could regenerate. (Y/N) hadn’t known what a time-lord was, or what one could do, even though the Doctor was one, and the Doctor had honestly assumed his companion was just a human, because who would’ve thought he could be a genetically manufactured time-lord?

The more the Doctor thought about it, the more he was excited to have another time-lord with him, even if the other had been created through a machine instead of usual means. He’d made the mistake of not treating Jenny as a time-lord before she’d passed away, and he wasn’t about to make that mistake twice.

(Y/N) was as time-lord as he could get. Maybe he had a few differences, but he was still a time-lord. The Doctor had found another time-lord. He wasn’t the only one anymore. “You’re a time-lord,” the Doctor couldn’t help but repeat. “I’m not the only one anymore.”

(Y/N) gave the man a small, sad smile since he’d been told about the war to kill the time-lords and Daleks alike. It had been a brief explanation, but it had come up in conversation during one of their talks about (Y/N)’s possible family.

“So... I can stay?” (Y/N) asked softly from where he was sitting. “You don’t mind that I’m a time-lord too?”

The Doctor turned abruptly, eyeing the other up and down before grinning, “of course! You’ve no idea how long I’ve been looking for someone like you—someone like me! You’re an anomaly, sure, but you’re also a time-lord and I’d never turn away a time-lord.”

“Really?” (Y/N) perked up, “you mean that, Doctor?”

“Of course,” the Doctor beamed, “It takes more than that for me to away a companion, in fact, I’m happy you’re a time-lord too. I’m so very happy you exist too.”

“No one’s ever said that before,” (Y/N) gave a bright smile, “when I... regenerated for the first time, I got left behind on that planet you found me on. They just... left me because I was different. Because I wasn’t like them, and because I’d survived being shot. I’d... like to stay with you, as long as you’ll have me.”

The Doctor was saddened by the revelation, frowning thoughtfully before glancing away and hiding his look for the other man. Regeneration on Gallifrey had been the usual thing. It was weird for people to not be able to regenerate. But everywhere else, and everyone else thought it weird. So he understood (Y/N)’s situation, and he’d ask more about that later.

The Doctor wouldn’t admit it to his companion, but he was almost giddy to have a someone like him. Someone who could regenerate as he could. Someone who he could travel with, and not have to worry about them aging out of the adventures, or letting their fragile human bodies get the better of them.

(Y/N) was a time-lord. He was everything the Doctor was, but build in a different, newer way. He was an extraordinary anomaly, and the Doctor was happy to have him here with him. To travel to their hearts content.

A companion suitable for the job, who also wanted to travel. What more could the Doctor want?

“Well, (Y/N),” The Doctor pressed some TARDIS buttons and pulled a lever as (Y/N) stood and joined him on shaky legs at the control console, “the thing about that is I’m different too. I’m like nothing you’ll ever see again and lucky for you, you’re just like me. We’ll be different together.”

(Y/N) grinned, smile wide and bright as he gave the Doctor a nod. “Right then,” the Doctor returned the smile, pulling a final lever which prompted the TARDIS to start fading from her surroundings, “allons-y!”

<><><><> I hope you liked! As always, feel free to prompt again if it wasn’t what you were looking for! I really liked how this turned out, so I hope you guys do too! Thank you once more for the prompt, and also let me know if I messed up anywhere with the male reader pronouns. I proof read, but sometimes the slip passed!

Was originally gonna call this fic “Regeneration” but when I reread it, the line “The Man Who Should be Dead” stuck out because to me it sounded like a Doctor Who episode name. Anywho, random fact aside, thanks for reading!

#Tenth Doctor #tenth doctor x reader #tenth doctor x you #10th doctor #10th doctor x reader #10th doctor x you #TARDIS #doctor who #doctor who 2005 #regeneration #reader insert #fanfiction #fanfic #writing prompt

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erin-bo-berin · 5 years ago

Text

Soulmates

So, I’ve finally returned after a break for the holidays. I immediately had this idea after watching the season 15 premiere (although I’ve seen some other people write about it too so obviously it’s a common subject), I wanted to make the Jeid situation even more complicated in this between Spencer, JJ and the reader. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rating: Mature (smut)

Word Count: 5,306

How is it that someone that makes you so happy can also make you so incredibly sad?

The thought floats through your mind as you play with the food on your plate.

It was Friday. You and your best friend’s weekly Chinese takeout night. Usually, the two of you would pig out on all your favorite Chinese dishes, binge watch something on Netflix and just hang out after a long week. Tonight was different. Although it had been for some time.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

You look up at Spencer. His usual happy face is filled with fatigue and sadness. He hadn’t been his usual self for a while and you knew it, though you tried not to broach the subject—for many reasons.

“Not really. Long day,” you fibbed, pushing the plate to the side.

“I know the feeling,” he sighed, taking a small bite.

You studied him, noticing that he looked even more tired than when you first met up earlier that evening. He looked drained, in fact.

“Tough case?”

You were used to hearing about cases that left wear and tear on your best friend. Being an FBI Agent in a specific unit dedicated to studying, analyzing and dealing with serial killers, it took a toll on Spencer.

“Actually, JJ and I finally talked.”

You felt your stomach drop at the words, the dread of what he was going to say next causing a white noise to block out your hearing as if it could block out his next words. This was the last thing you wanted to hear about, but you wouldn’t dare tell Spencer that. You would do anything for him, even if it meant listening to this again.

It had been a topic of conversation between the two of you for over six months. Well more or less Spencer talking, you listening and attempting to give advice.

“Oh? What did she say?”

You tried to swallow down the sense of dread as you took another bite of egg roll. For once, you didn’t enjoy the taste of the flaky, deep fried side.

Spencer sighed, running a hand through his hair. It had been hard on him, this last six months. Not only had JJ—his best friend of 15 years—confess that she actually loved him and always did, but then neither one of them knew how to talk about it, so they just kind of stopped talking altogether. Things had been awkward between them and Spencer had no idea how to process the information because JJ has a husband and two kids, who he adores.

As if things couldn’t get any more complicated, you just happened to be in love with Spencer too. That, though, he doesn’t know.

So basically you’re in love with your best friend who’s in love with his other best friend who loves him but is also married. Couldn’t be more simple, right?

You mentally groan at the thought. Your life has basically become a soap opera.

You have nothing against JJ. She’s pretty and super sweet and always has been welcoming to you the few times you’ve met her. She once joked that besides his mother, you and her were Spencer’s biggest fans. If only she knew.

At the same time, you can’t help but feel jealous because of her being so pretty and sweet. It’s no wonder Spencer has had feelings for her for years and of course you can’t blame her for loving Spencer either. You know how much he loves her kids—aka his godsons—and thinks that her husband Will is great for her. Spencer would always sacrifice his happiness for anyone else, especially for the ones he loves.

Even though it’s at a point where you know it won’t happen, you still feel a deep rooted envy at the fact that they share a bond and a love that you couldn’t even fathom having with Spencer yourself.

“Oh? What did she say?”

As hard as it is to listen to it, you’re concerned about him. He’s beaten himself up wondering what could’ve been, had he made the right choices. He even asked you if you thought he was living the right life. You couldn’t tell him that though, that’s only something he can answer himself.

“That she would’ve never told me if it hadn’t been for the circumstances.”

You nod, remembering how they’d been taken hostage by an unsub who seemed to have a truth or dare fetish. When asked, JJ opted for truth and the unsub wanted to hear her deepest, darkest secret or else she would die. Unfortunately, that’s what tumbled out and they’d been living with the damage of it since.

“But she never wanted to lie to me. She said she meant it. That...that I was-” he pauses, taking a deep breath as if he needs the extra strength to continue.

“That I was her first love and always will be.”

You flinch a bit at the words. That had to hurt. Oddly enough, you start to feel yourself become resigned towards the situation.

“Are you okay?”

He nods before continuing.

“Also that she also loves Will and the boys too. Basically it’s like in another universe maybe it could have happened, but it won’t in this one.”

Your heart hurts so badly. Not from your own hurt, but from seeing him suffer. You know he’s hurting and feels lost and you can’t help but feel guilty knowing how much hatred you’ve had towards the entire situation, even if it was only internally.

“Will you guys be alright?”

He nods again.

“She’s my best friend and she’s happy. She deserves to be happy.”

“And what about you? Don’t you deserve to be happy?”

“No.”

Your fork clangs on your plate, surprised as his negativity.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t deserve to be happy, Y/N,” he answers, looking at you dead on, his unhappiness seeping from every inch of him.

“Of course you do. That’s not fair to you.”

“Nor is it to anyone else when I can’t move on from JJ. All I’ve ever wanted was JJ.”

The rest of the night was uncharacteristically quiet after that and you parted ways much earlier than you usually did.

You had no idea where to go from here. You wanted to help him, be there for him but was it worth it when it constantly left you heartsick and worn? You didn’t have the answer to that.

It was like the situation between him and JJ. Just one of those complicated things.

•

Eight weeks after that one failed Chinese night, everything fell apart.

Work had been busier than usual for Spencer, often resulting in his cancelling plans with you.

Your work had been less busy, unfortunately giving you more time to dwell on your internalized feelings, even though you hated yourself for feeling such way. But you couldn’t stop your mind from thinking of all the time Spencer was around JJ. Regardless or not of him acting on his feelings, being around that person so much was only going to cause those feelings to linger.

You grumble to yourself as you force yourself to concentrate on your workload. Thinking these things are only gonna make you more miserable, regardless if you can’t help them.

To make matters worse, you’ve started to avoid Spencer. All you want to do is to see him, but when he’s actually free, you come up with an excuse why you can’t hang out.

As if reading your mind, your phone buzzes next to you on your desk and you glance over to see a text from Spencer.

Coffee after work tonight? I miss you.

If you were to admit it to yourself, you missed him too. A lot. But you also missed how things used to be, before the complicated situation with JJ and if you were honest, before you realized you were in love with him. Things were so much simpler then.

Can’t. Sorry. Already have plans.

You watch the three gray dots appear on the screen, indicating his typing and watch them for a long moment before they disappear. No new message appeared and you sigh, setting your phone back down and pushing him as far from your mind as you can.

•

You’re on your couch later that night watching some sappy romance movie you found on TV. It’s not helping your mood much. Contrary to what you’d told Spencer, you had no plans. Unless you counted eating mint chocolate chip ice cream in your pajamas and watching tv like a lovesick puppy, plans.

“Don’t do it chica, you’re only gonna get friend zoned,” you mumble to the tv, taking a bite of ice cream.

A loud knock comes from your front door, startling you. You’d been awaiting an Amazon package all evening and figured it was finally the delivery man.

Setting the ice cream carton on the coffee table, you pad towards the door and open it to find out it’s not the delivery man. It’s Spencer.

He smiles at you before pulling you into a hug, his face nuzzling into your neck, a trait he always does when he hugs someone. Something you absolutely love. You feel your heart tug painfully as he hugs you tight as if he hasn’t seen you in forever. Technically, he hasn’t.

“Hey, I’ve missed your face, he says, pulling away.

“Sorry to just bust in like this. But I had to drop something off for Emily and I thought I’d stop by while I was out. Didn’t you say you had plans?”

His eyes sweep over the living room in front of him, landing on the carton of ice cream then flicking to the television.

“I- uh yeah I kinda did,” you stammer, unable to come up with a good enough excuse.

He rolls his eyes at you, motioning to the scene in front of the two of you, “Are you on your period? You could’ve just told me and I’d picked up ice cream and come to hang out with you anyway.”

You groan, turning to walk into your apartment, Spencer at your heels.

“I can’t believe you’d think to ask if it’s that. But no, I’m not.”

What? It’s a normal thing all women go through,” he shrugged, unfazed about the topic at all.

“I know you didn’t come by just to talk about my menstrual cycle Spencer.”

“No,” he said, more serious now.

He takes a seat on your couch and you stand in front of him, trying to keep your distance. You’d really like to save yourself some heartache tonight.

“I came because I’ve missed you. I’m sorry we haven’t been able to hang out like we usually have. Work has been crazy, then there was JJ’s surprise birthday party last weekend.”

JJ, of course, you thought bitterly.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to come but you said you were busy all weekend…”

Another lie. You just didn’t want to be around the two of them honestly. It was petty, you knew it, but it hurt to see them together. Especially with all that you knew.

“Sorry about that. I hope she had a good time?”

