#fucking. not human by elegant slims too why not

[targentis]

dearest followers this is very important. does anyone have songs that remind them of the dynamic between descole and bronev. i need them. at once.

[topsyturvy-turtely]

He really just needed a kiss...

John hated it. He utterly and truly hated it. He despised himself for it. It was going on his nerves. In fact it annoyed the fucking SHIT out of him.

That stupid, always present, torturing urge to be kissed.

It was plain out ridiculous. But he couldn't help it. He wanted- needed that kind of body contact. Where one was taller, the other smaller. Where one was the bold and made the decisive move. Where your heart stops and your breath catches and-

John put the tea pot down with too much force so the china chinked. He grabbed the newspaper off the table with an emphasis that really wasn't necessary and he walked over to his armchair with a frown on his face and heaviness in his steps.

He dropped into the chair and scowled at the news. He felt like a teenager, which dropped his mood even more.

"You're annoyed.", his flatmate Sherlock, eyes closed hands steepled under his chin, his legs half up half down, stated. And it made John even more grumpy. Because look at this arsehole! With his damn hair and annoying face and stupid athletic body he wouldn't struggle AT ALL finding someone to kiss him. Not that he would care for such mundane things.

"Yes.", there was no point in denying it, John decided but hid his face behind the newspaper again.

"Why?"

Behind the safety of the newspaper John rolled his eyes. "I just am."

Sherlock opened his eyes and leaned forward, "That's ridiculous every human emotion has its origin in a deeper-"

"Oh for fuck's sake. You of all people lecturing me about human emotions is really not a to-do-thing for today, okay?!"

Sherlock sat up and John - even behind the paper - felt his studying gaze on him and the irritation inside him flamed up even more. "Stop staring.", he grumbled

Sherlock tilted his head - eyes still fixed on his flatmate. He leaned forward, pushing the newspaper down and the sudden proximity made John uneasy.

"Ever heard of personal space?"

"Of course.", Sherlock said and invaded John's.

"Then why are you in mine?"

"Because you want it."

"I want- what?"

"You wanna be close to someone.", Sherlock said, both hands on either side of his armchair now.

"No", John awkwardly fixed his sitting position. "I think I am good. Go back to your seat, Sherlo-"

But then Sherlock's lips were on his and John froze. It was just a hint of a kiss. It was nothing really. He could back off and then they could just-

He put his hand on the back of Sherlock's neck and his hand barely touched his side. He hesitantly kissed him back and then Sherlock's lips pecked John's lightly. Sherlock opened his mouth and John sucked on the other man's lower lip. John (or more his libido) decided he'd go a bit further and used his teeth to tease. When Sherlock gasped, John pulled back quickly.

"Oh. Wow. I didn't- didn't expect to happen.", he said, Sherlock still hovering above him. His eyes were fluttering open and then stared into John's. There was something in his gaze that made John wanna hug him tight.

Sherlock straightened up and fixed his perfectly cuffed cuffs on his shirt. That heated look was completely gone. There was no evidence of what had just happened, except ,maybe, that John's trousers were a tad bit tighter than before.

Still uselessly fumbling with his cuffs (with elegant, slim fingers), Sherlock finally looked up. And with his look came a wall, being built brick by brick between them. "You needed stimulation. I gave you that. I hope you feel better now.", Sherlock said matter-of-factly, finally letting his cuffs alone, rolling his shoulders once. With four long strides he was at the hook with his belstaff, put it on with one swift movement and opened the door. "I'll be out. No need to wait up."

And John was being left behind. Completely stunned. He still felt lips on his own, still felt breath creeping over his jaw, still saw a heated look that John felt like had burnt him.

With a deep breath he heaved himself up, the newspaper forgotten on John's lap, flew to the floor. John needed tea. While the water boiled, John thought about what Sherlock had said. That he had offered him stimulation and that he hoped John felt better now. And he did, definitely, feel better but there was a tuck inside him that made him frown.

John grabbed a mug and put it down roughly. Then he remembered he already had made tea. He had completely forgotten about that. John stared at his mug and blinked. "Oh, I am so. fucked.", he realized and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Because John wanted to kiss his flat mate again.

[THIS DEVELOPED INTO AN ACTUAL FANFICTION READ IT ON AO3]

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[notes and tags under the cut]

hey there!! sorry i haven't uploaded anything in so long i was sooo stuck with my otp challenge. literally couldn't think of ANYTHING. but i have an idea now. just need to write it now. in the meantime... have this!

tag list! (tell me if you wanna be added/removed or if i forgot you!) @catlock-holmes @justanobsessedpan @helloliriels @boredsushi @fluffbyday-smutbynight @inevitably-johnlocked @hisfavouritejumper @rhasima @forfucksakejohn @ohlooktheresabee @turbulenttrouble @7arantellgrrl @ssmeowl123 @so-youre-unattached-like-me @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear @train-mossman @loki-lock @smulderscobie @timberva @grace-in-the-wilderness @chinike @pansherlock @the-smol-bean-libby-blog @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @musingsofmyown @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @toobluebrunette @francj15

[jd-loves-fiction]

hi bub !! ❤️❤️ you OK ?? you well ?? i saw that the event are finally , finally - FINALLY opened & i literally screeched , lol . & it's in the middle of the evening rn , i - regarding the event , though , will it be OK if i request an izana + forbidden love + angst ??? ❤️❤️

take all the time you need & congratulations on opening the event !! 🎊❤️❤️

🦊 hello darling! I’m ok, just getting used to college🙃 but i’m so glad you were so excited about this :)) hope you enjoy this❤

◈ A very bad day (or is it?) ◈

◈ genre: angst, fluff

◈ pairing: Izana x fem!reader

The fox boy from the apartment next door intrigues you. Though he's no boy, he's a man, slim, elegant but strong. You'd seen it when he managed to move all his stuff in all on his own in only a day.

And he's unfairly beautiful. Large white ears perched upon his fluffy hair twitching at every sound, contrasting wonderfully against his tan skin. His violet eyes only serve to make him look even more dreamy. And those plump lips that often like to pull into a devious smile.

Oh, how you wish you could feel them yourself.

But you mustn't. Who says so? Society. That's why no one ever talks to him, besides you when no one is around. Because of fear of being shunned for it.

Not just that, there's also the small detail that marriage between humans and hybrids is forbidden by law due to lack of research on the consequences. Research that hasn't made progress in years, probably because the scientists in charge of it have so far been much too focused on studying hybrids as if they're fully animals and not half-human, with our same, prized, intelligence and most of the same features. You have little hope that things change in the near future.

And so, you’ve kept your distance, or tried. The man is much too charming for him own good, holding the door for you, helping you with heavy groceries and the like, acting like an absolute gentleman for reasons unknown to you, all with the most beautiful smile. It’s all been a little hard to handle.

But basic empathy implies just that and nothing more, right? You simply find him attractive and appreciate his endless sympathy, right?

At least that's what you thought until a certain very rainy day.

It had started off bad enough that you had hoped and prayed that it wouldn’t get any worse, to no avail. You woke up late to find a wall of clouds over the blue sky, which you didn’t expect. But the fact that you were rushing to get to work made you forgetful, so you unknowingly left not only an umbrella behind but also your keys, which fell from your bag without you noticing.

The public transport delayed your arrival even further and with that anxiety you remained unaware of your missing keys. Due to this you were late to work, but so were most of your coworkers so your boss let you off easy.

The next problem makes itself known after work, when you arrive home only to realize your keys are nowhere to be found, "Oh, for fuck's sake!"

Your exclamation caught the attention of your handsome neighbor, who steps out of his apartment to see what the commotion was, only to see you with your head in your hands while trying to even out your breathing in order to remain calm and not burst into tears.

"Hey, do you need help? What's wrong?" Izana, he'd introduced himself as the first time you actually talked, asks sympathetically while slowly edging closer to your trembling form as to not startle you.

"Huh? No, it's fine." You try to brush it off, hiding your troubled expression from his kind violet orbs.

"Fine? You're soaking wet, you'll be sick if you don't warm up soon." He replies sternly, "If you can't get into your apartment, you can shower at mine while I call the landlord to open your door."

Tired, frustrated and very much defeated, you nod and follow the man to his house wordlessly.

Inside, it's warm and colorful, with shades of red and violet everywhere in a way that should look gaudy but surprisingly doesn't.

He rushes to get you some clothes before showing you to the bathroom so you can take a warm shower, leaving with an awkward nod and what seems to be a blush on his dark cheeks.

Standing in what is basically a stranger's bathroom, you think about your situation. What the hell.

This? After so long of subconsciously keeping your feelings hidden and subdued? If this isn't some sort of sign, you know what would be one.

What this 'sign' means though, you have no clue.

Should you go against the grain and make a move like your heart wants to do desperately? Or run out the door, hoping this is all just a bad dream?

"Everything alright?" Izana calls out from beyond the bathroom door, soft and concerned but loud enough to be heard and make you jump about half a foot in the air from the sheer shock, "Y-Yes!" you stutter back.

After hurriedly getting ready, you come out to the living room to find your host sat on the couch. His white ears flick as your footsteps come to stop close by him before his violet eyes fall on your form, clad in his large shirt, hair wet and face flushed from the heat.

You've just said something to him - he can see your lips moving - but he just can't seem to hear it over his own heart beating like a drum, "Sorry, what?"

"Thank you and... Sorry for bothering. Have you gotten any news yet?" You shuffle nervously under his intense, wide-eyed gaze.

He blinks for a moment, "Oh, you're welcome. And he just told me he's stuck in traffic, might take a bit."

You sigh, hand on your forehead as you feel a migraine forming. This is too much for just one day.

Izana, seemingly always observant, gets up from his seat, offering you a blanket, "I'll make some tea." You have no other option but to accept it and sit on the couch as he works.

You space out as he does, thinking about everything and nothing in particular, before he places a warm cup of chamomile tea before your eyes.

"So, some guy stood you up?" Izana tries after a few moments of silence, hoping that he's wrong or else he might not be able to handle the jealously and protectiveness he knows he'll feel even though he really shouldn't.

"What? No, no. Just a really bad day." You sigh, tracing the flowers painted on the side of the dainty cup. Not what you'd expect for a guy like Izana, hair tied away from his face, tattoos showing just beneath his shirt, more piercings than you can count. Must've been a gift.

He gives you that look that says 'hit me with it', and you give in easily, talking about the awful day you've had, stumbling over your words because it sounds silly or entitled, feeling shy beneath his focused gaze. But he just nods serenely, urging you to continue, making silly remarks throughout to see you smile against the edge of your teacup.

It's nice, peaceful. So much so that you barely notice the time go by until a ringing phone cuts through the pleasant atmosphere like a burning knife. The landlord.

Realization hits you. What am I doing?

This is dangerous. This familiarity is dangerous, considering the feelings that were already there before that.

This is close to forbidden, if not completely so by cultural standards.

But he's so... Everything. Everything you've ever dreamed of. He's nothing like the media have led you to believe his kind to be - shallow, emotionless, cunning - sure, he's mischievous just like they said, but it worked to make you feel better so how's that a bad thing?

Izana gives you a smile and tells you that the landlord can open your door now before guiding you to the door and handing you a bag with your clothes. You step outside his apartment and you can the landlord, twirling a key around, no doubt he can hear you. But the day has been so bad that you decide, fuck it, you should do something nice for yourself.

"We should- hmm, do this again s-some time." Your voice fades out at the end as you notice the eyes that are now on you - the landlord, the noisy neighbors through the peephole and most importantly, the pair of violet ones you've been staring deeply into, the whole night.

"Hang out?" The owner of the gem-like orbs asks hopefully, grinning widely when you nod shyly. "Of course! Better get those expectations high because I'm gonna blow you away."

You giggle at his enthusiasm and whisper a few words or appreciation and encouragement before moving towards your apartment, uncaring of the now shocked gazes that follow. All while Izana's fluffy white tail can't stop wagging about.

[lubdubsworld]

Desire.

CEO ! Jung Hoseok x  Married ! OC 

Summary : Tall Handsome CEO Hobi meets dainty delicate country girl, Elena and falls head over heels. Too bad she’s already taken. 

Genre : Infidelity, Morally ambiguous characters. 

Chapter 1

On Fridays, Jung Hoseok liked to unwind. 

After a whole entire week of heading Gwihan Inc., going over proposals, signing off on acquisitions and baby sitting his two younger siblings who were just entering the company business, Jung Hoseok liked to relax on Friday evenings, usually with a glass of wine, maybe some good food from the Chinese restaurant down the street and occasionally with some company of the feminine variety. 

As the CEO of one of the largest conglomerates in the country, Hoseok was pretty much a household name in Seoul. Not just because of his dashing good looks and his staggering business acumen, but also because of the incredibly humble, down to earth persona that he wore . 

Never in the history of Korea, had there been a more approachable and friendly multi billionaire Chaebol prince : the very personification of generosity and kindness. 

At the young age of 34, Jung Hoseok charmed reporters and celebrities and his fellow businessmen with alacrity . 

Affectionately nicknamed the Sunshine CEO, Hoseok’s dimpled smile was a staple and he was well known for being fair and even tempered, the first to extend his hand in friendship to anyone. 

Which was a wonderful reputation to carry of course but it also made people forget that for all his sunny disposition, Jung Hoseok was still very much human. 

And he did not build his company ( once on the verge of bankruptcy because of his unscrupulous father ) from scratch, by being a pushover. Which meant that Hoseok had to balance being a good guy and a firm guy and sometimes it was such a fucking pain in his ass. 

“Hyung, come on....it’s just for a few hours. It’s fun.... “ Kim Taehyung could whine like no other. Korea’s top model, Taehyung or V as he liked to be called had a deep voice which could also do a full 180, making Hoseok’s ears ring, when the younger wasn’t getting his way. 

Like right now.

“Tae, i’m so fucking tired, i need a drink and a shower and I’m crashing into my bed. I am  not  bar hopping with you morons. I’m too old for that shit. “ Hoseok groaned, watching Taehyung and his photographer husband slur and sway after one drink too many. It was already a little past eleven in the night and he had every intention of sleeping for the next thirteen hours at the least. 

“Awww hyung...its not a bar...it’s a strip club ... Come on , hyung live a little. “ Jeon Jungkook was adorable,  like a bunny,  but also a brat that never took no for an answer. Together , the couple were pretty much indestructible. 

Too tired to argue with the two of them, he groaned .

It was going to be a long, long night. 

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

The club was called Desire, nothing like the posh high end places Hoseok was used to. It wasn’t a dump or anything but the decor, the furnishings and the clientele all screamed middle class, which wasn’t Hoseok’s usual scene. 

At all. 

But apparently, Jungkook had stumbled on someone here during one of his photography stints. 

A dancer called the ‘ White Dove’. 

The White Dove was apparently, one of the most sought after dancers in the club, because she only performed twice a month. She didn’t do it for the money, no one knew why she did it. But according to Jungkook, she was the most sensuously arousing woman he had ever seen in his entire life. 

 she moves like water, Hyung, fluid and transient. ...like the laws of physics don’t apply to her body, it’s like magic. 

Which was high praise, coming from a gay man. 

A gay man who had actually majored in dance in college. 

And even Taehyung hadn’t even looked all that bothered, watching his husband sing praises about someone else’s body .

“Would love to have both of them in my bed at the same time hyung, how do i make that happen?” He’d asked, glassy eyed. 

Hoseok had gagged, elbowed him in the ribs and moved away. 

But his dongsaengs could be pretty darn insistent and so here he was, on a friday night, half asleep from exhaustion, stumbling behind Jungkook and Taehyung as they led him to a private room, at the back of the club. 

The room was wide, shaped like a semi circle, with an elevated stage up front. Just a couple of feet away from the stage, three sofas lines the curved edges of the wall. 

Taehyung and Jungkook lay wrapped around each other in the first one, closest to the door and Hoseok did not want to see them touching each other so he skipped the middle sofa, choosing to recline on the sofa in the farthest corner.

 A very dim light hung right over his head , offering very little by way of illumination but he supposed that was the point. The dancer would be distracted by a well lit audience. 

And while he had been quite opposed to the idea when the evening began, Hoseok couldn’t help but admit , that seated on the cheap maroon sofa, with tacky vinyl upholstery, in a dimly lit room, he couldn’t help but be intrigued.

Who  was  this woman?

“Hyung, you’ll love her!! She’s totally your type!” Jungkook called out excitedly . 

Hoseok threw an amused look at the pair, shaking his head before turning around to stare at the stage again. The lights in the low lying ceiling dimmed, the one on the stage turning on gradually and to his surprise, he felt his breath catch when the stage curtain moved, gentle ripples on the satin surface. 

Music began pouring in, smooth and sensual and intrigued and then a voice followed , feminine and soft.

