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prongsx · 1 day

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Lazy Sundays

warning: fluff, f!reader, Jason being a cute guy. English its not my first language. established relationship.

Jason had always been an alert person. It was tiring, but he couldn't help it. Life forced him to never rest.

It started when he was still young, he had to be alert so he wouldn't die in the alley of crime, if he made a false move he could end up in a web of crimes and murders. He had to be alert to keep his own mother from self-destruction, had to be constantly checking her breathing, if she had eaten, if she hadn't used her subsistence money for drugs. He learned that being a heavy sleeper was dangerous when his house was shot at and he had to hide under the table, eyes full of tears.

Then Bruce adopted him, but he had already lost part of his ability to be a child, never carefree. And now he had the burden of showing Bruce that he was good enough, that he wasn't wasting his time training a boy with too many emotions. Always alert. He had too many emotions, he knew that. His love was wide and deep, but so was his anger. His sadness was like sharp claws scratching his skin from the inside out. He needed to stay alert to keep his emotions in check, because they could consume him.

Being Robin kept him alert, he needed to take care of himself and Batman's back. Even Dick, who had years of training, found Jason too vigilant, his eyes never seemed genuinely relaxed and Dick found out the hard way. He went to play a prank on Jason, waking him up in the middle of the night, but the boy reacted in the worst way and before Dick could react, there was a knife pressed against his neck.

When Jason died and came back with Red Hood, his sense of survival became stronger. There were too many people wanting to kill him, the anti-hero had twice as many enemies, sleeping in peace was not an option. He had so many knives and hidden weapons that he would get scared when he went to brush his teeth and found an AK 47 in the bathroom cabinet. He needed to be like that to survive.

Then he met you. And his knees got weak, his heart raced faster than when he had a gun pointed straight at the vigilante's heart. After much difficulty, you started dating, even though Jason warned you that dating him was a death sentence.

You didn't listen to his warnings, forcing him to stop self-deprecating and start acting like a functional adult (as much as possible) to be in a relationship. Jason was right, he was too busy with his double life. He almost never relaxed, worried about taking care of you and protecting you from his enemies.

After a few fights, you decided that for the relationship to work, you would have at least one day a week to be lazy. You started it: Sunday morning. You needed to know that at least one day a week you would have Jason completely. It was hard to live with the distance his night shift required. So he committed to keeping up this new tradition.

"I'm hungry," Jason just mumbled in response to your plea. It was 10 am on a Sunday morning and neither of you were willing to get up, just like you forced them to. Your legs were intertwined, a thin sheet covering you, Jason's hands holding you tightly against him, his soft lips against your shoulder. The sun was coming in through the curtains, Gotham seemed silent, the only noise that mattered to you was each other's breathing.

"The bakery should be delivering by now," Jason replied, sighing contentedly as you drew patterns on his arm. One of the rules of Sunday morning was to make no effort, even cooking. You knew Jason liked to cook and take care of you, but at least one day a week you allowed yourself the luxury of eating ready-made food.

"It should be at the door by now," you mumble, finally opening your eyes and finding your boyfriend's beautiful face. Jason imitated your action, his sapphire eyes seemed clouded with sleep, which pleased you. Yesterday you had gone out to dinner and stayed up late watching movies and kissing on the couch, which explained how tired they both were.

"Let's get it then," Jason's voice was still hoarse, his black hair cutely messy. He let out a groan of complaint when you pulled away from him to get up, causing you to laugh.

As soon as you established lazy Sunday, it was as if a switch had turned in Jason's head. It was impressive to admire how beautiful Jason looked relaxed, his shoulders without all that tension, his features less marked and even his scars relaxed.

Peace would suit Jason, you thought.

The two of you shuffled into the kitchen, talking in whispers, your hands never leaving each other. Jason walked close behind you, his large hands holding your hips close to his body.

Your boyfriend had a silly smile on his lips, the joy of being with you leaving him on cloud nine. He noticed how beautiful you looked in your sweat shorts and with his shirt, you smelled of comfort and love.

"So, our only commitment is to have coffee and kisses at the counter, right?" Jason hummed, a huge smile on his lips, the sun seemed brighter. Then clouds appeared in the glorious sky of the lazy Sunday.

The clouds came in the shapes of three known people invading your window, the largest of them smiling happily. You thought Jason was really sleepy and relaxed, because he didn't even raise a gun towards the intruders, which was customary.

"Good morning, couple." Dick Grayson greeted, closing the window when Damian entered last. You raised an eyebrow, while Jason gave a slight growl behind you. Your hands came up to lightly stroke his hair, urging him to stay calm, he relaxed into your touch, your lazy Sunday Jason returning.

"Okay, Todd, we got some information from that case we were working on." Damian said, being the rude little punk that he is, throwing work papers on their kitchen table. Tim Drake followed suit, leaning against their counter, where Jason planned to kiss you until you forgot your name.

"Boys," you called out to them, clearing your throat. Three pairs of eyes stared at you. "Today is Sunday."

You sighed when none of them reacted. Damn workaholic sons of Bruce Wayne. Your feet shuffled to the kitchen door to get breakfast, leaving Jason to take care of his brothers.

"Jason, we need those other documents you saved." Dick said, sitting down next to Damian. Jason let out a long sigh, he still felt numb from being in bed with you. He wouldn't let his brothers ruin his favorite day of the week.

"Can we fix this tomorrow?" The three brothers stared at Jason, their eyes equally wide. The fearsome red hood's posture was so relaxed, his pajama top slightly torn and loose. His hips leaned on the counter and his blue eyes seemed clearer, almost serene. His hair really looked like a mess, the white lock falling over his forehead in a cute sort of way.

"Jason, did you hear us? It's the case you've been working on for months." Tim said, still looking perplexed. Jason sighed, his features still marked by prolonged sleep.

"Yeah, yeah. So?" He grumbled, a smile appearing on his lips when you came back with the breakfast bag. Handing him a cup and pouring coffee. He whispered a quick, "Thank you, honey."

Damian was the first to recover from the shock, his hands holding a particularly suspicious photo that would solve half of Jason's case.

"Todd, big drug case! You spent months bugging everyone for clues."

Jason just shrugged, sipping his coffee and resting his face on your shoulder, humming with joy.

"One day more, one day less."You could have laughed at how Dick looked like he had been slapped in the face. Your heart was bursting with pride for your boyfriend, who had finally learned the meaning of being at peace and lazy.

"Who are you and what have you done with little wing?" Dick said, blinking those big blue eyes slowly.

You turned your back on the little argument again, not wanting to interfere in the family dynamics, busying yourself with taking your breakfast out of the bag from your favorite bakery.

"Take those papers off the table, let's have breakfast." Jason replied with just that, making Tim's eyes pop out. He looked like a different Jason, without his characteristic sarcastic smile or the tense shoulders.

"Todd, we need to figure this out!"

"Jason, it won't take long..."

Jason let out a louder sigh now, leaving the Wonder Woman mug in the corner and turning to his brothers, his tone of voice still soft compared to normal. "Today is Sunday." He repeated, pinching his nose slightly to keep his temper from rising. "I'm staying with my girlfriend. I'll figure this out with you guys tomorrow."

He turned to you, almost as if he expected to receive a proud smile, and he got one. Damian let out a snort.

"Todd, be a man for once in your life and stand up for yourself."

"He's too tangled up in the leash." Tim joined in the provocation, unable to contain himself.

"Wrong choice of words, boys," you whispered, knowing what was coming next.

The three of them were startled when Jason's hand slammed on the table they were at.

"I'm only going to say this once. It's Sunday morning. If you little shits are unhappy and girlfriendless, that's your problem. Either you're going to leave now with these papers or I'm going to use the gun I have hidden behind the fridge."

Jason's blue eyes were that darker shade that screamed: danger! It didn't take much more, the three guards took the papers and left muttering, you heard a few words that sounded like "this will come back, Todd" and "I'll tell him where he can stick that gun."

You turned to Jason, your hands going to his tense shoulders.

"Honey, it's okay, I'll accept if you want to help them."

He let out a snort, pulling you against his chest, smoothing the skin under your shirt.

"No. It's our lazy Sunday."You smiled, ridiculously content, pulling him into a lazy kiss.

"Speaking of which, gun behind the fridge?"

He distracted you with a kiss at the base of your neck, a small chuckle leaving his lips. Bastard.

It was a good lazy Sunday.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #red hood x reader #dc comics #fluff #batfamily #fanfic

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m3l0nfl0at · 1 day

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just thinking about you - s. gojo

Gojo Satoru x GN! Reader ; ANGST, hurt/comfort, spoilers for non manga readers, happy ending, swearing, 1.3k words, GOJO STANS WE UP BCOS HES COMING BACK TODAY!!

summary ; GOJO COMEBACK BCOS I SAID SO

melon’s recommended melody ; little freak - harry styles

Ever since the day Satoru died, you wanted nothing to do with Jujutsu society. Why would you want anything to do with the society who sold your partner as a mere weapon and nothing more. If it wasn’t for them putting all the pressure on him, maybe he would still be here with you, in your arms. You wonder if there was anything you did wrong leading up to the fight. Maybe not telling him you loved him enough, that he wasn’t just the strongest to you, or telling him to give up Jujutsu society altogether after the multiple incidents with Geto. However, that’s just you being selfish, you knew Gojo wanted to change the society he grew up in and who were you to stop him.

You remember the day he left so vividly, teleporting you to some strange city only to tell you to stay. He caressed your face repeating that he wanted nothing bad to happen to you and this was the only way to keep you safe. That whole night you spent the day in each other’s arms, repeating to him that he was going to win. To which he made a snarky comment saying, he would never lose to an asshole who calls himself “The King of Curses”. You remember that night an ugly feeling in your stomach settled and never went away. If you had to put your finger on it, you think you could call it anxiety. Anxiety, that if Satoru did come back, would he come back as the same person you knew and loved?

What would happen if he killed Sukuna and wasn’t able to save Megumi? Could he live with himself? Would he be able to sleep at night knowing he couldn’t save one of his students? Who was to say Satoru is guaranteed a win to begin with? You had to hold on to a string of false hope that Satoru would be able to defeat someone as strong as Sukuna. Not even letting your brain allow the option to think negatively at a time like this. So that morning you really cemented it into his brain that he will win and he’ll come back to you safe and sound. It was the only thing you could do. In this moment you wish you were a strong Jujutsu Sorcerer like himself. So you could possibly fight beside him, give him a fighting chance but you barely made it to be a grade one sorcerer.

Satoru reassured you saying that he was the strongest, nothing was going to go wrong and he would come back to you unharmed. As he warped back to where the fight was, you went to lie in bed. Not allowing yourself to think about anything else but Satoru winning. Yet, day turned into night and night turned into days. No one called to reassure you he was fine. You thought maybe he’s staying back to make sure his students were okay before making his way to you. Satoru was always one to arrive late for an event but he never once arrived late for anything pertaining to you. A couple of days pass by, as you look at your phone to see Shoko calling you. Your heart drops, palms are sweating, and your knees feel shaky. You were hesitant to answer, Gojo never said Shoko would call you if he won, hell Gojo said he would be with you after he won. So where is he, he won right? He had to have won, winning is in his birthright!

Answering that call was the worst decision of your life, Shoko told you how she had Satoru’s body and intended to use it. She explained the plan, how Gojo agreed to let Yuta use his body. You felt angry at Satoru for not explaining that he had enough doubts to the point where he had to make a backup plan.

Sick to your stomach that he could let himself get used like that beyond his death? What about what you wanted for him, what about how you wanted him here to properly grieve him. You hung up the call on Shoko not wanting to hear anything else, Satoru is dead. Not only did he lose but he left you here with no one, nothing in this stupid city he teleported you to. You walked out of the building, seeing the snow fall, feeling bitterness seep into you. How dare life go on without Satoru Gojo. You balled up the cold snow in your bare hands wanting to feel something, whether it be the cold or the burn in your hand from how freezing the ice was. Yet nothing came, you let go seeing your hand red and red is what you were seeing. “I hate you Satoru Gojo! I hope you hear that up there! How could you do this to me! How could you leave me here alone!” Feeling the cold hit your face as you scream into the wind. You didn’t move, feeling the cold nip at your body that was hot with anger.

After that day, you realized you couldn’t change anything. No outcome could bring Satoru back to you. In this cruel world the only thing you can do after one dies, is live on. You got numerous calls from Shoko choosing to ignore every single one. What could she possibly tell you that would make you feel better? Going outside to watch the snow melt away, hugging your knees. You hoped someone beat “The King of Curses” ass. That bastard had taken Satoru away from you, you’d hope he’d burn in hell. Snapping out of your thoughts when you heard the snow crunching from down the road. You turn around quickly wielding your cursed tool, the worst it could be was a curse but it’s not like you couldn’t handle it. At this point you really couldn’t care if you died, maybe dying would make you feel something you haven’t felt in days.

“Woah, no need to wield your tool!”, you freeze knowing that voice from anywhere. Your frozen state soon turns to anger wanting to kill whatever curse this was playing with you. Not yielding, he steps closer as you slice your tool downward warning whatever that was to not come any closer to you. “Stop right there, whatever you are!”, you have to remind yourself that he was dead. That’s not him, it can’t be, Satoru puts up his hands. “You know if you answered Shoko’s calls you would know I was coming.”, Satoru glances at you but it was no use. Knowing there was nothing more he could say, he lifts up his shirt showing you the scar where his body was cut in half. You falter, he sees your eyes soften just a bit. “Only I know you’re here, I teleported you here. I made sure no curses were in this area before taking you here.”, you drop your tool. Still feeling hesitant, debating if you were dreaming or Satoru was actually in front of you.

“I’m dreaming, the cold finally got to my head. You’re not here Satoru, you’re dead, you’ve been dead. Oh my god, I've got to get out of this town, I’m going crazy.” You cover your face with your hands, rubbing your eyes as hard as you could. Shit, maybe you need to get more sleep because you will not allow yourself to hallucinate like this. Feeling his hands peel your hands off your face, you start tearing up. “I’m here, I’m real.”, you shake your head not believing that this is real. “Am I dead? Is this heaven?”, Satoru laughs, pulling you into a hug. You feel the rumbling in his chest as you lay against it. “I didn’t win or come back unharmed but I told you I would come back to you, didn’t I?”, you allow yourself to feel this moment, scared that this was all a dream. If this was a dream you hoped to never wake up. Wanting to hold onto him forever after almost losing him for good. “I’m here, I’m not leaving anytime soon. I promise.”

divider credit to @/vase-of-lilies, @/bunnysrph, and @/thecutestgrotto

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ melon's marginalia: idc what happens later today, hes back bcos i said so

#gojo x reader #gojo #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #gojo jjk #jjk angst #gojo angst #gojo x you

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topguncortez · 6 hours

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f you’re still doing prompts : jake and shy wifey !

please. make me feel good. no one else can like you.

❛ you're mine, and i take care of what belongs to me. ❜

Body Love || Jake Seresin x Shy!Wifey

opposites attract masterlist || main masterlist

synopsis: Y/N has been having a hard time feeling confident since the births of her twins. Jake is determined to make her remember how beautiful she is.

word count: 1.4k

warnings: smutty-ish, cursing, negative self talk, mentions of c-sections

note: lmao not me going back to my graduation challenge requests. but think of this as a soft launch before whumptober gets started

She was doing it again. Jake had caught her doing it several times in the past couple of days. That look in her eye told him that what she was looking at, she didn’t like what she was seeing in the mirror. She furrowed her eyebrows as she touched her cheeks gently, poking at the skin on her face. Jake tried his hardest to stay out of sight to watch her.