“She did,” he grinned, launching into telling her about the party, but you only half listened.

What would he do if you ever confessed your feelings for him? Would he be freaked out? Would it scare him away? Most importantly, would it just make his life more difficult?

Yes, probably.

Which is why you couldn’t ever tell him.

It was at this point that you realized he’d stopped speaking and you were still staring at him with your arms crossed. A highly defensive position. Something he would obviously catch on to. You watch as he takes notice of your body language and it’s like you see the moment he realizes something’s wrong. He knows you just about as well as you know yourself, in fact.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, concern flooding his features.

“Nothing.”

You drop your arms, trying to appear less defensive, but you’re still tense.

“I’m not stupid, Y/N,” Spencer retorts, watching as you walk over and turn off the tv, “I know something’s wrong. Have you been avoiding me?”

“No.”

You don’t look at him when you answer.

“Then look at me.”

You do as you’re told and you’re sure your guilt is written all over your face.

“Have I done something wrong?”

The hurt expression etched on his face causes a fresh wave of pain to wash over you. The last thing you want is to ever hurt him, he doesn’t deserve it.

“No, you haven’t done anything Spencer.”

“You’re not upset about the whole JJ situation are you?”

Your breath catches, as if frozen in your lungs. If only he realized just how on the mark that was.

“I know it’s been a mess with that entire thing, but it doesn’t change things for us. You’re still my best friend, you know that.”

Best. Friend.

You choke down the lump that has suddenly formed in your throat, the answers to all the questions that have been occupying your mind suddenly confirmed. He was never going to love you more than a friend and that was that.

“I talked to JJ about it too. She knows I’ve been confiding in you about it all and she feels bad about it affecting our friendship too.”

You laugh bitterly.

“It’s a little late for that.”

Confusion is all over his face now, mingled with the hurt.

“She said she’d like to get together with you sometime, maybe to make it up to you or maybe we can all hang out and—”

“Spencer, I’m tired. I think I just want to go to bed okay?”

You walk toward the door and you hear him stand from the couch.

“No. Not until you tell me what’s bothering you, Y/N.”

The tears are threatening to come. If you’re not careful they’re going to spill any second. All of a sudden you’re so weary, so drained. You’re just so very tired of carrying this.

“If you have to ask…” you whisper, your lips trembling.

You do not want to cry in front of him. You refuse to. Then he’ll really know something’s wrong.

“I just want to know what’s wro—”

“Can you please just leave? I just want to be alone.”

He knows you well enough to know when to not bother arguing with you.

You catch a glimpse of each other as he walks past you to the door. He looks crestfallen, but his eyes search your face. Your expression is hard, closed to any emotion as to not betray your true feelings.

When the door closes behind him, you sink against the door to the floor, the tears finally coming. You sob so hard your body shakes violently. The hurt is such a deep sinkhole within you that you have no idea how you’re ever going to climb out of it.

•

He doesn’t know how it happens, but after driving around for nearly an hour, he ends up at JJ’s house.

Spencer gets out of the car, walking up the sidewalk to her front door. He hopes it’s not too late to be dropping in, but there’s no one else he knows to turn to about this.

He replayed the scene over and over in his mind, trying to figure out what was wrong, what had happened. Life had been so confusing lately and it seemed like when he had everything figured out it would just throw him another curveball.

While things were rough and awkward with JJ for months, things were good and albeit normal with Y/N. Now that things were better—maybe a bit different—but still better with JJ, his friendship with Y/N had gone to hell.

His IQ may be 187, but women were always confusing no matter if you were technically a genius or not.

JJ was the one who would know what to do. She’d helped him through so much shit before, he knew she could again.

The doorbell only rang once when the door opened to reveal Will.

“Hey man,” he grinned.

“You must’ve heard we had my award winning spaghetti for dinner tonight and came by for leftovers didn’t ya?” Will joked.

Spencer chuckled. He really did like Will; regardless of what had happened between himself and JJ, he knew Will was good for her and treated her right.

“Unfortunately not tonight. I was wondering if I could talk to JJ if she’s not busy?”

“Sure,” Will stepped aside, inviting him in, “Case you’re working on?”

“Something like that,” Spencer answered vaguely.

Before Will could answer, there was a shout that came from the other room.

“Uncle Spencerrrr!”

A tiny body came flying at him and he picked up Michael in his arms, spinning him around and hugging him at the same time.

“Hey Michael, how are you?”

“Good,” he grinned.

“Hi Uncle Spencer,” came another voice and Spencer looked up to see his other godson, the older Henry who was now too old to be picked up and spun around like he once did.

“Hey Henry.” He gave him a high five as Henry passed to the stairs.

“Michael, bedtime,” JJ scolded as she walked in the room not far behind her oldest son.

“Hey Spence,” she greeted, smiling at him.

“Just let me get these boys into bed and I’ll be right down.”

“You go ahead, I’ll tuck in the boys,” Will offered, taking Michael from Spencer’s arms.

“Come on little man. Bedtime. Tell uncle Spencer goodnight.”

“Night uncle Spencer!” the two chorused.

“Night guys,” Spencer smiled, watching Will disappear out of sight before turning to JJ.

“What’s up? I heard you tell Will it’s case related?”

“Not exactly,” he sighed, “I just didn’t want to get into my sob story.”

JJ took in his tired and worried expression with worry of her own.

“Come on into the kitchen and I’ll make us some tea and we can talk, okay?”

He nodded and followed her into the kitchen, taking a seat at the island as she filled the tea kettle with water and put it on the stove to heat.

“Now. Spill, Spence. I know you well enough to know when something is eating at you.”

“You’d think it’d be enough to know a person to be able to tell what’s wrong with them,” he muttered.

JJ’s look of confusion makes him shake his head and start at the beginning.

“So she’s been avoiding you until you went over there today?”

Tea is poured into two cups and she sits in the chair next to him, listening to him continue his story.

“She said she had plans, but I thought I’d drop in and see if I could catch her. If not, I was going to leave a note under her door. We used to do that all the time,” he smiles ruefully.

“And she didn’t have any plans?”

“Didn’t seem like it. She was on the couch in pjs, watching TV and eating a carton of ice cream. I mean I thought she was on her period and—”

“Okay stop right there,” JJ set her cup down, holding up a hand.

“Never and I repeat never assume a girl is upset just because of her period.”

His browns wrinkled in confusion, “Why?”

“Just trust me Spence, it’ll save you a whole lot of time. Okay, continue.”

“Well, um, she said she wasn’t anyway. But then she just seemed...I don’t know, upset. I don’t know why. I don’t know if I did something. I was telling her that you felt bad about potentially affecting our friendship and I told her that she was always going to be my best friend and she threw me out.”

“Oh no,” JJ whispered.

“No, no it’s not your fault!” he rushed to explain.

“You idiot,” she groaned, hitting his shoulder.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“You told her that she’d always be your best friend?!”

“Well...yeah, I mean it’s true. We’ve been friends forever like you and me.”

“That’s not all you and her have in common with you and me,” JJ stated.

“What do you mean?”

She sighed, running a finger around the lip of the mug.

“You know how when I confessed that I loved you?”

Spencer nods, still a little uncomfortable with the entire topic.

“I did mean it. I do love you. But there’s so many types of love, Spence. I may have been in love with you at one point and I’ll always have a love for you. But I’m not in love with you like I am with Will, but I do love you.”

“I’m not following. What does that have to do with me and Y/N?”

“She doesn’t just love you, Spence.”

She watches as realization slowly spreads across his face.

“She’s in love with you.”

“But how can you tell that when I never figured that out? You’ve only met her a few times anyway.”

“Spencer if you’d see the way she looks at you, you’d know.”

“Oh,” he breathed, running a hand over his face, “Oh wow.”

“What? Don’t tell me you don’t feel the same,” she grimaced, “Because that might be a worse effect on your relationship with her than in our situation.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just- it kinda dawned on me when I was on the way to her place from work that all of this time I had hoped for a life with you when actually I don’t, really.”

Her brows rose, interested, motioning for him to go on.

“I mean, I love my life as it is now and how things are with you now. You’re happy and that makes me happy and I’d rather have a life with you as my best friend than have a life without you in it at all.”

JJ smiled, putting a hand on his cheek before pulling him into a hug.

“She makes you happy Spence. Catch her before she gets away.”

•

You haven’t seen or spoken to Spencer for over a week since your meltdown. You realized just how shitty you felt for treating him so horribly. It wasn’t his fault that you fell for him, so you shouldn’t have taken it out on him.

You attempt several times to reach out to him to apologize, but stop yourself every time. What if he’s better off without you in his life?

Your week goes by in a blur as you live on autopilot, going to work, running errands and just living like a zombie. Your mind is filled with nothing but Spencer. All the memories you have with him float around in your brain like a collage, revealing themselves one by one.

One in particular will always stand out: the night that you realized you were in love with him.

It wasn’t unusual for you and Spencer to meet up for dinner after work. This evening in particular was a dreary one. It looked like it would pour at any moment.

You ordered a cheeseburger and fries while Spencer got a steak and veggies although that didn’t stop him from eating half of your fries.

“Hey!” You smacked his hand for the hundredth time after he snagged another fry.

“If you wanted fries that badly you should’ve just gotten them yourself,” you grumbled, only half mad.

“But for some reason they just always taste better off your plate,” he laughed, grabbing a couple more.

You grumble a response not loud enough to hear, but that just makes him laugh even more.

“You love me.”

“You’re lucky I do,” you smirk, swiping your finger through your puddle of ketchup and placing a blob on his nose when he reached for more fries.

“Did you just-” he wipes some off his nose, staring at you incredulously.

“Yes, yes I did.”

He grins and wipes it off with a napkin. He doesn’t take any more fries after that.

He drives you home since you took the subway from work. Of course with your luck it decides to pour right before you get home. You could dash to the front door of your building as fast as you can and still get soaked.

“Stay here for a second okay?” Spencer instructs.

You look at him quizzically as he gets out and runs across to your side, opening your door.

“I can get you to the door faster. Here.”

He helps you unbuckle your seatbelt and he picks you up, running with you in his arms and you shriek with laughter at the unexpected gesture.

True to his word, he got you there quickly and when you’re safely under the shelter of the roof of the front of your apartment building, he sets you down.

His hair is wet and dripping, falling into his eyes and drops of water fall off his face to his wet shirt and tie. You weren’t spared much either as your hair and clothes are just as soaked, but it could’ve been worse.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you chuckled.

“Hey, think of it as payback for the fries.”

You smile and are about to invite him up to dry off when he hands over a small styrofoam to go box. You hadn’t even realized he was holding it before he picked you up.

“What’s this?”

“Dessert. Your favorite. I figured you deserved it after I ate your fries.”

You grin, surprised and open the container briefly to peak at the chocolate cake that is your favorite from the restaurant.

“Thank you, Spencer.”

It was at that moment when you looked up at him and saw the twinkle in his eyes, the big smile on his face, water droplets running down his skin and in dripping wet clothes you realized that he was the most beautiful man, in more ways than one.

A noise from what sounds like the hallway brings you out of your reverie. Walking toward the door from the kitchen you catch a glimpse of white.

Looking down, you notice it’s a folded piece of paper. You pick it up and open it to read it and your breath catches in your throat as you read the words in the all too familiar writing.

I love you, too.

You open the door, intent on finding the sender to find him standing in the hallway.

“Spencer,” you breathe.

“H-How? How did you know?” you asked.

“JJ helped me figure it out.”

You exhale, overwhelmed with what’s happening.

“I mean it when I say she never meant to come between us or to hurt our relationship.”

“No, I know,” you nod, your mind moving so fast you’re not entirely sure you’re processing everything.

“I never hated her or anything. I mean I couldn’t exactly blame her for, you know, loving you.”

Somehow during the conversation he’s ended up in your apartment and you’d closed the door, although you’re not entirely sure when that happened.

“I was scared to open myself up to someone else,” he admits, “I didn’t know it consciously before the confession though. But I do now.”

You nod, looking up at him, startling the slightest when your back hits the wall. He’s got you quite literally backed into a corner.

“You want to know what’s funny though?”

“What?” you whisper.

Your breath is heavy, your chest heaving. The desire to kiss him is so strong, your desire to have him is even stronger. You’re hanging onto his every word and he knows it.