“Good evening. I’m Elena .... or as they call me, the White Dove. Thank you for letting me entertain you tonight.” 

She sounded absolutely delectable and Hoseok felt his eyes widen, lips parting in shock at the voice.

Soft and sweet, dainty and almost elegant. 

Low and submissive, like she wanted nothing more than to make him happy. 

Like honey in his ears. 

It sounded so out of place , in this cheap dingy strip club. 

She sounded like a fucking princess. 

And then the curtains parted, revealing a petite, svelte figure.

 Hoseok sat up straighter, eyes wide as he stared at her. 

She wore a mask, covering the upper part of her face and leaving only her lush, plump lips on display. They were an alluring red, bright and radiant in the golden light. She was dressed in a small robe, full sleeved and falling to her knees , showing off her slim, curvy legs and her skin was honey tinted, smooth to his gaze. 

Hoseok swallowed and as he watched, she threw a smile, soft and gentle and absolutely serene. 

It was the smile that did it for him.

Innocent and altogether lovely, like the kind of smile you would give someone you had loved for a hundred thousand years and he felt himself aching for it, wanting more of that gentle voice, more of that dazzling smile. 

As he watched she stepped fully into the center, the light bathing her in gold as she lightly gripped the pole and stepped forwards fully, lips parted in a smile as she bowed. 

Hoseok had sat through enough strip shows to know that this was different. Elena took small, hesitant steps into the light, tugging on the belt around her waist, the short velvet robe sliding off her shoulder gently. 

Hoseok’s throat went dry when he saw what she was dressed in : A ruby red lingerie set, with satin bows along her neckline, applique orchids all across her torso , the hem of her dress stopping just an inch below her waist, revealing satin bikinis that hugged her ass so tight his finger itched . 

He wanted to touch so bad. 

She grabbed the fabric of the robe  and instead of tossing it away, she folded it, moving to place it on a chair in the corner of the stage, gently before tossing another smile, this time apologetic. 

“I’m sorry, i need to wear this again and I don’t want it to get dirty...” She giggled then , her voice like the tinkling of a bell and Hoseok was so gone , he couldn’t think straight anymore. 

He gripped the edge of the sofa, the last vestiges of sleep leaving his head. 

And then the music began, low and soothing and seductive and she began to move. 

Elena was a phenomenal dancer, that much was obvious in just the first minute. She moved easily, and perfectly, her long legs wrapping around the pole with ease, her hands gripping it with ease but it was her gaze that drew him in....

She clearly thought Tae and Jungkook were the only ones in the audience so she kept her gaze on them, hadn’t seen him at all and she looked at them with eyes that begged for approval. She smiled often, threw her hair back and jerked her shoulders in question, asking unsubtly if they liked it, and Jungkook and Taehyung responded with enthusiasm, cheerful shouts of “ so gorgeous, beautiful sweetheart....” filling the room.

Hoseok leaned back against the couch, his breath leaving him in a harsh exhale. 

This wasn’t the kind of woman he had been expecting.

 He had been prepared, for brash and bold and seductive and sensuous. A woman who knew how to use her body to get what she wanted.... The only kind of woman he had ever met in his entire life. 

But Elena.... 

She looked so desperate to please, so desperate to be good and it was evident in her eyes, the thirst for praise , for approval. She wanted to be good and she wanted someone to tell her that.... to tell her hat she was beautiful, that she was perfect , that she was absolutely scintillating and Hoseok wanted nothing more than to be that someone. 

To be the person who rained kissed all over her body, gentle touches all over her as he breathed praise into her ears, told her how perfect she was, how enchanting and how unreal she was. 

How she was the kind of woman he would never ever tire of......

The kind of woman who deserved to be worshipped on the satin sheets of his king sized bed. .

And he would. This wasn’t going to end like this, he thought , his heart pounding. It couldn’t. 

He felt his heart pound as the performance ended, as she stepped back into the limelight and bowed, all sweet smiles and gentle gratitude. 

Taehyung and Jungkook jumped to their feet applauding cheerfully and she laughed. 

“Thank you for coming today. I hope you enjoyed my little dance. I would love to see you again. “ She smiled, cheerful and bright. 

She finally turned to his side of the room, eyes widening when he finally pushed away from the shadows, moving into the pool of light in the middle of the room.

“You were absolutely gorgeous sweetheart.” He said gently.

Her eyes went wide, lips parting in surprise and e watched her eyes travel up and down his torso, catching on the lean width of his waist, tongue peeking out to lick her lips as her eyes stayed glued to the front of his crotch, where his rock hard dick was probably very poorly concealed. 

“You’re the one to blame for that, princess.” He said with smirk and her eyes jumped to his, a blush blooming on her cheeks so fast that it made his head swim. 

Fuck. 

Fuck she was gorgeous. 

He glanced at his friends, both of who were looking between him and the dancer with knowing looks. 

“Dinners on me tomorrow if you two leave right now.” Hoseok said softly. 

Laughing, the pair waved good bye, closing the door behind them. 

Elena stood on the stage, still staring at him like he was a full course meal and he moved back to the middle sofa, lowering himself down before spreading his legs and patting his thighs. 

“How much for a private....conversation?” He asked quietly.

She hesitated.

“I.. i need to ask the manager.” She said hesitantly. 

Hoseok felt a grin creeping up his face.

He pulled his phone out and dialed quickly. Less than a minute later, the manager stumbled in, bowing almost ninety degrees. 

“Mr. Jung.. you called?” The man was breathless.

“Elena and I are going to be occupied for the next hour or so.... I don’t want us to be disturbed.” 

The manager looked very surprised, glancing at her with wide eyes. 

“You want to... ?” He asked quickly and Elena blushed. Hoseok was oddly impressed that he had asked for her consent. Well at least this place wasn't as sleazy as it looked.  

“Just a conversation.” She whispered. Hoseok felt his eyebrow raise in surprise. 

Wait, did she really think he wanted a conversation? Had he been too subtle? Was the hard dick and the invitation to sit on his lap not forward enough? 

The man gave her a  confused look but nodded. 

“Of course Mr. Jung. Anything you like.” he bowed again and left , locking the door behind him. Hoseok glanced at her, watching as she slowly climbed down the stairs 

Elena hesitated, before slowly moving to get her robe. 

“Leave that.” He said , a little more sharply than he intended and she startled a little at his tone. 

“Okay.” She whispered, scratching the back of her neck nervously and smiling a little.

“I’m sorry...I don’t usually do this... I... I’m married.” She said with a laugh. 

Hoseok froze .

It felt a little like someone had dumped a whole entire barrel of ice cold water all over his head. 

Of course she was fucking taken. 

Of fucking course.....

He was such a fucking fool....

“Oh..” He croaked, voice breaking and even that single syllable dripped with so much disappointment  that she noticed. 

Her eyes flashed with something and she carefully climbed off the stage, walking up to him. He held his breath as she came closer, standing right between his spread legs. He wanted to touch but he wasn’t sure if he was allowed. 

Her hand rose up and he felt his breath catch when she lightly touched his hair, patting the strands carefully. 

“you have really thick hair.” She giggled. 

“Does you husband know you’re here?” He said softly. 

Her gaze flitted to him. 

“No. “ She said softly. And then she pressed in closer, enough that her knee brushed his thighs and he gripped her waist with both hands, instinctively.

“No?” 

She bit her lips, eyes shifting away from him.

“He doesn’t... understand.” She sighed. 

Intrigued, Hoseok tugged her closer and she tumbled into his lap. He pulled her in till she was seated on his thighs, legs thrown over the couch as she nestled into his chest. 

He gripped her harder and God, she felt like a delicate bird in his hand. His arms stayed firm but inordinately gentle around her, and he swallowed scared to move because he was afraid he would break her . Scared to let go because he was afraid she would fly way. 

“What doesn’t he understand sweetheart?” He prompted. 

She turned to look right at him and he wanted to take that mask off so badly. To see her face in all its glory. 

“That I need this...” She whispered.

“To dance...?” He prompted and she sniffled a little.

“No.” She whispered. And then her eyes met his again, bright and somehow desperate. 

“What then baby? Why are you here?” He asked although he could already suspect it.

“To be desired. “ She smiled that same sweet smile of hers.

And really, not even a saint could resist that breathtaking smile.

And Jung Hoseok was so , so far from a saint. 

She was the one who owed loyalty to the unknown husband. Not him. So he was going to just take what he was being offered. 

He grabbed her chin, tilting her face to kiss her hard, his tongue forcing its way in before she could get her bearings. She didn’t protest, her body going limp in his arms a he looped her arms around his neck. 

He flipped them over , till she was flat on her back on the couch and he was on her, grabbing her thighs and spreading her legs, grinding his clothed erection down into the heated center of her body as he kissed her. 

She whimpered, hands scrambling to clutch at his shoulders. as she kissed him back. And he wondered if she lied, telling him that she was married. There was a world of inexperience in her kiss , absolutely no finesse in the way she spread her legs wider, hips jerking up to chase friction. 

But what she lacked in experience, she more than made up for in enthusiasm.

“Relax baby... We don’t have to rush...” He kissed her again, drawing back to stare at her and she looked a little out of it. 

“Please.. I just... i need...” 

Something about the look on her face made him pause. It was a familiar look. He’d seen this look before. 

Not in the last decade no, but ....that desperate, confused inexperience took him all the way back to his senior year in  high school when the Queen Bee , Kang Sejin had finally agreed to let him fuck her. 

For the first time. 

Hoseok stilled completely, refusing to believe it. 

How old was this girl underneath him? She couldn’t be younger than twenty five. 

“How old are you?” He demanded.

She stopped trying to yank him closer and went still, staring at him and licking her lips. 

“I’m twenty seven.” She said finally and he frowned.

“You’ve done this before right?” He asked stupidly. 

Of course she had...she said she was married for fuck’s sake. 

But her eyes widened and she looked away and oh. 

Oh. 

What the actual fuck....

Hoseok scrambled off her, his head swimming with disbelief. She choked out a sob and sat up, hugging herself and he felt his heart break when he saw the tears swell, spilling over her lashes and God, that pout on her face. 

“Elena.... “ He held his hand out, wanting to touch her again but she scrambled to her feet and backed away. 

“I’m so sorry... i don’t know what I was thinking...” She bowed, her tears flowing freely now. “ Please...forget this ever happened...” 

Hoseok stared at her as she ran up to stage, grabbing her robe and disappearing behind the curtain quickly. 

He stood there, still painfully aroused as he tried to process what he’d just learned. 

A virgin, he thought in sheer disbelief. 

The stripper I nearly fucked right now is a fucking virgin. 

His legs stopped working as he collapsed on the sofa. 

So much for unwinding on a Friday. 

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

“Listen, I know this is dumb but you really need to stop bringing this up so often.” My husband gave me an annoyed glare, his handsome face scrunched in impatience as he stuffed a couple of files into his leather briefcase. 

“Why ? We’re married... we’ve been married for four months now!! Why won’t you touch me?! “ i demanded, exhausted and tired and so guilty. 

Guilty because I’d come so close to cheating on him. 

“Because i don’t get a hard on when i look at you. Because I never wanted to fucking marry you in the first place.!!” He snarled and i bit my lips feeling my heart hurt at the familiar words, the pang still just as painful as the first time he’d said those words to me. 

“But you did...” I reminded him, following him to the door. He growled, throwing the shoe closet open and grabbing his work shoes. 

“Elena... I’m not in the mood for this.” He said sternly.” I’m running late and Hoseok ssi’s supposed to be inspecting our department today. Do you have any idea what an important man he is? I need this meeting to be perfect if I want to get that promotion.... I can’t let anything distract me.” 

“I’m your wife...not a distraction!!” I protested. 

He ignored me, tying his laces and giving me one last look of loathing. 

“if this doesn’t work for you, call your fucking parents and go back to that no good village of yours. We’ll get a fucking divorce and I’ll stop paying for your parents Hospital bills and then we’ll see how you survive.” 

I stared at him, hurt and upset. 

“Yesung...”

“I need to go. “ He stormed out of the house, slamming the door shut behind him. 

I let out a shaky breath, my hands trembling as I tried to get my bearings. It was so hard, doing this. Waking up day after day to cater to his every need and i wondered if it had even been worth it, agreeing to marry him just for the chance to pay for my parents. 

Surely, there could have been another way? 

Why had I agreed? 

My mind flashed to the gorgeous man in the club the previous night. 

 How much for a private conversation.....

 For a second i had been tempted. 

I had actually considered asking him to pay me in return for sex. Maybe if he wanted to do it more than once.... Maybe he could keep me with him. 

And then I could use the money to pay for my parents’ care and i could divorce Yesung. 

Surely that was better than being shunned in your own home? Being made to feel ugly and unappealing. 

I had been so close to doing it last night. So so close and then that man---he had somehow sensed it. Sensed that I hadn’t ever had sex before. 

How embarrassing that had been. He had guessed that I was a virgin and I couldn’t help but wonder how. 

What had i done wrong? i had hugged him, kissed him back and yet he had realized that i had no idea what i was doing or what i wanted. 

How humiliating that had been. 

I bit my lips.

I missed dancing. 

Twice a month in some sleazy club hardly made up for fifteen years of training to be a dancer.  

I missed the ballet school that I had to quit when my dad lost his job.

 I missed Busan. 

I missed my old life so bad. 

Sighing I went back to the kitchen to fix my breakfast when my eyes fell on the packed lunch and i groaned. 

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

Yesung’s company was easily the most luxurious building I’d ever been. Thankfully, I’d dressed well enough, a yellow summer dress with floral prints. I’d left my hair down, even put on makeup. I looked pretty and i wanted nothing more than for my husband to look at me with a little appreciation. 

Yesung was a tall, very handsome man and i had really genuinely liked him when his parents had offered to set us up for  a  seon.

 He had seemed genuinely interested and it was the only reason I’d agreed to marry him. But apparently, his parents had forced him into the whole thing and he felt nothing but deep resentment for me. 

It was so unfair but i wasn’t ready to give up yet. 

I had every intention of winning my husband over. 

The lady at the reception gave me a visitor’s Id and told me where I could find my husband and I quickly walked over to elevators, nervous because I was the only one in flashy summer colors, all the employees dressed in muted tones of brown and grey. Flushing, I kept my head low as the elevator climbed all the way to the seventeenth floor. When I stepped out of the elevator, I caught sight of Yesung at once. He was talking to a tall man, who had his back towards me . 

“Yesung!! “ i called out brightly. “ You forgot your lunch!!” I held the bag up and my husband’s eyes snapped to me widening in surprise. 

I smiled and kept walking until the man talking to my husband turned around. 

My smile froze on my face, my brain processing the very familiar features. 

I stopped walking , my legs stalling . 

No. 

Oh, God no.

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

“Yesung!  You forgot your lunch!!” 

Hoseok felt his entire heart turn over in his ribcage at the sound of  that  voice. 

No.. No way...it couldn’t  be.

 He turned around, stunned and his eyes caught a flash of lovely yellow, bright and incandescent in the dreary dullness of the office and oh god, it was her. 

It was Elena. 

She looked like sunshine.... Like one of those yellow tulips you saw in wall papers. Fresh and beautiful and even more breathtaking in the bright light of day and Hoseok felt like his brain had been fried. 

She had seen him too and the look on her face said it all. 

Guilt and horror flashed in rapid succession and those lips....those cherry red lips he’d tasted three days ago....they parted in shock. 

Hoseok felt his mouth go dry as she went completely still. 

“I’m so sorry sir... I don’t know why she came here!!” Kang Yesung’s voice drew him to the present and he frowned, watching as the man stalked over to her. His fists clenched as he saw the man grip her arm, hard. 

Elena winced, looking hurt and something in Hoseok just snapped.

Completely forgetting where he was , who he was.... he stalked over , hands coming up to shove Yesung hard. The man, completely taken by surprise, stumbled and fell , crashing into the filling cabinets with a loud noise. 

Everyone in the office went still, staring at him in sheer disbelief 

And he knew exactly what they were thinking?

Did the Sunshine  CEO just physically assault an employee? Was the world ending? 

Hoseok stared at Elena.

“Are you alright? “ He whispered. 

She was gawking at him, but also rubbing the skin where Yesung had grabbed her and before he could stop himself, he was reaching for her arm, brushing her own fingers away and stroking the skin with his. 

“That looks like its going to bruise.” He whispered. 

He whirled to glare at Yesung, who had pulled himself together and was now staring between Hoseok and Elena, shock written all over his features.

“Is this your code of conduct when it comes to women, Mr. Kang?” His voice came out loud and angry , almost a furious snarl. 

Yesung turned an ugly shade of red. 