Y/N was gorgeous. She was the most gorgeous girl that Jake had ever laid eyes on. Her body had changed a lot over the years from age, and carrying five of the most beautiful kids that Jake had ever seen in his life. Her thighs were a bit bigger, her stomach not as flat as it used to be, her breasts weren’t as perky, and her hair had some grays in it, all small changes of age and being a mother. But the scar that sat on her lower abdomen was the most noticeable to her. The scar wasn’t there a year ago, but it was now a permanent reminder of probably the worst day of her life.

The pregnancy and birth of Jasper and Maxwell Seresin had been anything but easy. Throughout the whole thing, Y/N was having problems with her blood pressure. One moment it was too high, and the next it would be too low. She had tried her best to remain as stress-free as possible, but it was hard with a naval aviator for a husband and three other kids running around the house. A c-section was the last thing she wanted, but when it came down to a life-or-death situation, Y/N agreed to it. The scar reminded her of the moment when she almost lost her babies. She didn’t like it, but Jake loved it.

He loved every single mark on her tummy. Whenever they were intimate, Jake would kiss every single stretch mark on her tummy, sending flutters through her body. But they hadn’t been that intimate since Jasper and Maxwell were born nearly a year ago. Y/N never liked to take her shirt off anymore when they would have sex. She would hardly show herself when they would get dressed in the morning, she’d either step into the closet or the bathroom. They didn’t shower or bathe together like they once did, in fact, she went as far as locking the door whenever she did to deter Jake from entering.

Jake didn’t like being iced out like this. He had spent years trying to break down her walls, to get her to let him. She slowly opened up to him, and gradually built up that confidence to let him know everything about her, to let him truly see her. But now, it felt like he had moved ten steps backward.

He sighed and pushed off the wall he was leaning on, as he watched Y/N lift her shirt gently and run her fingertips over the scar. She looked at the reflection of the scar in the mirror and frowned at it. Jake walked up behind her, and placed his hands on her hips, causing her to jump at the action. Y/N tried to push her shirt back down to cover the scar, but he stopped her.

“Why do you hide this from me?” Jake asked, looking at the scar in the mirror. He gently ran his thumb over the skin and leaned his head into the crook of her neck.

“I don’t like it,” She answered, “I hate seeing it. It’s ugly.”

“Yeah, but it reminds you of how much of a champion you are,” Jake said, and placed his lips on her skin, “Shows the sacrifice that you made to bring your babies into the world.”

“They were cut out of me,” She sniffled and looked away from the scar. “My last babies and I didn’t even actually give birth to them.”

“Stop that, yes you did,” Jake turned her body, so she was facing him. He gently lifted her head up, “You gave birth to Jasper and Maxwell. It wasn’t how you wanted it to be, but you still did it. It still means something.”

“Why have you stayed with me?” Y/N asked him honestly, looking up at his big green eyes. She could see the heartbreak in his eyes the moment the words left her mouth, “I-I’m not as pretty, or as confident or as smart as some of the girls you used to bring around the Hard Deck. So, why did you choose me? Why did you stay with me?”

“I stayed with you because you didn’t throw yourself at me, or any of the other pilots that walked into there. I chose you because you are a kind, gentle, old soul, who would rather stay home and eat strawberry cupcakes and watch Bob Ross paint ‘happy little trees’ instead of going out and getting piss drunk,” Jake explained, “I chose you, because when I saw you. . . I saw my whole future. I saw our wedding, I saw our first house, our first deployment, our kids, that huge ass flower garden you made me plant and sat by sipping on lemonade looking as good as a Sin on Sunday,” Y/N chuckled at his words. Jake caressed her cheek, and kissed both of them, before grabbing both her hands,

“If I could go back in time to the night that we first met, I would choose you, over and over,” Jake said and kissed her lips.

“Even though I look like this now,” She gestured to her body.

“Especially when you look like this,” Jake said. Y/N let out a gasp as Jake quickly turned them, and placed her on the bed. He climbed on top of her, and looked down at her body, “God damn, you look so fucking sexy. You looked sexy then, and you look sexy now. Your body has changed in the most delicious ways.” Jake pressed his hips into hers, and her eyes widened at the feeling of his semi-hard cock, “I get hard just thinking about you. Thinking about your ass, your thighs, your tits, your tummy.”

He moaned as his hands grazed the sides of her stomach, “Your tummy. . . fuck, it has to be my favorite place. I love it. I love seeing it stretch and grow with my kids.” Jake pushed the shirt that she was wearing up underneath her boobs, and started placing kisses down her sternum, to her belly.

“Please Jake,” Y/N panted.

“You don’t realize how crazy you drive me,” Jake shook his head, climbing back up her body, and placing kisses on her neck, “Fuck sometimes I feel like a fucking teenager, getting instantly hard when you walk into a room.” He pushed his hips against hers, his hard-on straining against his joggers.

“Show me,” Y/N whispered, grabbing his face in her hands, “Show me what I do to you. Make me feel good.”

“Yeah?” He asked, green eyes peering down at her, a hint of mischief in them, “You want me to make you feel good?” Jake’s hand slowly worked down her body, until he was cupping her covered pussy in his hand. Y/N nodded her head frantically, shamelessly grinding against his hand. He was hardly even touching her, and she was begging for him, “What do you want from me, Y/N? Tell me.”

“Your fingers, in me.”

“Like this?” Jake asked, feigning innocence as he slipped his hand down the front of the boxer shorts she was wearing. His fingers expertly parted her, sliding through her slick and gently into her. Y/N’s head tilted back with a loud moan.

“Yes,” Y/N moaned as Jake’s fingers curled in and out of her, his lips sucking gently at her neck, “No one else can make me feel good like you do.” Jake nodded his head, pulling his fingers out of her and gently circling her clit, “Fuck, Jake.”

“So naughty for me,” Jake chuckled against her skin, “I love it when you curse.”

“I love it when you touch me,” Y/N said back, her hand reaching down to palm him through his pants. She pressed her lips against his, her free hand gripping the back of his neck and playing with the hair on the nape of his neck. Jake’s hips bucked into her hand, as his tongue slipped into her mouth.

“Jake,” Y/N cried out, as his fingers slipped back into her, curling them against that sweet spot, “Make me cum, please.” “Don’t worry baby,” Jake cooed, grabbing her hand and pinning it above her. She whined at the loss of pleasure from him, “You’re mine and I take care of what belongs to me.”

taglist: @damrlova @phoenix138 @mygyn @cherrycola27 @seitmai @topgun-imagines @bradleybeachbabe @na-ta-sh-aa @startrekfangirl2233 @xoxabs88xox @atarmychick007 @lunamoonbby @sophiaslastbraincell @bradswolfe @fandom-princess-forevermore @angelbabyange @dempy @lovelywiseprincess @krismdavis @eternallyvenus @dakotakazansky @pono-pura-vida @callsignartemis @starberryhorse @daggersquadphantom @gspenc @poppyalice2001 @els-marvelvsp @nyx2021 @t0kyoreveng3rs @frazie99 @spencvrr @kmc1989 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @malindacath @justenoughmadnesss @sagittarius-flowerchild @hardballoonlove @harrysgothicbitch @hookslove1592 @noonenuts @marvellouscroissant @senawashere @bradshawsprincess @alwayshave-faith

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angel1010xx · 1 day

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ｃｉｇａｒｅｔｔｅｓ

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Pairing: Sanji x Reader

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You hated cigarettes.

Cigarettes were stuffy and overwhelming, the scent lingered for hours, and the smoke made your lungs feel closed up. They were complete bombardments to your senses, and genuinely? You felt as if the world would be better off without them. Smoking is a bad habit, after all. Why would anyone willingly choose to give themselves lung cancer and an early grave?

The Thousand Sunny was having a lively night. Brooks was merrily serenading the crew, while each of them were on their own missions. Zoro was drinking (to death, probably, how was his liver still functioning?), Usopp was reliving the latest battle with Luffy, Franky, and Chopper (with embellishments, of course, not that his audience would be able to detect them), and Nami and Robin were sucked into their books (they were so perfect, the crew hardly deserved the gift of their presence). That just left Sanji.

Running around, fawning over “Nami-Swan,” and lighting yet another cigarette.

Yes, he was a phenomenal chef. Yes, he was doting and chivalrous. Yes, he was charismatic and consistent, and it was so hard to find a man that to actually abide by a moral code. But God, he was perverted. He was unbearable. And he reeked like menthol.

Sighing, you crossed your wrists over each other and leaned on the railing of the ship. The Grand Line was dangerous, but it was beautiful when the moonlight reflected across the water. The sights, the wind in your face, and the freedom made all the trouble worth the adventure. You were apart from the main crowd, opting for some personal space at the front of the ship. The Straw Hat crew was your family; and true to life, everyone needs their elbow room sometimes, even from the ones they love most.

Approaching footsteps interrupted your peace. Looking over your shoulder, you spotted Sanji walking towards you. Great, you thought. He gazed at you with a slight tension in his brow. “The fish is ready. Are you going to eat?”

“In a little bit, yes,” you responded. “I just wanted some fresh air and quiet right now.” Sanji settled in, standing beside you, mimicking your pose by also leaning against the railing. “I hope you come down soon,” he spoke in a low voice. “Our princess-warrior needs her strength just like the rest of us.”

A smile tugged at your lips. “I’m scared, Sanji,” you whispered, choosing to open up to him. “The world is changing. I worry about my people at home. I know there’s ample resources and military force to keep them safe, but…” you trailed off, eyes shifting from focusing and losing focusing on the sea waves. Sanji let out a hum, and pulled out a cigarette and a light. You cocked your head towards him, this time with a slight lip curl. “You just had one. Do you really have to smoke another one, right here?”

He let out a puff of smoke and a chuckle. “Mon amour, we all have ways of dealing with our stress.”

Sanji shifted to face his body towards you, but kept one arm on the railing. “You can’t sit there and worry about your people all day and night. I see it on your face every time I look at you. It practically breaks my heart,” he paused to place his free hand on his chest. He broke out into a warm smile. “Right here and now, princess, you are safe, and they are safe too.”

You let out a deep breath, doing your best to soak in his words. “Thank you, Sanji.” He let out another hum, put out his cigarette, and brought you in for a hug. “Of course, mon amour.”

Yes, he smelled like menthol. Yes, you had a hard time breathing. But he also smelled like cologne. He was warm, and the feeling of his breath down the side of your neck made you shiver. A thought came into your mind for a split second—what would it be like to taste the cigarette, if you were to press your lips to his own?

It’s a fine line between love and hate, after all.

#one piece #one piece x reader #sanji #sanji vinsmoke #black leg sanji #black leg sanji x reader #sanji x reader #sanji vinsmoke x reader #one piece x you #sanji x you #one piece fluff

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wolverigrl · 19 hours

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Scorched Earth

Logan Howlett x mutant reader

!Disclaimer! Y/n is a mutant with the same skills as the human torch! Let me know if you'd like to read another part!

Warnings: mentioning of alcohol and death, angst

Enjoy!

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

“Bobby, for real, you can’t possibly think that’s better than mine!” I laughed, leaning back on the chair in the kitchen, feet propped up on the table. Across from me, my brother grinned, folding his arms over his chest with that cocky smirk of his.

“You’re just jealous I got the better nickname.” Bobby replied, his voice light, teasing. “Iceman? It’s sleek, it’s cool - literally - and it fits me.”

I snorted, rolling my eyes. “Oh, please. ‘Iceman’ sounds like the title of some second-rate action movie. Meanwhile, I’m lighting up the sky over here.”

Bobby raised a brow, feigning offense. “That’s a lot of talk from someone who’s still stuck with ‘Firecracker.’ ”

I punched him lightly on the arm. “I’ll take ‘Firecracker’ any day over your ‘cool’ puns.”

Our banter was easy, the kind that came naturally after years of being siblings. Bobby had always been the steady one, the one who could calm everyone down with a joke, while I was the hothead - pun intended - never one to back down from a challenge. It’s what made us a good team, even if we drove each other crazy half the time.

The way he carried himself, his calm demeanor, and his unwavering sense of control over his powers - everything I wasn't.

I was the fire to his ice, the chaos to his calm. We clashed often, but it wasn’t because we didn’t care. It was because we cared too much. And despite all the bickering, all the teasing, there was a bond between us that no one could break. I’d die for him. He was my anchor when my temper flared, my tether to reality when my powers spiraled out of control.

Just as I was about to throw another sarcastic remark his way, Logan walked into the room, his usual gruff self. He barely acknowledged us, heading straight for the fridge. Typical.

“Hey, Logan!” I called, a mischievous grin spreading across my face. “Did you finally get that stick outta your ass, or is it still lodged in there pretty good?”

Logan froze mid reach for a beer, then slowly turned his head, giving me the look - the one that said 'I am not in the mood for your crap right now, bub.' But that just made it more fun.

“Don’t you have somethin’ better to do, hotshot?” he growled, slamming the fridge shut and twisting the cap off his beer with more force than necessary. “Or do you just live to run your mouth?”

I smirked, unfazed. “You know, it’s funny you say that, because I’ve noticed you love listening to me. Maybe it’s because no one else has the guts to call you out on your eternal grumpiness?”

Bobby snickered from beside me, enjoying the show. “She’s got a point, man. You’re not exactly known for your sunny disposition.”

Logan shot Bobby a glare before turning his attention back to me. “Maybe I’m grumpy ‘cause some people around here don’t know when to shut up.”

“Oh, come on, Logan. You’d miss me if I didn’t poke at you every now and then.” I said, leaning forward with a grin. “Admit it - you secretly love the banter.”

Logan let out a low, frustrated growl, shaking his head as he took a long swig from his beer. “The day I admit that, is the day hell freezes over. And even then, I’ll blame Bobby.”

Bobby grinned, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, don’t drag me into your weird dynamic. I’m just the innocent bystander.”

I shot Bobby a mock glare. “Innocent? You? Yeah, sure. Tell that to the last five people you pranked.”

Logan huffed, clearly done with the conversation, but I wasn’t quite finished yet. “You know, Logan.” I continued, leaning back again and stretching my arms behind my head, “You really oughta work on that sunny disposition. You’re gonna give yourself wrinkles with all that frowning.”

He narrowed his eyes at me, jaw clenching. “Why don’t you mind your own damn business and keep that fire of yours under control?”

“Oh, I keep it very controlled, thank you very much.” I said, flashing a smile. “Besides, you seem to enjoy living dangerously. Why else would you keep hanging around us?”

Logan shook his head, muttering something under his breath before retreating to his usual corner of the room, beer in hand, grumbling the entire way. Bobby leaned in toward me, his voice low enough so only I could hear.

“I still think you’re his favorite.”

I laughed quietly, watching Logan brood from across the room. “Nah, he just hasn’t figured out how to handle all of this yet.” I gestured to myself with a playful smirk.

“Sure, that’s what it is.” Bobby chuckled, leaning back with a relaxed sigh.

Despite Logan’s gruff attitude and my constant teasing, there was a kind of unspoken respect between us. He was the first to step in when things got dangerous, always willing to put himself on the line for the team. And even though he’d never admit it, I knew he appreciated having someone who wasn’t afraid to challenge him, to call him out when he was being extra cranky. In a way, it kept things balanced.