“That night when I dropped by, I was going to tell you that I realized I didn’t want a life with JJ.”

“You don’t?”

You watch him, his tongue moving over his lips before he answers. You might’ve gone a little weak in the knees at the action.

“I like this life better.”

Then it’s happening. His head bends down towards yours and yours reaches up to meet his, your lips meeting. It’s a feeling beyond anything you could ever imagine. His lips are soft and gentle against your own and his hands caress your face before gliding down to rest on your neck. You decided if this was the way to die, kissing him until you had no breath left was a wonderful way to go.

“I’m,” he kisses you again.

“So,” followed by another kiss.

“Sorry,” he breathes, connecting your lips again.

“For what?”

You’d pretty much forgive him for about anything right now as your brain has completely fizzled out the moment his lips connected with your neck.

“Everything. For hurting you. I never intended to.”

He pulls back from you completely, his hands at the edge of your shirt, eyes seeking permission.

“It’s okay,” you answer both things at once.

Your eyes flicker to the piece of clothing as it hits the floor. You feel him lift you, his hands under the back of your thighs and your eyes meet his. Suddenly you feel timid in his presence, something you’ve never felt.

“I got you,” he whispered then pressed his lips against yours.

You’re not exactly sure how much time passed spent kissing, hands roaming, trying to memorize one another. Clothes melt away, kisses spread over bare skin.

When he’s finally inside you, your mind completely blanks of everything but him and this moment. You catch his lips again but you can’t stop the whimpers that come from you as he moves within you.

Your fingers tighten in his hair as you kiss him harder, all your previous frustration, sadness and love poured into the one kiss. His hands grip your hips, his gentle movements becoming harsher.

With his lips pressed against your throat, he says, “I want to hear you say it.”

You half hum and half moan your questioning hmm.

“That you love me.”

His eyes lock on yours and he watches you, knowing you’re coming apart at his doing.

“Oh God, Spencer,” your legs inadvertently tighten around his waist as you moan, “I love you.”

His low groan of approval is like music to your ears and sends tingles down your spine. That and his erratic thrusts about send you spiraling right then.

“Y/N,” he whispers, your name falling from his lips repeatedly as he loses himself in the wonderful feeling.

Your chest is heaving again and your body is tense, ready to succumb completely to him.

Fire explodes through your veins at a lightning speed and you moan loudly, most likely embarrassingly loudly but you couldn’t care. It’s Spencer, and like it’s always been, you couldn’t be bothered to be embarrassed about anything around him.

Ecstasy takes its turn with him and you watch through lidded eyes at the complete look of abandon cross his face. With his eyes shut and lips parted there’s something so vulnerable about him as he completely loses himself in you.

“Spencer,” you whisper when you both have parted and caught your breath.

You’re watching him, a shy smile on your face as if you’ve dreamed this entire scenario.

“Hmm?”

He’s set you down on the floor again and you have to rely on the wall to hold yourself up because your legs are nearly jello at this point.

He’s in the middle of grabbing up the clothes for you when he reaches out to steady you.

“Whoa there,” he chuckles, catching you before you can fall and most likely melt into a puddle.

“I love you,” you say again.

Now that you’ve actually said it out loud, you don’t want to stop saying it. With one arm still around your waist to steady you, his other hand brushes your cheek before pulling your face towards his for another kiss. His breath tickles your face when he speaks once again.

“I love you.”

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #dr spencer reid fic #Spencer Reid fic #spencer reid gifs #spencer reid smut #Criminal Minds #criminal minds gifs #criminal minds fic #criminal minds smut

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lauwrite1225 · 4 years ago

Text

Somebody to die for.

Finan x OC; The Old Guard inspired Alternative Universe

Summary : Victoria’s life is rather simple until she has a car accident from which she ends up miraculously unscathed. A series of weird events animates her daily life, everything seemingly bringing her to a strange man. Until this very man knocks at her door.

Spotify Playlist • Masterlist

A/N : Happy Finan Friday dear readers!! So this chapter we have more of Finan and Vicky getting to know each, and god I love them. Anyway! I'm having fun finding song lyrics for my chapters titles, it makes them look ✨cool✨

Warnings : blood and death (again lol)

Chapter 3 : We've opened the door, now it's all coming through

Victoria couldn't help but develop a real fascination for the way she's now so easily healing. Most of the time it's only accidental, she drops a glass and cuts herself when she throws the debris or cooks and burns herself. Each time, any wound has disappeared in a matter of minutes. She's still not used to it, but she realizes it doesn't affect her everyday life at all, in fact, she's even starting to like it and finding it pretty useful. She even contemplates talking about it with Rebecca, there’s no secret between them, and this is definitely a big secret.

And in matters of secrets, Rebecca doesn’t forget that Victoria didn’t talk about the person who was in her apartment a few days ago. “Are you going to tell me about him?” She asks before bringing her frapuccino to her lips while they are sitting at a Starbucks table.

“About whom?” Vicky raises an eyebrow, feigning misunderstanding.

Becca rolls her eyes, leaning back in her chair. “The boy that was at your flat.”

“There was no boy.”

“A girl maybe.”

“Neither.” Rebecca narrows her eyes, she’s always been hard to convince. And in all honesty, it will be very hard to convince her that there was no one, because when it comes to Vicky’s love life, she’s tough. “I just have plumbing problems.” She lies, looking down to her own coffee.

“Oh, of course, my bad.”

Her friend doesn’t search further, but Vicky is pretty sure she won’t give up and will ask again and again. When she goes back to her place, she doesn’t expect to find Finan sitting on her staircase. She stops a few stairs below, staring at him with wide surprised eyes, waiting for him to raise his nose from the book he is reading.

“The hell are you doing here?” She finally asks, upset by his lack of reaction.

He looks up to her and smiles, pointing at a small plastic bag next to him. “I came to return ya the sweater.”

Vicky frowns, climbing the last stairs to unlock her door while he is closing his book and standing up. “You know, it was my ex’s, I didn’t particularly want to see it back.”

She can feel Finan behind her, looking down to her. “Ya got a point.”

She watches him for a brief moment above her shoulder. This time his beard is shorter, which undeniably suits him in her opinion, even if she never had a particular thing for bearded men before. Her ex couldn’t grow a single hair on his chin. “Have you been waiting here for long?”

“Two hours.”

“Creepy.” She replies, opening the door. “Do you want something to drink?”

“If ya’re proposing.” He shrugs.

Once again, they were both standing in her flat, though this time she hopes Finan wouldn’t end up dead on her parquet. She comes back from the kitchen with two glasses of water, handing one to Finan before leaning against the table.

“So…” She begins, determined to know more about the strangest man she has ever met in her life. “I guess you're not living in London, right?”

He takes a long sip of water before shaking his head. “No, in a small house lost in Ireland.”

“Alone?” She asks curiously.

“Yes.” He answers after a pause. “Believe it or not, but I try to not make myself too known.” He says slowly, agitating the water in his glass by moving his hand in small circles, his gaze fixed on it.

Vicky tilts her head. “Because of the theorists?”

“In part.” He looks up to her for a brief instant, his deep brown eyes meeting hers. “Before the Second World War, I could live in some place for ten or fifteen years then just move away.” Then he sighs, almost nostalgically. “Now, it’s more complicated, with all the technology.” He meets her gaze again, but this time it’s more intense and severe, making her feel nervous. “No one must know about it.”

“It’s hardly something I can hide.” Vicky replies, trying to keep the atmosphere light, but she can already feel the unpleasant outcome of this conversation.

Finan is silent for a long moment, walking to the table to rest his empty glass on it. He’s now close enough for her to have to raise her chin to stare at him, but he avoids her eyes. “That’s why ya’ll have to leave too.”

“What?!” She gasps. “No! I have my family, my friends…”

“Ya don’t understand.” He cuts her off and meets her eyes. “Your family, your friends, everyone is goin’ to grow old and suffer and ya…” He pauses to take a deep breath. “Ya’ll still be yourself and won’t be able to do anythin’ for them.”

Victoria is breathless, both because of what he has just told her and because of how she can read in his eyes that he knows what he is talking about. Though, letting everything behind, all her life, doesn’t sound like an option to her. She straightens, as if she could tower him, but she’s still a head smaller.

“And where would you want me to go? I’ve not been living on my own for a century, if I disappear, it won’t go unnoticed.” She replies, her arms tightly crossed over her chest.

Finan sighs. “Listen Victoria, maybe ya're family is wonderful and will accept it. But nowadays, one person knowin', and it's potentially the whole word who would know.”

Victoria frowns, understanding the warning behind. “Do you think people could want us bad if they knew?”

“It wouldn't be the first time.”

She bites her lips, her teeth sinking into the tender flesh as she looks down to her glass. She has to admit it, if the knowledge of their existence ever fell into the wrong hands she doubts scientists, politicians or whoever could find interest in their abilities would let them live freely. It feels so surreal, she’s always lived a rather simple life, not that she’s ever complained about it, but since she let Finan step into her apartment a week ago everything has been shaken out.

“Ya still have time.” He adds, his hand resting on her shoulder in a gentle way.

Victoria nods. “Are you going to stay around? Or go back to Ireland?”

Finan hesitates, his palm leaving her shoulder to rub his face. “I don’t know yet.”

“Well…” She says and he stops scratching his beard. “I still have a lot of questions. So if you could stay around for a short while.”

Vicky is surprised by how endearing she finds the smile that grows on Finan’s face, small wrinkles appearing in the corner of his eyes. “If ya want me too.”

And so, Finan remains in London, spending his time in the mediocre hotel, of what Vicky has seen on TripAdvisor, that he is renting. The rest of the time he is with her in her apartment, answering every of her questions. She enjoys learning about his life, usually over a beer, and it seems Finan does as well. In the course of a few days she learns that he was born in Ireland sometime during the ninth century and that he left for England where he fought for a saxon lord, during Alfred the Great's time. He’s easily the most interesting man she’s ever met. But he also has the talent to make every story more interesting than any of her history teachers ever succeeded. He describes each battle he took part of with so many details Vicky wonders how he can remember everything.

“Fightin’ was the only thin’ I was good at, so I kept doin’ that.” He says after she has asked why he devoted his life to fighting.

Vicky uncaps a new bottle of beer and sits next to him on her sofa. “But you don’t fight anymore.”

“Nah…” His eyes darken in the same way as when he remembers a sadder part of his life, which Victoria is getting used to having only brief explanations of. “After the Second World War, I felt like I needed some peace.”

“I can understand.” When she was small, she remembers her grandmother talking of how the war changed her father from a lively and smiling man to a silent and constantly gloomy one. Finan had fought in more wars than she can count and to know that this one has signed the end of his warriors life reminds her of how it was a war like no other.

But her time with Finan isn’t only about morbid battles, the warrior had his share of travels. When he’s talking of them, it doesn’t sound like the world she knows. He describes places still untouched by the desire of humanity to build its own tower of Babel.

“Have you been to America? After Christopher Colombus discovered it.” She asks curiously another day.

Finan chuckles. “Nah, I’ve never liked the sea. So crossin’ a whole ocean for some lands...”

“Some lands? It’s like one of the greatests discoveries in history!” She answers feigning offense, her hand pressed to her chest. “You’ve never been curious about all the gold you could have found there?” She leans back on the couch, bringing her bottle to her mouth. “Maybe you’d have been rich.”

“Pity.” He smirks, being rich clearly being the least of his ambitions.

Besides their discussions about Finan’s life they also have normal conversation. She lends him books from the shop, crossing her fingers that no one would notice some of the books are disappearing for a few days. The second time she does that, she adds a phone to the small pile of books she hands him. Finan frowns at it and then at her. He slides the books in his bag before studying the cell phone. It’s the simplest and cheapest she has found, just a screen and a keyboard, it only cost her 10£.

“Why are ya givin’ me that?” He mutters, doubtful. Vicky finds it amusing, despite having lived through all the evolution of modern technologies, Finan seems to be as comfortable with it as her with administrative paperwork.

“Well...” She starts, putting the groceries she just bought in her refrigerator. “I just thought it would be easier for me to send you a text when I’ve finished work. Not that it bothers me that you wait for me in the staircase, but I doubt it is comfortable.”

“I was getting used to it. I haven’t bein’ waitin’ in front of a Lady’s door for ages.”