“She’s my wife sir. She ...she knows she can’t visit me ...” Yesung was gaping at him. 

“So you’re going to assault her?” He demanded. 

Yesung closed his mouth quickly. 

“Are you alright, El-” He stopped himself , “ Mrs Kang.” 

She was looking at the floor.

“Yes , sir.” Her voice shook and he could see her hands trembling. The urge to draw her into his arms was so overwhelming he had to clench his fists to stop himself. 

“Jungkook! “ He called for his assistant. “ Please drop Mrs. Kang back home. Make sure she doesn’t need anything else.” 

Jungkook bowed and smiled wide at her.

“Please, this way, Mrs. Kang.” 

Hoseok stared at her and she glanced at him, one small fleeting glance heavy with guilt and confusion and worry. 

He closed his eyes, trying to get his palpitating heart under control.

Oh, God he was in so much trouble. 

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

Also please give this fic a lot of love!!!!! My baby never gets the love he deserves!!! 

author’s Note : 

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!

i LOVE jUNG hOSEOK. 

THAT’S IT THAT’S THE TEA. 

Feedback is how you repay me so don’t be shy <3 

[chokemeanakin]

Give Me Love

Chapter Ten

Wc: 2.7k

MASTERLIST

“Master,” Anakin faltered on his way to the piloting chair. His eyes lingered on you for a long moment, unreadable. “I was wondering where you’d run off to after Grievous fled. Looks like you’ve earned yourself another vacation.”

Grievous had thrown him off a building? You’d heard legends about how awful the part-human mostly-droid General was, but you’d never been at the same battle as him before. A small part of you wished to see if the stories people told about him were true-- if he really was the feared Jedi-killer he was known for being all across the galaxy.

“That won’t be necessary this time,” Kenobi was thankful for the banter. It gave him an excuse to get his mind off the searing pain in his arm. “Thankfully, I have Y/n here to fix me up good as new.”

“You’re right. She is extremely capable, isn’t she?”

His eyes twinkled, just slightly so that only you could catch it. You smiled, chest blooming with warmth as your fears were all washed away. Things weren’t different because he’d been gone for so long. He still cared for you, the same as you cared for him. The war couldn’t change that.

“I would trust no one more with my saber arm,” Kenobi grunted again as you began to wrap gauze around his shoulder, fitting it into a makeshift sling.

“Enough flatter,” you hushed them both, though the smile was evident on your face. “Keep this ice on your shoulder and take it off if it goes numb. And don’t move too much-- we won’t know if you broke a bone until we get you x-rayed.”

You let him take over holding the ice pack to his shoulder, reaching into your medcase for some painkillers. You were scraping the bottom of the bottle, honestly surprised you even had any left to spare.

“Lucky you, you get the last two.”

Kenobi grunted in an attempt to laugh, and swallowed the pills you gave him. After waving off your attempts to get him to lie down somewhere, he stood with a groan and braced himself on the back of Anakin’s piloting chair. He began to heckle him, trying to kick him off so you could have a look at his head.

“What’s wrong with your head?” Your heart stuttered in your chest. You had seen a trickle of blood on his cheek, but that was it.

“It’s nothing,” Anakin growled at Obi-Wan, but gave his seat up anyway so the injured man could sit. He pressed a few more buttons on the piloting interface, putting the ship on autopilot as he stepped away. “Y/n, I’m fine.”

You were already pushing him by the shoulders to sit on the chair Obi-Wan had previously been occupying. He sat with a huff, crossing his arms childishly as you turned his face in your hands.

“See?” he mumbled. “Nothing to worry about.”

His forehead had been gashed open, from the top of his hairline to the tip of his eyebrow. Your blood began to beat thicker in your veins, the panic causing your stomach to knot as you got to work dabbing the blood away with some alcohol cloths. It looked worse than it was-- the cut wasn’t deep enough to require stitches, but it had bled a lot. Head wounds always do.

He winced slightly as you cleaned the wound, the half-second of pain crumpling his face causing your movements to freeze.

“I’m sorry,” you stroked his jaw with your other hand, the one that was holding his face steady. You hoped it would distract him from the sting.

Those blue eyes stared at you the entire time, unperturbed. “It’s okay, really. I’ve had worse.”

You assumed he was right. If this scratch was all he’d come out with after weeks on the battlefield, he was either really lucky or really skilled. You guessed it was both. The evidence of less fortunate encounters rested on his right thigh, clad in a leather-buckled glove. You couldn’t even imagine what that pain had been like.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” you said this quietly, so Obi-Wan wouldn’t hear. Anakin brought his flesh arm up to hold your hand to his face, closing his eyes and relishing in the feel of your soft, smooth skin. He had desperately missed your touch, your voice, those steely eyes and that gentle strength. After so long wishing you were there to curl up beside him in the off chance he got to rest, you were finally here. Now, he was going to be selfish and make up for that lost time.

“We’ll be right back,” Anakin called to Obi-Wan with his eyes still closed, hand still holding your palm against his cheek. “Y/n’s going to come to engineering with me to help repair my arm.”

“Your arm? You mean the metal one? I didn’t know it was damaged.”

“Just a little waterlogged. Shouldn’t take too long… or maybe it will. We’ll see.”

Anakin stood, the tips of his fingers tickling yours. He led you out of the room, through the halls of the cruiser, slipping into an unoccupied resting room and slamming the lock on it.

“If you’re expecting me to know how to help you with your arm, you are very mistaken,” you admitted. “I know nothing about mechanics.”

Anakin blinked at you, and then laughed. That glorious, glorious laugh. His arms fell to his waist, where he unclasped his belt and then discarded it on the desk. His tabards came next, and then the robes underneath. You ogled him as he stripped, a steady flame rising to your cheeks, thawing out the weeks of grey-nothingness.

“Umm.. Anakin.. what are you doing?”

It was suddenly very hard to swallow as his bare middle was exposed to you, rippling with muscle. You wanted to reach out and touch him, but you were frozen in your spot, unable to do anything but stare.

“I’m getting out of these wet clothes so I can properly hold you,” he explained, bending down to dig through the drawers underneath the metal cot. He turned to eye you up and down, shamelessly lingering on every inch of your body. “I suggest you do the same.”

“Huh?” You looked down, seeing the blood stains splattered all over you. “Oh.”

He was pulling a loose-fitting recreational shirt over his head, the same kind that was supplied in all resting rooms for people to wear if they wanted to sleep in something more comfortable. You were still rooted in your spot, forcing yourself to gather enough wits to unzip your field suit.

All you were wearing underneath was a black undersuit, tight enough to leave little to the imagination. It was meant to keep you warm and wick away moisture, not to be seen in by any incredibly sexy Jedi Knights. Your heart hammered in your chest, skin beginning to sweat as his eyes probed into you.

“You need help unzipping?”

“Uh… I got it,” your fingers snapped to your zipper, now that he was watching you, you didn’t want to be a fumbling idiot.

You were glad for when he seemed to become enamored by the state of his clothes, and you knew it was for your sake. Still, it did little to calm the pounding of your heart as the suit dropped to your ankles, every inch of your black-spandex clad body now available to his eyes.

Get it together. Your chest was visibly moving up and down as you fought to control your breathing, almost panting with anxiety. It’s not like you were naked. What a fucking virgin.

He turned from his pile of clothes, those blue eyes making no effort to hide the way they scanned you up and down. All you could do was stand there at his mercy, burning under that stare.

You expected him to frown. To snarl and pull away and tell you to get dressed again. How disgusted, he should be, you thought. How appalled.

You knew you didn’t have the best body. You’d been to enough nightclubs, seen enough people naked in your workstation, watched enough programs on the holonet to know that. You had always wanted to be like Ahsoka and Sabè— they were slim and toned, long and graceful. Their cheeks were sharp, their fingers elegant, and waists tiny. Your thoughts turned to Padme— his past lover— horrifying you further.

You were nothing like her.

That tiny frame, the beautiful face, and the perfect body. She was so smart, so important, and shaped so womanly. You were nothing to compare.

How could he even stand to look at you?

“Okay, I guess I’ll come to you then,” that silky voice teased, and suddenly you were wrapped in a pair of big, strong arms. It took a moment for your breath to return to your lungs before you realized he hadn’t pushed you away, and instead he was clutching you to his body like a starving man.

“I missed you,” he breathed into your ear, cementing this reality. Your body erupted in a flurry of butterflies, warming you from the inside out.

He didn’t care. He didn’t care. He still liked you. He missed you. Even after seeing your body like this.

“I missed you, too,” you returned his words with emotion thickening your voice, bringing your arms up to wrap around him as well. He sighed at the feeling of your arms on his back, melting further into your neck.

“Wanna move this to the bed?”

He did most of the work shuffling your embrace onto the metal cot, lying down and pulling you so that you were on top of him. You were beginning to think you actually just had a heart condition, because it was beating out of rhythm constantly now, your pulse spiking and temperature rising at this new position.

You loved it.

He was hard, and warm, and strong beneath you. You were able to lay your head on his chest, stare at the exposed skin of his neck as he rested his chin on your head. Your legs slotted between his, so long in comparison to yours, while his arms secured you to his body around your back.

You’ve never felt safer in your entire life.

Still… you couldn’t help but wonder. Were you crushing him? Was he uncomfortable? What if he was and he was just too polite to make you get off? These thoughts caused you to tense up in his arms, suddenly rigid with fright.

“What’s wrong?” He caught onto your worries immediately. His hand smoothed up and down your back, hoping to soothe your tense muscles.

Maker, you were sick of being the insecure one in this relationship. You wanted nothing more to lie on the man you adored’s chest. Anyone else could do it. Why couldn’t you?

Relax. You hissed at yourself. Relax relax relax relax relax—

“Am I making you uncomfortable again?” The pieces clicked in his head, and the brush of his hand against your back stopped. “I’m moving too fast, aren’t I? I’m sorry, I should have asked—“

“No.”

You wiggled your body, wordlessly begging him to resume his motions. You clutched tighter to his shoulders, dug your head deeper into chest, even turned to plant a small, lingering kiss to his collarbone.

“You’re fine. I’m fine. We’re okay.”

“Yeah?” The smile was evident in his voice.

“Yes.”

You could never ask someone to make more of an effort to make you feel comfortable around them than Anakin did. And he did it with no price held over your head, no expectations, no pressures. If your timid nature put him off, he never let you see it. Honestly, you were surprised he was still here. Any other guy, you wholeheartedly believed, would be running in the other direction when they realized you couldn’t even hold eye contact with them for longer than 5 seconds.

But this shyness— it was exclusive to Anakin. You wouldn’t be this way with anyone else, and it frustrated you to no end.

The least you could do was prove that his patience was paying off, and take a leap yourself.

You planted your hands on either side of his body, pushing yourself up so that you were hovering right over his face. Your knees followed, holding your weight as you sat yourself onto his lap.

Scandalous, for the amount of clothes you were wearing.

A surge of confidence ran through you at the surprise that crossed his features. His eyes were wide, confused, as you took his face in your hands, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

This was your domain. You had always been the mynx of the group, luring men in and then leaving them cold. You loved the power it gave you, the ability to promise everything and then take it all away. It left them yearning for you, begging for you. And you loved it.

Sabè and Ahsoka were entertained to no end, watching you string along guys all night just to leave them hanging by the end. It was all a game to you, the flirting and teasing and wooing. You loved to feel needed, to feel wanted, but you never actually planned to do anything more with them.

So when the night ended, and you wanted to go home, you would break the game off and leave them feeling cold, and angry, and cheated. That’s when you’d get cussed out by egotistical whiny men, demeaned and degraded until their little hearts felt satisfied. To be fair, you never promised that anything would happen. It was simple flirting. It was completely on them that they expected things to go any further than that.

That’s why when Anakin came around, you felt like you had been run over by a speeder. He was the only one capable of making you feel like a bug next to him. Every moment he had you tripping and stumbling, your heart stuttering out of time, your cheeks burning with bashfulness, you hated yourself. How could you let one man have that kind of effect on you? It was pathetic.

But now, you were determined to get a little part of your old self back. You wanted to feel in control again, to have that power. He was just a man, after all, and most men were the same. You just needed to dangle, and they’d be all over you.

You continued to smooth his bangs away with the tip of your finger, ignoring the adorable look of confusion he had on his face. Actually, he seemed to really be enjoying himself despite not understanding where this was coming from, so much that his eyes were closing and he was thinking about maybe taking a little nap.

With his eyes closed, it was easier to lean your face in further. Your eyes zeroed in on those perfect pink lips, so full and inviting and soft, even after weeks of brutal combat. You wondered how they would feel on your own, how he would respond to you kissing him. You could imagine the way he might sigh and cup your face, pulling you closer and kissing you deeper. Sharp pangs of longing twisted your stomach into knots.

Anakin could feel your soft breath on his lips. His heart thrummed in his chest, fingers tightening on your waist. Were you going to—?

He was ready for it, no matter what it was.

Just as he was sure you were going to press your lips against his, you pulled away, planting a teasing kiss to his cheek instead. With no explanation, you fit your head back onto his shoulder, lying down against his body again.

What was that all about?

He opened his eyes, glancing down to see you resting with your head buried in your neck. You were like a kitten, breathing quickly and softly, a small smile curling your lips.

He dismissed the thoughts to analyze for another time. Right now, his body ached and his head throbbed. Your figure was soft and warm against his, and your calming presence was making his eyelids grow heavy. He decided to take your lead, and followed you off to sleep.

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[seokmingiggles]

transmarinus.

(from beyond the sea)

Prompt: "I like the way your hand fits in mine."

Pairing: Lee Seokmin x female reader

Genre: fluff, slight angst, slow burn, mermaid!au, kinda magical overall(?), probably set in the same universe as Ponyo.

6.03k words

Warnings: some alcohol consumption (everyone is of legal age), swearing, the reader has a phobia of the ocean, allusions to drowning (nothing explicitly mentioned).

Beyond the sea, within the sea—both are places you have no desire to explore. You have lived nearly your whole life with an intense fear of the ocean, yet something about it keeps haunting you.

Alternatively, in which you are afraid of the ocean, yet Seokmin shows you that you no longer have to live in fear.

A/N: I don't have much to say about this little passion project; perhaps that Seokmin is one of my main bias wreckers in Seventeen. In my notes prior to determining a pairing for this fic, I had written: "All three have this kind of magical wonder to them that I want to capture," about my possible choices of a protagonist (you’ll find out the other two contenders later on). I hope I have captured this feeling. Furthermore, there are some loose ends for a possible part two if I feel the desire to continue this au. Enjoy!

The lyrics (bolded) are from Somewhere Beyond the Sea by Bobby Darin.

•• Somewhere beyond the sea,

You've never liked the ocean: the seemingly endless dark depths and rushing currents that could pull you below. No, rephrasing your thoughts—you are afraid of the ocean. Sure, it can be pretty to look at on a calm and sunny summer day, and sure, the sea breeze admittedly feels pleasant brushing through your hair and clothes on occasion, but you refuse to give in to its temptation, to even go near it if you can help it.

Somewhere waiting for me,

It can be lonely sometimes, being the only one of your classmates growing up who refused to go swimming on field trips to the beach nearing the end of the semester. You often found yourself alone and listening to the fun they would be having in the shallow tides: a shimmering, azure blue. You learned to bring things to accompany you when your friends would prefer to enjoy their time swimming. A book and a beach towel resting on the silky sands was often your set-up. Not much has changed since then.

My lover stands on golden sands,

You've become better over the years at handling your fear. When before, you used to hesitate to even step foot onto the sand, now you have become comfortable with the squishing feeling between your toes. However, boats are another story. Your mom once took you on a cruise when you were a child, and honestly, you enjoyed it. Well, for the most part, only until the last night of the tour. Frankly, that's the trip that made you develop your fear of the ocean in the first place. Since then, you've refused to step foot on any watercraft. It's a bit ironic, really. You've grown up on a decently-sized island apart from the mainland—the only way to get across is by a ferry. You're not sure if you'll ever be able to regain your trust with the water.

And watches the ships that go sailin'.

•

"I dare you to go skinny-dipping."

"Oh, hell no. That's a hard pass."

"Really, Gyu? You think she'd do that?"

"You're gross, dude."

"What? Do you want me to go instead?"

"Not really. None of us need to see that."

Being friends with Mingyu, Jungkook, and Hansol—your best friend—is a recipe for no dull moments. You four have a tradition; you'd all take a trip to the Jeon family cabin near the island's peninsula as a way to start your summers. You've all been going for the past few years since your final year of high school, continuing the tradition into your college years.

It's where you find yourselves now, splayed out in drunken messes (some more than others) on the semi-private beach. To your right, there's a small fire pit in the center of your beach chairs. A cold drink is in your left hand to counter the heat in your cheeks from the flames.