Bobby and I exchanged another look, both of us knowing exactly how this dynamic worked. I teased Logan, Logan growled, and the world kept spinning. It was our version of normal - a delicate balance of sarcasm, snark, and the occasional grumpy Wolverine glare.

It was one of those rare moments when everything felt light, even if just for a little while. Days like these, with Bobby teasing me, and Logan grumbling from across the room, were the best. I’d give anything to hold onto them.

But life as an X-Men had a way of reminding you that those moments could be fleeting.

And I didn’t know then just how fleeting they would be.

Todays mission was supposed to be a standard takedown. Another mutant extremist group, radicalized and bent on 'mutant supremacy'. Charles had briefed us thoroughly, and we had faced worse before. Or at least we thought we had.

It went south almost immediately. We were outnumbered, and it was clear that our enemies had intel we weren’t prepared for. They knew where we would be, how we would strike, and worse - they knew how to separate us. That was when things really started to fall apart.

The battlefield was a mess of chaos and screaming. Blasts of energy, ice, and fire lit up the sky, while the air howled with the sound of Storm’s winds tearing through enemy lines. I was a blur of fire and fury, every step a combustion of flame as I ripped through the chaos, throwing up walls of fire to keep enemies at bay. But no matter how hard we fought, there were too many. We were getting spread thin. Too thin.

I caught sight of Bobby ahead of me, just in time to see him raise an enormous ice wall to shield a group of our teammates. His back was to me, and before I could shout a warning, a blast from one of the enemy’s weapons slammed into him, sending him sprawling across the ground.

“Bobby!” I screamed, my heart lurching.

He struggled to get up, one knee bent, but the blast had been too much. His walls of ice began to crack and crumble around him. Panic rose in my throat like bile. He was surrounded, the enemies closing in.

I pushed forward, flames erupting from my palms as I blasted through the mob, trying to reach him. “Hang on, I’m coming!” I shouted, but my voice barely cut through the cacophony of combat.

But I wasn’t fast enough.

Before I could get to him, a second blast hit him. The impact was devastating. I saw his body jerk violently before he collapsed, crumpling like a rag doll on the cold, scorched ground. Time seemed to slow, my breath caught in my throat, and everything else faded away.

“No!” My scream tore from my chest, broken and raw, but there was nothing I could do.

He was still, too still.

I scrambled toward him, my flames fizzling out as I dropped to my knees beside his body. I reached out, hands trembling as I gently touched his face. His skin was cold, colder than it should have been. His chest didn’t rise. His eyes were closed. My pulse pounded in my ears, but I couldn't hear anything except the roaring silence in my own head.

He was gone.

“Bobby, please…” I whispered, my voice cracking. “Please don’t leave me.”

I don’t know how long I sat there, holding him, begging for him to come back. I couldn’t save him. I. Couldn’t. Save. Him.

Then, something broke inside me.

The grief, the rage, the helplessness - everything surged at once, overwhelming every rational thought. The fire inside me, the power I always tried to control, flared up in an instant. It wasn’t just fire anymore - it was fury, pure and uncontrollable.

Flames erupted from my body, hotter and fiercer than they ever had before. I screamed, the sound ripping through the air as fire exploded in all directions, a supernova of heat and light. The ground beneath me cracked, molten lava seeping from the earth as the intensity of my power burned through everything in its path.

I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t want to.

The flames raged out, consuming everything they touched. The enemy soldiers who had killed Bobby screamed as they were incinerated, their bodies turning to ash in mere seconds. The ground smoked, trees around us igniting in a blaze, and the air became thick with heat.

Jean’s voice echoed in my mind, faint, as if she was shouting at me from the end of a long tunnel. “Y/n, stop! You have to stop!” Her voice was desperate, but I couldn’t listen. Couldn’t hear her over the roaring firestorm inside me.

Storm tried to summon her winds, pulling clouds thick with rain to douse the flames, but it wasn’t enough. Even the sky couldn’t hold back the inferno that had taken over me. I felt her power strain against mine, but my emotions fueled the fire, making it burn hotter, stronger. I was losing control completely, my body heating up like the core of a star.

“Y/n! You’re going to kill everyone!” Scott shouted through the comm, his voice barely audible over the roaring flames. I could see them, all of them, struggling to get away from the heat, the fire spreading in every direction.

Charles reached out, trying to touch my mind, but I was beyond reach. His calming presence couldn’t get through the thick walls of grief and rage that had consumed me.

I was going to burn everything. Everyone.

Then, through the haze of heat and fire, I saw him.

Logan.

He was moving toward me, slow and steady, ignoring the screams of the others as they begged him to stop.

“Logan, no! You’ll die!” Jean’s voice, frantic, but he didn’t listen.

“Logan, don’t!” Storm shouted, the wind whipping around her, but he kept walking, one foot in front of the other, his eyes locked on mine.

I couldn’t stop the fire. I was too far gone, too lost in my own power. The heat radiated off me in waves, scorching everything in its path, and yet he kept coming.

His skin started to blister almost immediately. The heat was unbearable, even from where I stood. I could see his face contorting in pain, could smell the sickening scent of burning flesh as he got closer. His clothes were already charred, the leather of his jacket melting and fusing to his skin. But he didn’t stop.

I wanted to scream at him to get back, to stop, but the words wouldn’t come. All I could do was watch in horror as he walked into the flames, his healing factor struggling to keep up as his body was scorched by the heat I was putting off.

And then he was there, standing right in front of me, his skin bright red, his hands trembling as the fire licked at his skin. His face was a mask of pain, sweat and blood mixing with the charred burns that covered his arms and neck. But his eyes, his eyes were steady.

“Y/n.” he said, his voice low and raspy, strained from the pain. “You need to stop.”

“I can’t!” I gasped, my breath catching as the flames flared up again, fueled by the storm of emotions inside me. “I can’t control it. I-I’m going to kill you, Logan!”

“I don’t care!" he growled, taking another step closer, his boots melting into the molten ground. His body trembled, his skin bubbling and cracking under the heat, but he didn’t back down. “I’m not leaving you.”

Tears streamed down my face, evaporating the moment they hit the air.

His eyes locked onto mine, unwavering, even as the flames licked at his skin. His face contorted in pain, but he didn’t stop.

“Bub.” he rasped, his voice hoarse from the heat. “You need to let go. I know it hurts, but you gotta stop.”

I couldn’t hear him over the roar of the fire. I was too far gone. The heat, the flames, my emotions - it was all consuming me. I was a supernova, and there was no pulling back.

Logan took another step. His healing factor was working overtime, but even he couldn’t withstand this for long. Yet, he didn’t hesitate.

“Y/n!” Logan yelled, louder this time, and I felt his words cut through the haze. “I know what it’s like! To lose someone - hell, to lose everyone! You feel like you’re gonna burn up inside. You feel like it’ll never stop, like you’ll never breathe again. But this ain’t the way!”

I felt the fire flare around me, almost as if it were trying to drown out his words. I wanted to listen, but the grief, the rage - it was still so raw. Bobby was gone. How could I stop the fire when everything inside me was screaming to let it burn?

But Logan didn’t back off. He stepped into the heart of the inferno, his arms opening, and wrapped me in a hug. The flames surged as they met his body, and I could feel his skin burning under my touch. I could smell it. His face twisted in agony, but he didn’t pull away.

“Let it out, hotshot. Let it all out,” Logan whispered, his voice softer now, almost tender. “But don’t burn yourself with it. You ain’t alone. I’m here.”

I could feel his chest rising and falling rapidly, his breaths ragged from the heat, but his arms around me were steady, grounding. In that moment, the fire faltered, flickering as my mind struggled to grasp what was happening.

Logan - the one person who could barely stand to be in the same room as me without a sarcastic remark - was holding me, burning alive in my fire, all because he wouldn’t leave me alone in my pain.

And then, I felt it.

The fire started to die down, the flames retreating into my skin as I began to sob against his chest. The heat that had consumed me so completely, so violently, began to ebb, leaving behind only the suffocating weight of grief. Logan’s chest was soaked with my tears as I clung to him, my body shaking with the force of my cries.

“I couldn’t save him, Logan." I choked out between sobs. “I couldn’t- ”

“I know." Logan murmured, his voice rough but soothing. “I know, bub. It’s not your fault.”

The last of the flames flickered out, and the air around us was suddenly cooler, still. Logan’s body, still blistered and burnt in places, didn’t move. He just held me tighter, letting me cry into his chest, never once letting go. I buried my face into the fabric of his ruined shirt, his heartbeat the only thing keeping me tethered to reality.

After what felt like forever, I became aware of the world around me again. The sounds of the battlefield had quieted. Jean, Storm, and the others were slowly approaching, their faces a mix of worry and relief.

“We need to get back to the mansion,” Scott said, his voice soft but firm. “Y/n, Logan… let’s go.”

Logan didn’t move to let me go, and I didn’t want him to. The thought of being alone right now, without the steady warmth of his presence, was unbearable.

“Can you walk?” Hank asked me.

Logan shook his head, giving a low grunt of pain as he stood up, still cradling me in his arms. “I got her.”

I felt Logan’s arms adjust under me as he began to walk, carrying me like I weighed nothing. I should’ve been worried about him, should’ve told him to let me go, but I couldn’t bring myself to. I pressed my face into his chest, feeling the burn marks on his skin, the roughness of his wounds. He was hurting because of me, but he didn’t care.

The journey back to the mansion felt like a blur, the sounds of the battlefield fading into silence as Logan carried me, step after step, his breathing labored but determined. I clung to him, my body exhausted, but my mind still racing with grief and guilt.

When we finally reached the mansion, Logan carried me straight to my room. He pushed the door open with his shoulder and laid me gently on my bed. His face was tense with pain, but his movements were careful and protective.

I reached out, grabbing his wrist as he turned to leave. “Don’t go... please.” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I-I don’t wanna be alone.”

Logan’s eyes softened, just for a moment. He gave a small nod and sat down on the edge of the bed, his weight making the mattress dip slightly. He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to offer any more words of comfort, and for that, I was thankful. I didn’t need words. I just needed him to stay.

I curled into his side, my head resting against his chest once again. His heartbeat was slower now, more even, though his body was still warm from the burns. He didn’t flinch when I pressed closer, seeking the comfort of his presence. His arm wrapped around me, holding me close, and for the first time since Bobby died, I felt a small flicker of something like peace.

As I sobbed into Logan’s chest, my body exhausted from the emotional and physical strain, I felt his hand gently stroke my hair. He didn’t say anything, just let me cry. His presence as steady as the heartbeat beneath my cheek.

The tears slowly began to subside, my body relaxing into his as the exhaustion took over. I was grateful for the silence, grateful for the way Logan just was - strong, unyielding, and never pushing me for more than I could give.

Eventually, my eyes grew heavy, the grief and pain pulling me into a restless sleep. The last thing I remembered was the feel of Logan’s hand still in my hair, his quiet strength wrapping around me like a protective shield.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself drift into sleep, safe in his arms.

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ldysmfrst · 3 days

Text

Incomplete (2) - A Soulmate in Los Angeles

Paring: Ateez OT8 x Plus-sized FemReader

Status: Ongoing series

Chapter number: 1 of unknown

Word count for Chapter: 7,228

Word count for Story: 10,604

Genre: Idol Soulmate AU

Warnings: NOT BETA READ!! This story will contain a bit of angst, fluff, smut, f/m, m/m, and m/f/m. This chapter contains a discussion of a family death (Hwa's grandpa) and y/n has an injury.

Story Summary: Ateez are soulmates who earned their way to Fame once they found each other. What happens when a new pull comes during their Towards The Light World Tour? Does 8 really make 1?

INCOMPLETE MASTER LIST / LDYSMFRST MASTER LIST

The van ride back to the hotel was quieter than usual. At Seonghwa’s insistence, they all piled into the same van for the short ride. He felt lost because he could not find who was pulling them and was still mourning his grandfather. Keeping his soulmates close by helped ease that feeling.

Mingi and Yunho took the captain's chairs in the front because they could get more room by locking them in the rear-facing mode and pushing them against the driver and passenger seats. Ever the cuddler, Mingi pulled Yeosang into his lap.

Wooyoung sat in the middle row on San’s lap to comfort his closest soulmate, who was still upset about not pinning the pull.

The youngest, Jongho, opted to sit next to San and Wooyong but tangled his legs with Yunho’s to create a connection with his tallest soulmate.

Hongjoong and Seonghwa sit at the very back of the van. Seonghwa's eyes glisten with emotions as the feeling of the pull disappears during the send-off.

“Hongjoong-ah… you didn’t feel anything? No pull? No scents? Nothing?” questions Seonghwa in hushed tones, trying to keep his voice from trembling with the mixed emotions he is getting through the bond.

Sighing, Hongjoong pulls his only older soulmate into his arms, “Honestly, my love, I didn’t feel anything during the show, but during the send-off… I smelt pine trees. Like a whole forest full, but they were burning with a smoldering scent.”

“That could have been someone with a lit fireplace, hyung,” comments Jongho.

“I thought that too, but it was coming from inside the stadium,” Hongjoong continued. “There was a group of Atiny walking up the stands around where San had paused in his pinning. I swear it came from them. Unfortunately, they were being rushed out, so it didn’t stay for long.”

“Excuse me, Sirs? We are here,” the driver announced.

Once the boys had entered the hotel, the manager pulled Hwa, Hongjoong, San, and Mingi into a conference room to discuss their findings.

“Be clear with me,” the manager started. “I need to know what happened out there today. San’s crowd walking is already trending everywhere. Seonghwa, almost crying during the send-off, is raising questions about his mental health and the passing of his grandfather. Don’t even get me started with Mingi ‘being forced to dance while limping.’ What is going on?”

The soulmates look at each other, unsure of what more to say or how to start. Clearing his throat, Seonghwa takes a deep breath and gathers his thoughts.

“Manager-nim, do you remember the private talk we had before Coachella?” asks Seonghwa, gaining concerned looks from his soulmates when the manager nods in agreement.

“Hwa..” begins San, but Mingi shakes his head.

“After we filmed for Work here in Los Angeles, I felt like something was missing. At first, I thought the exhaustion from the shoot was getting to me when I felt the tightness in my chest. I even told the choreographers about maybe changing things until one of them convinced me I could do it.”

“I remember that. They said something like, “The Seonghwa I know could make it,” and then you had a new drive in you to prove yourself,” commented Hongjoong. “I was so proud of you when you pulled it off.”

“Thank you, but that tightness stuck with me. Even when we went back home.” Looking around at his soulmates, he continues, “Since no one else seemed to feel the same or recognize a pull, I went to manager-nim, and he told me to take it easy and focus on Hush Hush and Coachella.”

“Hyung, why didn’t you come and talk to us?” questions Mingi.

“We could have helped in LA. We walked around with you to see if anyone else could pick something up, Hyung,” whined San.

“Mingi, San. Now is not the time,” scolded Hongjoong. Turning his attention to the manager, he said, “Thank you for listening to Hwa and guiding him during that time, manager-nim.”

“You're welcome. I would have said something, but Seonghwa-ssi didn’t want to worry anyone with Coachella and the tour coming up.” Looking at Hwa, the manager asked, “Do you think this is that same pull?”

“I do. I think we might have a soulmate in Los Angeles.”