Vicky looks at him from above her shoulder and can’t help the redness rising in her cheeks when he grins amusingly. She immediately looks in front of her again when his gaze travels from the phone to her. “I doubt I correspond to your definition of a Lady.”

“I’ve got a very broad definition.” She could hear his smirk as he speaks, the one that she has started to notice being so characteristic for him and all she can do is to answer with an awkward giggle.

When she’s done, she turns around and crosses her arms against the counter, Finan standing at the other side. “Have you… Have you had many relationships since you first died? I mean, serious ones.” She’s almost certain he won’t answer this question, but living eternally without anyone to love has been scaring her for a few days.

“One.” He answers surprisingly fast. “It didn’t end well.”

Victoria nods slowly, his answer being enough and understanding it isn’t a subject he wants to dwell on. Apart from the arrival of Finan, her life doesn’t change at all. She keeps working at the bookshop, drawing in her sketchbook when there are no customers. Vicky has always loved to draw, a passion she has inherited from her mother. Sometimes, she wishes she had the guts to apply to art school after high school instead of getting herself into business studies that she grew to dislike. When Finan asks her why she didn’t follow her dream, she answers that did it to stay with Rebecca. Her best friend has always been better than her when it came to school, and her parents always felt the need to compare them. Doing the same studies as her was more to prove to her parents she could do it too. At the end it has been an absolute failure, Vicky giving up her studies and finding a job in the bookshop.

One day, she has a call from her mother while she walks back to her flat.

“Do you think Rebecca would still like to join us for dinner one night?” Vicky’s mother asks through the phone.

“Sure, especially if you make her lasagna.” She smiles.

Her mother laughs. “Rebecca loves beef stew.”

“True, but I crave for lasagna.” Vicky justifies herself, the simple idea of her favorite food creating a hole in her stomach.

“Alright sweetheart. This weekend then?”

“Great! I’ll tell her.”

When she hangs up, her attention on her phone, she doesn’t realise she’s walking into someone until two strong hands grip her shoulders to stop her. She jumps and looks up in surprise, about to step back until she recognizes the man with sunglasses and a hoodie as Finan, whom she texted earlier when she walked out of the bookshop.

“Watch out, lass.” He warns, smiling anyway.

“Sorry, I was texting Rebecca.” She explains, easing under his grip. He removes his hands, his fingers lightly grazing her arms. They walk together to her flat together, Finan silently following her while she finishes her text. When they reach the building and climb up the stairs she finally starts to talk to him. “I won’t be here on Saturday.”

“Oh?”

“Family dinner.” She unlocks the door and Finan answers with a low hum.

Their evening goes as usual except that this time, Victoria proposes to him to stay for the night.

“I mean it’s late, and it’s raining. I would be a really bad friend if I kicked you out.” She says, waving her hands while he stares at her with a raised eyebrow.

“So we’re friends now?” He grins, leaning over the table.

Victoria looks away. “I still consider you the creepiest man I’ve ever met. But if you’re the only person I’ll have to support for eternity, I guess I’d better consider you as a friend.”

When she finally dares to look at him, he has the broadest smirk pulling at his lips and she has to admit it, he really is handsome, with his dark, however sparking, eyes. “Friends we’re, then.”

After she has prepared the couch for Finan to sleep, she joins her bed. As usual, since she had her accident, Victoria struggles to find sleep, and knowing that Finan is sleeping in her living room isn’t helping. Not that she fears him, but she can’t help but overthink about her reaction around him. It’s been a while since she’s found a man truly attractive, not only physically, but his whole being. And in all honesty, with how awkward their meeting has been, it definitely is not a feeling she expected.

She finally falls asleep listening to a Florence + the machines playlist. But much to her dismay, her sleep isn’t peaceful. Since she has met Finan, the dreams have seemed to disappear, but tonight is different. Victoria is back in the forest where the Irishman died, she can even see him from the corner of her eyes, but her attention is mostly focused on the young blond man she has drawn. He is fighting as well, until he is hit by a shield. He stumbles, falling on the floor and catching his breath after the rough impact. And Vicky can feel his fear when a Dane, of what Finan told her of this night, slices his throat in a sharp blow. The young man chokes in his own blood and she shakes in horror as she can feel the life leaving his body as she did with Finan.

A/N: Ehehe So what do ya'll thing this dream means 👀 ?

Also, for the great fans of TOG that would read that, I am taking liberties regarding how dreams works during all this fic, I haven't read the comics, only seen the movie and to transcribe such thing is kinda hard. I hope yall won't mind and appreciate how work with them 🤷

Tag : @for-bebbanburg @naps4bats @osferth @maggiescarborough @finansarms @dumbledoreisnotmyhubby

#finan #finan the agile #finan the last kingdom #Finan x OC #The Last Kingdom #tlk #tlk finan #tlk fanfiction #the old guard

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lambourngb · 4 years ago

Text

This Hard Truth

Fic prompt: “Are you drunk?”

THIS HARD TRUTH picks up immediately after THIS HARD LIE, an AU that explores the changes to Roswell and Michael if Alex had decided to tell the Air Force to go pound sand. It’s not all roses. Also folks, not sure if I’ve said, but I’ve been writing these each day literally from scratch off an old vague outline I abandoned a year ago, and today’s the first one that I’ve struggled with, so there’s your warning. Once Michael Guerin Week is over, this is going to a beta and will find a home on AO3. Thank you for loving the raw story.

****

The solid black Range Rover parked in front of his Airstream didn’t surprise Michael in the least.

It had been three days since Jesse Manes had succumbed to his terminal cancer diagnosis, those final days silent under a steady morphine drip. The doctors were correct with their less than a month pronouncement which had left Michael with the uncomfortable position of hoping that Jesse was going to defy those odds. It was a win-win of extended suffering for a man who had earned that and it would have kept Alex in Roswell longer.

He had seen Alex exactly seven times since that first night at the Wild Pony, all of them casual spontaneous encounters that became less spontaneous after he’d learned the nursing rotation of Manes brothers and home care staff. He’d shuffled his jobs at the garage to leave openings in schedule and stopped eating at home during the nights he knew Alex would be free, emptying out his dining out jar.

This was a species thing, he had reminded himself as a curl of guilt had started to squirm inside him at the level of low-key stalking he had done to see his ex. Between Max’s somber admission that he still could remember in crystal-clear detail the day Liz Ortecho touched his lip almost eight years ago in high school and the reaction one of Michael’s attempts at dating had to his story of showing up on Alex’s doorstep two years after a breakup with no warning, well he was aware this wasn’t a normal intensity. The date with wide eyes picking up their phone, even though it hadn’t made a noise, saying, “You seem like a nice guy, but I need to take this call, it’s probably work, we can try again some other time-”

That was the proper reaction to his story he learned, not nodding sagely like Max had and encouraging him to go in the first place.

Humans couldn’t calculate within a minute the amount of time they had recently spent with someone the way Michael could. It was a full commitment of energy to stay carefully friendly with Alex, to keep his alien focus under wraps even though he probably tipped his cards that day in Nashville. On his good days he told himself that Alex hadn’t called the cops on him because he’d been happy to see Michael and on his bad days, it was because he didn’t want the press.

With Jesse Manes dead, Alex’s reasons for staying in Roswell were over. It was time to say goodbye to this small interlude of where Michael felt completely himself, brimming in mitochondrial buoyancy with every cell alive and sparking. Back to the cards of Hallmark blandness and the short notes of congratulations after a song does well.

Alex looked up from his casual sprawl in the lawn chair, his phone in hand, and smiled at Michael’s approach, “thought I might return the favor, and show up at your door unannounced. I gotta say, an Airstream at Sanders’ was not what I was expecting as Casa de Guerin.”

Suddenly aware of the dark stain of dirt staining his cuticles, Michael shoved his hands in his pockets as he strolled up to him. Everywhere he looked was a reminder of the divide, from the shiny Range Rover Sport to the smooth manicure and high-end clothing that wrapped Alex’s frame. “What did you expect then, bedroll in my truck again?”

“Whoa,” Alex stood up, pocketing his phone to hold his hands up harmlessly. “Sorry, that’s not what I mean, I was referring to the doctor boyfriend you’ve got. Most doctors I’ve met are about the trappings, it looks like you found a good one that likes you as you.” Alex’s smile wavered, “I’m happy for you.”

Now even more off-balanced, Michael sputtered, “wait, I don’t-”

“I’m less happy it’s Kyle Valenti, but I guess it’s possible he’s changed, or received a personality transplant-”

“Holy shit who have you been talking to?” He finally cut in, looking over his shoulder back to the office at the auto yard, half expecting to see Isobel being helpful. She had never quite forgiven Alex for finding happiness in Nashville, and it would be just like her to spin a version of events to make Alex jealous. As if that was possible, even in a universe where Michael was capable of being a Stepford boyfriend worthy of a doctor, nothing compares to the life Alex has built without him. Not even zero-percent body fat doctors who did know quite a bit of anatomy. The mention of Kyle did remind Michael that he hadn’t heard very much from him since that last night shortly before Alex had rolled into town. “We’ve seen each other a few times now, Alex, I would have told you if I had a boyfriend. Anyway, Kyle has changed, but he’s not- we’re weirdly enough friends.”

A pang of longing shot through him at seeing Alex arch his eyebrow at him in judgment. “That is not what Maria says, or Arturo, or Old Man Sanders for that matter.”

“Well, they are wrong.” Michael said firmly, stepping around Alex leaving a careful amount of space as he flipped open the lid of his cooler for a beer. “It’s not like that okay? I don’t have a Dennis and a dog in my life, it’s casual and fun but nothing more.”

“I wish I was sad about hearing that, but I’m not.”

Michael paused in the middle of popping the cap off his bottle, “Wow, thank you.” That stung more than he was expecting to hear that Alex was happy he was alone. Fame and fortune really did change people. Swallowing the lump in his throat, “Listen, I’ve loved seeing you Alex, and the less said about your dad the better, so thanks for coming by to say goodbye and eh, enjoy Nashville,” he grabbed the knob on his Airstream door to flee.

A hand covered his, keeping the door firmly closed against the frame. Michael cursed his species for the thousandth time as the touch sent waves of weakness through him. Alex leaned in close, too close for just friendly words, “Wait, that came out wrong.”

“Did it?”

“Yes,” Alex stated firmly. He held onto Michael’s hand, stepping into the space between them to block the retreat into the Airstream. This was the closest they had been to one another in four years, not since that last fight the morning before Alex’s flight east that ended with fucking on a bare mattress after Michael had packed their sheets for Alex to take. “Coming back here, seeing everyone, um, seeing you, it reminded me of who I was before I became this guy,” he gestured at his clothes and back toward the expensive car vaguely. “I’ve got all these things now, useless things, that when I look in the mirror, I see my dad, a guy who cared more about a uniform than he did his own kids.”

“Alex, you could never be him, I don’t care if you become more famous than McCartney, it’s just not possible.”

Whatever Alex saw on his face made him shake his head gently in response, “I don’t get it, you still look at me like you did when we were dumb kids surviving on ramen, like nothing’s changed at all.”

“Nothing has changed for me,” Michael insisted firmly, bringing the open and almost forgotten beer to his lips. A merger shield to employ. It was pretty clear that nothing ever would and that was his reality. It was as true now as it was when he had borrowed a guitar from the music room at seventeen. “But you knew that already, that’s why we broke up, remember? Things were changin’ for you, you were goin’ to bigger places than Roswell, and that’s a good thing. A great thing even.”

“I know. You should know that I’m not going back to Tennessee right now, Michael.”

“What?”

“There’s no Dennis, I mean, not anymore. That kinda fizzled out after your visit, and the dog was his,” Alex kept his hand over Michael’s, slowly moving it up to circle his fingers around his wrist, “I do miss the dog, she was sweet.”

“Your house-” Michael started, his pulse back to pounding senselessly in his ears.

“That was mine but I sublet it to a guy I know who’s doing session work at the studio while I was here. I just let him convert the sublet into a lease.”

“And your agent?”

“Dealing with the fact I’m taking my first sabbatical in four years,” Alex finished smoothly, an answer ready for every disbelieving question that Michael could muster about his house and life. He took a step back, as if he was suddenly aware of how he had crowded him against the warm metal door of the Airstream.