"Sorry, (Y/N), I'm an idiot," Mingyu admits after finally realizing what he'd dared you to do. "You don't have to go into the water."

"I wasn't planning on it, but thanks," you reply and take a sip of your drink.

The four of you stare at the fire beginning to diminish. Orange embers glow in the ashes.

Hansol swirls the remains of his beer bottle around. "Why do I suddenly want to go swimming now?"

"Dude, no. It's nearly midnight, and you're drunk," Mingyu retorts, "None of that is a good combination."

The younger boy is about to quip back, but suddenly, a loud splash interrupts his thoughts, heard near the row of rocks separating this property from the next.

The tallest boy stands to try to see the source of the noise, but it's much too dark. "Okay, you're definitely not going swimming now. I don't want to be responsible for your death."

The splashing continues. It isn't as loud as the first time, but it's more constant as if something is struggling by the rocks.

"I'll go check it out," Jungkook puts his bottle down and slips on his sandals, already heading closer to the water.

"Not by yourself, you're not," Hansol is quick to jump to his feet and follow the elder.

You remain seated, and luckily, Mingyu remains at your side too.

•

Somewhere beyond the sea,

Seokmin adores the ocean. Well, he sort of has to since it's been his home for nearly nine decades. He loved playing in the currents with his brothers when he was younger—and now—appreciating how the colour of the water changes the closer he gets to the surface. The ocean makes him feel free. It's like he can go anywhere or see anything. Seokmin can't say he's ever felt love before first-handed, it's not a feeling he can define, but he considers the ocean to be the closest thing that he loves.

She's there watching for me,

He has breached the surface before. It isn't a forbidden action to his people, but it is to be taken carefully; however, there are different rules when you're one of the sons of the merking. There are countless cautionary tales of merfolk who have been spotted by sailors, more on what happens when they get too close to shore. Merpeople are supposed to live for centuries as they slowly age, but most of those tales abruptly cut their lives short. Seokmin feels like the only one who isn't afraid of those stories and wants to see for himself what would happen if he met a land-dweller. He's optimistic that they're not as cruel as the fables portray them to be.

If I could fly like birds on high,

Seokmin is a graceful swimmer. With decades of practice, it's a given talent. He used to struggle when maneuvering through the waves, especially when compared to his two brothers. Yet, with great perseverance and will, Seokmin trained himself to become better. Much stronger and significantly more elegant—he can now soar with ease through the water, quite speedily, too. In his younger days—what would be equivalent to teenagehood in humans—Seokmin would travel for days across the wide ocean, simply feeding his desire to explore.

Then straight to her arms—

Being a part of the royal family means Seokmin is eligible for arranged marriages. Soonyoung, his elder brother coming up on a century old, is already engaged to a beautiful mermaid, Tzuyu; the boy suspects he's next as the second-eldest in their family. Seokmin knows it's to benefit his kingdom, but he also knows that the chance of being in line for the throne is incredibly slim as the second brother. All he wants is to find someone he loves as much as he loves the ocean.

I'd go sailing.

•

"No way," Hansol whispers, breaking the silence between him and Jungkook as they've reached the rocky barrier.

Sure enough, the splashing sound is caused by distress. A boy, looking to be around Hansol's age, is stuck between a few large rocks that have fallen from the wall. It's shallow enough that his torso remains above the surface, but the position looks painful, nonetheless, with one of his arms twisted beneath the collapsed rocks.

"Here," Hansol approaches the stranger slowly, "we can help you."

The boy has a fearful look in his eyes as the human approaches. It's only when Hansol has rolled the legs of his joggers up and is wading into the shallows that he notices the lack of legs the panicking boy has, or rather, the glimmering tail he has instead.

He shrugs off the unusual sight and tries to move the rock, but it's much too large for Hansol to budge by himself, staggering slightly on the uneven ground. He calls Jungkook over to aid him, and the two of them together are able to lift the stone out of the way, freeing the trapped boy.

The stranger slips away and back into the depths before anyone could say anything.

"You saw him too, right?" Hansol asks his friend, pointing out to the vast sea and trying to find some evidence of what was next to him moments ago.

"Yeah," Jungkook is nearly speechless, drying his hands on his shirt.

"He didn't even say thank you."

•

"I fucked up. I fucked up big time!" The youngest brother rants to his siblings upon arriving back to his home safely.

"Alright, Chan, it's time to calm down now-"

"No, Soon, you don't understand! This time was different." Chan continues to ramble, "I would have really been in danger if I was stuck there until morning. The rising sun would suffocate me, no doubt. My precious sixty-one years would be down the drain in an instant!"

“So dramatic,” the eldest chirps. "It's a good thing that those humans found you when they did."

Soonyoung has heard enough of Chan's stories about always venturing off to the shore. He's somewhat jealous. Lately, the eldest has had to spend more time planning for his wedding and preparing to become the next-in-line for the throne. He wishes he could join his brother on an adventure like they used to a couple of decades back.

"Please, Seok, you'll listen to me then, won't you? You're a hopeless romantic."

Seokmin isn't sure if he should be offended by his brother's comment.

"And what if I am?" he asks with his hands fidgeting in his lap. "What does that have to do with this?"

"You're the one who enjoyed exploring the most years ago. I know you've done your share of people-watching before." Chan ponders, then adds more quietly, "Well, and also, the boy who first approached me was kind of cute."

"Oho, does our Channie have a little crush on a human?"

"Great, now you're listening, hyung."

Seokmin sits back and listens to his brothers playfully bantering. He admires them both fondly, sometimes wishing he could be as responsible as Soonyoung, or as free-spirited as Chan. Instead, Seokmin becomes more reserved around his siblings, despite not considering himself to be shy. But the three are well-balanced when they're together.

Noisy, but well-balanced.

"Why do I feel like I need to see him again?" Chan asks Seokmin as they're lying in their shared bedroom. Their older brother has a room to himself, being the next-in-line.

"Maybe you really do like him," Seokmin suggests, not quite knowing what to say. He's never before been enamoured by a particular human, nor any merfolk for that matter. "You're making me curious now. It's been a while since I've seen the surface," he sighs, struggling to remember what dry sand looks like.

"Then you should come with me!" Chan doesn't hesitate to suggest, "I can't guarantee he'll still be there, but it's worth a shot. Right?"

Seokmin hums in thought. As much as he would like to comply with his brother's request, part of him knows how they're not supposed to venture to the surface so freely. Especially with it being so close to Soonyoung's wedding, nothing detrimental should happen to them before the upcoming celebration.

"Besides, I should probably return... this... whatever this is."

Seokmin eyes the strange-looking object with a puzzled expression.

"You know, Chan, it's not very nice to steal things that aren't yours."

•

"Are you sure you checked your suitcase?" you ponder, trying to rack your brain of other locations the missing sandal could have gone. "What about by the hose in the back? Maybe you left it there after rinsing the sand off them."

"No, I've gone through my bags twice already, and I don't think I bothered with the hose last night," Hansol replies. "I have a feeling they're on the beach somewhere. Although, I can't remember if I walked up the path in bare feet or not."

"You were quite drunk, Han."

"Oh, hush. We're on vacation, aren't we?" the boy lifted his eyebrows at the question. "I'm allowed to get drunk. Anyways, will you come with me down to the beach? It's not like my shoe could have walked away on its own," he snickers at his joke, "it's bound to show up somewhere."

You try to ignore the rising uneasiness in your chest. "Do you really need me to go with you?"

"Two sets of eyes are better than one, (Y/N). And I promise I won't let anything bad happen to you. You don't even have to step foot into the water or even go close to it, for that matter."

You sigh and reluctantly agree, slipping on your own pair of sandals for the short walk down to the beach. You know Hansol would have asked one of the other boys to venture with him near the water, but Jungkook and Mingyu had left to get more groceries (and drinks) for tonight, so you were the only option.

"Where did you find the other shoe?" you ask as you scan the area around the fire pit. "Isn't it strange that you only lost one?"

"It was outside the front door. But as you said, (Y/N), I was quite drunk last night."

You giggle at your friend's comment, adding, "Maybe a bird flew off with it this morning," and continue to scan the sand.

"Wait, now that I think of it, I don't think I had that other shoe after we went to the rocks," Hansol considers and begins to walk to the familiar barrier.

The short wall looks smaller in the daylight, but you know the rocks are unstable despite their compact appearance.

You cautiously follow the boy as he ventures closer to the tide.

"You and Kook never did mention what you saw last night over here," you state, trying to create conversation to distract you from being so close to the water.

"Didn't we?" Hansol tries to recall, "I guess we didn't. Maybe because we knew that you and Gyu wouldn't believe us."

"Believe what?"

"Believe-"

You and Hansol turn the corner at the first large rock.

"-that."

Your stomach drops at the sight. There are two boys in the shallows; one is casually sitting and looking around, while the other is floating on the surface.

His rosy, fish-like tail is hard to miss.

"Oh, thank goodness!" Chan exclaims upon seeing the familiar figure, now sitting upright like his brother. "I believe this is yours."

The mermaid holds up Hansol's lost slipper while sporting a beaming smile on his face.

You're in shock. You've read about mythical creatures when you were a child, as most kids do at that age, but never have you thought that their existence is real. Let alone that you would ever come face-to-face with one.

"Thank you," Hansol mutters and carefully approaches the younger male.

Chan introduces himself along with his brother, and Hansol does the same with himself and you.

But you're beginning to panic. The feeling is bubbling up in your throat, and you don't want to break down. So instead, you excuse yourself and run back up the pathway to the cabin.

You miss the way the older merman's eyes remain on your figure as you retreat away.

•

It's far beyond a star,

Seokmin feels strange. It's not the first time he's seen a human-being that close, let alone speak with one, but there was something odd about your behaviour; the unusual feeling seems to stem from seeing you.

"Did you see the way she looked at us?" the second-eldest speaks, recalling your tense expression.

It's near beyond the moon,

"Why? Do you think she's pretty? That would be convenient because I still think Hansol is pretty. I thought he was charming in the moonlight, but now, I can say he's even prettier in the sunshine," Chan hums, repeating the boy's name for the nth time upon their return home. "I never knew humans could be so lovely."

I know beyond a doubt,

"No," Seokmin begins, "I mean, yes, she was pretty too, but she looked afraid of us. Of... me. Didn't she?" He pauses. "I've never had someone be afraid of me before."

Chan glances at his brother's concerned expression. "She was probably just surprised, Seok. Maybe she hasn't seen a merperson in-person before."

"Maybe," Seokmin mumbles, not entirely convinced.

The merman's peculiar feelings about you only fester as the days pass by. When Chan would return to that same beach almost daily in the hopes of seeing Hansol again, Seokmin would remain at his home.

He is strangely impacted by you. Not that you even said a word to Seokmin that day, but the way you reacted threw him off.

He longs to know why you ran away.

My heart will lead me there soon.

•

Not that you needed it, but you now have yet another reason to avoid the ocean.

Hansol ends up journeying down to the beach every time he sees the familiar crimson tail splashing in the shallows from the large cabin window facing the ocean. The other two boys have begun teasing their younger friend about his new fishy pal.

You have tried to express your concern about Chan to Hansol, explaining that he may be dangerous, but your friend has only dismissed your worries and encouraged you that Chan isn't a threat.

"He's a fun guy to talk to. You're welcome to join me down on the beach sometime, (Y/N)," Hansol says as he slips his notorious pair of sandals on. "Actually, Chan has been asking about you lately. If you're doing alright."

You look up from your bowl of cereal with a confused expression. "I don't think I even spoke a word to Chan. Why would he be asking about me?"

Hansol shrugs. "Apparently, one of his brothers has been worried about you. I'm assuming that's why he keeps asking, but that's all I know."

You remain puzzled in your seat at the kitchen table as Hansol closes the front door behind him, wandering down the familiar rocky path towards the water.

"Is (Y/N) coming?" Chan's posture perks up at the sight of the boy approaching.

He shrugs his head, "I don't think so. I'm sure you know by now how apprehensive she can be. Stubborn, too." Hansol takes a seat in the sand. His shoes are off quickly once again as he dips his legs into the water, the gentle waves lapping up to his knees.

Seokmin frowns. He's been accompanying Chan on his near-daily visits in the hopes of seeing you again. With all of the stories Hansol has been telling about the human world and his friends, Seokmin has convinced himself that he wants to properly meet you.

Just to make sure she's doing alright, he tells himself. There's no other reason.

Seokmin takes pride in helping people. As the middle child, he'd often take it upon himself to sort out his brothers' issues, especially on the rare occasion he found them arguing. A mood maker, his mother told him in his youth when she'd noticed the way he always seemed to strive to help others feel better. So when Hansol briefly mentioned your fear of the sea, there's nothing that the boy decides he wants more than to help you see that the ocean isn't something to fear.

However, it is a difficult task to accomplish when you wouldn't even venture down to the beach anymore.

There's part of Seokmin that feels guilty about your recent reluctance. From what Hansol has said, it seems like you were making gradual progress in becoming comfortable near the water. In fact, you hadn't always been afraid of the ocean. Yet, it all seemed to backfire the moment your eyes landed on him and Chan.

It makes Seokmin feel even more responsible for your fear.

•

It's raining today, a stark contrast to the previous perfect blue-sky, sunny weather that you've all been experiencing for the past week on your vacation.

You're the first one up this morning, making your way quietly down the stairs and into the kitchen to make some coffee.

You examine the horizon as the aromatic drink brews. The rain is only spitting down now, but you have a feeling it will pick up later with larger clouds slowly rolling in. It looks like the sun is trying to peek out from behind, although unsuccessful in its attempt.

You pour yourself a cup of coffee when enough fills the pot, hearing the sizzle onto the element when you impatiently remove the container as it continues to drip.

Making your way to the dining table nearby, you take a seat in front of the large window, holding your mug between your hands.

The coffee is too hot to drink right now.

Your mind begins to wander as you wait.

•

(Y/N), age seven.

You wake to a faint ringing sound.

"Mom?"

No response.

You shuffle to the edge of the bed to turn on the lamp. As your eyes adjust to the sudden brightness, you're met only with an empty room.

"Mom?" you say louder, just to once again, unsurprisingly, be met with nothing.

Maybe she's still at the party on the deck, you think to yourself. That would explain the sound. Maybe it's from the music.

You slip out from beneath the duvet and make your way to the cabin door.

You take a deep breath, not knowing why you're so nervous, and open the door.

There's no music. It's an alarm.

You suddenly feel the ship lurch to the side, throwing you off balance and into the side of the doorway.

"Mom!" you cry out, for someone, anyone.

You don't want to be alone.

Tears are prickling beneath your eyes, and immediately, panic rises to your throat.

"Are you (Y/N)?"

A young male rushes down the hallway in your direction.

You nod your head in response, not finding your words.

"Your mom said you'd be down here, come on. She's already up in the rendezvous spot." His nametag says Seungcheol.

You accept his outstretched hand and follow him as he hurries down the corridor back the way he came.

The boat sways again, but Seungcheol stands his ground, keeping you steady on your feet too.

"What's happening?" your voice crackles.

Seungcheol continues to guide you through the interior of the ship. "There was an unexpected storm suddenly. Captain didn't even see it on our radars, it came out of nowhere. We're taking precautions and gathering everyone in the lounge while he works on getting us to shore."

The two of you make it above the cabins where the wind and rain are pelting down stronger than you've ever seen before. You're having a hard time keeping your balance on the rocking boat, your hand slowly slipping out of Seungcheol's grasp.

A giant wave hits the side of the ship, effectively removing your small hand from Seuncheol's as you're thrown to the side.

You scream as the wave seems to drag you away and pulls you off the edge of the ship.

You hear someone else yell; maybe it's your mother, maybe it's Seungcheol, but before you know it, you are doused in the cold ocean.

The instant your body falls into the depths, you're frozen, petrified, unable to move. You try to struggle your way to the surface, but your clothes weigh you down, only making you sink further below.

Your lungs burn. Trapped in the darkness, you can barely see the moonlight above anymore.

You succumb to your watery grave, eyes closed and arms wrapped around your small figure in a final effort to gain warmth.

Suddenly, you are hit by a feeling of serenity like your mother is cradling you once again. You lean into the tender touch and begin to drift away into unconsciousness.

She belongs to the sea.

You seem to hallucinate a raspy voice hiss out the strange remark.

And then you're gone.

•

Each time you see the familiar grey, gloomy clouds in the atmosphere brings you back to that one fateful day from your childhood.

You know something else happened to you after you fell into the water, but you can't for the life of you recall what.

You know you somehow made it back to the shore safely in one piece. Could it have been that kind staff member who collected you from your room? Or perhaps your mother who dove in after seeing you fall overboard?