The room is filled with silence. Each soulmate pulls into themselves, trying to find clues to help prove Hwa’s assumption because none of them don’t believe him. They worry about how their missing soulmate feels and how to tell the others that there is one.

Soft whimpers break the stillness as a wave of guilt floods out of San, “How are we going to find them now? I couldn’t find them tonight, and LA is huge. We could look for days, weeks, or months and never find them. My pinning abilities didn’t work!”

Quickly, Seonghwa pulls San into his lap, “Sannie, you did so well tonight and on such short notice. You were able to find out the pull was coming from C2.”

“Did you say C2?” inquires the manager.

“Yeah, why?” presses Hongjoong. “Is there something special about that section?”

Flipping through his cell phone, the manager pulls up an email from BMO and KQ. Reading over it briefly, the manager grins, “Yes, actually. It turns out that the BMO event staff misdirected C2, C3, and C4 to the wrong entry gate, causing many of them to miss BE:FIRST and the start of the show.”

Narrowing his eyes at the manager, Hongjoong asks through gritted teeth, “How is making our Atiny miss the show something to smile about?”

Still smiling, “They all got complimentary tickets to the Grammy Museum. They are only good for the next 48 hours.”

A wash of confusion comes over the members.

“But we have the Hello82 event tomorrow and another show. How does that help?” prods Hongjoong with growing irritation.

“Easy. The Hello82 event is ticketed and set for the late morning, and the call time for the show isn’t until 4 p.m. So, instead of returning to the hotel to rest, you could always drop by the Grammy Museum to check out your exhibition,” offers the manager.

“How is that even?” Hongjoong starts.

“Wait a minute, Joongie,” Seonghwa interrupts. “Hello82 doesn’t start till 11:30 am. If we can convince Yunho to leave an anchor and Wooyoung to scent-mark the Museum before it opens, we might be able to trigger our soulmate’s ability or at least cause them to linger in the area.”

“Woo would do it! He already said he would help me in any way I thought,” San excitedly says, gaining a smile on his face with his now tear-puffed eyes.

Nodding in agreement, a pensive face comes over Mingi: “Yunho is always leaving anchors for us, so I am sure he wouldn’t mind leaving one to find our new mate, but I am not sure if either of our bears actually believe we have a new soulmate.”

Once the plans were set in motion, the soulmates retired for the night in their respectful rooms. Unlike what most Atiny thought, they were not paired up in their couplings because their soulmate abilities kind of blocked that when they were on tour.

Seonghwa’s ability to receive emotions from his soulmates makes sleeping difficult, as the others unknowingly share their dreams, nightmares, and worries throughout the day with him. This is why he bunks with Jongho. His ability allows him to influence others' emotions, and unlike the rest of the members, he doesn’t express his emotions when sleeping because he ends up acting as a barrier. This feels like a cocoon of comfort and relaxation for the eldest soulmate.

Hongjoong could scent his soulmates, each a different version of a pine tree. He was so attuned to them that he could act like one of those Alphas in Atiny’s fanfics and hunt down each member. Luckily, his match was Wooyoung and his lovely Mugo pine scent, which reminded the Captain of Christmas. As any Atiny would know, Wooyoung’s personality and love language is touch, but what they assumed was the need for skinship was Woo’s using his ability to leave his scent behind on his soulmates.

Yunho and Yeosang found balance with each other. Yunho eased Yeosang's tension, which was caused by Yeosang’s ability to pull his soulmates close. By placing his anchor on Yeosang’s soul, Yunho effectively allowed Yeo to latch on to him and only him. During their sleep, it was like they created their own universe when it was just the two of them latching on to each other physically and metaphysically.

That left San and Mingi. While San could pin onto each of his soulmates, almost like an internal GPS, and Mingi could use his ability to feel what his soulmates were feeling physically, neither of their abilities was constantly active. The two didn’t need a counterpart to relax, so they would either share a room or take turns bunking with another set during the tours.

When San joined KQ, the vibrations from Hongjoong, Yunho, and Mingi were so strong that it was easy to find them huddled in a recording studio. It was like being a dolphin and using echolocation to find them. After that, it was almost like the others started gravitating toward them, which made it easy.

Mingi only felt his mates' physical emotions when they became overwhelming. Sometimes, he could tell when it was getting to that point, and instead of waiting for the overflow, he would absorb the feelings: pain, anger, hopelessness, all of it.

After a night's rest and an early breakfast, the boys gathered in the same conference room. This time, a few of their personal bodyguards, who knew about the soulmate bond, and the manager joined them.

“Now that everyone is here, we have something essential to talk about,” Hongjoong started, then looked to Seonghwa to explain.

After retelling the story of the Music Video Work issues and what they had discussed last night, he said, “We have to find our missing part.”

“Why are you looking at me?” Jongho spoke up with a firm voice, eyeing Mingi, who hadn’t stopped watching him since the meeting started.

Mingi’s ears turn pink after being caught. Darting his eyes away from his youngest soulmate, he replies, “You… you haven’t said much since all of this started, neither has Yunho, and I am concerned that you guys won’t be on board.”

“Mingi is right. You even dismissed Joong-hyung from the van last night, Jongho-ah,” Wooyoung comments before turning to Yunho. “Why are you so quiet? Do you think Hwa-hyung is wrong?”

“I never said he was wrong. I never said any of you were wrong but I wonder why Yeosang-hyung hasn’t felt the pull yet, that is all,” Yunho answers.

When this name is mentioned, Yeosang gets pulled out of his thoughts. Looking around the table, he smiles softly, “I don’t think I haven’t.”

This shocks everyone at the table. A flurry of questions gets thrown at the 99-liner.

“My loves, wait a minute. Let me explain, please.” After the questions die down and a simple nod from Hwa, Yeosang continues, “With each of you, I feel this thick and solid rope like a Mooring line attached to each of you that I can tug on. Plus, when we found each other, there wasn’t an entire stadium between us.”

“You feel another one of these mooring lines?” asks Jongho.

“No, I don’t, but I felt something like a plaited silk rope slip around me when we said good night, and it felt good,” Yeosang says, smiling to himself as he recalls the feeling. “However, because manager-nim had instructed me and others to concentrate on the other side of the stage, it slipped off. Then I couldn’t find it again, so I chalked it up to being excited about ending an amazing show.”

“Now do you think that anymore?” pushes Jongho.

Shaking his head, Yeo replies, “It has to be our soulmate. I looked it up on my phone after Yuyu fell asleep. Others with the same ability in group bonds say that the pull can feel different because it tends to be gender specific.”

A resounding “WHAT” fills the room as shock takes over everyone. Each soulmate’s mind reels with this new information. Adding another soulmate was a challenge, but having a woman soulmate, a lady to pamper, and a female to connect with was its own obstacle.

San felt almost relieved because this could explain why his pinning wasn’t working well. Once he pinned the section, he was only pinning towards the male Atinies. He had used a more resounding, darker melody with each of his bonded mates, almost like something from Pirates of the Caribbean.

“Yunho,” Mingi called his twin tower. “Do you remember asking about my back because I was limping?”

“Yeah, you have been having problems with it for a while now. Why?”

“I was still limping last night after the show-up until about time for the send-off. I am starting to think our soulmate has an injury,” states Mingi.

Concern floods into Seonghwa from all of his soulmates. Grabbing Jungho quickly to stop himself from breaking into tears, he asks, “You mean she was in pain while watching the concert? How could she have enjoyed being there if she was overflowing in pain?”

“I don’t think it was that bad the entire time,” Mingi contemplates. “I think the pain for me started even before the sound check. It was dull and throbbing, but there was nothing too much until we went on, and it got intense. I am sure that is why Yunho noticed me limping.”

“How come I couldn’t feel her pain, too? If it was that bad I should have felt something,” worries Seonghwa.

“Hwa, my love. Maybe she was so happy to see us that the pain was only physical,” Hongjoong attempts to console his ever-caring mate.

“Don’t be so self-centered, Joong. Our mate was in severe physical pain!”

“Seonghwa-hyung,” says Jongho, cupping Hwa’s face and pulling his attention to him while pushing calming notes and dampening the rest of the room. “She could have used pain medication to help keep it tolerable. If anything, I would wager we have a stubborn, independent, and intelligent lady for a soulmate, hum?”

“You think so?” implores Hwa. The feeling of failing to care for a new soulmate he has never seen slowly subsides at the youngest’s words.

“I don’t think so. I know so because only a woman like that will be able to handle a bonded group like us,” teases Jongho.

With murmurs and remarks of agreement coupled with chuckles, the tension in the form finally releases.

“So now what do we do?” asks Yunho. “How are we going to find this ladymate?”

“That is where you and Wooyoung come in,” pipes up the manager.

“I’ll do it!” agrees Wooyoung almost before the manager finishes talking, again pulling chuckles from the room.

“Last night, there was backlash about how BMO misdirected Atiny to sections C2, C3, and C4,” the manager puts his hands up before anyone can start chiming in. “They have rectified their mistake by giving them tickets to the Grammy Museum, which will be available only for the next 48 hours.”

“But we will be at Hello82,” confronts Wooyoung.

“Yes, Wooyoung-ssi. But that isn’t until after 11 am, which means, if we leave now, we can stop by the Grammy Museum, where Yungho can leave anchors and Wooyoung can scent mark the area. Then after we leave Hello82, we all can go back and see if anyone is waiting before you have to report back to BMO.”

“But what if she leaves before we get there or comes after we leave? What if she doesn’t come at all? She might have been one of those non-stan friends that just went to have fun. It doesn’t mean she will come to the museum,” worries Wooyoung.

Pulling Wooyoung into his lap, San holds him close, saying, “My baby, you knew Yeosang was your soulmate before the two of you found us, right?”

Wooyoung nodded and went to speak, only for San to grip his neck, effectively silencing him as he continued, “She has to feel something from last night. No matter if she was a fan or not. Having a bonded group the size of ours is not something easily resisted. Like Little Bear said, she is a smart cookie, and I am sure her curiosity about or love for us will push her to come to the museum at some point today.”

“Now be a good boy and go with our Big Bear to help us find our missing lady-mate,” San orders with a kiss to Wooyoung’s temple.

With San’s orders, the meeting wraps up rather quickly. Everyone but Wooyoung and Yunho pile into the main van to head up the Hello82, while the manager, two personal bodyguards, and WooYu head to the museum.

Being the ever-efficient manager that he is, the museum waits for their arrival and ushers them inside quickly. Then, the museum directs the group up the elevator to the correct floor. It still sends a fluttering feel through the idols to see their stuff on display for any Atiny to come and see.

Stopping in front of their exhibit, the attendant looks around. “Mr. Jung, you can go ahead. The museum has already been informed that you need to make contact with the different pieces, we just ask that you refrain from touching non-Ateez related items.”

With that, Wooyoung takes off with a bodyguard, touching everything and doing anything he can. Of course, he leaves heavier markers on his personal items on display.

“There aren’t places to sit down and wait around here. Are there, miss?” Yunho asks with a frown.

She shakes her head and states, “This museum isn’t like most. People spend maybe an hour looking at everything before they might make a purchase downstairs and leave. We have thought about finding a bigger venue but not yet.”

Disappointment blooms in Yunho’s chest. How can he make an anchor for his ladymate with an injured foot when she must stand the whole time? Taking his time walking around all their old stuff, he notices someone turning on a TV screen that shows the making of their music videos, then walks around another wall where he hears rather loud talking.

His curiosity peaks as he follows the worker to find a documentary playing to celebrate the 40th anniversary of Michael Jackson’s mini-movie music video Thriller…with backless benches!

“Woo! Wooyoung!” called Yunho, surprising his soulmate.

“Yeah? What is it, Yunho?” he asks, coming around the same corner. “Oh, isn’t that the famous King of Pop guy?”

“Huh? Oh yes but here. Benches. I can leave the anchor here,” remarks Yunho, no longer caring about the video.

Looking down at the benches, Wooyoung has a befuddled look on his face. “Really? This is an entirely different exhibit.”

“I know that but if she is really our soulmate, she has to have an interest in music. Anyone who is anyone that loves music would want to at least look at the rest of the exhibits on this level plus its a famous video. Also, if she is hurt like Mingi says then she will need to sit down and this is the only place to sit on this level.”

“Valid. I guess this will work. Maybe you can leave another anchor on the first floor at the gift shop, too? Maybe it will cause her to linger here for longer?”

“That is a good idea, too. Okay, let me anchor here while you finish up, and then we will anchor and scent the same spot on the first floor.”

Closing his eyes, Yunho reaches into his soul and pushes down. Down from his head, down through his heart to his feet, and latches onto the floor. Most of the world doesn’t understand what it takes to set an anchor for soulmates with the ability to anchor. The anchor must leave three things behind a piece of their soul, mind, and heart.

Once he is done, Yunho heads back to the elevator and heads back down with everyone. Stepping out of the elevator, they notice people have started to line up outside. Dawning their masks and bucket hats, Wooyoung and Yunho get to work quickly, choosing a place near their merch to scent and anchor before slipping out the back and heading off to Hello82.

The Hello82 event is a blur for Ateez. They try really hard to be in the now and not in the shoulda, coulda, woulda's of the past or the gonna, needas, and bettas of the future. Seonghwa even goes as far as pretending to be a stan and gets signatures from the rest of the band.

It feels like an eternity before they say goodbye to the fantastic Atiny attending the event and head to the Grammy Museum. It amazes them every time they hold these events at how packed the rooms are and the stans that just hang outside for a glimpse. The ride is filled with chatter about the outfits they saw Atiny wear.

Hongjoon mentions that he can smell pine, but it is incredibly faint and could have been a cleaning product or the scent that had lingered from the day before. None of the rest had gotten any hints that their missing ladymate had attended the event, which put them on edge and filled their heads with what-ifs.

Again, the museum staff knew Ateez would be coming, but they had been instructed to refrain from making announcements or attempting to draw a crowd. They entered through a rear entrance and stood in a stock room, waiting for their manager or a museum attendant to take the lead.

It’s not until Hongjoon takes a deep breath that he smells it and says, “Pine, it's here and still kinda burnt. It’s different from anyone here but close to Mingi’s Maritime Pine. I can’t tell how fresh it is from here. Let’s go in groups. Yunho and Jongho, come with Hwa and I. Yeo, Mingi, Wooyoung go together. San, I know you can pin better when you are on your own, is that good?”

With agreements all around, San heads out first, followed by Mingi’s group and the last is Captain’s group.

San’s ability to find unique vibrations and sounds that non-pinning soulmates can’t hear or feel helps with their music and keeps everyone on tempo. It's hard to hear the resonance of a new soulmate ring back in a venue like BMO. Getting to the correct floor, San is grateful that there are not many people present. However, the lack of people also worries him.

Reaching within himself, San finds a new tune, a lifting melody, to ping out. It's like a sea shanty and hopefully will resonate with the missing ladymate.

Nothing.

Moving towards the farther side of the exhibition, he tries again.

Nothing.

With a frustrated sigh, San promises to find the ladymate and acknowledge the red thread that binds them all. Hongjoong said pine was here, which means the missing mate was in this building at some point since scents can flow through the vents, unlike his pinning. For it to work, a direct path must be open between San and his new soulmate.

Looking up at the elevator doors as they open, San shakes his head to alert Mingi, who stepped out first, that he wasn’t getting anything. Pointing to the stairs, the other two mates nod in understanding and watch San head to a lower floor.