There was just one question left to ask though, as Michael studied Alex’s face intently. The transparent way his eyes kept flickering from the beer bottle against Michael’s mouth and then away. “If you’re not here to say goodbye to me, then why are you here?” he asked challengingly, raising his beer back to his mouth to finish with a full lipped suggestive swallow.

Gauntlet dropped and accepted as Alex surged forward to press Michael against the door and kiss him. The glass bottle dropped uselessly to the ground, glancing off the metal steps as Michael reached behind him to turn the knob quickly. He stepped backward, letting Alex crowd him through the doorway, chasing his mouth hungrily.

The metal door slapped hard against the door jamb, as Michael fell back on his mattress.

Alex gulped audibly for air from the break, pulling back to tug off his v-neck shirt over his head and then stilled as he took in the state of Michael’s small bed. His eyes widened, scrutinizing the setup and Michael had to look away in embarrassment, knowing exactly what Alex had just recognized. “You goddamn liar! When I said I didn’t want our sheets to take with me, you said you were going to burn them!”

“Yeah, well, it seemed wasteful.”

Michael leaned back on the thin mattress, ripping his own shirt off to toss carelessly on the floor. He watched as Alex reached down to unbutton his pants. The yellow light from the trailer window brushed a gold glow of Alex’s half naked torso. He drank in the small, subtle changes in Alex’s body, like the corded strength in his torso that spoke of some sort of workout. Probably yoga or dancing maybe. The playful outrage on Alex’s face slowly changed over to a dawning realization as he took in the details of the small and cramped surroundings.

This was why Michael never brought anyone back here. All around were the skeleton remains of that first apartment together. The same dishes in the tiny sink. The same cheap poster advertising Warp Tour was taped to the back of the wooden built-in dresser. The same stupid classic car clock that Alex had brought home, after Maria had bought the Wild Pony and upgraded the decor, all because the cars reminded him of Michael.

Everywhere in the Airstream was some piece of memorabilia from those three years together. It was as close to a shrine to their relationship that Michael could build without setting out candles and a full altar.

“Holy shit, you really do love me.”

“Uh, yeah,” Michael rubbed at the back of his head ruefully, before laying back to accept Alex’s warm weight over him. He closed his eyes as Alex kissed him, turning his head upward as those long, musician fingers tangled in his hair. Gasping softly, he confessed, “Never did figure out how to stop.”

“My dad was wrong, I mean, I knew he was- but he was so convinced that your species weren’t capable of it-” Alex stopped abruptly, aware almost immediately that Michael had gone rigid under him.

Dimly Michael realized that Alex was still talking but nothing registered after ‘your kind’. It was subterfuge earlier, when Alex joked that first night about his father being a lunatic lost in the ravages of a brain tumor. He believed Jesse, worse he seemed to know that Jesse was right, that Michael was different.

Cool palms cupped Michael’s face, pulling him away from his spiraling thoughts. Any hope of laughing off the response was gone with the serious look in Alex’s eyes. “Hey. I don’t care, okay? You are still the first person, hell the only person, I’ve ever loved completely. Where you came from doesn’t matter to me. I know who you are-”

“And you know what I am.”

“Yes.”

***

Michael stared up at the ceiling of his trailer not daring to look sideways at Alex, who was pressed as close he could get against Michael on the narrow bunk. After a soft acknowledgment that he knew that Michael wasn’t alone, that he’d figured out that Max and Isobel had to be the same even though his father had died believing only Michael was an alien, Michael told him everything.

The crash, the pod, the years in the system, the knowledge that he was different and the fear that came with that knowledge. The fact he has powers, that they all do. The joy he had in finding Max and Isobel again at eleven even though he didn’t trust why he felt that way toward them. Then the vow they had made for absolute secrecy. “Not even Noah knows about Isobel, and they’ve been married four years now.”

“And Max? He never told anyone either?”

“His partner knows Jenna Cameron but that wasn’t planned. They were driving back to the station after a long circuit patrol for speeders and got caught up rescuing some people from a flash flood. The Berrendo. Cam got hit by a tree branch, femoral artery, and yeah, Max healed her. No one saw him because it was a dark night, but healing leaves a handprint. Impossible to deny it.”

Alex ran his hand absently through Michael’s chest hair, soothing them both. “It was a relief when my dad had Flint show me the evidence.”

“A relief?” Michael joked weakly, his mouth twitching upward in the effort. “Low key worried now that learning I’m an alien was a relief to you.”

“I thought the novelty of being with me had worn off. I mean, my choice after telling the Air Force to fuck off was starving to death or splitting expenses with you for rent. I figured after 3 years, you were ready to move on, so you let me go.” Alex reached up to cover Michael’s mouth with his palm briefly. “I know how that sounds, but you have to understand, before you? No one had ever loved me. My mom left when I was eight. I mean, maybe my older brothers did for a bit when I was little and cute? At least until I was thirteen and my dad started singling me out. He would kick my ass in front of them, daring them to protest, and they didn’t. I didn’t even love me.”

“Alex,” Heartbreak was in every syllable. “I never wanted to let you go-”

“I know, I’m just saying, I could finally believe it when Flint handed me a piece of a 70-year-old spaceship.”

“Dropping in on you with no warning a couple of years ago wasn’t a clue?”

Alex pursed his lips together, and laid his head on Michael’s shoulder. “Honestly I had spent two years telling myself that you didn’t give a shit, and then when you showed up, I thought it was because I was making a name. All sorts of people come out of the woodwork when the first taste of fame comes along. Then you confused me, because you left and started sending me these terribly boring greeting cards.”

“Fuck off, I spent forever picking out those cards,” Michael protested with a laugh. “I was trying to show you that I had chill, that I wouldn’t boil a bunny or stalk your social media.”

“Well you succeeded, I did keep all your cards though. It might have been a factor for Dennis moving out,” Alex joked in return before sobering with a tired sigh, “but little did you know, the real stalkers here were my family. Ever since 1947, a Manes man has been tasked in protecting humanity from your kind, starting with my great-grandfather Harlan, and ending with my brother Flint.”

Michael echoed the sigh, tucking Alex closer to him. The idea of the government, especially the United States Military, believing in aliens was enough to send his pulse rattling upward with fear. Every fear made real.

“On the bright side, my dad is dead, so that’s one less Manes hunting you.”

“What’s the other side?”

“I thought my brother was in Germany except he’s been stateside for the last five years working with my dad. He’s a weapons expert, and he’s so important to the project that the military forwarded his mail to Germany for the proper postmarks.”

“Well fuck.”

***

The next day, Michael took a rare sick day from work and guided Alex out to the desert to the cave to show him the pods, where his story had begun according to his memory. Then it was Alex’s turn for show and tell, as he directed Michael to the abandoned air base.

“I don’t know if we’ll be able to get in, but Flint calls it Project Shepherd. It was Dad’s center of operations in Roswell. He tapped into all the traffic cameras and even planted one on the gate to Sanders’ Auto,” Alex explained as he stepped out of his Range Rover. “You fixing cars must have bored the shit out of him.”

Weeds and scrub grass covered the broken pavement of the air base, lending to the air of disuse. The huge metal hangers covered the expanse, the domed tin roofs punctuated the horizon like a scattered group of D’s. Michael scanned the surroundings, a feeling of disquiet and dread filling his veins. It was probably the height of foolishness to visit a top secret bunker with only the company of a musician as back up, even if he did have the last name of Manes.

A dark shadow caught his eye, and frowned as he realized that they weren’t the only ones on sight. A familiar dark blue BMW was parked off to the side, mostly hidden by a building named B unimaginatively. As he crossed the parking lot with Alex a step behind, skipping over the broken slabs of paving markers, he drew to a halt in front of an open door.

Michael started forward, but Alex slapped his hand over his arm to halt him, “you should let me go first-”

“What, no!”

“I’m human, what if there’s some sort of anti-alien trap down there?”

“And you’re human, so what makes you think you’ll trip it?” Michael shot back reasonably, shaking off Alex’s hold. “If there’s a trap, I’m the one with the lock pick in my brain, besides, I think I know who’s down there.”

“This is like every bad horror movie, Michael.”

But outside of that pronouncement, Alex let him take the lead down the stairs of the open bunker into the cool shadows of the underground facility. As expected, he made it down uneventfully and found exactly who he expected at the bottom, spinning around in a slow circle in a leather covered office chair.

“Did you know they’re selling a shirt at Planet 7 that says ‘I’ve been probed by an alien’? I should buy it, because I can wear it unironically,” Kyle greeted as Michael made it to the bottom of the staircase. He shut his mouth comically as he realized that Michael wasn’t alone, “Whoops, did I just blow your secret like I’ve blown you?”

In Michael’s experience with Kyle, working the almost-friends and all-benefits angle, he had seen him in a lot of states. Worn out from a long shift at the hospital, solemn because he’d lost a patient, giggly because of Michael’s tendency toward wild bedhead, horny strangely because of a good football game, and finally tipsy after a pair of IPAs. He had never seen Kyle in this state.

“Are you drunk?” Michael asked, disbelievingly even though there was a mostly empty bottle of bourbon on the long conference table, stretching along the width of the room under the fluorescent lights.

“I am very drunk. That is the only sane response to my dad, I mean my day, actually I had that right the first time, my dad.” Kyle nodded vigorously before looking over Michael’s shoulder, “Hi Alex Manes. I’m sorry I was a homophobic jackass in high school. I have really changed. Ask your ex. Or is it current? Am I the ex now? Are we both Michael’s ex? Exes? Fuck is that plural or possessive-”

“You are definitely an ex now,” Alex answered firmly.

“Holy shit you are wasted,” Michael shook his head, slightly amused in spite of the deep alarm he felt in finding Kyle Valenti deep in the command center of an alien hunting operation. It was hard to feel too afraid considering the words pouring from Kyle’s mouth unedited.

“Listen I changed myself okay? I did the hard work examining my privilege and my toxic masculinity. I did it because I like sucking dick, but also because my dad is a good person and I wanted to make him proud. But I was fucking wrong. Not about sucking dick, that’s great, but my dad, he’s not good, Michael, he is really not who I thought he was.” Kyle pronounced seriously with the heavy emphasis of the inebriated. He staggered over to a computer system to press a key, pulling up a surveillance camera of a nondescript building on the set of command monitors. “He runs an alien GITMO,” the outside image clicked over, showing a line of cells, including an image of an all-too familiar man, “And he had Jesse Manes killed by an alien.”

#mguerin20 #guerinweek20 #malex fic #michael guerin #malex #roswell new mexico #au after the shed #the lost decade #oh yeah still got a bit of plot to wrap up #alex manes

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shemakesmusic-uk · 4 years ago

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Alt-pop newcomer LVRA (pronounced loo-rah, real name Rachel Lu) has shared her first new track of 2021, ‘DEAD’. Following up on 2020’s debut EP LVCID, she explains: “There’s a unique power you gain when you stop caring about what people think of you. It’s an ongoing battle, though, and ‘DEAD’ is about the conflict between the fantasy of not caring and how you feel in reality. The video captures that, with a version of myself who has her shit together and another that is fighting to survive.The use of red represents fear in the human condition, but in Chinese culture it also symbolises happiness. One rarely comes without the other.” The track – a cultural mix that matches LVRA’s heritage with bleeding edge ultra HD pop – is the first taster of a second EP, which is set to follow later this summer. You can check out an Oscar McNab (Lacuna Common, Oscar Lang). directed video above. [via Dork]

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Los Angeles artist Wallice follows debut single 'Punching Bag' with new coming of age anthem, '23'. Wallice finds herself caught between two places on fresh cut, '23'. “Too old to be a runaway”, but also too young to consider herself as grown up, the 22-year old yearns for a past that still has not happened yet. Working with producer David Marinelli since her return to California, Wallice has crafted a sound that is unique without taking itself too seriously. An angst-driven remonstration at the powerlessness of her age, '23' is also the clearest stamp of her musical identity to date. The expression of this purgatory is a cathartic garage-rock headbanger complemented beautifully by Wallice’s playful lyrics. “I just can't wait to be / all grown up and 23,” she admits in the song’s irresistible chorus. “Tell me what is wrong with me / I miss my Ohio fake ID”. In artfully portraying the limbo state of the age, Wallice describes the events in her life that have led to her own disaffection. “It’s hard not to compare your own professional success to that of your similarly aged peers. I dropped out of university in New York after studying Jazz Voice for a year, and my dad was VERY disappointed, to say the least, so it was hard not to feel like a loser in that sense. “The specific age 23 doesn’t have any milestones associated with it, but it’s more the idea of just looking forward to the future,” Wallice continues on the meaning of the track. "Much like how people ‘reset’ every new year, it’s comparable to be ‘older and wiser’ with each birthday, but instead of constantly looking to the future, it is important to be happy with where you are”. [via Line Of Best Fit]