You've kept that day to yourself; the only one who knows the full story is Hansol. Not even Jungkook nor Mingyu are aware of all the details; they only know the gist of the origins of your fear of the ocean.

"Whatcha thinking about?"

Hansol's voice brings you back to reality. He's come from the kitchen and is currently standing next to you. Now brought back to your senses, you feel the slight sting from the hot cup of coffee resting between your palms.

"Nothing," you mutter out, removing your hands from the ceramic. You keep your gaze out the window at the hazy horizon; the tide seems to be rising with the weather getting progressively worse. "Are you seeing Chan today?"

"No," he answers, taking a sip from his cup. "Not that I know of, at least. I doubt he'll come if it's raining like this."

The wind looks like it's beginning to pick up. You can hear it howling on the other side of the windows.

"Right, of course."

The boy takes a seat across from you. "Are you sure you're doing okay?" he pushes, "You know you don't have to stay here for the full two weeks with us, right?"

"I know," you reply, "I've just been feeling more anxious recently, but I'm not entirely sure why." You take a sip of your coffee, burning the tip of your tongue slightly. "But I'll be okay."

Hansol's concern for you doesn't waver despite your words or the smile you’re presenting.

"Some storm, huh?" Mingyu's voice is heard from the staircase as he treks down to the main floor. His hair is still damp from his shower.

Hansol makes a noise of acknowledgement and takes another sip of his coffee.

Mingyu prepares a cup of coffee for himself. "Do you think the water will rise all the way up to the deck?"

You involuntary freeze at the thought.

"No, it shouldn't," Hansol says confidently.

And it doesn't, but it does come close. As the rain continues to pour, the entirety of the rocky path becomes submerged beneath the saltwater.

The sound of the storm keeps you awake as you lie in bed that night, picking at a loose thread on the duvet cover. You think you can feel the cabin sway with the heavy wind, but you blame it on your imagination.

She belongs to the sea.

You blame your imagination for the husky voice you hear too.

The sea.

The shutter on your bedroom window flies open; it's certainly not your imagination this time. You immediately stand up and make your way to the adjacent wall to close it, only to see just how high the tide has risen since you've retreated to bed.

Now you must be dreaming.

The sea level appears to be just below your window. Being on the upper floor of the cabin, that's more than concerning.

"(Y/N)?"

You back away from the window at the sound of your name spoken from the other side of it.

A vaguely familiar mop of damp brown hair appears outside your windowsill.

"Seokmin?" You squint your eyes at the face you see in the moonlight. Panic laces your voice, "What the hell is happening?"

Yeah, you really must be dreaming.

The merman reaches his arm through the threshold of your window with his hand open for you to take.

"Do you trust me?"

Every part of you screams no. No! You've lived your whole life in fear of the ocean and what resides within it. Taking this creature's hand would contradict your entirety.

"Please," he adds.

You feel yourself being drawn towards him, one foot after another taking you closer until your hand brushes against his. His fingertips are pruned, a sensation slightly rough against your smooth ones.

When he closes his hand around yours, you hear the rain abruptly stop.

Everything becomes silent, like the drops of water have stopped with time.

"It's okay," Seokmin whispers, warmly smiling at you.

Before you know it, his lips connect with your forehead.

And you suddenly remember that night you fell into the abyss.

•

The instant your body falls into the depths, you're frozen, petrified, unable to move. You try to struggle your way to the surface, but your clothes weigh you down, only making you sink further below.

Your lungs burn. Trapped in the darkness, you can barely see the moonlight above anymore.

You succumb to your watery grave, eyes closed and arms wrapped around your small figure in a final effort to gain warmth.

Suddenly, you are hit by a feeling of serenity like your mother is cradling you once again. You lean into the tender touch and begin to drift away into unconsciousness.

She belongs to the sea.

You seem to hallucinate a raspy voice hiss out the strange remark.

And then you're gone.

No, you think you're gone, but the burning sensation in your lungs is alleviated.

You open your eyes once more to find your small body enveloped by another being. It has a tail: a long, dark violet tail extending beneath you. Your fear hasn't left you completely, but the way you're cradled so carefully eases you.

"It's okay," a gentle voice whispers, causing you to look up to meet a pair of brown eyes and a warm smile. "You're safe."

"What's happening?" you hear your voice ask for the second time that day, unsure of how you're able to speak beneath the water.

"Your father wants you home," is the boy's response, "but I've tried to tell him it's not your time yet."

"My... father?"

You can't picture a face to the name you speak. Each time you've asked your mother about him, she's only said how he was a wonderful man. Was.

"Yes, (Y/N). Sorry about the storm. He gets emotional when thinking of you." One of the merman's hands supports the back of your head to his chest as he dashes through the water. "It's because he misses you."

"Are we going to see him now?"

"No, not yet. One day I'll find you again, and we will see him. Together."

Before you know it, your heads break through to the surface where the weather is much clearer than before. Your rescuer moves slowly towards the beach near the dock, continuing his hold on you until your feet can touch the ground.

You cough up some of the water that infiltrated your lungs before asking, "May I know your name?"

The merman smiles once more, the apples of his wet cheeks reflecting the moonlight. "You will, one day, little jellyfish."

•

Your eyes open only to find you still stood by your window with a familiar set of arms around you.

You take note of his purple tail extending below.

"You," you whisper, taking a step back from the windowsill to get a proper look at the boy residing on the other side, "We've met before."

Seokmin chuckles at your realization, "Yes, many years ago."

"You saved me."

"Kind of," he ponders. "You wouldn't have drowned; your father wouldn't have let that happen. I only made sure you wouldn't sink to the bottom of the ocean."

"Right, my father." The title still sounds alien from your mouth. You gesture to the flooded outside, "Did he do this too?"

Seokmin sheepishly scratches the nape of his neck, "Word may have gotten around that you were visiting the oceanside. You know how excitable Chan can get."

You smile at the idea of the youngest royal brother bragging about seeing you. "If my father's a merman, then why am I human?"

"Who said your father's a merperson?" Seokmin counters, "He's less of a merman and more of a sorcerer who resides within the waves."

"No shit."

The boy giggles at your remark.

"But if I technically come from the sea, then why have I been so afraid of it?"

"Are you still afraid of it now, jellyfish?"

You open your mouth, about to say your habitual response, but only to find yourself lacking one life-long phobia.

"No," you furrow your eyebrows.

"It was a spell I placed on you, back when you were a child," Seokmin fiddles with your hand; his is now dry. "It was to prevent you from returning when you weren't ready."

"Am I ready now?"

"My goodness, so many questions."

But Seokmin takes the time to answer them all for you.

You pull up a chair to the window as he remains in the raised tide.

That night, you learn that you're less human than you originally thought. You're not a merperson like Seokmin and his brothers are, but you do similarly come from the ocean.

Your father had unexpectedly met your mother one summer's day, the two falling in love faster than either party had expected. You weren't necessarily planned, but the two were ecstatic, nevertheless. Your father had to return back to the depths—his home—leaving your mother alone for the rest of her pregnancy. Yet, after she had you, she was significantly less lonely. She seemed to have the whole ocean supporting her, despite her lover unable to return to the surface.

When you were an infant, you were drawn to the water. Perhaps you could hear your father calling out to you for you to return home at sea with him, where he thought you belonged more-so than on land.

Seokmin had placed the spell on you to give you the opportunity for a normal youth on the surface. He recalled the way he so strongly loved being free of stress and confinement before his royal responsibilities became more prevalent and only wished the same for you.

Practicing magic under your father's teaching made Seokmin create a spell strong enough to last for over a decade.

He refrained from telling your father what he'd done that night when he found you. He knew how powerful the man was; a tsunami or hurricane could have easily been a product of his emotions.

Although now, the spell has worn off. Once more, you find yourself inexplicably drawn to the water and arguably even-more-so to the boy with his hands encased in yours.

"Will I get to meet him one day?" your eyes examine the way Seokmin's thumb grazes across your knuckles, tracing every crest and trough on your skin.

"Yes," he says, "though only when the tides lower again. I don't want him flooding the entire island out of happiness."

You hum out an "Okay" and catch the beginnings of the rising sun in the distance, illuminating Seokmin's already-glowing silhouette.

•

We'll meet beyond the shore,

"(Y/N), could I try something?"

Seokmin's ears are tinted a pretty pink as he examines your form sitting in the shallow water.

You shift your attention from feeling the silky sand beneath the waves lightly lapping against your ankles and to the merman sitting next to you. His hair is slowly beginning to dry from being in the summer sunshine.

We'll kiss just as before,

Seokmin takes your hand tenderly and brings it to his lips. It's a gentle touch, but the act sends a flurry of butterflies straight into your chest. The boy smiles brightly, his eyes slightly crinkling at the corners, and laces his fingers between yours.

Happy we'll be beyond the sea,

"I like the way your hand fits in mine, jellyfish."

Your eyes meet Seokmin's, who are trained on the pair of your intertwined hands.

"I like it too," you admit, smiling as his gaze lifts and meets yours.

He slowly leans in.

And never again I'll go sailing. ••

[ushiwakatrash]

On your knees, King!

Bakugou x reader, Todoroki x reader

Fantasy AU

!Warnings!: Swearing, betrayal, lil dash of angst, shitty writing

Synopsis:

Bakugou is the esteemed King of the Kingdom of Barbarians and because he succeeded in ruling the lands that were once governed by the Yuuei Kingdom, an offering must be made for the peace of the people. As the so-called ‘black sheep’ of the royal family, the King of Yuuei a.k.a. your father, offered you--naming you the most precious thing he could give; but you know the truth behind his words.

PART I

Part 2 →

“All hail the Barbarian king!”

Chants roared throughout the fallen kingdom as the last palace on the hunt list fell to the hands of the barbarians. The leader of their army, along with his trusted dragon, stood tall as they basked in their hard-earned victory. 

The dragon who could shapeshift into human form kneeled at the foot of his master. “At long last my king, Yuuei is ours. This glory is because of you.” 

“There, you are wrong, Kirishima. This victory is ours. TO THE BARBARIANS!” the king cheered. His soldiers followed suit with their own cheers of victory but in the castle of Yuuei, a family shuddered in fear.

Since the king couldn’t govern all of the kingdoms he had conquered all at once, he usually appointed the royal family to do it for him but one wrong move may cost their heads.

That fear was enough for the other kingdoms to pledge loyalty, knowing how the Barbarian king would definitely hang their heads on the palace gates if they ever displeased him.

The same feeling emanated in the walls of Yuuei. They knew of the new King’s ways and now they were the newest set of prisoners of the Barbarians. The king however needs a token, one of the most worth in the former king’s possession.

Other nations brought forth their best quality gold, finest jewels, the smoothest cloths of silk, but only this kingdom had a princess--and that was worth more than any of those other gifts combined.  

(Y/n) was called a weight on the family name by her own kin. She was far from what you would call an elegant lady. During the daytime you would see her sparring with the knights. Other times she would go hunting with her commoner friends.

She knew her way with swords and weapons. She is also very skilled with the bow. One of their best knights, Iida Tenya, taught her to wield these things even if it was against his will at first.

She was the princess of the people and all the commoners adored her. Her family on the other hand frowned upon her actions calling it ‘unfit for a lady and a princess’ but she could care less. 

Raw strength was not a problem for this princess and accompanied by her smarts, everyone looked up to her. The royal family could careless for their people but the heart of (Y/n) was just like that of a commoner.

She knew of their struggles and accepted criticism they had which earned her the respect of almost all of the people. She sometimes would sneak out of the castle to give food to those who have nothing on their plates or give medicine to the sick.

The only person who knew this was her childhood friend, Prince Shouto. They were introduced to each other when they were young as political marriages often happened between royal families; they were engaged.

And because their kingdom had also fallen in the hands of the great King Bakugou, their engagement had been called of because even if they remained in their respective palaces and continued to govern their own land, they were royals no more.

She lacked finesse and grace but she never lacked in heart and compassion. She was the only princess born in a royal family and because of her attitude and crass behavior, the King found her useless and an embarrassment.

 What other way to get rid of her than to give her as an offering? Surely she would refuse the offer so the king had to plan on how to break the news on his only daughter.

The queen refused to give her daughter away but if they did not comply, all three of their heads will be chopped off from their body. It was the only way to survive in their lost kingdom.

The only lucky thing that they could happen to have right now is that their daughter would be at the age to marry. She was.

-- 

The sun was out and the weather was nice--the perfect time to catch a wild boar. The town folks will surely enjoy the meals that could be made with it. She reached for the red tooth that was attached to a slim piece of rope wrapped around her neck and touched it for good luck before hunting.

When she was only starting to get into hunting as a young girl, she wandered off to the woods by herself. That’s when she met a blonde with piercing red eyes. At fist he was hostile towards her but after a few more visits, they became friends.

He taught her how to skillfully shoot a pigeon with a bow, and they would have that bird for lunch. He taught her how to climb trees and distinguish poisonous berries from edible ones. 

One time, after they had finish catching fishes in the river to roast, he shyly handed her the necklace, telling the princess that it was a price from defeating a beast of the forest. In her state of happiness, she tackled the young boy into the hug and unknown to her, it was the first time he had felt affection.

She had no idea what was going on in the palace. She was busy finding food for the poor families she had recently talked to. A knight from the castle rushed to her, scaring the animals away.

“Why would you make so much racket in the middle of our hunt?! This better new you have better be worthwhile or I’ll have you running laps around the town!” the princess complained. 

“I am truly sorry, your highness but his majesty has summoned you in the throne room right this instant so we better get a move on and not let the king wait.” the knight swiftly said.

-- 

“My daughter, I have some important news for you. For all of our sakes and for our people’s sake, you are to be given as the token of our loyalty to the Barbarians.” the king stated with no emotions.

You scoffed at this. “Why me? You have tons of gold and brilliant stones! I do not get why it must be me that is given. How about what I want?! How about my say in all of this?!” 

“You will obey your father whether you like it or not! For once be useful to this family you ungrateful child! You will be given to King Bakugou and you will be taken as his wife. Resistance is futile because I have already sent the signed papers” the king stated, more aggressively this time.

“Are you fucking kidding me?! Is my freedom and happiness too much to ask from you? A loveless marriage for the sake of who, yourselves?! I doubt this is for the sake of the people. I’d rather die!” her voice started to shake.

“You will do no such thing as to kill yourself. Your wedding to King Bakugou is absolute and I will hear no further complains. Please my loyal men, escort the princess out of here.” 

“You fucking old man! Mark my words I will come back for you, not in joy, but to have you punished!” She screeched. 

--

The night was quiet for the sulking princess and no other thing could lift her spirits up other than to visit Prince Shouto. She snuk out of the castle once more and was warmly greeted by the guards in the Endeavor Palace. 

The ruler there, Enji, took care of business outside the town so only the princes and princess Fuyumi were in the castle. 

She was quickly escorted to Prince Shouto’s headquarters and she flung the door open and hugged the prince, finally letting the tears fall. “Shouto I am getting married to a man I don’t love! My father is the worst I fucking hate him. He is always against me!” 

Shouto understood the feeling of resent towards their father. That was the thing they both strongly had in common, dealing with the fathers they wish weren’t theirs. 

“It cant be that bad (Y/n)” Shouto said while trying to wipe her tears away. He cupped her face and asked “To whom are you to be wed anyway?”

The prince’s world stopped when he heard her answer. 

[asweetprologue]

Words: 2618, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The Witcher

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion

Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion

Additional Tags: Fluff, geralt has a fixation on jaskier's hands, Pining, Confessions, it's about the hands tm

Inspired directly by this post by @valdomarx​

“I didn’t even ask you to come this time, witcher. I don’t know why you’re acting so dour,” Jaskier pouted. He was standing in front of a small mirror that he’d propped up against the table, the only thing with a reflection in the small inn. His shirt was untucked over his tight pants, which were a startling peacock blue this time around. It was a fetching color, nearly matching the bard’s eyes, though Geralt would never voice such a thought aloud. He was fiddling with the ties at the front of the cream shirt, trying to decide on a complicated pattern of lacing that was well beyond Geralt’s understanding. The smell of wisteria and honeysuckle filled the room, overwhelming in its recent application. Jaskier rarely used scents beyond soaps while they were traveling, and Geralt preferred when he could more easily smell the distinct musk of the bard himself, rather than cloying perfumes. 

He grunted in response to Jaskier’s comment, leaning against the bedpost. The inn was nice, actually, even though it was small. The sheets smelled fresh, the mattress was free of holes, and there was even a full bath off of the main room. Jaskier had sunk more funds into their accommodations than usual, expecting a big payout from the ball he’d been hired to perform at for the next several nights. “I’m not being ‘dour’,” Geralt said, watching Jaskier tug his shirt closed. His fingers played over the laces, easily working them into a tight series of delicate knots. Geralt wasn’t lying, truthfully. He wasn’t so much dour as… distracted. His eyes followed Jaskier’s hands as they tucked in his shirt, revealing his slim hips. The bard tugged here and there on the fabric, his fingers fluttering about as he searched for just the right amount of artful dishevelment. 