Wooyoung, at this point, feels useless in helping any more than he has. He just hoped that his scent caused the ladymate to linger. The longer she stayed, the higher chance she was still here and would react to another ability within the bonded group.

Mingi is in the same boat. He always hated that he gained one of the passive abilities of the mate bonds. With how helpless he felt about it earlier in their career, he had taken a hiatus and heavily contemplated breaking the bond. It was Yunho who convinced him otherwise. He claimed Mingi as his center, like SanWoo, JonYeo, and HongHwa claimed each other. But who would be the ladymate’s center?

Walking around their exhibition was like a flash from the not-so-distant past. Mingi enjoyed watching a small Atiny try to dance along with the music video playing on a TV on the wall before he heard another TV going behind him. Following the sound, Mingi found himself watching a documentary completely in English about the King of Pop.

Figuring he could sit for a bit and watch it while Yeosang did his thing, Mingi plopped down on one of the backless benches, and that was when the pain started. It wasn’t like it was at BMO, but it was present. It was almost like his missing soulmate had sat there and just dumped all the pain out into the space.

“Gi, I can’t find anything,” Yeosang and Wooyoung say, walking up to him in the slightly secluded view room. It’s Woo who notices Mingi’s pained expression.

“Gi, are you alright? Is it you, or is it our ladymate?” Wooyoung says, kneeling before Mingi and grabbing his hand to comfort him. His eyes are filled with concern. Smiling with a pained brow, he tells the two about what he feels and suspects has happened.

“Maybe she overdid it last night, and coming here didn’t help,” offers the youngest. “She may be more stubborn than we thought. It is interesting that she can just leave her pain here though. I have never heard of that ability.”

“Are you going to be able to walk, Gi?” questions Yeosang.

“What’s wrong with Gi?” Hwa asks, coming around the corner with his grouping.

After listening to Mingi explain what San had signaled and what he felt, Hwa became more determined to find his ladymate. Not only is she missing, but she (in his mind) is gravely injured. “Emotional resonance from a soulmate only lasts maybe 20 minutes at max. She was just here. Yunho?”

“My anchor is gone. She must have absorbed it from this room when she rested here. Let’s go down to the merch area and see if the anchor is still there,” suggested Yunho.

With that, everyone took the elevator down and followed Yunho. Closing his eyes, Yunho reached for his other anchor and found that it, too, was missing. Shaking his head with his eyes downcast, he realizes there is nothing else he can do. His anchors weren’t strong enough to keep their ladymate from leaving.

“Her pine is here. She was here,” Hongjoong declares quietly, trying not to bring a crowd.

“You aren’t wrong, love. I can feel the pull again. Mingi?” Hwa asks, eyes imploring the gentle giant, who nods in agreement but is leaning against Yunho because of the pain now concentrated in his ankle.

“The plaited silk rope is back!” exclaims Yeosang. “I can feel it, but I can’t tug on it. She is still too far away, do you think she left the building?”

The slightly winded San speedwalks to the group, “She is outside. I think she is headed to the parking garage. Let’s go. NOW.”

“San, take Yeosang, Seonghwa, and Jongho with you. Stay together. The rest of us will come with Mingi.” This sends a flash of confusion across San’s face as he looks at Mingi with questioning and worried eyes. “

“I will explain later,” commands Hongjoong as he takes on the role of captain in situations like this.

At his words, half the bonded group practically jogs out of the museum and onto the streets of downtown LA. Bodyguards discreetly follow behind them so as not to interfere with their search.

The rest of the group follows at a quickened walk. Mingi is clearly limping, which doesn’t go unnoticed by some fellow museum attendees. The stunned looks, pointed cell phones, and not-so-hush-hush squealing tell them they have been found out.

Looking over his shoulder, Hongjoong sees their manager and the last bodyguards starting to head off the fans attempting to approach. Under different circumstances, Ateez would gladly stop and meet their international Atiny, but they had a soulmate to catch.

The whole ride back to your friend’s house is spent staring at the ungodly amount of photos and videos you took. Of course, they were mainly of Seonghwa and San, but what shocked you was the surprising number of Mingi shots you had.

“Hey, I know we have talked about who our favorites are. Mine are Seonghwa and San. Yours, Kat, is Hongjoong. Cindy, you have two like me… Yeosang and Jongho, right?” you suddenly call out from the backseat.

“Damn, Y/n, you’re alive? I thought we had lost you to post-concert depression already. The first time is the worst,” joked Kat.

“Ha. ha. I am just editing my photos and stuff. It’s strange, though. I have so many of Mingi,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“We soooo should have done the pre/post bias TikTok trend,” laughs Cindy. “I think Someone lost their place in y/n’s heart.”

“Nono. No. The majority is still of my Hwa and my mountain. It’s just that there is an almost equal amount of Mingi. Was he hurt before the concert? In this video it looks like he is limping,” your chest tugs at the thought of Mingi being hurt as you show the video to the front seat at the stop light.

“Huh, you’re right. It does look like it,” comments Kat, taking your phone and flipping through your photos. “Looks like your boyfriends and Mingi kept to our side of the stage, which is unusual.”

“I noticed that during the concert. My pretty boys kept running to the other side. That is why I stopped trying to take pictures,” huffs Cindy.

Driving the additional 30 minutes home felt like pulling your ankle off at the joint. Guess this is what you get from trying to dress like a pirate and wearing heeled boots on uneven grass.

Climbing into bed, you put ice on your swollen ankle sprain and take more painkillers. You had been taking them all night after being shoved by some impatient twinks that wanted to get past the merch line.

Your boot heel had sunk into a hole or made its own from how long you had been standing there. You went down hard, and your foot was instantly in pain, but you swallowed it down because you were not about to ruin this for Cindy or Kat.

Sleep comes quickly and is filled with Matz stealing you away for a night on the town, SanWoo cuddling with you while you watch movies, Twin Towers treating you to a beautiful dinner, and even JonYeo walking with you along the beach.

RingRingRingRing

Buzz,Buzz,Buzzzzzzzzz

KNOCKKNOCKKNOCK

“What… the… HELL,” you scream at the coarse and abrupt sounds waking you from your amazing dreams. Dragging your not-awake-yet ass to the front door, still clad in your PJs and limping slightly, you jerk open the door to find Cindy and Kat standing there bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

“Jesus! You rose from the dead. Finally,” Kat says with a laugh, handing you something in a bag and pushing past you.

“Here,” Cindy smiles and hands you your favorite Starbucks drink. “It has an extra two shots.”

After taking a long drink of the Cafe Vanilla Frap, you close the door and stare at the two soon-to-be-ex friends, “You have one chance to tell me why you are here, or I will kick you out.”

“Grumpy butt,” mutters Kat.

“We tried calling and texting for the last two hours, but we don’t have much time before we catch our plane back to Washington,” pleads Cat. “We brought treats to apologize, but we figured you would want to take advantage of the free tickets to the Ateez exhibit at Grammy Museum that we were comp-ed.”

Sitting on the couch, you pull out the Sausage and Cheddar Muffin from Starbucks. Okay, they get bonus points for getting the right one. “Keep talking. You said they are comp-ed? How?” you question before taking a large bite from the yummy breakfast treat.

Pulling out her phone, Kat reads over an email she got from BMO apologizing for their shit directions and causing several attendees to miss performances. As compensation, they gave each ticket holder a ticket.

“If we leave here in the next 10 minutes, we can make it there. We have about three hours to meander and get you back in time for our plane. We already packed the rental car with all our stuff,” explains Cindy.

“Hence, why we're practically breaking down your door. Let's wrap your ankle, get you in some clothes, and you can finish eating in the car,” Kat says as they head down the hall to your room.

After finally deciding to wear jeans and the tour sleeveless shirt you bought, you wrapped your ankle and donned tennis shoes, and out the door, you went. Oh, and painkillers were on board, too. That was a must.

The drive took about an hour, which gave you plenty of time to discuss each other's concert-induced dreams. It was a relief that you weren’t the only one because that meant either you were completely normal, or your friends were just as delusional as you are.

It’s lovely how, even with a GPS, it is still challenging to find places in cities like Hollywood and LA. All the tall buildings block signals. It’s irritating how we can put Bluetooth cameras in sunglasses now, but we can’t get GPS signals through a building yet.

At this point, Cindy has given up on the GPS recalculating at every street, and the three of you are just looking for something that may resemble a museum. That’s when you feel something, like a pull or a nudge, to look to your right. “There it is! Next to that, Fixin something something restaurant.”

“Wow, that's a good eye! I would have never seen it,” says Kat, who is sitting on the same side as you. “I guess the museum is smaller than what I was looking for. It looks just like an office building. How did you see that?”

“I don know. I just had a feeling and looked then poof there it was,” you giggle. “Anyways, let’s park in the structure and head in. Maybe my ankle will chill out if I use it a bit more. Right now, it is not happy, that is for sure.”

Unlike finding the place, parking was a piece of cake. Grabbing your concert bag you hadn’t unpacked last night; you smile at the plushie and photocards hanging off it.

“Are you still happy I got SANdeoki instead of DDEONGbyeoli? I only got her because you had recently been sending me a lot of Instagram links of San, and she is purple, " Cindy asks.

Bringing SANdeoki up to your face, you hug and kiss her on the forehead. “I love her. I was thinking now that I have her and the face card holder, I am starting to look like a real Atiny.” That pulls laughs from everyone as you head up to finally see and learn more about these eight Korean men who crashed into your world of music.

It is interesting how having those two Ateez items on a cross-body bag is the green light for any random Atiny to start talking to you. Between the car and getting to the correct floor of the museum, you got a few waves, a couple of finger hearts, and some short conversations.

Of course, Cindy and Kat knew this would happen and flowed right with everything, but you, on the other hand, were a little taken back. However, once you explained that you were a baby Atiny, the randos calmed down and became encouraging.

Once you redeemed your ticket, the staff directed you to the right floor and pointed out the elevator. When the doors opened, your face lit up. You hear playful scoffing from behind you as Kat says, “Oh no. Y/n is in heaven now. Not only does she get to see Ateez's stuff, but they also have the MJ thing still up.”

“Hey, what can I say? I am ployJAMorus,” you comment. Kat isn’t wrong. You loved Michael Jackson and the Jackson 5. Most of your music tastes were before your time until K-pop came along. “Ateez first, then MJ, and then we can check out the other levels if you guys want. With how small this place is, I am sure we can see the whole place in less than an hour.”

And that is what you did.

The music video costumes, props, and Ateez's history were all there, and you read everything. You also saw some stuff from Xikers, who you learned were from KQ Entertainment, considered the next gen of K-pop and dongsaengs to Ateez.

“Y/n, are you trying to smell Wooyoung’s clothes or do you just normally sniff glass?” Kat asks with her arms crossed. “Cindy, I think y/n needs to touch some grass. The concert overloaded her normal OS.”

“What?” You snap out of it. “I wasn’t trying to sniff his clothes. If I’d sniff anyone’s clothes, it would be Seonghwa’s. Get it right. I just noticed the excellent pine scent in this area, almost like those Christmas tree candles from the Yankee Candle Company.”

Slightly embarrassed, you take a deep breath to smell it again but play it off as a stretch while rolling your ankle around. Frowning, you note that it hasn’t stopped throbbing, but you still want to look around. Limping your way over to the Michael Jackson side of the floor, you check out all the jeweled jackets he once wore.

Gosh, you knew you would get excited to see all the cool stuff because music would have been your life if you had any confidence in yourself. The tingling in your chest and the calmness of being surrounded by greatness is warming.

Turning around a corner, you notice a mini theater that practically pulls you in. Nothing is playing on the screen, but there are benches where you can at least rest to give your ankle a break. Once seated, you close your eyes, take a deep, centering breath, fill your lungs with that calming pine, and try to relax every muscle in your body.

Mind over matter has been your practice in life.

As you feel each muscle release, a sense of kinship comes over you. It’s not long before you relax from head to toe, settling restless thoughts and sore muscles along the way. Luckily for you, the pain in your ankle subsides.

By the time you open your eyes, Cindy and Kat have joined you, and the screen is playing a documentary on Thriller. You convince your friends to stay and watch it because that music video was the pinnacle of changing the direction of how things were done, and you felt like you were supposed to stay.

When the show was over, though, they decided it was time to move on, and you really couldn’t tell them you were content with just sitting there without sounding strange.

However, when you left, the feeling of kinship stayed with you. It even grew when you got to the souvenir store near the main entrance. Sadly, there wasn’t much within your price range to buy. You kept returning to the Ateez mech, wanting to buy something but never feeling like you had found what kept you coming back.

Cindy and Kat, complaining about being hungry, finally pulled you away from the store and over to what you now know as Fixins Soul Kitchen. It was pretty much an expensive “Hollywood” take on Roscoe's Chicken ‘n’ Waffles. Since you have already eaten breakfast on the way down, you decide to get a salad and chat about everything and anything you can think of.

Full bellies, good memories, and great friends are a fantastic way to end Cindy and Kat’s trip. You, of course, pay for everyone’s meal and a final gift and meander out to the sidewalk.

“Hey, look at the crowd outside of the museum,” Kat comments. Feeling that strange pull to the building, you move to walk towards it.

“Either it was a good thing we came early because it is more popular than we thought or someone famous is inside. Kinda wish we had more time to check it out but we gotta get going if we are going to get you home and catch the plane on time,” says Cindy almost wistfully.

“Yeah,” you absentmindedly say as the strangest feeling comes over you. It’s like a ghost-like tug pulls at your chest while a melody plays in your head that you know you have never heard of before.

“Earth to Y/n! We gotta go unless you wanna pay like $60 for an Uber home,” Cindy remarks, regaining your attention. Shaking your head and rubbing your chest, you turn away from the crowd and follow your friends to the parking garage.

What is going on with you, you contemplate. Yesterday, you felt like you didn’t want to leave BMO stadium, but today, you don’t want to leave the Grammy Museum. Are you that music or socially deprived that you want to hold on to everything?

The tugging in your chest strengthens with each foot forward, slowing your steps. It feels like a thick rope binding you and pulling you back the other way, but you know your friends have limited time, and you can’t afford the Uber.

You softly start to hum the melody that is crescendoing in your mind, blocking out the excited commotion and hurried steps approaching you. You are so in your own thoughts, with your eyes naturally cast downwards, that seeing the world around you ends until you run into a wall.

Putting your hands on the wall you ran into… it feels kinda warm. Blinking yourself back into the world around you, the first thing you notice is that the wall is wearing… shoes.

Startled and embarrassed by walking right into someone, you step back and drop your hand from their body. However, you find yourself running into someone else as their warm hands fall on your cold arms. Snapping your head up, you see the muscled man in front of you for a split second before you look over your shoulder at the person behind you.

Freezing in place. You think yourself crazy until you catch the movement of someone else.

No.

No way.

Looking to your right and left, recognizable Korean men surround you, but it can't be. Panic starts to settle in as you finally hear the commotion around you. That is when more men join the circle encompassing you.

Taking a step forward gets halted by the man at your back saying, “Wait, please.”

“This isn’t real,” you say softly, your eyes never settling on any men boxing you in.

With a warm smile, the mountain of a man steps forward and says, “Hello Miss, I am Choi San. I think the nine of us need to sit down and talk.”

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lacyscabinet · 2 days

Note

Okay but now imagine reader didn't die through sickness, imagine they committed suicide. That they gave up hope completely and left a message for the other girls to use you and to make sure Natalie did too? That they hated life but loved her and even if they didn't make it, they wanted to help her survive. I'm not well about this.