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Coach Party have shared their new single 'Everybody Hates Me'. The Isle of Wight group are gearing up to release their incoming EP, with After Party pitting their potent indie pop influences against bittersweet lyricism. Out shortly, the EP is teased by new thumper 'Everybody Hates Me', with Coach Party adding a neat gloss to their guitar pop sound. Out now, 'Everybody Hates Me' comes equipped with a neat video steered by Daniel Broadley. Vocalist Jess Eastwood comments: “‘Everybody Hates Me’ isn’t a metaphor for anything; it’s literally about those times when you convince yourself that everyone, including your best friends don’t actually like you, and your self-confidence is so low that you don’t even blame them. Disguise that sentiment in an up-beat singalong, and there you have the third single from our new record. The video is a direct extension of the song. It swings between the insecurities of feeling like you’re not good enough amongst your friends, and the sense of unity you get from those same people when you finally wake up from your rut. Everyone feels that way from time to time, but you gotta remember that sometimes your irrational self is going to take over. And when it does, try to remember that you’re awesome, and your friends really are your friends.” [via Clash]

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Pussy Riot have gone hyperpop on their latest song 'Toxic'. The Dorian Electra collaboration features glitched out production by Dylan Brady of 100 gecs and tackles a relationship gone bad. Written, directed, and edited by Pussy Riot’s Nadya Tolokonnikova, the music video features jarring, bloody imagery matching Brady’s production. “Care about yourself, cherish your mental health, and stay away from relationships that poison you!” Tolokonnikova writes in the YouTube description. “Amen.” In the song’s lyrics, Tolokonnikova tells off an ex. “You are my daily poison so annoying,” she sings. “You’re even more toxic than my employer.” The hook continues the theme. “This combo is deadly — ’cause we used to be friendly,” Electra laments. “And now my heart is a weapon / You made me… toxic.” [via Consequence of Sound]

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Baby Queen has dropped a brand new track, ‘These Drugs’. Bella Latham’s second new track of the year – following up on the anthemic ‘Raw Thoughts’ – she explains in an Instagram post: “This is a story I really needed to tell you and I didn’t know how to for a long time. When I first wrote this song, I honestly didn’t think I was going to be allowed to release it or that releasing it would be a particularly good idea. It just felt really important and that’s all I’ve ever wanted music to be; so I knew I had to share it with you.I was in a very bad place at the time… very depressed and convinced I wasn’t a good person and didn’t deserve good things. Life is different now. I’m happy. I’ve learnt that the antidote to my misery is gratitude and caring about myself even when I don’t want to, until it becomes a habit. It’s natural to look for escapism but there’s more freedom in working to build a life you like… and by that I literally just mean learning to love yourself. You, with all your scars and all your regrets, are home to an actual life! You’ve been through so much and you’ve come out the other side stronger because of it – it’s remarkable really. You’ve got to invite the sad parts of yourself in to have a tea party with you. Don’t ignore them and cover them up. If you don’t look at them, they’ll make themselves seen! You are so worthy of love and I hope that if you don’t see that yet, you will learn to in time. Anyways guys,” she finishes, “this is all very intense. I love you very much and I hope you can understand and relate in some way.” [via Dork]

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Greentea Peng has shared her new single 'Nah It Ain’t The Same'. The UK neo-soul voice is an outstanding talent, someone who pushes herself further into that hip-hop / jazz nexus with each release. Produced by Earbuds, new single 'Nah It Ain't The Same' is out now, one that reflects the chemistry she has with her live band The Seng Seng Family. Dipping into drum 'n' bass, her vocals have a calming, beatific feel, with 'Nah It Ain't The Same' tugging at matters personal. She comments: “Deliberations of a (hu) MAN, subject to the pendulum's swing, I give you ‘Nah It Aint The Same’ off my album MAN MADE. An expression and exploration of my utter confusion and inner conflicts amidst shifting paradigms.” Greentea Peng stars in the new video, with Machine Operated sculpting the video. [via Clash]

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renforshort has debuted a brand new single, ‘virtual reality’. The first taster of a forthcoming second EP, the track sees her “connect” with Kellen Pomeranz (Pom Pom), Jesse Fink and Beabadoobee collaborator Pete Robertson. “’virtual reality’ is a song that tackles many topics. But at its core, it really is about anxiety, routine, boredom, isolation, loneliness, and fear,” she explains. “I think a lot of people have a very unhealthy relationship with technology because it’s never really been restricted enough to consider mental health and overall health, and that has fucked so many people up, now more than ever. Ever since I was young, social media has played a major role in my mental wellbeing, and I became so accustomed to it, it became a part of my routine and it came before everything else. The moment I wake up, almost instinctively, I check my phone. Depending on what I see in the morning, basically determines how I’m gonna feel for the rest of the day. I hate it. But I can’t stop. And what’s most ironic about this all is you’re likely going to read this on social media or listen to the song on some sort of electronic device…” [via Dork]

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Flock of Dimes has shared the second single from her forthcoming album Head of Roses, out April 2 via Sub Pop. Following recent single, 'Two', 'Price of Blue' is another standout from Wasner’s second solo LP, an album that showcases her ability to embrace new levels of vulnerability, honesty and openness, combined with the self-assuredness that comes with a decade-plus career as a songwriter, producer, multi-instrumentalist and prolific collaborator. It comes accompanied by an unearthly new video filmed in black and white, co-directed by Wasner with Graham Tolbert. Wasner says: “This song is about trying, and failing, to connect. It’s about the ways in which, despite our best efforts, we misunderstand each other, and become so attached to stories that we’re unable to see the truth that’s right in front of us. And it’s about the invisible mark that another person can leave on your body, heart and mind long after their absence. It can be difficult to make sense of the memory of your experience when the reality on the surface is always shifting—when the story you’re telling, or the story you’ve been told, unravels, leaving you with a handful of pieces and no idea how they used to fit together.”

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Berlin-based indie-soul five-piece, People Club, announce their new EP Take Me Home, which is due May 7 and the band are sharing the title-track and new video. The title track 'Take Me Home' is a song about the realisation of mortality in old age and the cynicism that often plights the elderly after losing their loved ones and being left alone with their regrets. It is accompanied by a music video shot by long standing collaborator, Felix Spitta. Speaking of the process the band say, “Once again we worked with our very talented friend, Felix Spitta, who also shot the video for our last single Francine. We basically spent a day fooling around at his house with a smoke machine and an old tape TV camera with a red filter. The result is hazy and disorientating, just like this year has been so far.”

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Introducing MARY., the dreamy alter-ego of musician and songwriter Stef T. The self-produced debut track, ‘Day to Day’, interlaces elements of electro-pop and R&B with a voice that enchants, along with an official video filmed, edited and directed by David Risdon and Charlie Rose Creative. Reading like a page in a diary, ‘Day to Day’ offers a candid and emotionally raw glance at being overlooked as a woman in a man’s world. She is put together, glamorous and poised on the outside, but on the inside she is simmering like a pot ready to boil over, fed-up and on the brink of snapping. Speaking of the track, Stef T explains, “’Day to Day’ is a reflection on what it is to be a woman in a role where you are always unseen; constantly giving yet never receiving. As woman, we are often undervalued for our day to day work in all aspects - as mothers, in relationships, in our careers; having to push extra hard to get the basic recognition and thanks that we are entitled to. This song is a commentary of a large part of my life where I settled, sacrificed and worked, only to be used and taken for granted. It is about learning to survive a toxic relationship, discover your own individual worth again and reclaim the power that you gave away to someone else. Producing this song myself is the only thing that made sense in context with the intention of MARY. as a project. She is an entirely self made, independent woman, who does it all and doesn't need a man to confirm that she's doing a good job. This is something I have personally struggled with, so I created the MARY. persona to feel more empowered in my storytelling as an artist, in an industry without a large visible number of female-identifying producers.”

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Los Angeles based dream pop trio Tashaki Miyaki have just released a single and video of the title song from their forthcoming second album, Castaway, which will be released on April 23 via Metropolis Records. Singer, drummer and producer Paige Stark states that the song “is about the challenges of romantic love and how we are all bad at it in one way or another. The idea of a castaway in all this is that no one understands the relationship except the people in it, so you really are stuck on an island alone together there. Maybe you make it back to the mainland, or maybe you stay on the island.” Stark also shot the Sofia Coppola-inspired video on film, adding: "I wanted to tap into all the feelings that can come up in love relationships: anger, sadness, loneliness, vulnerability, stillness, joy, romance, longing. The actress in it has a beautifully expressive face and I've known her for a long time. I knew we would be able to create those moments together. I wanted it to feel like the camera was her lover, capturing her in various private moments, moods and feelings.”

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With her Vanilla Shell EP celebrating its one-year anniversary last month, Danish-Chilean composer Molina is back with another abbreviated record in the form of the new single 'Cold,' featuring vocalist Jonas Bjerre, arriving with a pair of B-sides. The brief collection of songs continues her simultaneous journey inward toward the roots of Chilean music and outward into her own unique vision of the future. The project lands with a video for the A-side, which dreams up bizarre fantasy iconography in the tradition of Grimes and Björk to complement her subdued take on these artists’ out-there recordings. Blending ambiguous electronic sounds with the familiar drone of cello and Bjerre’s backing vocals, the track’s distinct persona may have more in common with the experimental soundscapes of artists like Jenny Hval or Julia Holter. [via Flood]

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Maisie Peters has debuted her brand new single, ‘John Hughes Movie’. Described as the first single from her soon to be announced debut album, it’s a song about unrequited love, inspired by the legendary film producer and his classic coming-of-age teen comedies like The Breakfast Club and Sixteen Candles. The track comes alongside a video co-written by Maisie and director Louis Bhose (Loyle Carner, Arlo Parks, Lewis Capaldi). Maisie explains: “I wrote ‘John Hughes Movie’ when I was 17 about a house party that I had gone to. It’s a really honest depiction of being a hopeless, melodramatic teenager, being awkward and drunk and getting your heart broken by people you don’t even remember anymore. John Hughes films encapsulate that foolish romantic energy of high school and everything that I, a small town English wannabe Molly Ringwald wanted to be, but was not.” [via Dork]

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Chloe x Halle have shared the music video for their song 'Ungodly Hour.' The video was debuted on Wedneday night's episode of The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon and shows the Bailey sisters going underwater for a sci-fi-style visual filled with choreography and elaborate adventures at the bottom of the ocean. Watch the Alfred Marroquín-directed video above. [via The FADER]

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South London's Josie Man has returned with sentimental new single 'Cuts & Bruise', marking her first release of 2021. 'Cuts & Bruises' follows October 2020's 'Grow' single, and is accompanied by a Andrea Mae-directed video that shows couples enjoying tender moments, including Josie Man and her boyfriend. [via Line Of Best Fit]

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Jessie Ware has shared a new short film for her song 'Remember Where You Are'. Her album What's Your Pleasure? arrived last year, a disco-fuelled missile that presented some much-needed good vibes amid lockdown. The songwriter returns to the record for her song 'Remember Where You Are', a soulful and uplifting slice of UK songwriting. There's now a full video for the song and it's steered by BAFTA winning director Dominic Savage. Starring British actress Gemma Arterton, it opens on Valentine's Day and finds the star wandering through deserted London streets. A glimpse of hope and renewal, it taps into the growing feeling that this time, lockdown might be coming to a permanent end. "It was a real pleasure to collaborate with Jessie and Gemma on this short film that is inspired by Jessie Ware’s beautiful music. It was also inspired by the real feeling that was felt when we filmed in the deserted streets of eerily strange lockdown London on a Saturday night/Sunday morning,” Dominic said. “The feelings and emotions in the film are a true reflection of what that felt like, and what this time invokes. Sadness, nostalgia, pain and defiance. But when we climbed Primrose Hill and the sun started to rise above the city, there was real hope and joy for a future that will surely be ours. Listening to Jessie’s music. There is no doubt of that." Jessie adds... "This song has always meant a lot to me and I was determined for other people to hear it and for it to be single. I am so touched by how many people have embraced this song, particularly when it's one of your favourite actresses and an acclaimed film director. Working with Gemma, Dominic and their team has been an absolute joy. To have them realise my song with a beautiful ode to London and the longing for human touch and interaction couldn't be more of a compliment. It's a truly cherished piece of work." [via Clash]

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Jaguar Jonze has shared her new single and video 'CURLED IN' ahead of the release of her second EP ANTIHERO on April 16, both via Nettwerk Records. 'CURLED IN' presents all her best qualities at its outset. From the track’s rip-roaring, slicing guitar to her perfectly forceful, omnipresent vocals, 'CURLED IN' is a pure cathartic release. "Tear me apart, just tear me apart," she all but demands: "I've never seen wrong be done right." She's fulfilling her simplest needs, and it's freeing. "It's a bit of a twist for me to be a masochist." As a survivor of abuse, these words' unafraid power is all too apparent and an engaging statement to hear expressed.