Geralt noticed Jaskier’s hands. 

He wasn’t sure if this was a universal experience or not. Over the past few months, he’d overcome the initial shock of realizing he was interested in the bard. He’d known Jaskier for years - closer to decades - and it certainly was a notion that took some adjusting to. One day Geralt had just looked up and realized that the gangly limbed youth he’d met in Posada had turned into an extremely attractive man, a man Geralt very much wanted to put his hands on. The thought had been startling, and he’d spent full weeks telling himself that it was a fluke. And yet he was captivated by Jaskier’s broad shoulders, his strong thighs, his infuriatingly dexterous fingers. It was embarrassing really. 

But, he reasoned, he was in good company; literally half the Continent wanted to fuck Jaskier. Geralt was particularly unique in that regard. It was honestly more spectacular that he was a person who wanted to sleep with Jaskier who hadn’t. It was a bitter draught to swallow, but Geralt accepted it. Few people wanted a witcher in their bed for more than an hour, and he knew that it could never be a simple one time roll in the hay between himself and Jaskier. Geralt was already spending much of his time reminding himself that he was not and could not be infatuated with Jaskier, the famous bard, womanizer and, above all, his best friend. He was at least self aware enough to know that Jaskier’s rejection would be painful, and that losing him as a companion was unacceptable. 

Still, this left him with a predicament. While he assumed Jaskier had caught on to his developing feelings quickly enough, Geralt didn’t want to make the bard uncomfortable with his attentions. He tried not to let anything change between them. He didn’t reach out to pull Jaskier closer when they shared a bed at night, he didn’t give him the best cuts of meat during meals, he didn’t buy small, intricate rings or beautiful leather bound journals for him when they went to the market. He would think about it and then turn away, and keep things how they’d always been. Jaskier was bright and loud and annoying, and Geralt was quiet and snappish. If the bard had wanted anything more, he would have made it clear long before now. Geralt was doing a pretty good job of keeping things platonic, he thought. He probably would have been totally successful if Jaskier hadn’t chosen a lute, of all the cursed instruments, as his primary tool of the trade. 

The issue was that Geralt had something of a preoccupation with Jaskier’s hands, which may be a common experience but might be unique to Geralt himself, much to his dismay. They were just exceedingly nice to look at. They had long and elegant fingers with wide, reassuring palms that had spent hours cleaning, patching up and comforting the witcher. They were unscared except for a thin white line under his right ring finger, where Jaskier said he’d been punctured by a nail as a child. Though that wasn’t to say that they were totally unblemished. Years of playing had worn deep calluses onto the tips of his fingers, rougher skin that made Geralt shiver when they played over his scalp as they so often did. 

They were nice hands, but it wasn’t just that. They were expressive, an extension of whatever Jaskier felt at the moment. Geralt never knew what to do with his hands if he wasn’t in a fight, but Jaskier’s moved constantly. When he was angry they curled into fists and pointed fingers, elbows tights against his body as he raged at some perceived slight. When he was happy or excited, they darted about him in wide, sweeping gestures, an unspoken language that Geralt thought he might be able to read now without words. When he was tired they dragged, lingering on Geralt’s shoulders or pulling at the seams of his armor as he bullied the witcher into bed. Those moments were almost the worst, picking away at Geralt’s already frayed control, but he found it got to him the most when Jaskier was playing. 

To say that Jaskier transformed when he played was not quite accurate. It was closer to say that he became. Jaskier was always intense, bright and focused and vibrant, but when he picked up his lute and stepped onto a stage he was resplendent. When Geralt had first met him, he’d thought maybe Jaskier was a siren, or some kind of incubus, luring men in with his honeyed words and saccharine melodies. He’d quickly realized that no, Jaskier was as human as they came, but it didn’t stop others from acting like they’d been bewitched when he was around. Jaskier performing was Jaskier at both his least and most genuine, distilled into whatever the crowd needed him to be most at that moment. It was enthralling, to say the least, and Geralt wasn’t immune to the draw. 

At first watching the lute had been a defense mechanism, of a sort. Watching Jaskier himself was almost too intense, and Geralt felt exposed anytime their eyes met across a crowded room. So he’d taken to watching Jaskier’s hands, flying across the strings of the lute and dancing up the neck. Initially it had been only intriguing, and he’d found himself impressed by the bard’s skill. He was faster and more precise than any other player Geralt had come across, while remaining gentle in his ministrations. Jaskier touched the strings of his lute with such tenderness, as if he were caressing a lover.

One night while watching the bard, Geralt had though, Sometimes he touches me like that. And after that he was well and truly lost. 

“I’m just saying,” Jaskier said, bringing Geralt sharply back to the present, “while I would never begrudge your presence, I don’t think the response to Toss a Coin will be as enthusiastic if the titular witcher is off glowering in a corner.” He reached for his doublet, a green jacket picked out with yellow thread that looked like gold in the right light. It was beside Geralt on the bed, and he nearly flinched away from Jaskier’s grasping hands. He thanked every god above that he no longer had the ability to blush the same way a human did, knowing that he would be pink in the face after watching Jaskier lace up his shirt sleeves. The man was actively putting clothes on and Geralt was nearly sweating from it. 

“I’m not going to glower in a corner,” he grumbled. 

Jaskier gave him a look that displayed an insulting lack of faith in Geralt’s word. “Well,” he said, “at least you’re dressed appropriately.” He’d managed to wrestle Geralt into a black jacket and a pair of dress trousers, though Geralt had won the fight to keep his boots and his swords. It was better, Jaskier allowed, that the people be able to see the tools of the trade. The bard reached out to adjust the collar of Geralt’s shirt. The witcher forced himself to still as Jaskier’s knuckles grazed his Adam’s apple. His skin hummed where they’d made contact. 

Jaskier gave him a pat on the shoulder and turned away. “Well, we’re as ready as we’ll ever be,” he said, giving himself one last glance in the tiny mirror. With a grin, he turned to Geralt and said, “If you’re very good I’ll buy you one of those tarts from the market for breakfast tomorrow.”

The words if you’re good rolled over Geralt in a disconcerting way, curling up at the base of his spine and settling like they intended to live there. Shit. He made a slightly strangled sound of agreement that he hoped just sounded annoyed. 

As Jaskier reached for the door, Geralt noticed that the ties of Jaskier’s undershirt had gotten twisted around one of the buttons of his doublet. He must have accidentally pushed the clasp through a loop in the laces while he was doing them up. Geralt wouldn’t have noticed unless he was watching Jaskier’s hands, but it seemed like he was always watching Jaskier’s hands nowadays. Watching, anticipating, hoping for the next touch. Geralt reached out and snagged the bard’s wrist before he even really knew what he was doing.

“Um,” Jaskier said, eloquent as ever. Geralt turned his hand over - in for a penny, in for a crown - and started undoing the buttons on the doublet. Jaskier hummed in realization, seeing where the laces had twisted into a knot. Focusing on his task, Geralt bent his head slightly, pulling the thin string loose from its tangle. As he did so, pale, unmarked skin was revealed through the parted fabric, a spider web of delicate blue lines branching out before Jaskier’s warm palm. Geralt’s thumb brushed briefly over the veins, Jaskier’s skin as smooth and soft as fresh rose petals under his rough fingers. He was seized suddenly by an overpowering urge to put his mouth there, to breathe in the scent and find Jaskier hidden under all the oils and the smell of crisp linen. Without thinking too much of it, Geralt bent down and pressed his lips to Jaskier’s wrist, just below the swell of his thumb.

Jaskier gasped. 

It was like taking a mouthful of Thunderbolt - the world coming sharply into focus, his mind keenly aware of his surroundings. Geralt nearly jumped back, flinching away from the sound. Fuck. Why had he done that? He’d been helping with a fucking sleeve, it hadn’t required his mouth. Jaskier was going to be pissed. He was going to demand that Geralt stay here while he went to the banquet and then he would find someone to bed for the night and he wouldn't try to find Geralt in the morning, and Geralt would have to set back out on the Path alone all because he couldn’t control himself enough to lace up one sleeve - 

“Geralt?” Jaskier's voice cracked slightly. The witcher clenched his jaw, wincing. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. His voice sounded strained even to his own ears. He couldn’t meet Jaskier’s gaze. “That was… inappropriate. Have fun at the ball.”

“You’re not coming?” Jaskier asked, sounding distressed now. His scent was still free of the sour stench of fear and anger, but Geralt could hear his heart beating faster. “Geralt, look at me. Just - Are you alright?” Hands came to rest on his shoulders, and Geralt was startled enough at the contact that he raised his eyes to meet Jaskier’s. 

The bard looked nervous, but there was something else in his face too. Something softer. Geralt swallowed heavily. “I shouldn’t have touched you like that,” he said. His face tingled with the phantom of a shameful flush. 

Jaskeir smoothed his hands gently down Geralt’s arms. A comfort the witcher certainly didn’t deserve. “I don’t mind,” Jaskier said, impossibly. He bit his lip, his tongue darting out to sooth the spot. Geralt couldn’t help but follow the motion even as Jaskier gave him a wry smile. “I wish you’d do it more, if I’m being entirely honest. After all these years, I assumed you weren’t interested.” He took a breath, as if he was about to launch into a very demanding ballad, or perhaps jump from a cliff. “But I very much am. Interested.” 

Geralt stared at him for a moment, allowing the words to sink in. Jaskier was looking at him with wide, expectant eyes. His infuriating fingers played anxiously over Geralt’s, not quite holding on. Unsure of what else he could reasonably do, Geralt kissed him. 

Jaskier’s hands flew away from his own, and Geralt had a singular crystalline moment of panic before he felt them threading through his hair. Jaskier twisted closer, throwing himself into the kiss with little of the finesse he was so renowned for. It was too hard and too fast, but Geralt drank it anyway, inviting Jaskier in with his tongue and trying to convince him to stay. His fingers tangled in the loose ties of the shirt sleeve, and he could feel Jaskier’s pulse against them. It was almost more intimate than the kiss itself. Jaskier’s heart beat quick and steady under his hand, a rapid tempo just for him. 

Finally Geralt pulled away, breathing hard as he pressed his forehead to the bard’s. “This is a fucking terrible idea,” he said. 

Jaskier jerked back a bit to glare at him. “How so? Counterpoint: I think it’s a singularly marvelous idea, actually.”

Geralt shifted slightly, uncomfortable. “I can’t… I don’t want to ruin this. You. What we have.”

“We could have more,” Jaskier said, uncharacteristically fragile. Geralt wanted so badly not to break him. “Anything. If you just want a fuck, that’s fine. We can do that. If you want more than that, I… That’s okay too. Or not. Whatever it is, whatever you want.” His fingers smoothed down the back of Geralt’s hair, just at the base of his skull. A caress, as soft as if he were playing his favorite instrument. Maybe he was. 

“I’m going to want you,” Geralt said, like a warning. “Longer than you want me.”

Jaskier looked indignant. It was one of Geralt’s favorite expressions, when it wasn’t directed at him. Maybe even then. “I doubt that very much,” Jaskier bit out. The fingers in Geralt’s hair tightened, and the witcher let out a shaky breath. “I have loved you for almost my entire adult life. I doubt I’m going to stop anytime soon.” Jaskier still looked nervous, but there was more anticipation in it than before. Something closer to hope. “So I’ll say it again: Whatever you want. What do you want, Geralt?”

“You,” Geralt said, leaning in again. He pressed the words against Jaskier’s lips. “Always you.”

“Then you have me,” Jaskier said, and he did. 

[bouncyirwin]

Big Girls Cry || KakaSaku

[Based on a prompt: shuffle your music, pick a random line in the song and start your fic with it.]

“I wake up.”

Hotaru-sensei gazed passively at Sakura, her gaze neither dissecting nor empathetic. The elegant arch of her wrist rested delicately on her note pad, her pen poised ready.

“I wake up,” Sakura repeated, though her words have not gained any conviction. She merely sounded defeated.

“What do you do when you wake up?”

Sakura seemed to ponder this for a moment. “I ... cry. Sometimes. Or I roll right back to sleep.” She bit her lip. “Look ... I know what you’re going to say. That this is just my depression, or my way to escape my trauma or whatever. But I don’t see how this is going to help.”

“Haruno-sensei,” Hotaru-sensei leveled her with a flat look. “When a patient of yours clearly needs a wheelchair, not because he is not capable of walking, but because walking will most definitely worsen his injury, and he refuses the wheelchair, maybe because he has the outlook that needing a wheelchair is a sign of weakness and he’s clearly anything but ... tell me, what would you do?”

The faintest flickers of a smile, a ghost upon Sakura’s lips as she recalled numerous similar incidents: “I’d make him use it anyway.”

Hotaru-sensei nodded. “So then let’s apply the same principle here. You are from your own perspective dealing with this on your own, feeling that eventually, with time, you will move on. And that talking about what you’ve been through is a sign of weakness, while in fact, talking, and coming to terms with what happened and how you feel about it is what will truly help you move on. What will I do in this case?”

Sakura sighed. “Make me talk anyway?”

Hotaru-sensei smiled. “Correctly observed, Haruno-sensei. Now, tell me what you’ve had for breakfast.”

Sakura faltered a moment, shaking her head at the abrupt subject change. “Um. An apple.”

“Just an apple?”

“I had tea as well.”

“How would you describe the breakfasts you used to have when Hatake-san was around?”

Sakura’s lip quivered some. She swallowed thickly as she said: “U-um... we would have miso soup. That’s—was—his favorite. Steamed rice. Tsukemono. Kobachi. Traditional stuff really.”

“What else does he like?”

“Kakashi? Um. He liked dogs. Books. Gardening. He had a lot of hobbies. He talked to his plants.” Sakura laughed hoarsely.

“Mhm. Would you describe him as eccentric then?”

“No. Maybe. I loved that he was a little strange. He always had the most random facts on the tip of his tongue. Did you know a human can swim through a blue whale’s veins?”

Hotaru-sensei sighed softly. Put her pen down. “Why had, Sakura-san. Why was.”

Sakura took a quivering breath. “Because he’s not here anymore.”

“But he is,” Hotaru-sensei stressed. “He’s not dead.”

“He’s in a coma.” Sakura sat back, glaring at Hotaru. “A vegetable.”

“You said it yourself that there is a chance he could wake up.” Hotaru-sensei reasoned. “Is that not true?”

“I said the chances of him waking up are slim.” Sakura hugged her body. Her complexion was ashen and paling under Hotaru’s placating stare. “I can’t even take him off life support because the council threatened to charge me with murder.”

Tears come suddenly. They stream down her face silently. “This isn’t what he would’ve wanted,” she shook her head, a soft sob echoing from her.

“Perhaps... What do you want?”

“I want him back,” she said, voice pleading. “I want him back so bad I’m ready to crush the moon, or collect the stars or bottle the sea. I’d do anything—anything—to have him back.”

Hotaru sighed softly. “You know that’s not how it works Haruno-san.”

“I know,” she said numbly. “I know more than most.”

“How does that make you feel?”

“Like I’ll never be whole again,” Sakura buried her face in her hands, took a trembling, strained breath. “Like my lungs will strangle themselves and kill me.”

Hotaru put her pen down. “Alright I think that’s enough for today.”

Sakura nodded.

“Before you go, I want us to work through the breathing exercise together, alright?”

Sakura nodded again, taking a shaky inhale.

“Take a deep breath ... one, two, three, four, five ... exhale ... one, two, three, four, five...”

Her mind drifted, even whilst her body sunk into the rhythm of a breath after a breath after a breath.

Did you know that lungs can float on water? The memory came unbidden.

Sakura didn’t know; couldn’t have imagined since she felt like she was drowning all the time.

Yeah, it’s the only organ that can do that. Pretty sick, huh?

The memory didn’t matter then. It hardly mattered now when her lungs were made of lead. What she remembered most was his mouth; the pucker of his lips, the upward curve of a smile, the sharp canine grazing flesh. She hadn’t been paying attention; at least not enough to remember what he said next although she had a vague sense that it was important. Sakura had been too taken by the urge to kiss him.

You’re the strangest man I know.

I know. And you’re the most wonderful person I know.

The breath caught in her throat

Vicious hotness pooled behind her eyes but Sakura forced it down, and took another one, and another.

What do you think happens in the afterlife?

I’m not sure I believe in it. A bunch of dogs I’d hope. Maybe books would grow on trees, that’d be nice. A river of miso? Man now that would be sick.