Death cap

A/N: I'm not well about this either anon you are so seen. Hello my dear anon ik that you probably thought I wouldn't write your request at this point but here I am 😭 life absolutely SUCKS lately so what do I do? Go to therapy? Adopt a carnivorous plant? NO! A WRITING COMEBACK! It's pretty short but enjoy and stay safe 🤍🤍

!!!for those who don't know the anon is referring to my fic "the wilderness dance", here it is. You can totally read this without reading the other one as well:)

Absolutely not proofread! :) BUT beta read by my brotha @pinkmoonzzz 🤍🤍 and the ex gf reminder™ @littlelqtte

NAVIGATION

TW: suicide via mushrooms (tlou stans rise), CANNIBALISM!!!!! It's only implied but still, reader is DEAD!!!!!!, pain and suffering. Please please please do not read if any of these topics disturb you in any way!!!

Autumn had slowly died right before your eyes. You could tell. In the mornings, the cold, stinging air blew onto your face, while in the evenings, it was almost impossible to stay outside the cabin without a crackling fire warming you up. Hence why, when Jackie stepped outside the door that fateful night, you knew you weren't going to see your team's captain ever again.

Predictably, the situation aggravated even more after that day. And there's only so much a teenager can take. Surviving was a privilege at this point, and if being privileged meant eating your dead friends, you weren't sure if you wanted to be there at all.

Natalie was away most of the time, and it's not like there was much to do inside the cabin. The days went by, and slowly your brain started to fog: memories of life before the crash appearing blurry and messy. All your hopes of watching flowers bloom again soon vanished in the dark attic where you spent most of your sorrowed days. Soon enough only death and hunger were left in you.

So one particularly cold night, after slipping out of Nat's arms and placing a small peck on her forehead, you went up the unstable ladder leading to the attic. In the dim light of an old candle, you rummaged through a small, hidden box where you kept all your things, or at least the things you didn't want the others to know about.

You took your diary, scribbled down what you needed to say, and then rummaged in the box a little more. And right there before your eyes, you saw it.

Amanita phalloides.

Or more commonly known as Dead cap. You had found it weeks ago, picked it up, dried it, and then stored it in a jar, always making sure that no one could find it. It was deadly poisonous after all. But you still kept it. Just in case.

"Natalie?"

Nat heard a quiet voice coming from the cabin's porch. Snow crunched under her boots as she kneeled in the snow, hand holding onto something colder than the hauntingly freezing weather.

"Go away, Misty," she didn't hesitate to say, not moving an inch. Still facing away from the blonde-haired girl, hiding her tears from anyone who wasn't the lifeless frame of the girl she loved.

"Nat" Misty called out for her again "We found something that you might want to see," she then suddenly announced, finally catching Natalie's attention. Wiping her damp and cold cheeks with the back of her old jacket, she finally turned around, meeting Misty's eyes.

"I told you not to touch her things," she instantly spat in Misty's face, noticing her holding your beat-up diary in her hands.

"We were trying to find something to light up the fire. We ran out of wood. We wanted to use some empty pages, but as I said, I think there's something you might want to see..." she looked down at the object, holding it out for Natalie "....Something you might want to read."

Confused, Nat took one last look at your now blue, pale, and stiff body before getting up, immediately snatching the diary from Misty's claws, holding it to her chest while walking back inside.

When she entered the living room, everyone looked up at her from their spots on the floor. They had all gathered around the fire, all snuggled in raggedy blankets. She could recognize the blanket she wrapped you up in just days before you passed: it was now keeping Mari warm as she stirred something in a big pot, probably some sort of watery soup. It was all they had left after all.

She didn't sit down with them though. She needed to be alone, because no one around her was you, and that killed her every day since you had left.

So she walked straight to the kitchen, sitting down on a chair at the table, feeling the leather on the cover of your diary under the pads of her freezing fingers.

Her hands trembled as she opened the diary, the weight of your final words pressing down on her. She skimmed through the pages, each line made her feel uneasy, gut-wrenching revelations of your despair and resignation were the only things that could be found on the paper. The pain you felt, your ultimate choice, and, one last plea for Natalie to survive, even if it meant feeding off of you, literally. It was all laid bare right before her eyes.

Natalie’s eyes welled with ,tears as she read your desperate farewell. The stark realization that you had been so hopeless and alone was almost too much to bear. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, suppressing it just like she had grown used to suppress the almost constant rumbling in her stomach.

But the sobs came uncontrollably and the hunger couldn't be disguised.

The diary fell from her hands. She clutched her chest, trying to keep her cries silent, but the anguish was too great.

Then suddenly, a noise from outside pierced through her grief: the sharp, rhythmic sound of someone sharpening a knife. Her breath hitched as her eyes widened in horror.

The cabin was awfully quiet.

Your body was still out in the snow.

Natalie’s mind raced. She stumbled out of the kitchen, her feet slipping on the icy floor as she rushed to the door. The cold air hit her like a slap as she forced herself outside, the snow crunching under her weight once again. She followed the sound, her heart pounding in her chest, each step a struggle against the biting cold and her own rising panic.

As she neared the edge of the clearing where your body lay, she stopped in her tracks after noticing everyone already huddled up around you, flashbacks of Jackie appearing before her.

And maybe, Natalie would've tried to stop them from reducing you to a bunch of bones she would have to throw away in the site of the plane crash when the morning came.

But, they had already started.

A/n: skibidi, skibidi toilet. I love you pls don't die.

my ask button is now active again so go crazy:) send some happy requests please 😭😭

shiver me timbers

#I'M BAAAAAACKKKKKK #yellowjackets #natalie scatorccio #nat scatorccio #natalie scatorccio x reader #yellowjackets x reader #nat scatorccio x reader #yellowjackets x you #natalie scatorccio x y/n #lottienat

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rd0265667 · 2 days

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Winter X Reader: Let Go

Permanent Taglist: @cwpiqwon @justme-idle

Minjeong’s eyes fluttered open, eyes wincing at the bright glare of the sun, reaching a hand out to shut the curtain. “Morning, love,” You murmured, stretching before pulling Minjeong closer.

Minjeong yelped in excitement and shock as she found herself nestled within your arms. She pouted, scrunching her nose and playfully punching you in the chest. Holding Minjeong closer, she looked up at you as she saw your smile widen “Jeongie, how would you like to spend the morning doing the productive act of absolutely nothing.” “You know me too well.” Minjeong replies with a soft giggle. You both stayed nestled in bed, your arms wrapped around each other. Minjeong ran her fingers through your hair, causing you to hum in content, leaning deeper into her embrace. “I could hold you forever.” Minjeong whispered, slowly running her other hand up and down your back. “I wish you could too Jeongie, but y’know, life gets in the way sometimes.” You say, shrugging your shoulders, causing Minjeong to frown, this being a rather depressing point that pulled her out of this comfort and joy she had fallen into. Nothing a quick peck couldn’t solve though, as you wriggled your own body up a little, leaving a short peck on Minjeong’s forehead that reduced her to a blushing mess, looking away from you in embarrassment

“Remember those Saturdays we spent having breakfast in bed?” You asked, your tone light with nostalgia. Minjeong’s eyes filled with joy.“Of course, back when we first got married. We would compete to wake up earlier to make breakfast for each other.” “Remember that time you made me some soup in the morning, then y-” You tried playfully jabbing at Minjeong, though she quickly sat up, nostrils flared as she immediately knew what you were about to say. “Hey! It was dark, and there was so much stuff on the floor, and I was so excited, and, and…” Minjeong said, clearly indignant at having to explain herself for the umteenth time. You chuckled, quickly pecking her on the lip.. “Sounds like excuses to me, my love.” You tease, using your hand to ruffle her hair. “You’re lucky I love you. Might I remind you that that soup was made with so much love and you laughed when I dropped it.” “Well, I couldn’t exactly taste the love, especially when it was spilled all over the floor.” You tease, causing Minjeong to shoot you a death glare. “Let me remind you that we do not have a prenuptial.” Minjeong deadpanned, causing you to burst into laughter, wrapping your arms around her as you pulled her down onto the bed once again. “I’m serious.” Minjeong said, her frown intensifying as your laugh grew even still. “Like you’d ever leave me Jeongie. Even Yi Zhuo knows you’re whipped.” You tease, causing a light blush to form over Minjeong’s face “Oh, shut it. Well, I do miss when we had time to have breakfast in bed. Days like these are a luxury we can’t really afford anymore.” Minjeong sighs, her shoulders deflating. “Yeah, well, life changes, we just have to roll with the blows. We keep what we can, but for those things we can’t keep? We just gotta let go. You get what I’m saying Jeongie?” You whispered, causing Minjeong’s eyebrow to furrow

“Sometimes.” Minjeong mutters, her mood clearly taking a downturn “We need to let go of things that we can’t have anymore Minjeong, only then can we open ourselves to new experiences, open ourselves to new people, new memories. No point clinging to what’s gone and dead, Jeongie.” You whisper, though Minjeong quickly shrugs you off. “Hey babe, did you see the new offer at the mall nearby? I was thinking of replacing the chairs we have in our dining table.” Minjeong mentions, her hands now with a steeled vice grip around your arms. You sigh. “Yeh, maybe, we need to spend some time doing some remodelling outside. We don’t really need all that stuff now.” You say, causing Minjeong to look at you in confusion. “I never knew you to be a minimalist. Weren’t you the one who said we had to deck the halls with what I can only describe a vomit of colour.” Minjeong jokes, trying to bring back the light hearted atmosphere that had been sucked out of the room so quickly she was almost out of breath. “You know that’s not what I meant, Jeongie.” You say with a sigh. “I really don’t, love.” Minjeong said to you in confusion. “It’s been 3 weeks, Jeongie.” You sigh, holding her hands in yours. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Minjeong spits back, now slightly agitated, clearly wanting to avoid this subject. “Minjeong. You haven’t left the house in 3 weeks. You spend your days crying, you barely eat, you barely drink, when’s the last time you left your bed?” You challenge her, your agitation masking a rising concern and fear threatening to burst from your chest. “I can’t do it baby. Please don’t make me do it.” Minjeong whispered, tears leaking from her eyes. “I know it’s scary, baby, but please, you can’t stay this way. You have to do it, no matter how much it hurts.” You whisper into her ear “There are days I can’t even get myself to move, you know? I just lay in bed, and that scene flashes before my eyes, while I lay there, powerless to do anything. I try to scream, I try to move, but I can’t. I just lay there, watching that scene over and over again.” Minjeong laments, her initial sniffles now turned to outright bawling. “I know, Jeongie. Believe me, if I could take away all your pain, replace it with joy, or happiness, or laughter, I would. But I can’t do that. Only you can. The journey will be hard, but you have to do this, Jeongie. Please, it hurts me to see you like this. Let go.” You whisper. Minjeong, now overrun with emotion, shuts her eyes as tightly as she can, fist clenched so tight her knuckles turn white. As she opens her eyes once again, she finds her bed empty. Minjeong let out a throaty chuckle, full of bitterness, rage, anger, sadness, and everything in between. She curls into a fetal position, shaking and shivering as she holds onto your sweater, the last trace of you she had, the material being soaked with tears.

She looked to your cold and empty side of the bed, the same way it had been for 3 weeks. Cold and empty. Minjeong found that an apt descriptor for her heart now. Let go? How could she let go of the only thing that ever mattered to her?

#fluff?#aespa #rd0265667 #aespa minjeong #aespa kim minjeong #aespa x reader #aespa minjeong x reader #aespa imagines #aespa winter #winter x reader #aespa winter x reader #kim minjeong fanfic #angst

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ghouldtime · 2 days

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Ghost'ed

Been thinking about literal Ghost! Ghost. Maybe it's playing too many ghost hunting games or watching too many shows but I cannot stop thinking about it. You also cannot convince me this man wouldn't be a restless spirit. His entire life is troubled and I don't see him going down in a peaceful way or leaving until he feels the job is done - and likely ending up trapped as a result

I wrote this at work so sorry in advance for any typos or slip ups!

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

Ghost hunting wasn’t exactly what most people would list in "Top ten relaxing hobbies" - but it's not like you were most people. You were simply you. The same you who thought spending your time speculating about spooky specters was one of the best ways to pass by those few stretches of free time that could be all too fleeting in the hellscape known as adulthood.

The stares that followed you when you announced paranormal investigation as a hobby was something you knew all too well. After all, telling someone you’re a ghost hunter only stood as a slightly more socially acceptable version of telling them you believed in bigfoot (you did, but that’s beside the point). The dozens of cheesy TV shows certainly popularized it but they did little to help with the perception of it.

When the face of popular ghost hunting media was full of grown men who screamed like a squirrel high on helium at every little thump of a house settling, it did little to help what people automatically thought of when they heard of your unique hobby. Plenty still turned their noses up, scoffed slightly as they rolled their eyes and sneered, “Aren’t you too old to be doing that?”

Or worse. They gave a tight-lipped smile, nodded, and crinkled their eyes as they said, "Oh, interesting." While the tension in their body told of holding back laughter or wanting to bolt right on out of there, far far away from you.

Quite frankly, you didn't care what they said anymore as it was your life to live, not theirs. You’d seen enough to know without a fraction of a doubt that there was more beyond the veil of life itself, hiding just out of sight. The hundreds of hours you spent wandering dark hallways and dilapidated ruins with nothing but your flashlight and ghost box proved otherwise. At least it proved it to you.

Proving it to others was a horse of another color. Skeptics who spit their criticism loud enough to deafen even the most positive prevalent of voices in the community were a dime a dozen. Unfortunately, their existence was as certain as the sky is blue. Skepticism was apart of human nature, after all. They would always exist as long as the day and night kept up their eternal dance.

Convincing them was a fruitless effort. You'd sooner be able to convince hippos to fly than you'd convince them of the truth you knew. Trying to get everyone to agree, to acknowledge the paranormal, was hopeless and something you certainly weren't going to waste your life on no matter what they called your or what they said.

As far as you were concerned, being paid to sit in the dark alone and find evidence of life beyond the grimy waters of death itself was a pretty sweet gig. The naysayers could seethe in their own jealousy all they wanted because at the end of the day, you’re getting paid to do what you love. That they never could take away from you.

They'd never be able to have the same thrill that you did as you took on another case, ready to see even more of what the phantasmal realm had to offer.

Anticipation, nervousness, and excitement rolled together in a palpable energy you hid beneath a calmer exterior every time you took a job. There always would be that wonder there, the question of what exactly you might find dangling just out of reach, the hope that maybe, just maybe you might see even more than you already have. Another chance to investigate meant yet another night spent lurking in the shadows, tirelessly trying to find more evidence of the great world beyond the grave and its inhabitants. Tonight certainly would be no different.

An older couple quite reluctantly booked an appointment for a standard investigation after mysterious things that they really could not explain, no matter how they went about it, happened time and time again. They'd tried to ignore it, they said, but it only got worse.

Footsteps that echoed through the house at first in a gentle patter had become confident strides. When they went to look, no one was there. Doors that used to slowly creak open, as if blown by the wind, instead started to rattle the frame with force as they opened or slammed in the middle of the night. The husband looked particularly miffed when he groused about the TV going on at odd hours of the night, while his wife seemed more concerned about the possibility of someone having broken in and the fact that it kept doubling in intensity as time went on. The list went on and on about their complaints ranging from things being moved around to always finding a light turned on in a room in the middle of the night. There most certainly was something going on if all of what they were saying was true.