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Following the release of eclectic and impressive debut singles 'ASOS,' 'Right Time,' and 'Papercut,' rising left-of-center pop singer and songwriter Dava returns with a fresh and bold new single 'New Ceilings' available now via Sony Music's Disruptor Records. The moody anti-pop record was co-written by Dava and Mike Adubato (Del Water Gap, Grace VanderWaal) who also produced the track, and is the latest off the Los Angeles-based musician's forthcoming debut EP, Sticky, due out later this year. On the inspiration behind her new single, Dava shares, "This song was written about survival and staying true to yourself. I was having a hard time financially after moving to LA and my phone was shut off while on my way to this session. I was upset with myself for prioritizing music when I really needed the money from driving Uber to stay afloat." She continues, "The day I wrote 'New Ceilings' I was angry and I wanted a song that felt empowering and validated all the work I had put in up to that point. I ended up choosing different songs for my project but when I revisited this one year later, I felt it needed to be heard because of how authentically it embodies my struggle."

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London-based Fifi Rong, a multi-talented avant-pop songstress, has shared the video for her stunning single, ‘Another Me’. Directed by Rok Pat, the video for ‘Another Me’ is stylistically simplistic, as Fifi Rong uses her own body as a medium of art, painting herself and inviting the simple imagery of waterside reeds and plants. A tranquil mysticism embraces the single as Fifi Rong acts as a gentle siren, luring the unsuspecting in yet known the inevitable outcome of the relationship. Speaking of the concept behind the single and video, Fifi Rong tells us: “In any doomed romance, timing is always mysteriously wrong. This is my first full CGI music video and it visually portrays the elusive nature of the character surrounding the key message: 'you won't find another me'. The undertone of the song displays a sense of pride and confidence in the character’s melancholy. Dressed in nothing but petals, I wanted my character to symbolise purity, nature, truthfulness, vulnerability and the divine feminine form. Acting as a rotating statue, I wanted to mark the passing of time and seasons as if a unique and lonely piece of art on display.”

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green-and-grey-kenaz · 3 years ago

Text

Solace in Plato

Language: English

Characters: Nico di Angelo, Will Solace, Chiron

Summary: With the now rather alarming prospect of actually reaching adulthood being a reality, Nico has agreed to tutoring under Chiron's guidance. When Plato is suggested as something to study, Nico is not impressed and avoids it. A few weeks later and Will Solace asks him whether he's actually read Plato or just an abridged version.

Just a little fic exploring their relationship and Nico's internalised issues with being gay.

Word Count: c. 2 500

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32634607

“I hate Plato.” Nico muttered, staring at the book placed in front of him as he sat in the library of the Big House. Having not had any formal education since the ‘30s, Chiron had taken it upon himself to help educate Nico should he wish to get exam results - which would be useful for getting a job or Athena believe it, going to University. Neither was a prospect that he had ever really considered possibilities but the alternative was staying here and helping out with the new recruits while Will went to University in a few years time or doing the same thing but in New Rome.

Because Will insisted that he wanted to help the world, not just demigods. Nico didn’t deserve him.

So he’d agreed to go along with this and when Chiron had asked him if there was any subjects he thought he might take at University (and after Nico had suggested undertaker, mortician or detective based on a TV show Will had told him about, don't ask) he had begrudgingly admitted that he had more than a passing interest in Classics. Try as he might, his childish obsession with mythomagic had left him with more than a passing knowledge of Classical characters and he got a strange, warm feeling in his chest when he knew the answer to ‘how do we kill this obscure monster’ and no one else did.

Based on these answers, he had a somewhat tailored learning with Classics in both Italian, English and the Original Ancient Greek (his Greek was amazing for his age - a by-product of being a half-blood - but apparently his English reading skills were that of a kid and his Italian not much better, Hades knew why) and more than his fair share of biology and chemistry. Will had been only too delighted to help him with the sciences, although was suspiciously absent when it came to physics and math, but that was OK, really, and he probably wouldn’t make a good mortician anyway because he shouldn’t pick careers based on how many spirits he could raise, tempting as it was. The rest of his schooling thought? That fell to Chiron.

And today? Well, apparently they had progressed onto Philosophy and a man who's work made Nico's stomach plummet. Plato.

“Why is that?” Chiron asked, a patient expression on his face. Nico just glowered at him but like Will, he seemed impervious to it. It was irritating when people did not cower and cave in to his glares. He was used to inspiring fear in others.

“Do I need a reason?” Nico his arms, leaning back on the chair, returning a dark gaze to the book as if he could cause it to wither and crumble under his gaze. If he could do it to food, why not books? Plato sat cheerfully happy there without so much as a speck of mold coming to grace it.

“When discussing philosophy, it can be rather helpful.”

“Well I just don’t like him. Pick some other philosopher.”

Chiron had stared at him for a good few seconds before relenting, choosing some other book and asking no further questions about it. Nico hated that he could feel just how his heart rate had picked up, thundering in his chest as if it would crack open his rib cage. He knew people suspected… that the people he tolerated as friends already knew and accepted him for his inclinations… for what he was… but he wasn’t ready to confront the proof that he was different. Wrong, a voice always threatened to whisper in his ear. An abomination. A freak of nature. Nico knew that he couldn't read Plato, not with Chiron standing there and dissecting the merits of this particular work. It was never easy to look in the mirror and see just how messed up you were.

Despite the time it took for his heart to return back to normal, he did manage the text they’d chosen and perhaps sensing his unease, Chiron had used it as a chance to work on his reading more than the philosophy. He even finished the lesson with a kind smile and was informed that his modern language skills had far approached where they should be for someone his age. This followed with a suggestion that he could go into translation work. It was tempting, he would be better able to hide away in a darkened room as a translator than becoming an academic (sadly, these days academics had more obligations to teach), so Nico nodded and promised to think on it.

Two weeks later found Nico sitting in the shadows of the forest while Will quizzed him on anatomy which counted as studying for both of them. Annoyingly Will was refusing to sit anywhere other than the sunlight and so had coerced Nico into what they had settled on as being called ‘a potential threat to his aesthetic’, or in other words, dappled shade. It had promised to be a rather lovely day until a topic best avoided reared its head.

“Why do you hate Plato?” Will asked suddenly, looking up at him with those bright eyes and that warm smile that made something in his stomach twitch and his throat clench. Nico knew he shouldn’t feel so ill at ease with these feelings. They hadn’t put a word on it but it was a thing that they were doing. Having feelings together, exchanged smiles and moments of laughter when he thought no one was watching. Once, Will had even placed his hand down a mere inch from Nico’s and he had let his little finger flicker to just once lightly tap against Will’s in thanks for the silent support. He’d felt sick with guilt afterwards, but what was new? The little moments of happiness more than made up for it.

“I just do. And Chiron shouldn’t have told you that.” He muttered, shifting to move back under the full shade of a tree, pulling his legs in to his chest as Will closed the book. Right, study was over. Nico wrapped his arms around his legs, finger shifting the skull ring as he felt the pressing anxiety to run and escape the potential fallout. How many people knew? No doubt his unnaturalness was being spoken of throughout camp as he sat here. They would prove Jason wrong that times had changed. Their eyes would follow him, judging and radiating hate for someone who was so different. He’d have to leave and go back on the run, abandoning all he had built here. Nico closed his eyes as the feelings became overwhelming and claustrophobic, grass yellowing beneath his feet.

“He was concerned.” Will said softly, shifting over to sit next to Nico and breaking his silent panic.

“I’m not talking about it.”

“Is it Plato’s Sympo-?”

“No.”

“Hm. That’s what Chiron thought as well.” Nico could hear amusement in Will’s voice and concern. He dropped his hands from twisting the ring, suddenly subconscious of his tell and instead twined blades of dead grass between his fingers and yanked. His hand opened to let the picked grass tumble back to the earth.

“Did you read the original or just hear an abbreviated version?” Will pressed.

“Have you read it?” Nico challenged, ripping up more grass.

“Not until last week. Chiron sat me down with it and we discussed it.”

“Then you know why I can’t stand Plato.”

“Abbreviated version, huh?”

Nico looked over to Will who did not look disgusted, upset or any of the other myriad of emotions that he would have expected. Did he not read the whole mankind were once male and female, now split and eternally trying to recombine with their other half? Which left them and whatever they had rather in the dirt. Because if there was one thing that was worse than knowing he wasn’t right, that there had been some huge mistake with his creation, it was knowing that someone as good as Will Solace had the same affliction. Sure, he could be annoying but Will deserved more than that. He shouldn’t be a broken half. If anyone deserve to be able to become whole once more, it was Will. Will, who was staring at him like he expected some answer and Nico shrugged, yanking more grass.

“So what? I was like eleven. Not exactly likely to go and read the actual version. I deserve credit for even doing that much.” He couldn't actually remember how he'd heard it. He had found out that it was from Plato's Symposium after he knew the story, that much he knew. He assumed either he had read it very young or perhaps some ghost had told him. Most of his pre-Camp Half Blood lessons had come from ghosts in one form or another.

“Perhaps you should. I rather liked the bit about the straights all being nymphomaniacs and adulters.” Will smirked.

Nico frowned, his body freezing as he blinked very slowly trying to make what Will had said align with what he knew. A frown tugged at his brow.

“What… do you mean…?”

“Well, the whole bit about there being people made of two parts, either two men, two women, or a man and a woman, always trying to get back together. And the same sex ones generally being the better lot. Well, more the two men combos because they weren’t necessarily the most progressive in Ancient Greece. But in the end, that’s just a story that Plato had Aristophanes, who was a comedic playwright, tell. It’s not really anything to be taken too seriously.”

How had no one told him that? A dark anger settled into the pit of Nico's stomach and he found himself wanting to track down whichever spirit had lied to him and- Will continued speaking, his voice too light for Nico to continue his thoughts and the seething hatred dissipated.

“Honestly, read it if you don’t believe me. Chiron sat me down and took me through the whole story, every boring line after every boring line. I’m not supposed to tell you this because he’d rather you told him when you’re ready but he kind of clocked that you and I-” Nico shot Will a death glare and Will held up his hands.

“I was going to say get on well! And yeah, considering your aversion to Plato, he thought it might be you heard a misrepresented version of that story. We both know about festering wounds so agreed you should learn the truth of the matter. Preferably not by forced study so I kind of had to get an impromptu philosophy lesson. I think Chiron intended me to be rather more subtle about his involvement but my assessment is that it is better to know that you’re not alone and that it’s OK.”

Nico did not want to stare at Will. He did not want to look shocked nor rattled. He focused on plucking more grass and trying not to feel pleased that Will could sit in silence, knowing he needed time to speak and for it not to feel awkward.

“I just.” Nico frowned. The story had not exactly haunted him but it had lodged itself into his chest as further proof of all he had been raised to understand. It felt like a screw had been loosened somewhere deep within. “It isn’t saying that… well…?”

“No,” Will smiled. “And, I mean, the best thing about it is Plato actually wasn't arguing for the gays or the straights. There’s just like this collection of discussion by some old dudes on the meaning of love and then Socrates comes in boom at the end and we get Platonic love , or the basics of it. Big advocation for love being about the search for the meeting of minds rather than physical stuff, which I think is a rather good way to look at it. It goes on to being about then true love is a love of knowledge. That’s what the whole thing is kind of about. I think. Most of it went over my head.”