A smile, so painful, but so helpless, touched her mouth.

That’s all it’d take to make you happy?

Well, yes. And you. Most of all, you. But that’s a given.

Her breath quivered again. Maybe she was never meant to breathe easily again.

“Good work, Haruno-san. Well, you know the drill, I’ll see you on Thursday.”

Sakura bid her goodbye and made her way to Kakashi’s hospital room, to where she spent her days and nights lately.

She walked in hoping against hope that his eyes would be open, just like she always did after a grueling session with Hotaru-sensei.

And just as always, they weren’t.

Sakura’s back touched the wall, defeated yet again, but her legs didn’t give like she feared. From her perch on a dull wall, suffocating on clinical scents that ate her Kakashi away day by day, she watched his chest rise and fall with each breath the machines forced into his lungs.

“I hope you’re breathing for the both of us,” she told him, voice rough.

Maybe in the end, she was more angry than hurt. That he’d dare go first. That he’d dare chain himself to a bed in the place he hated. That he went and hurt himself so badly even she couldn’t save him.

“I hope you can hear this,” she went on. “I want you to know this is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.”

His chest rose and fell again, hypnotising, its own kind of sick addiction. His face, even deadly pale, still held an ethereal sort of refinement, like he was more angel than human.

“And you’re an asshole.”

“And I hate you.”

“Almost as much as I fucking love you, which is a lot. Which is more than I can bare. So I hope you find the good grace in your heart, or a shred of sympathy in it for me, and open your eyes.”

The steady heart rate on the monitor remained unchanged. Her eyes swam until she could no longer map the cresting lines of what powered the things she loved most in the world.

“I see,” she said after a moment, strangled. “Well then, you know the drill. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

And when he didn’t open his eyes, Sakura forced her lips around a whisper. “Good night, Kakashi.”

Fascinating how basic functions like movement, the things she depended on, on day to day basis to stay alive, could fail her so suddenly. Her legs refused to move. And why should they when what they sought was home, but home was no longer there.

She watched him a moment longer, until her lungs burned so much she doubted she could move at all.

Did you know ... that falling asleep next to you makes me the happiest?

Movement. Perhaps his calling from another life; his soul reaching out for her for one final request. Sakura’s feet carry her over to his prone body without thought, into the nook by his side, into the only place she felt whole. She curls into him and cries, and cries and cries.

I think I prefer waking up next to you. You do have the most ridiculous bed hair.

.

.

.

[honeysofte-archieve]

a windfall (chapter 2: nat)

Fandom: The Wayhaven Chronicles

Pairing: Female Detective/Nat Sewell

Rating: G

Genre: there’s nat playing a piano.

in ao3: here ♥

second chapter of my first times with ub series! this one is nat & first time she had an argument with the detective. thank you for @elmshore for looking this over for me (though i changed a few things afterwards lol). ♥ lowkey tempted to write a little interlude with nsfw piano shenanigans after this one............

You don't mean to lose your temper and snap at her and that is something you're prepared to vow on your knees until you're in your own fucking grave. Because you know -- you know that Natalie Henrietta Sewell is an actual angel in disguise and you adore her more than anything else in this world and the next.

It was a bad day and you were just… frustrated as hell. That is a good word for it, you think. For being so damn human that you barely feel like you're any help at all compared to a group of skilled vampires and Nat's overprotective tendencies towards you further enhance your insecurities. You appreciate her concern and you know it brews from a cosmic sort of love, you truly do, but sometimes you also want her not to constantly walk on eggshells around you or risking a mission just to keep you safe. She’s done that a few times after you got together and it kind of drives you mad.

So, one day you start an actual argument over it.

in ao3. ♥

Which is borderline stupid and mean and you're painfully aware of that, thank you very much. You're the farthest thing from proud of it. You never thought you were actually capable of making Nat upset or hurt her with your words, she's so kind and sweet all the time and deserves a whole world in the silver platter and you just --

You sigh almost mournfully when Nat leaves your room with a bowed head and flinch at the sound of the soft click of the door as she presses it close behind her. You flop backwards on the bed and pointedly do not think about how Nat chose these sheets for you with great care and consideration. You feel awful and almost want to cry.

Yet at the same time, you know that at least part of you is right. You belong in the team now, you're a real member of Unit Bravo, skilled in your own way, and Nat doesn't need to coddle or protect you any more than anyone else in the team.

You can take care of yourself. You want to able to take care of her, too, and maybe --

You sigh again and burrow your face into one of the fluffy pillows Nat has also chosen for you. Maybe that is also a big part of it, too.

The fact that you want to do as much for Nat as she does for you.

Because this is the honest truth you embrace, the one choice you won't ever grow to regret no matter what:

you love Nat Sewell so, so much, you don't even know what to do with that feeling.

 *

 It doesn't take you too long to find her because you can hear her first.

She's playing the grand piano in the warehouse's sitting room and you follow the flow of her music easily through the long corridors of your second home and pause at the doorway to watch her with folded arms across your chest.

She's so pretty, you think fondly. Her long fingers look good as they glide across the keyboard of the piano like a second nature. You know she's aware of your presence (can probably hear the frantic pump of your heart) but she doesn't stop playing until she reaches the end of the song and presses down the last notes of the melody. Then she turns to look at you.

You smile awkwardly. Open your mouth. "Hey."

"Hello," Nat answers softly. She doesn't quite smile but she doesn't look very upset either.

"I hope I'm not bothering you," you say and take a few hesitant steps into the room scratching the back of your neck.

This time Nat does smile. It's a gentle thing you feel like you don't deserve.

"As if you ever could," she says and moves to make room for you on the piano seat. She pats it invitingly and you obey instantly, sitting right beside her so close your sides are brushing against each other.

"Would you like me to play something for you?" Nat asks.

"Yes," you say, sounding a little breathless even to your own ears. But Nat only smiles again, seemingly pleased at your eagerness. You look at that smile. You look at that smile and you think that there will never be anything it's equal.

Nat considers you for a moment. "Any requests?"

"Play me your favourite," you finally decide and Nat hums underneath her breath before taking a deep breath and lowers her fingers on the piano keys.

You don't quite know what to name the feeling that flows through you when she starts playing.

First of all: it's painfully sexy in a way you haven't considered before. Secondly: it makes you feel so many things at once, it almost overwhelms all of your senses.

You knew, of course, that Nat is gifted in many ways and music is just one of them, but you’ve never actually seen her play. You’re not sure why, exactly. Maybe the circumstances never allowed it. All you know now is that Nat playing the piano is one of the most attractive things you’ve ever seen. It chills you to the bone and you shiver before you lay your head against Nat’s shoulder and watch her long, elegant fingers slither on the keyboard in a hypnotising rhythm.

It’s perfect, you think. You cup Nat’s jaw onto your palm, pull her down and press a small kiss to her cheekbone.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur softly. You’ve never meant anything more. You want her to know that, you need her to know that.

Nat hums underneath her breath, hands never leaving the piano. “Me too,” she whispers.

You’re silent as she finishes up her concerto, not wanting to rush her in any way. A few long minutes pass and you keep your head relaxed on Nat’s shoulder and your other arm wrapped around her slim waist, toying with one of the belt loops of her jeans.

“That was pretty,” you comment when Nat stops playing and looks at you with a raised eyebrow and a shiver of a smile. Your clumsy words don’t really make justice for her talent, but you don’t have a lot more to give.

“Just as you are,” Nat says and you laugh and nudge her playfully with your elbow.

You’re aware you’re flushing like mad. You've learned that she is quite good at getting that reaction out of you. “Stop it.”

“Never,” Nat teases and then she kisses the corner of your mouth and you're glad to notice that she doesn't hesitate to do it despite your earlier argument.

“Nat,” you say after a while. You hide your face on the crook of her neck. “I really am sorry, you know. I mean it.”

“I know,” Nat says easily enough and lifts your chin back up with a gentle touch. She traces the corner of your lips with her thumb and sighs.

“All I want in the world is for you to stay with me,” she admits and that is something you are already aware of because it’s what you want as well. “I couldn’t live with myself if anything ever happened to you and I admit that it makes me occasionally a little… overbearing.”

Your smile is genuine. You will always love her. “I get it. I feel the same way about you, Nat.”

"You do?" She sounds so surprised it makes you ache. You don't want her to ever doubt your affection for her. Never.

"Nat… you must know that by now," you say. You take her hand into yours and swipe your thumb across her knuckles. "Otherwise I'm doing a really shitty job at showing it."

Nat chuckles. The sound is lovely and you drink it in. "I don't think anything about you could be ever considered as 'shitty.'"

Her words make you smile and you squeeze her hand in yours.

"I will work on it," Nat continued then. You know she means it. "Because I want you to be aware that I trust you and your skills wholeheartedly."

"Thanks," you answer just before Nat kisses you, your accidental gasp muffled by her insistent lips.

It's a good kind of kiss; tender and comfortable in a way you're still getting used to. Nat's fingers comb through your hair as she guides your mouth with her own. You've never kissed anyone like her before, no one has come even close which is just another reason why Nat is so, so special to you it makes you want to cry a little.

"Now," Nat says after she pulls her mouth off yours and clears her strangled throat a little sheepishly. "Would you like me to play something else for you?"

You do.

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

Well. In light of the recent vanessa fic, I am going to request a few things. How about Helena going to MC's high school reunion?

WARNINGS: Intolerable sexist arseholes Referenced rape culture Blood and minor violence Written by: @evoedbd ******************************************