The glaring parade of red flags that easily would send others running for the hills lured you in. Like a dog with a scent, you weren't going to drop the trail, oh no. You were there to sink your teeth and claws in and not let go. Come hell, heaven, or high water - nothing would stopping you.

True to your title, you were a paranormal investigator which warranted a lot more work and professionalism than the standard ghost hunters you saw on TV who couldn't tell the difference between a gust of wind and a ghost. Your job was to research, conduct a proper paranormal investigation, and provide your evidence - or lack of, if it was truly devoid of haunting. But here hardly sounded like it.

Taking your time and reassuring them that you were, indeed, a professional, you went over all the usual questions with them: when did this start, how old is your house, any history of deaths in it, have you acquired any new items recently, do you have any items that were second hand or antique, any family heirlooms in the house, was it in any particular location, etc etc.

Every angle had to be considered, especially the mundane. Plenty of times, people just had a poorly constructed house, deeply held superstitions, and a touch of paranoia to make for a perfect combination of nothing happening at all. That didn’t seem to be the case here, however. While none of their answers pointed in a clear direction of what it might be, it still all pointed to signs of something unworldly happening. But that's what you were there for. To determine if there actually was a ghost, why it was there, and maybe who it was (if things went well and it felt like cooperating).

You bid them a good night as they headed off with family friends in a beat up convertible, chattering away without a care in the world as if they didn’t have a paranormal parasite problem. At least they were going to go enjoy their night by having an evening out instead of breathing down your neck like some of those who hired you. Locking the door, you trudged in with your gear and began the initial inspection with practiced ease.

A haunting in a house as young and modern as theirs was quite unusual. Open, airy rooms completed with white, sleek, almost eye-hurtingly clean interiors made up the entirety of the house. Even as night crawled higher and higher into the sky, pulling its dark cloak over the land, the house stayed bright. Nothing about it said haunted or caught your eye. The scariest thing there was likely the heating bill.

As far as your research showed, there hadn't been a death in it or on the land. The owners also seemed quite appalled at the idea of antiques (go figure) so that went right out the window, too. Normally there might be some stashed somewhere that they weren't thinking about, like the attic, but this house didn’t even have that. No basement, no attic, no creepy graveyard in the back; it was a normal, suburban house that shouldn’t have anything going on.

Perusing the house at a leisurely pace, you browsed each and every room with a thorough consciousness of finding something, anything, that could possibly have started it. Yet you turned up empty handed. Everything was as pure and alabaster as the marble countertops and the expensive sleek metal furniture.

Oh well, not every job would be easy. And not every haunted house was obligated to look run-down and rustic. Some ghosts just had more upper class tastes - or were unfortunate enough to be stuck in an eyesore like this. Maybe a ghost would add some actual personality to their home...

Seeing as they'd said there wasn't exactly a rhyme or reason as to where things would happen, you decided a central room was your best bet. The living room was open enough for everything and an easy place any spirits could find. It had plenty of room for your equipment and the open layout meant you had a great vantage point for the whole house.

Preparing your gear came as naturally as breathing to you, the tasks you've done dozens of times over were a matter of habit. Moving through the motions was your second nature as you worked, not batting an eye as you checked batteries and strategically stationed your gear. It only took a matter of minutes to have your cameras, light system, motion activated interactable objects, ghost box, and the rest of your fancy gadgets set up all around the room.

Placed on the coffee table was your heaviest piece of equipment - your modified spirit box that you had made some special adjustments to just to make sure your results were as accurate as possible. The broken antenna and attached amp weren't standard, nor were the noise reducers, but they stood as a testament to why you were a professional and why you kept getting called out to different places. You knew how to get results and tuned every tiny thing to your needs. There was no room for error or doubt alike in an already uncertain field.

Double checking everything was ready to go once more once more, you plunged the room into somewhat true darkness as you drew the curtains shut and pressed the button on the spirit box, causing it to crackle to life. Speeding through the static of radio stations, it scanned the many frequencies in a blur, far too fast for any natural noise to come through. The whirring of it evened out into a constant, muffled background noise that you’d spent countless hours listening to. Its familiar hum lulled you into a relaxed state, your heart as steady as your calm breaths despite the slight buzz of familiar adrenaline you always felt when you first started. A small beep signaled the successful activation of the digital thermometer as you walked around in a slow, even pace, checking all around.

Taking a deep breath, you began as you always had. In a confident, but even tone you called out, “Is there anyone with me right now?”

....

........

Silence.

The static of the spirit box continued to filter through in its usual constant churning hum of white noise. Typical. Many supernatural beings wouldn't want to interact, especially not at first. You don't blame them. If a stranger barged into your house and demanded if you were there, pestering you with questions as threw their belongings around, you'd not want to answer them either. That wasn’t even considering that many were so unused to people hearing them or trying to talk to them, not at them. They didn't exactly register on the same frequency that humans did most of the time.

Walking around the room, your boots echoed on the tile flooring. Your footsteps ricocheted off of the high ceilings, amplified by the lofty ceiling and wonderful acoustics this house apparently had. Keeping your attention ever shifting, you kept alert for signs of anything happening. Looking too long in the dark and expecting things to happen would only yield false results and cause paranoia. You knew far better than to do that.

Nothing lit up, nothing beeped, nothing changed. There was conclusively nothing happening for the first few, long minutes as everything kept at an unwavering constant. Visiting each room, you rechecked their temperatures and tried to find anything amiss or out of place. Yet all seemed well, still, and normal.

Only when you crossed the hallway back into the living room after a quick visit to the bedrooms did your hair stand on end. A chill ran down your spine, the once warm air now holding the barest bite of cold on the edge. Holding up the thermometer, you narrowed your eyes at the steady decrease. While it wasn't quite freezing, it kept dropping and dropping. Numbers ticked lower and lower, your hair stood further on end as a small shiver ran through you as the chill dipped lower and lower. Bingo. First sign of activity of the night. It wasn’t much but it was plenty to know that something was happening here.

Despite the crisp chill, nothing else shifted in the room. Silence prevailed behind the distant drone of your equipment; mainly the comforting, steady typical static of the spirit box. Even the appliances seemed to have gone quiet, exchanging their usual low thrumming rhythm for a break that suspended them in a noiseless limbo.

Your shifting movements echoed far louder than you would have liked as you paced around the room, looking for something new, anything. An actual tangible reaction you could record would be just what you needed but so far, the haunt was holding out. “What is your name?” You asked, keeping your voice as steady as you can as you tried to switch it up.

Continual feedback from the spirit box sounded as steady as can be. Still, there was no voice trying to get through it. The fabricated noise reigned supreme as it did its job, whirring away. Pressing your lips into a thin line, the smallest hint of a frown tugged at your lips as disappointment flickered through you. Okay, that's fine. It usually took a few tries anyways.

A faint, sparkling crackle escaped from it as you heard one, tiny word in a rumbling timbre. One, single word that halted you mid step, your head snapping towards the machine.

“Ghost.”

Doing a double take, a grin split across your face as your heart jumped with joy. A response! A true, actual response. Not that it exactly answered your question but it meant something was listening.

There was something here!

Nearly tripping over your own feet, you scampered over to your beloved machine. Your eyes fixated on the glowing orange screen, gleaming with glee.

“W-what’s your name?” You repeat a bit louder unable to hide the excited tremble in your voice or hands, figuring the ghost likely didn't hear you right.

Static white noise continued for a few seconds, the little x in the corner flashed once, twice, before it lit up solidly.

“Ghost.”

The smile you held dropped only for a fraction of a second before you cleared your throat. Well, maybe your slight stutter and excitement got in the way. You did talk fast when excited, after all. Taking a deep breath, undeterred as can be, you repeated in a far steadier voice, “What is your name?”

This time you made sure to enunciate every single syllable, speaking clear and confidently into the air.

One flashing X glowed in the corner of the screen. Another flash. A third. Fourth. Fifth.

Yet again, the deep voice came a bit louder and rougher this time. A thick Mancunian accent that barely picked up through the filter didn't dull the single word you were trying to avoid, “Ghost.”

Okay. Your brows furrowed deeper, your nose wrinkling slightly as your heart sank. The minor disappointment couldn't be kept off of your face as you really had hoped to hear something else. Approach one clearly isn't working.

Maybe he didn't speak English. Or maybe he wasn't sure that he was dead. Whatever. There was a ghost and he was answering, that's what mattered, you reminded yourself forcefully until the smile came back to your face and the smallest bit of a headache dissipated. Focus on that. Not on the slight annoyance you felt and the agitated twitch of your fingers.

Exhaling, you pursed your lips. Your grip retightened on your flashlight as you racked through questions in your mind, trying to find something that it would have to answer differently too.

“Can you do something?”

Hopeful, your eyes trailed around the room, praying that maybe the ghost would do something like interact with the many objects scattered about, or even the motion sensors.

Nothing happened for a few long moments, silence once again prevailing in the otherwise empty house.

Orange light flashed from the spirit box as the X lit up again, only for a second before the dreaded word repeated itself.

“Ghost.”

Before you could ask what that even meant, or curse it out for that matter, the spirit box and your flashlight shut off, plunging you into true darkness. The flashlight nearly flew from your hands in surprise as you flinched instinctually, your heart leaping into your throat. Frantically flickering the button of your trusty tool did nothing as you desperately tried to turn on your one source of light with the only way you knew how - only to be met with the continual sight of empty, non-shining bulbs.

Curses spilled from your lips in all the languages you knew as you fumbled for a battery pack, only to find them missing. What? But you swore that they were right there -- ugh, nevermind. This just wasn't going to be your night.

The initial panic subsided as the chill left the air, the residual regular warmth of the house sinking into the room as if blown in by a lazy breeze. Your hair still stood on end as you walked around with cautious, hesitant steps, having given up on the flashlight. There wasn't coming back from that.

It's only when you approached the spirit box, trying to turn it on to no avail, that you realized what he meant. You asked him to do something and he obliged.

He ghosted you.

God fucking damn it.

As you glared at the air in frustration, threw your hands up and personally cursed the fiend, you could've sworn you heard a resonating chuckle behind you as breath brushed against the nape of your neck in a way that sent shivers down your spine for a whole new reason.

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pretzel-box · 3 days

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Sebastian Solace escaped his death by getting picked up by urbanshade. Yet he manages to escape, his humanity still intact.

Now he has to face something else or rather someone else, his therapist, you.

Being with Sebastian was a bittersweet experience, it was sweet like milk chocolate and yet suffocating like a rope hanging from a dark ceiling. Sebastian Solace was anything but a sanctuary and yet you cling so unbelievable tight on him that you pitied yourself for this poor display. 4 months at best, that's the time you had spent with him so far, in the small room, on two chairs, where you believed would be your spot, him and yours.

Giving Sebastian therapy was like talking to a wall. The survivor was a silent man, managing his little thoughts day in, day out, for himself. And if he wasn't occupied by standing in a corner and faking a smile, he would be out to look for even more reasons to destory himself for the things he witnessed at Urbanshade. It was a never-ending circle of silence, sleep, work, and suffering. And at this point, you weren’t sure where to squeeze into that circle of his.

You just existed, from your professional behaviour that came from your personal rules was nothing left, only the illusion of a working therapy when you two denied each other so incredibly much that it left a bad taste in your mouth.

There was no way you could deny it but Sebastian Solace fell in of love with you while you fell even deeper for the man.

He probably only stayed together with you for your sole existence and not for the therapy, not wanting to crush you with his words while the memories of the worst place on earth leeching of his brain. And instead he feeds you those bitter tasting lies, wanting to appear normal to you. It felt like an insult to your intelligence since he didn't tried to put an effort in it and whenever you tried to speak up, making a small scene, he would mumble something under his breath.

And it hurt because it was because of him. You could care less if it was from anyone, but him. You cursed him, wanting to scream and tell him all those things that you swallowed down painfully and yet you wanted to stay quiet, wanting him to feel how much you supported him all along

You held the own imaginary knife to your throat, putting you on the edge of the unavoidable.

“How about we talk about the day again?"

“Sebastian, you got a minute?”

“Sebastian.”

You don't know when it happened but at some point he started to treat you differently.

"Doctor."

Status: Will be published shortly

Wordcount: 6-7k

Tags: Mentions of Urbanshade experiments, lots of unspoken tension, romance, secret relationship, human Sebastian x therapist reader

#sebastian solace #roblox pressure #sebastian solace x reader #sebastian solace x you #pressure #sebastian solace fanfic #pressure x reader #pretzelthoughts

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celtigxr · 1 day

Text

The Pink Dread (Master List) - - - - - ch. ix: Protector

Chapter Summary: Riddled with regret, Aemond searches for Valeana after what had happened in the library.

Word Count: 3843

Sneak Peak: “Nonsense,” He shook his head and extended his hand, “Take my hand, and you’ll be fine.” “But what if I fall–” “You won't,” He gave her a reassuring smile, and flexed his fingers to encourage her to take his hand. “I won’t let you fall, ever.”

Warnings: Active anxiety attack due to ptsd.

T H E G R E E N S

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Aegon never held a strong friendship with his sister, Helaena. They had nothing in common and having a conversation with her felt like navigating a labyrinth. A labyrinth full of riddles that he needed to solve in order to pass through doorways. His love for Helaena only ever extended as much as a brother’s love for his sister could in normal families. He was equally as protective of her as he was annoyed by her.

He would get annoyed at her hyperfixation of insects and other vermin. He would get annoyed when she moved at her own pace, or flat out didn’t listen when being commanded to do something by him or literally anyone else. He’d get annoyed when she didn’t look at him when he talked to her, or derailed the conversation to talk about something unimportant. Most of all it annoyed him how much his mother ran to her and coddled her whenever Helaena was slightly uncomfortable. However, when Helaena was uncomfortable, even by small things by the standards of everyone else, it was like the world was ending.

That was when Aegon’s protectiveness would come through. Helaena’s fits would be explosive, sometimes destructive. It had gotten better as she got older, but that only meant that if something was happening, it was much worse than rearranged furniture, or a stain on her sleeve that she was convinced was an omen of death. From the day they were betrothed, Aegon was forced to spend more time with her (to establish some sort of romantic bond with her. Really, his mother asked for the impossible), and over time he recognized the warning signs and learned through trial and error how to calm her down. These fits had started to become fewer over the years, and eventually the possibility of them being married dwindled with his father’s growing health and dislike of the match. Despite all that time wasted, Aegon was still the first to be summoned to calm his sister when she needed it.

That night, Aegon returned from Flea Bottom from a failed quest to find a new platinum blonde to conquer in his usual preferred whore houses. He was drunk, blue balled, and a bit frustrated when they only offered brunettes that he’s had dozens of times. By the time he reached Maegor’s Holdfast, he was tired beyond belief. He silently cursed his ancestors for making the castle incredibly inconvenient to navigate, particularly for drunkards such as himself.

Aegon rounded the corner, just in time to see her stumbling and groaning in pain, hands grasping at her leg. He quickly sobered and went over to her, hands reaching out to grasp her shoulders. Her eyes were glazed over by thick tears and a fog that reminded him of his sister.

Something happened, something terrible had happened. But a quick glance of her form showed him no physical wounds. She wasn’t bleeding, but her leg seemed to pain her a great deal. Valeana was a disheveled, and the thought that someone raped her had immediately crossed his mind.

“I hate him. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!”