“That… doesn’t sound so bad.” Nico admitted, his hands winding around some grass but not yet pulling. He focused on the texture of it in his palm and it ground him.

“Besides, it’s not like it’s the be all and end all.” Will continued. “It’s just some guy arguing about love two thousand years ago and what do they know?”

Nico hummed, chin resting on his knees as he stared out at the camp below them. Will moved to sit closer, mirroring his position merely a foot away. If either of them leaned just a bit, their head might rest on the other one’s shoulder and Nico did not shift away.

“I just… As long as I can remember I’ve always been told that love is between a man and a woman. I just seemed inescapable. It didn’t matter who was teaching…” It wasn’t easy and words caught in his throat.

“Look, I know it’s complicated and none of this is going to be easy but I just want you to know that if you need to talk about something, you have me. And if you don’t want to talk to me about it, then Chrion is there too-”

“No.” Nico said hastily, blinking in surprise at that. “That is… I’d rather talk to you than Chiron. About things.” He noticed that at some point, Will had placed a hand, palm upwards between them. Hesitantly, Nico slipped his hand down, ghosting his fingers over Will’s. He did not move or even look at him and somehow feeling safer in that knowledge Nico let his fingers intertwine.

It was better than the grass.

“But when I’m ready. There’s… I’ve got a lot to figure out about all this but I know whatever I think, I enjoy what we have and I don’t want to not feel this.” He twisted their hands so Will’s was on top now and his fingers brushed against Will’s knuckles and down the proximal phalange before circling the knuckles again. Will’s thumb brushed against his and Nico felt his body begin to tense against the warmth and sparks of feelings. In moments like this, it was hard to believe that what they had was wrong.

“I don’t want to not feel like this either.” Will smiled and the distance between them seemed less, although Nico could not say how the gap had closed.

If they really were two halves of a whole, Will had to be his better half, Nico reflected as he felt his head drawn to rest feather light on his… on Will’s shoulder. Yes, it felt like this might be completion or at the very least something that Nico had not felt for an even longer period: contentment.

#Nico di Angelo #will solace #percy jackson series #heroes of olympus

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krisanderwrites · 3 years ago

Text

Malachite and Sparrow 02

My second summer there was a mix up in the paperwork and I had to vacate the dorms for two weeks until it was sorted out. None of my classmates lived close enough to make couch surfing a viable option, so I eventually swallowed my apprehension and called my mother. Although I attempted to keep the conversation short, she was elated to hear that I would be coming home this year. When I finally hung up, I knew that there was no way Malachite had not overheard my given name. Of course she was considerate enough to not mention it.

The long trip home was peppered with anxiety attacks and countless worries. By the time I finally arrived in the airport, I was exhausted. Thankfully that gave me the excuse to ignore the way my parents did not recognize me until after a second glance. They shuffled me into the car, berating my tardiness and how it was messing with my sister's schedule since she had an important meeting. Everything felt dull and far away, much worse than my depression ever was while at college.

I took it easy, as much as someone going to Elsewhere University can on break. Unable to break the habit of watching every word I uttered, I found solace in furthering my research online and at the local library. I cleaned out my old room, throwing away most of the things I had no use for anymore. I visited my great-aunt Hazel in her nursing home. When she pressed a plastic bag full of small boxes into my hands, I gave her a strange look.

"For exchanges," she said, smiling. Opening one, I found a kitschy set of matching topaz earrings and necklace. Realizing the gift, I gave a small gasp. She would not accept me doing anything for her in exchange, simply saying that she had no use for all of them anyway. I still have no clue how she knew about the Gentry. However, she had certainly given me ideas.

I began to talk to my sister and mother, telling them about Malachite's love of jewelry of all kinds- how she even made her own on occasion. In response, they gave me all of their old things that they no longer wanted to pass along to her. A few of my cousins even dropped off their old mismatched earrings and pendants and charm bracelets. I went to the nursery and picked up seeds of plants I had not been able to get my hands on while on campus. In the back of my closet I found my old fighting gear and packed it into an old gym bag my brother was going to throw out.

To make sure there were no debts I mowed lawns, weeded gardens, cleaned out gutters, scrubbed bathrooms, and bathed dogs. Each present got a chore in payment. Money exchanged hands as well, but I tried to reserve as much of that as possible for more important things than trinkets to trade. In the end I left with two more bags than I had come back with, full of all sorts of helpful things. I think somehow I knew even then that I was never really coming back.

"You know... you really have changed," my mother remarked as she dropped me off at the airport.

My mouth was dry, "Yeah, I think I have too."

"I'm not sure it is for the better," she snidely added.

"Well, I do," I shrugged and grabbed the last bag out of the trunk.

She seemed uneasy, "I suppose this is goodbye then."

"Yep," I said.

"Will you at least call?" she asked.

"Probably not," I answered, not even attempting to stretch the truth. "I think we both have very different ideas about who I am, and it would probably just hurt more."

There were tears in her eyes when she laughed, "You really have changed. I will wish you luck, then. Don't worry about your father; he already knows. He's considered you dead for at least six months now."

"That does explain the lack of conversation," I had quipped. "Well, I have to somehow get through security with all this."

I walked away without looking back even once. Somehow it felt like I was shedding my old skin. I checked my bags and got onto the plane with no troubles. Smooth sailing for the Captain. The feeling of overall sluggishness left upon entering campus again. Dropped off in front of the dorm building with my bags, I was delighted to see a greeting party of crows waiting for me. They were rewarded with the best sugar cookies my hometown had to offer. Overall it felt more like coming home than visiting my family ever had.

* * * *

Settling back down into a dorm room felt strange knowing that it was going to be just me on my own again. I planted all the seeds I had bought in trays that I placed upon the windowsill. I sorted through all the jewelry I had amassed and threw away the unnecessary packaging; it still filled most of a duffel bag. My old fighting gear was relegated to the back of yet another closet; I could not bear to throw it away but for now it served no purpose. Perhaps I could find a new group to practice with on campus later. I took a part-time job at a local veterinary clinic to help expand my knowledge and experience.

To be truthful, everything was just a distraction until Malachite returned. Without her nearby I felt the pull of the Else at my veins. Sometimes I would stare out at the forest with a longing- an urge- to simply walk among the trees and then keep walking. Realistically I knew that this was a terrible idea, but it was true all the same. The Fair Folk were more numerous on campus as autumn drew closer, all eagerly anticipating the return of the students as much as I was.

With no small amount of glee, I showed off my acquisitions to Malachite. She stared, wide-eyed, and asked what in the world I was planning on doing with all of that jewelry. I laughed her off, claiming that I was just going to save it all for a rainy day. It was mostly true. (I was something of a zombie-survival plan person anyway.) I did not tell her that my intuition said that there were storms coming.

Still, things continued on much as normal for quite some time, if perhaps a bit busier. I gave presents to Jimothy- as many beads as my cousins had managed to trade for me doing their chores. Clients at the veterinary clinic occasionally brought me gifts for helping to care for their animals, which I in turn gifted to fae or other students. My study group commandeered a room in the library where the time distortion was not too terrible. I set a broken wing for one crow and stemmed the bleeding broken beak of another.

Sometimes I attended parties just to escort people back to their dorms safely. Ever curious, I worked endlessly on ideas and inventions that I never intended to see the light of day. After all, knowledge of how to heal and soothe comes only after knowledge of how to hurt and break. The contraptions piled in my closet next to my unused fighting gear.

It took some time for me to realize that Malachite had plans of her own.

By helping others and trading in offerings of homemade bread or sweets for crystals and gemstones, she had amassed quite a literal treasure trove. Taking these precious finds, she then created jewelry from them. Homemade trinkets are always worth more to the fae than ones that you buy in a store. As I watched her collection grow, I suddenly understood her concerns with my own hoard.

Then one day I walked in during a break from classes and realized something had happened. Malachite was burning sage in the room which showed evidence of a recent bout of furious cleaning. When pressed, she simply said that the salt lines had been worn away over time and needed replacing. The fearful glances to the corner of the room, however, spoke a different story.

I decided that though my hands were often burned with silver nitrate (so useful in stopping small bleeds), perhaps having the Sight was something I should keep around more often. Just in case. I began wearing a mood ring on my middle finger. It immediately turned to black and then remained that color whenever I wore it. I tried not to feel anxious about this and failed miserably.

* * * *

Right at midterms there was a brief flurry of activity before things settled down again. Hardly anyone got taken over midterms that year, as there were several days that were designated safe due to the school fair. Then there was a night where all the signs were there for A Hunt. There was a new moon and strange yelling that could be mistaken for baying. Everyone kept to their dorm rooms and locked the entrances.

What came knocking at our door was our new RA, who was a nice enough woman studying business and law.

"Captain," she had said.

I had tilted my head and informed her that was not my official nickname.

"No," she laughed, "but it suits you well. You're already rather well known as a Knight." Something about that title rang true in my bones and I had to suppress a shiver as she continued, "Anyway, there is a bit of a situation. They are asking for you to come out and see to one of their hounds."

"What they?" Malachite had demanded.

"You know, the Fair Folk," she explained.

"Absolutely not."

Blinking, we both turned to the side. Malachite pushed forward to stand in the doorway, hands on her hips.

"I'm not letting Sparrow take one step outside on a night of A Hunt. Even if it were not suicide, the chances of being stolen are far too great."

I laughed, "All my new surgical tools are made of steel. I doubt any of Them would want me."

Despite her protests, we both ended up following the RA to the threshold of the dorm hall. Standing there was a perfectly respectable attempt at a humanoid form, albeit with an extra limb or two. At least they were trying. The hound itself was, as typical, an eldritch abomination that could possibly be construed as canine if you were on LSD and also only had ever known dogs from the story of The Hound of the Baskervilles. However, the long, hungry glances the Good Neighbor kept sending towards Malachite were disconcerting.

"I will heal, for that is what is right," I offered readily, "but should you attempt to take or harm my companions, I will fight, as that is also right. Do we have an understanding here?"

The hissing reply was not pleased-sounding, but not being attacked outright was a good sign. When finally it nodded petulantly, I stepped forward to the heaving mass on the grass and kneeled down. Luckily it turned out to be a small favor. The monster had thorns in its hide from a hawthorn tree dipped in iron. Snarling at the wicked items, I palmed them with the thought to destroy it later by fire. A small salve applied to the wounded areas and the Hunt was once again ready to leave.

"Freely given," I said as they vanished into the mists.

"You're foolish," noted the RA. "You should have asked for something."

"Asking for payment is more foolish than being a good person," I replied. "All my aid is freely given, and I won't charge the Gentry any more than the crows. I am a healer, after all."

"Talk softly, treat others kindly, and carry a big damn stick," supplied Malachite.

"Exactly," I smiled as I closed my fist around the iron-tipped thorns.

* * * *

The hungry eyes of the Gentry were long forgotten as time slipped past. There was too much to do and too many who needed aiding for paranoia to set in fully. It did not catch my attention at the time that my plants were starting to grow a little too well or my newly acquired pet fish seemed more colorful than was natural. I did not notice when I began to avoid eating my food with excess salt.

No, my first sign that something was terribly wrong was an itching, sore rash across the back of my neck.

It took some time, but eventually we figured out the trusty iron chain that our talisman rested upon was causing the problem. For a few days, neither of us spoke about it. Suddenly developing an allergy to iron was greatly concerning. And telling. We both knew what it meant, despite trying to ignore it.

Slowly, things began to change. The salt lines in the doorways and windows became complex symbols and runes. The gemstone satchels somehow migrated away from my side of the room. I began to take my coffee with creamer and sugar, despite always having had it black before.

"Fae-touched," someone told us when they noted me sitting on the grass to avoid the iron bench. "Not quite a Changeling, but not entirely human either. You've gained a lot a favor with the Gentry. Or a lot of ire, I suppose."

"Don't listen to her," another student rolled their eyes. "Everyone knows Captain Sparrow's a knight and a healer. The Good Neighbors like you just where you are."

It explained a little, we supposed. My family was mixed, but both sides had come from areas steeped in tales of the Fair Folk. Those with links to the old countries always were a little more at risk. So we simply decided to take more care and discuss our options. And we agreed. Neither of us would leave for the Else without the other. We would remain together through thick and thin.

Thus our third year at Elsewhere University ended with us just as close as before.

#elsewhere university #elsewhere student #malachite and sparrow

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