Aemond? Would his brother actually be capable of such a thing?

Fear and doubt flushed out the alcohol from his veins. He wouldn’t get straight answers from her, not when she is in this mind set. Brushing her tears from her face, Aegon concluded that a distressed Valeana Celtigar was almost as bad as a distressed Helaena. Perhaps it was divine intervention that he happened upon her in this state before anyone else.

The apartments he shared with his siblings weren’t that far from there, so he guided her to his quarters. When the guards posted at the doors looked at him curiously, veiled with concern and assumptions on their minds, Aegon gave them a pointed look.

“It is not what it looks like. Something’s happened, but I do not want you to alert a Maester until I figure out what it is. Swear to me your silence?”

The knights bowed their heads, then replied in unison, “I swear it, my Prince.”

With a stiff nod, Aegon helped Valeana enter the apartments and into his private solar. He would not be able to keep her there until dawn, he knew. If people saw her exiting in the morning, the gossip would be like wildfire and before he could even blink, they would be at the altar in front of a Septon, swearing their vows and exchanging cloaks. First, he needed to get her to calm down, then he would summon his sister.

They entered his bedchamber, and he nudged the door closed with his foot to give them privacy. Then, Aegon helped her onto the edge of his bed after he pried her arms from his neck. Her entire body was shaking; her trembling fingers grasped at her leg, as she gasped in pain.

“Let me see,” he bent down, but when he tried to lift her robe and nightgown, she panicked and shrieked. Immediately Aegon lifted his hands and stepped back.

Valeana folded into her body, her forehead nearly touching her knee, and both of her hands grasped at her calf as long groans emitted from deep in her chest. She was starting to gasp for breath, allerting Aegon immediately. Bending down to a knee, he grabbed her hands, forcing his fingers under her grip.

“Valeana, look at me,” He craned his neck down to her knees to try to catch her eyes, “I need you to breathe.” With his free hand, he cupped her cheek and gently forced her to look up so he could anchor her stare to his. Her pupils were completely dilated, like how Helaena’s got when she had lost her grip on reality. Aegon’s grip on her cheek was firm as she tried to pull away from it.

“Eh-eh, it’s just me, Egg. Just silly ol’ Aegon, remember? Darling, I need you to breathe, like this—” He took a deep inhale through his nose and exhaled through his lips.

She blinked at him, which allowed a rogue tear fall over the apple of her cheek down to her dry lips. With shaky shoulders and a constricted throat, Valeana took in an uneven breath. When she exhaled it came out stuttering through pouted lips.

“That’s it, that’s it, now again,” He inhaled the same time as she did, and then exhaled.

They stayed like that, breathing in and out for a few minutes until her body stopped shivering and her shoulders relaxed. Every few moments she would moan or groan from a wound that the prince still could not identify. Through the pain, he would gently encourage her with a soft, “That’s it, Val, keep going.” Eventually, Aegon felt his efforts working when the full weight of her head dropped in his hands, and the muscles in her limbs loosened.

He grinned, tapping his fingers gingerly on her cheeks, “There you go, Crab Cake. You know this isn’t what I had in mind when I imagined you in my bed. The breathing hard part, yes–”

“Shut up, Egg,” her eyes fluttered closed, chest heaving heavily as she continued to level her breathing.

He gave a soft laugh, “There’s my girl.”

Valeana’s eyes gently opened, her mind still in a fog, but if she had to relate it to anything now, it was more like a dense humidity. The kind of humidity that makes every part of you exhausted. Her tongue ran over her dry bottom lip, “I’m sorry. It must be so late.”

Aegon gave a shrug, “I should be thanking you. I’ve never felt more sober.”

From a mixture of exhaustion and delirium, a chuckle shook her shoulders. She brought her hands to her face in an attempt to control her giggles. Aegon, still on his knees before her, remained silent, a small, kind smile upon his face as he watched her. He decided he quite liked her like that – laughing, that is. But then he was reminded of the distress she was in only ten minutes ago, and that smile fell.

“Valeana,” his hand crept onto her right knee, palm facing up in an invitation for her to hold his hand. “What happened?”

She stopped laughing to take in a sharp inhale, the butt of her palms reached up to press firmly in her eyes. When she finally pulled away, she blinked rapidly and looked down at his hand on her knee. Surprising herself, she dropped hers onto her thigh and allowed the tips of her fingers to curl around Aegon’s.

“He pushed me,” the words came out painfully. Her brows furrowed and her lips pursed, “In the library. I just-I just touched his arm and—” a stuttered sigh released through her lips. “It just felt–it just… everything all over again. I thought– fuck, I’m sorry, I cant–” Her hands were back on her face, fingers digging into her skin before combing through her hairline.

“No, no, shh, it is fine,” Aegon took her wrists and pulled them away from her face. “It’s fine…. Are you hurt? Do you need a Maester? What about your leg…” He looked down at the one she was holding earlier.

She shook her head vigorously, “No, no, please… don’t call the Maester. I don’t want my dad to know. He’ll make it worse, please, just… I’m just so tired.”

“Are you sure? You looked like you were in a lot of pain.”

Valeana shook her head again, a little softer this time, “I’m fine, really – it does that sometimes… It feels like something is there, but there isn't.”

“What do you mean?”

There was a clear hesitation. Her eyes didn’t meet his curious gaze, but eventually her hands moved down to the length of her robe as she pulled up the fabric and then her nightgown underneath. Aegon watched intently in slow anticipation, until he realized what he was looking at. There was polished oak wood where her calf and foot should have been and a sophisticated and complex ball joint for an ankle. His eyes roamed higher, where he could see the wood cutting off at the knee, before continuing around her thigh where it was secured by various straps and buckles.

This was beyond surprising for multiple reasons. He had no idea that she had lost her leg – he had clear memories of the Maesters at the time righting it properly, and putting her in a split. Clearly, it wasn’t enough. He didn’t know anything about infections or anatomy, but there had to be a reason for it to be amputated. The other surprising reason was that he had not seen this the other day when he was hiding under her dress. Then again, she was wearing very tall, thick red stockings. Now that he thought about it longer, he did see a strap around her thigh, but he had assumed it was a garter that was holding up her stocking.

Valeana put her skirts back down and wrapped her arms around her legs, “Sometimes I feel things there… But there is nothing, because there is nothing. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Aegon nodded stiffly, eyes still on her left leg, now hidden under the curtains of her robe. Finally he pulled his gaze away and returned it to her, “I’m going to get Helaena.”

T H E P A S T

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“We’re lost, Aemond!”

“We’re not lost, we’re just…” Aemond stopped walking as he craned his neck up to look at the leafy ceiling of the Godswood. “A little off track.”

A simple picnic in the woods had gone amiss when Aemond insisted on going deeper into the thicket, away from the judging eyes of his brother and nephews. They were aware of his friendship with Valeana, but not the extent of how close they were. And while Aemond did not want to give up his companion, he did not want to give his brother more arrows for his quiver.

Aemond also simply wanted a peaceful moment between him and his friend… quite frankly, his only friend if he thought too closely on it. No interruptions, no curious or amused stares by the kingsguard or other adults. Typically they remained around the fringes of the forest, near the Heart Tree, since Valeana wasn’t good with steep hills and long treks. But, he had a plan; there was a clearing near the bubbling brook that would only take them twenty minutes to get to. There was a large weeping mulberry tree that he wanted her to see. Valeana loved the berries, but he also thought a picnic underneath its protective canopy would be the perfect setting for…

And he blushed at the thought.

His first kiss…

Unfortunately, it did not go as planned, and he had no one else but himself to blame. Valeana sat on a rock, breathing heavy, face flushed and hair slightly wet from the sweat building up on her brow and upper lip. He could tell she was self conscious about it, the way she kept on dabbing a handkerchief on her face and looking away from him. Valeana was always hot, always sweating. He remembered she used to wear lighter colours, but her stepsister would scold her for having sweat stains under her pits. Then, Valeana started to wear darker colours, which did not help with the glare of the sun.

Still, he always found her flushed appearance enduring. She looked like a porcelain doll with a red button nose, and peridot gems for eyes.

They conversed, like they usually did. All the while Aemond tried to inch his way closer to her, but always found something in the way. A twig holding his tunic, or a rock prodding his backside. Val was blissfully unaware, too busy gazing up at the natural umbrella of the mulberry tree and the light that peaked through.

Once he managed to worm his way to her side as subtly as possible, he found himself fidgeting with his hands nervously, barely listening to a thing she was saying. Something about how a specific berry looked like a mole on Floris’ back. Aemond turned to her just as she was munching on a particularly large one, with her tongue flicking out and licking up the juices that stained her lips. Subconsciously he mimicked the movement.

“What’s wrong?” She asked when she noticed him zoning out.

He chickened out. Once he realized he was staring, Aemond flushed and moved away from her.

Now they were lost in the Godswood, and they were losing daylight. The bright blue sky was now becoming duller and grey as the clouds gathered for a possible light rain for the evening.

“A little off track?” She repeated his words as she looked down at a steep hill they were expected to climb down. Valeana turned to him, face wholly unamused, “Aemond, my prince, my friend. We are practically in the Vale.”

Aemond couldn’t help but laugh, at both the overstatement and the look on her face. “We are still in the Red Keep, Val. We can walk in any direction, and eventually we will find a castle wall.”

“And what will we do when we find the wall, Aem? Grow wings and fly over it? Will you launch me over it like a scorpion or katapult?”

It was difficult to wipe the smile from his face, but he managed to suppress the chuckle. Instead, he started to scale down the hill, then waved for her to follow, “C’mon, if we go down here, it will save us time…”

When he didn’t feel her presence next to him, he turned sharply to see her looking down the hill with a visible frown and worry in her eyes.

“Aemond, that’s too steep, I’ll … I’ll go around. I’ll meet you there.”

“Nonsense,” He shook his head and extended his hand, “Take my hand, and you’ll be fine.”

“But what if I fall–”

“You won't,” He gave her a reassuring smile, and flexed his fingers to encourage her to take his hand. “I won’t let you fall, ever.”

She looked at him skeptically, “Well, you can’t say ever–”

“Valeana!”

With a huff, she took his hand, “Fine.”

It took time, but the two managed to scale the steep hill with only a few close calls. When they made it to the bottom, Valeana heaved a long sigh of exhaustion and victory.

“See? It was not so bad,” Aemond watched in mild amusement as she bent, hand on her knee – the other still in his – as she tried to catch her breath.

She sent him a withering glare, “Oh, yes, string bean. Piece of pigeon pie.” Valeana straightened up, brushing the wrinkles of her dress – of all the good that’ll do – and looked about where they ended up. She could vaguely see the white spidery branches of the Heart Tree and its blood red leaves in the distance.

“We’re almost there,” he confirmed her speculation, but there is still a great distance, even if they could see their destination from there.

“Uh huh,” her voice dripped with sarcasm. “Now we just need to survive an impending storm, and wolves and bears and hellhounds–”

“Hellhounds?” He snorted, “What do you think we keep in here, Valeana?”

“My imagination is wild,” She replied with a sigh. They started to walk onward, towards the direction of the weirwood tree. “It is especially vivid when I’m afraid.”

Aemond still had her hand in his. With her confession, he gave it a little squeeze, “I’ll protect you, Val. From whatever beasts that lurk around us.”

She raised her eyebrows at him, “And what of the beasts that lurk in my mind? Would you protect me from those as well, Aemond?”

His grip on her hand tightened, “Even those. Especially those.”

T H E G R E E N S

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Another regrettable, regrettable mistake.

But Aemond doesn’t make mistakes. Not anymore. And yet there he was, staring at his hand like it was a foreign appendage; like it had moved on its own accord.

When he entered the library, he was tightly wound up after the bath. It had the complete opposite desired effect, and he blamed his cock for that. He was no better than Aegon in that regard, allowing depraved fantasies to weaken his will of mind. He wagered the celibate Cole didn’t have any words of wisdom for him to keep his loins protected from his own sinful thoughts, did he?

Aemond convinced himself that in the throes of lust, his mind simply grasped at the first faces that came to mind. Much like the dreams of his own mother and step sister he used to have – those, he was sure, meant absolutely nothing. And what happened in the bath was exactly the same. It meant nothing.

Aside from the comfort of his own bedchamber, or on the back of Vhagar amidst clouds and sky, the library was his place of peace. In the dead of night, no one was there, not even the overseeing Maester. However, when he entered and saw that his sanctuary had already been breached by none other than the object of his ire, Aemond bristled like an overstimulated cat.

He didn’t realize how tightly strung up he was until it became hindsight.

The heat of her hand, even through the fabric of his tunic, felt like hot iron. His body reacted impulsively, instinctually, and out of survival, like she was an enemy approaching from behind. Aemond immediately realized his mistake when his hands felt soft skin, familiar to him like a forgotten memory.

He froze, embarrassingly. Standing, staring at his hand as if it was not his, and before he finally registered what he had done, it was too late.

“Valeana–”

Aemond barely saw her in his panicked tunnelled vision. He saw the flurry of her robes and nightgown fall over her knees as she got to her feet, and a glimpse of the furrow on her brow just before she turned away and fled the library. He found himself taking strides toward her, but he stopped midway.

This is for the best, a voice of reason told him. It sounded a lot like Ser Criston. Was this his mind protecting his heart? If it was, then why did it feel like he had stabbed it himself?

He turned back to the book of his ancestors propped on the pedestal, and then back to the door. Remaining here would be easy, and probably the smartest thing he could do. But then came a second voice, more nagging the first, and it came to him in the form of his mother.

She is a lady in distress, Aemond. It is not safe.

He shut his eye and sighed heavily through his flared nose. If Alicent learned of what he had done, and then allowed Valeana to run out of the Library during the hour of the owl, she would whip him herself.

In the end, and as always, his mother won his eternal struggles. With stiff strides, he left the comfort of the library and stepped into the corridor, only to find it void of life. Looking left and right, and then ahead of him, he could hear nor see a living soul. Hedging his bets, he decided to walk ahead, and after a few strides he saw something on the ground: a woman’s red slipper.

Aemond bent to snatch it up and examine it. He didn’t get a good look at her feet when she had pushed herself off the ground, but he doubted many women would leave their footwear behind unless they were running away. At least he knew now that he was on the right track.

His steps became a little faster, though as he continued on for another minute or two, he realized he was getting closer to the apartments. When he reached the grand door that led to the wing he shared with his siblings, he paused to face the two knights guarding it.

“Have you seen the Celtigar girl in these halls?”

The two men exchanged a look, one Aemond immediately caught with suspicion. He gritted his jaw and took a step towards them, “Where is she?”

The knight bit his bottom lip before speaking, “We were told–”

Aemond pushed passed through them into the doors. The vestibule between each private quarters was grand, giving room for a dining table, and a lounge in the balcony that faced the small courtyard. Aegon’s quarters were on the far left, to which he confidently strode to, sweeping through his solar until he got to his brother’s bedchamber door. That is when he stopped himself.

He could hear heavy breathing through the wood, coupled by soft moaning and groaning. Then he heard his damnable brother’s voice:

“That’s it, Val, keep going.”

That was it.

That was when winter claimed Aemond’s heart, and turned his blood into rivers of ice.

Note: I know you're wondering.... "Celt... this looks like an Aegon x ofc in disguise." I promise you it isn't. I am a slow burn novella writer. SIT TIGHT, BESTIES, IT'S GONNA BE A BUMPY RIDE.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel

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