“Helena… my feet hurt.” Kya’s soft, plaintive voice rung like gunshots in Helena’s ears. To hear that Kya was in pain caused a war of sensations within the Sorceress, turning her chest into a battlefield as she aimed to pick out her own thoughts amidst the din. The music was too loud. All pulsing beats and pop hits that all bled into one another in an unpleasant screech. With all the beauty Kya’s people could capture, the fact they abused that power to capture such meaningless garble was bad enough, but the songs that Helena’s ears had picked out went beyond this. The images of men taking what they pleased, or endlessly fucking hoes and capping foes… it set her teeth on edge. Why would anybody wish to put a cap on someone they disliked so much? It was absolutely beyond her. After all, she had seen the selfishness of humanity. She had seen people who would do precisely what the songs fantasized about. She had been one of those prizes. The pet. The mess left behind once a tyrant had finished with her for the night. She had been the violated girl dragging herself across the floors because she couldn’t walk, trailing blood. Why did some of Kya’s people find this concept worth celebrating? How many even knew what they danced to? “Helena?” This time, Kya’s voice was pleading. A gentle touch to Helena’s ravaged senses. This was accompanied by the lightest touch to her forearm, fingertips begging for more yet restraining themselves until Helena gave consent. The Sorceress had to close her eyes, to stop watching and picture a much calmer place. An open field, filled with flowers that had no name, not in this world. Flowers woven through black hair, accompanying laughter that became wings for Helena’s soul. She didn’t particularly want to open her eyes to the gyrating crowds. Around her, she could feel a thousand candles, each flickering in time with the sea of sorry, middle-aged bodies awkwardly trying to reclaim their youth. All dressed in finery above their means as they tried to convince everyone of their success and happiness, even as they reeked of misery. An ocean of people, all smiling politely whilst firing knives from their tongue, shooting daggers from their eyes. Alcohol flowing a little too freely, too dangerously. Control, so willingly abandoned. It was as if none of them knew its value. As if none of these people had ever seen or experienced control torn away completely, until even the breath a body took was at another’s whim. Then there were the lights. A spinning ball reflected everything, casting a thousand fragments of light across the floor, growing larger as they grew further from the centre. Spinning chaos across the wooden floors, illuminating the deep blue lighting, catching in the mist across the dancing masses. An unnatural mist summoned by machines… and Kya said her people possessed no magic. “Helena… are you with me?” The longing to answer hit her harder than a boulder from a catapult against a crumbling castle wall. Gods, how she wanted to open her eyes and find only one person before her. Yet, she was surrounded; drowning in the sea of bodies as the unnatural mist lapped at her ankles. As elbows collided with her, or fingers nipped at the bottom of her hair like vultures testing the fight left in their meat. Her heart pounded, beating against the cage of her chest much like how her magic pulsed with her fears. Limbs tingled; fingers began to move on instinct. Then, warmth. So much warmth. Enough that she gasped. Instantly, her lungs filled with air; her nose with that delicious mix she had never quite learned. Something soft, something smoky and then a hint of spice. Always, it was sweet. So very, very intoxicatingly sweet… but not sugary. The underlying bitterness of coffee tempered sweetness so deliciously that Helena found herself devoured by her craving for that scent. A second inhale gave her more, slowly begun to redirect her roaming senses to a singular focus. It was enough for her to open her eyes. “Welcome back.” A kind voice fell from naked lips. The smile upon them was small, nothing intended for the world to see. A secret amidst the crowd, the last life jacket on the Titanic. Just seeing it was enough for Helena to be saved. Shining grey eyes accompanied that encouraging little smile. Adoration glistened in beautiful grey depths, outshining the tinges of concern playing flecks in bluestone. In the swirling lights and dulled room, stone was more akin to gems than cobble, captivating Helena’s attention for far longer than society deemed polite. She could care less. Museums held marble statues of deities past, depictions of Aphrodite to stare at for hours. Marble was incomparable to the greys, Aphrodite a hag compared to the graceful woman donning such a flowing black dress. Elegance in its purest simplicity. “As if I could ever be parted from you.” Helena gave her best attempt at a purr. It was effective, given the creep of pink over Kya’s pale cheeks. Pale, not bloodless, Helena reminded herself. Bloodless was danger. It was the colour Kya had gone after the Queen’s spell struck her. It was the colour Kya had been when the Queen held a blade to her throat, when the Queen tormented Helena into confessing every pain, tried to make Sorceress scream and kneel. Tried to break her. Bloodless was the Witch Queen leering over a terrified girl, or ordering her most loyal man to ensure said girl was prepared… Helena flinched. Faster than Helena could blink, Kya’s hands left her, gathering in front of said woman’s chest. Kya held her hands there patiently, as if they were to be bound. Somehow, the speed and implications of such a gesture did not spark further fear within Helena, did not reignite the painful memories lapping at the edge of her consciousness. How such gestures could be made soft and welcoming, appealing even, still befuddled her. Flummoxed, her breath caught, even as Kya spoke. “Helena, I’m going to grab your tie, ok? I won’t pull, and my hands won’t move until I know you are ok. If you need to grab me, that’s ok. I know you won’t hurt me. We can just sway.” “The music is too upbeat for such a slow dance.” Came Helena’s rebuttal, even as her body moved to follow Kya’s suggestion. Cautiously, she gathered Kya into her chest, holding the otherworldly beauty there as if the world might snatch her away. Beneath Helena’s pale skin magic simmered. It heated her veins, writhing and bubbling like serpents of heated tar. She could feel the sparks escaping her control, trapped between her skin and her silken black button up. Kya had expressed her appreciation for Helena’s suit, several times, yet Helena had not seen the appeal until just now. The darkness of her shirt slimmed her down a little, whilst also concealing the fact she was sweating bullets. Her turquoise suit jacket was cut to perfection, emphasising both the strength of her shoulders and her feminine curves, without drawing attention to an overly generous bust. The matching pants fit her like a second skin, showing off impossibly long legs right to heels which meant business. Not only did they elevate her above the heads of many men, they also screamed womanly power. That she could, and would, step on any fool who crossed her path. Then, there was her crisp white tie… the very tie currently embraced between Kya’s gentle fingers. “Who cares about the music? We make our own rules, babe, always have. This was meant to be something fun, Helena. I didn’t think it’d be like this. I just thought it’d be romantic. Like going to prom with my soulmate, instead of some boy who expected me to finish the night on the backseat of his car.” “That boy dare-“ “He didn’t try to physically force me. He was confused as to why I wouldn’t, tried to convince me verbally, but he never laid a hand on me. He wasn’t a bad person, just an ignorant one. He was influenced by the wrong people. He actually wrote me an apology. It doesn’t makes my memory of prom the best.” “Yeah, had a bitch, but she ain’t bad as you. So hit me up when you passing through. I’ll give you something big enough to tear your ass in two” “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!” Kya exploded, her wrath erupting in an enraged shout. Her voice carried, drawing countless gazes to the human embodiment of furious flames about to claim their penance. Kya’s entire body trembled, almost as if her growls were causing her to vibrate, and her cheeks took on a hue often associated with a devil. The fire in her eyes seemed poised to devour the world in its search for vengeance, yet Kya tempered it to three precise culprits. Three large men, all crowding around an uncomfortable-looking DJ who cringed as the song continued to play across a stagnant dance floor. “What’s wrong? Don’t like the music, dyke?” The first man sneered, his voice grating from between crooked teeth. His mates laughed, playfully jabbing him in his well-padded arms, hooting their drunken approval. His large belly jiggled as he laughed. Helena’s eye was drawn to his shirt, specifically the valiant efforts of a single thread stretched between a disconnected button and said shirt. “You’ve been playing rape culture bullshit for over half an hour. Do you even know what half of this shit means? Slip her a Molly? That is roofies! Drugging a woman’s drink to sleep with her, cause that’s totally sexy. That Nirvana song? It is literally about a rape victim. Did you idiots even stop to think that some people here might have gone through that?” Kya’s accusations were sharp, to the point, a jab of a blade straight to the ribcage. “We thought it was setting the mood. Isn’t your bitch DTF? She looks the type.” The second man taunted, giving a poor attempt at a suggestive wiggle of his brows. This man appeared more in shape, lithe, with the veins standing stark beneath his muscles. However, the stench of alcohol was only smothered by the copious amounts of noisme body spray he stained his wrinkled shirt with. “This isn’t the 1800s, dude. Women have the right to get married and be together outside of a Pornhub video.” Kya’s tone dropped along with her brows, her expression challenging, daring the men to come up with a retort worthy of her. “It isn’t rape if the bitch wants it.” The third man jeered. Unlike his counterparts, he appeared clean and put together, something Helena might have even called attractive before he opened his mouth. A good-looking man, ruined by his horrific mouth or corrupt by the company he kept. “What happened to you three? How can you be so cruel as to deliberately target someone just for existing? I know you’ve been watching us and noticed Helena’s reactions.” Kya’s words struck Helena to the core. Suddenly everything made too much sense. How the songs had seemed to only get worse and worse, their violations and sexist attitude more crudely represented. More stark. How the music had steadily grown louder and louder, until their sounds had burned into Helena’s consciousness. Until they became shadows which she could not be free of. Shadows where leering eyes hid, a pride of lions or a pack of wolves slowly circling their prey. What she had dismissed as a trickle of sweat down her back now stood out, an instinctual twinge, a warning. One she had not taken heed of. It left her wondering, was anywhere truly safe for her aside from Kya’s arms? Even in this strange new world, where nobody knew her crimes, she found herself persecuted. Had coming here truly been the new start she believed it to be? Or had she just fled her own insecurity into a pit of newer, wiser vipers whilst she played catch up for over thirty years of missing knowledge? “This is America, we have the right to listen to what we want.” “You have a constitutional right not to be a colossal dick.” Kya fired back without pause. This earned several snickers from around the room at the man’s expense. She wasn’t done, not even close. Kya continued, launching into a scolding with enough disgust in her tone to cow the watching crowds. “After everything she has done for this damn country, hell, the world, she deserves ONE night without some douchebags throwing shit at her. All we wanted was to come and have a lovely night out, not cop sexual harassment from a failed security guard, an alcoholic and a walking advertisement for how not to be a man all trying to relive their high school glory days.” “What? She got bored of servicing all the real men and went for her own bitch to boss around instead?” The second man taunted, snickering loudly at Kya’s repulsed expression. The expression was barely a flicker on the way to a smile. No, a smile implied genuine joy and happiness. Kya’s expression was something far darker. Ink dropped into water, sinking to the bottom of the glass. Purity tainted by malicious intent. Helena internally flinched. That expression was unlike anything she had seen from Kya before, save when Kya dealt with the Queen. It was the closest Kya could ever come to such wickedness; the closest Helena could bare to see her fall. “Oh I get it now. This is about your inferiority complex that no woman as gorgeous as Helena would want to be within ten feet of you unless it was to deliver a restraining order.” Kya’s voice was so calm, so crisp and clear, yet somehow a sneer. Something that even the Witch Queen could never truly pull off. It all happened so fast. Faster than Helena could even react. One moment, Kya was snarling in the face of some asshole, the next he had reached out in a sloppy attempt to smack her. Kya was faster. In a blink, she had grabbed the man’s wrist, grip unyielding, stepped into his space and twisted her body. Just like Helena had taught her. The man went plummeting to the ground in a flurry of ill-fitting formalwear and disgusting body spray. The collision was bone-jarring, filling the room with an audible thud. Before anybody could do anything more than gasp, the third man launched at Kya’s exposed back. Helena’s heart leapt into her throat, her magic burning beneath her skin in preparation to unleash. It was a pointless endeavour. Kya moved naturally, as fluidly as a trickling stream with the passion of a dancer and the heart of a knight. Her elbow came up, driven into the man’s nose without a moment of hesitation. He too fell, left with only his hands to try and still the raging current of blood pouring between his trembling fingers. His hands desperately palmed the broken mass of his nose, which made his cries sound wet and gargling. A second strike, a vicious kick to his groin, ensured he would not be getting up again. Helena arched a brow. That was not something she had taught Kya. “How?” The most rotund of the three questioned, wisely keeping his hands well away from Kya as she stormed up to him. Helena knew his fear, it was once an intimate companion to her afterall. He looked at Kya as if she were the Witch Queen, something which sat uneasily in Helena’s gut. Even here, Kya was not the Queen. She had not taken evident joy in her power over these men, nor in their fear. Kya wore an entirely too calm expression, as if the violence had been a bore to her. As if the blood running down her arm was something to be nonchalant about. She was silent as she reached out, hooking a single finger into the string stretched between button and shirt. Finally, it gave out, snapping under the added pressure. Then, Kya spoke, her voice kept low as if to protect the man from further humiliation. “My wife is a war hero. I’m not the scary one.” She informed, using the tails of his shirt to wipe the blood from her arm. At Kya’s words, Helena noticed the room focus on her for a moment, awe and respect flooding their eyes in a manner that was entirely too familiar. Too uncomfortable. It was the awe and fear of Reiner’s army. How long would it be until they too saw the monster she could be? Could that be how they now viewed Kya? “She’s earned her peace, and I’ll fuck up anybody who tries to attack that. She shouldn’t have to kill anybody else to protect this country, let alone deal with shitfucks like your friends shaming her for having an ounce of happiness.” Kya continued, eyes blazing dangerously. That. That there was something the Queen never had. The heat in her eyes, the fire and compassion. Helena’s heart rose in her throat. She’d seen this scene before. The Queen, leering over her prey, leaning down to mock their failure before she crushed them. Now Helena could see it. Kya’s connection to the Queen. The heat had faded from her cheeks, yet that heat seemed to have migrated to her eyes. Where the queen froze, Kya blazed, charring the man’s willpower to cinders with but one annoyed glance. Her focused glare had him trembling, fearing what she might do next. Helena felt that fear. Had the queen claimed her lover? Was she to truly lose her happiness now? Was fate so cruel? “Your friends will need medical care. That elbow could have broken more than his nose, and your other buddy smacked his head pretty hard.” Kya added, concern filtering into her expression for a microsecond before she turned. With the grace and confidence of a Queen, she strode over to the first man, her dress fluttering around her knees like wisps of shadows and silk. She leaned down towards the man, crouching so that she could speak directly to him. “If I ever hear you dared touch another soul without their consent, then you will no longer have hands.” Kya warned, her voice a tide of outrage tempered by her own compassion. Her hand upon him reminded him to stay down, but also touched with concern. Feeling how his heart rose to meet her palm. Despite his unfocused gaze, he afforded her his full attention, staring at her as if he was looking upon an Angel. No, not an Angel. A Valkyrie of Nordic legend. A guide to the lost heroes, the one to guide their souls to peace. Helena understood, for she gazed in utter devotion. This Kya was a new creature, one embodying her soulmate, channelling Helena’s protective energy in a uniquely Kya way. Helena couldn’t help but smile, to grace her protector with an approving twitch of her lips and a nod. Kya was not the Queen, nor did she continue her violence when it was not in defence. She had picked up arms in this moment so Helena would not. So Helena did not have to. Just as Kya had promised, she protected Helena’s peace. Kya rose after a few more moments, stony eyes softened to gems as she gazed upon Helena. The Valkyrie extended her hand, fingers imploring Helena’s to weave between them with a silent little wiggle. Helena, a lost soul if ever there was one, was helpless to do anything but reach, to accept the hand offered to her. With the softest of smiles, she entrusted herself entirely to her soulmate, her Valkyrie, trusting that if Kya was not her peace then at least she would lead Helena there.

[theelliottsmiths]

So anyway, Mein Herz Brennt Making of liveblog, one of my favourites

First of all, I do take any use of piano MHB as a slight towards my tiny hands. -1 point

I really would love to visit this place, it's beautiful

I love that Oli introduces it and then Till is straight in there talking about murder and stabbings. Trust that to be what intrigues him. I feel like 'smells like murder' isn't a direct translation but that's purely because I spent like ten minutes trying to work out what words he says. It rhymes, which is suspicious.

Oh this was before he let his chest piercing reject all the way out in the grossest way

When schneider says Krankenhaus it sounds very Geordie and I'm convinced that kind of thing is why Auf Wiedersehen, Pet was created

Richards eyes light up when he's talking about the room he's in and it's one of those looks where it's just. I would love to listen to anything anyone has to say when their eyes have that sparkle.

"the scavengers had already been here" cue Paul talking about his criminal past thieving from there. See, another example everyone forgets of him being the biggest bastard of them all. The smile is a front.

One of my favourite ever Rammstein things is the combined joy and mockery from Paul when Richard is revealed to be wearing the bird mask and it wiggles as he nods. He looks like a little black cockatoo. Richard looks embarrassed to be wearing it but Paul is having the time of his LIFE.

The way is echoes in his mask makes him sound like he's clucking

Flakes glasses perching in his cone make him look like that sesame Street doctor or scientist

They all suit this make up so much and I wish they'd consider it as a stage look

Peck. Not intimidated.

Considering the nightmares Till has/had, ouch

Richard looks so much like a little vampire prince but like, a character from what we do in the shadows. He makes his own smokescreen entry/exist and everything.

Melanie!!!

Richard has many tendons in his neck huh.

The sounddd. I used to always be curious as to whether or not people in music videos were making the sounds it looks like they're making and now I know and I'm uncomfortable. This and also later when till does the heart

His laugh is never what I expect it to be

That uh. That doesn't look like he's in pain the way the injection sounds implied. At all. Not that I'm complaining but it gives mixed messages.

I'm so sure Richard is the only one I've ever heard use the word quasi. It makes sense for him if true but maybe I only notice because of the tone he uses? His is quite a punchy nasal tone it might just be more noticeable.

Till with kids is always the most adorable wonderful thing. He's really helping to keep them relaxed despite the creepiness of the stuff they're shooting.

"if you look at the cover then you'll recognise a morbidity to the whole thing" till, my darling, do you think people don't already ~see the morbidity~?

I googled and the lady doesn't pronounce renaissance with a g like Till does and that interests me. In fairness I have to assume it's like in Norwegian how words like restaurant are pronounced with a g sound because it's closer to the French sounds? It's not like we in English donut the French way either but the Google translate lady does. This is why I always suspect that when I'm learning a language I'm learning the language wrong and at some point I'll find out there's a Real, For Adults version if the language that's totally different. This is irrelevant. Accents are fun and I like being able to notice them.

It feels so strange seeing this knowing what Eugenio did

Paul taking pictures because he knows better than them

Something about a child saying "ah yes, I know Till and Flake very well" is hysterical.

You can feel the dismay and disapproval radiating off till as he tries to be diplomatic about the Spanish understanding of linear time. He struggles to find a positive and only comes up with the fire walls. "It should have gone out before we filmed anything because they were fucking around with the playback so long but it didn't" is his only compliment.

The German word for French is wild.

Do they know they could have hired an interpreter? Interpreters existed in 2012 I know this

This whole thing with Melanie is beautiful you can't deny that the arm Eugenio made with then was lovely.

Till in the dress with Melanie in his lap. I don't off the top of my head remember seeing it in either video so I simply must assume that it was just what he was wearing that day when he showed up. She's so tiny on his knee I'm glad they're still friends.

"you're left in a state of trauma when everyone stares at you all the time" did this need to get so heavy? It's interesting that he focused more on her voice than her appearance there, though in fairness it's pretty high

They all love her so much and it's totally understandable.

Mit rock n roll und cola trinken

I have to skip the screaming the secondhand embarrassment is too much.

Part 2

Again, this liveblog is so long

Sometimes Oli speaks like his body isn't used to talking.

I want, so badly, to know if Richard was having memories of his dreadlocked youth The tiny cup in his elegant hand is so pleading and then you look left and. It sure is something.

Are they freckles or acne scars across Tills shoulders?...cute. The first set of arm/chest wounds, not so much. I do spy his lil tummy scar

Richard does look like he almost swooped in for a kiss and then changed his mind because of the camera. Paul turns his head that way and then Richard tries to save with a step back and face rub (his own). Just saying.

The fact that a few of them have taken pictures on their personal phones warms my soul it's such a nice reminder that they're good friends outside of work and My Heart

Schneider and Paul ready at a moment's notice to be Dumbasses. J'adore.

What if Zoran was more of a background character tho actually

God, schneider is beautiful. An ethereal, pure beauty that exists no matter how he's being styled.

See okay how is flake almost taller than Oli right now he's not even doing his standard open legs and swan spine thing

It must be so hard to find Oli sized clothes. Flake is also tall and slim but he's a lot more leg, whereas Olis height seems largely to be torso. I have to assume a lot of his stuff is tailored or custom made now.

I always forget about the marks on tills back when he's in the nightmare dress

The child staring with great confusion at a bright red flake reading. I would love to know what his favourite books are.

The childs plural poking and prodding at a very patient Oli, who gracefully bends his spine in ways I've never seen a human do before. I wonder if he's ever dressed up as Lurch from the Addams family.

The actress playing the woman in this half is so beautiful and has a power her younger counterpart lacked when she was threatening him with her weapon.

I am a dummy and was like weird why is Paul speaking Norwegian. I know full well he wasn't saying unnskyld because I've heard Germans say their equivalent before and I assume Entschuldigen either sounds like that fast or shortens so what the fuck, rhi

Till guiding people through him murdering them is truly one of life's greatest pleasures. They trust him so completely. I would like to watch them dance the elegance would be astounding.

Paul lurking watching with what I choose to see as pride as till slaughters an old woman.

Paul being critical (again, as always, rightly so) of the hallway mouthing the lyrics decision.

"for this in prepared to make compromises" he says, hating every bitter word of it

I would like to know what he wanted to say about till and then see him get into trouble over it.

I would like to see till in a bouncy castle. He's adorable jumping into the comfy pit I want to see him in a bouncy castle. Child, utter child.

Paul takes every opportunity to say how hot he thinks they all are and I love that about him. Sometimes your friends are all hot and everybody needs to understand that fact.

Their approaches to pretending to play cello are all so uniquely them. Flake and Richard are taking the time to try and understand what they're being told, whereas Paul just fucking. Lays into it, attracting the weirdest looks from Oli. Richard looks beautiful with that cello and I think he should learn to play. For fun not for work. It's not just that he looks so handsome, but I think that's the easiest way to convince him. I think he'd be good at it, and not being the lead at something might be good for him.

I appreciate that Oli is skeptical because yeah they do all look like they've never held a cello before.

They do, however, all look lovely in their dresses. I'm trying but actually I can't not say that Schneiders little sternum dip makes it seem like he has breasts in that dress and it's a good look for him.

Till singing it in such a high voice, more like his speaking voice, is both interesting and lovely. Oli is trying... So little compared to the others. Laughably incorrect

Why yes, I am laughing at the sheer length of the spikes. They're just... They're so fucking long. So long.

Paul is actually probably the best one there, ironically. They're all comically out of time. They're professional musicians. I know they aren't used to bowed instruments I do understand and I don't want to be uncharitable but also they are struggling. I want to see cellists react to this.

Pretty dresses! And the nightmare but with the most awful and worst fingers! Like the Grinch but goth.

Both Schneider and Richard had the same neverending shoot idea and I am Intrigued.

Till waiting for Schneider with the umbrella :)

Wir brennen! Paul is always so happy to play with fire.

[angstmongertina]

hidden meanings

Mishka answered an ask about what A meant when they said that they aren’t “good at this sort of thing” and it fucking destroyed me so here we are, like a week and some 2.6k words later. (I’m sorry I’m a slow writer lol.)

Guys, I love Adam so goddamn much.

Most of the dialogue is Mishka’s. I’m just expanding out the scene with more introspection than is entirely healthy lol.

AO3 Link

Adam is not, by nature, a man of change.

Of course, living through nine centuries has done something to temper his obstinacy, and he knows that he is at least less technology-adverse than Nate, but he is also fully aware of the fact that that comparison means hardly anything. Even so, in his long life, he has also found it far easier to simply focus on the present and his duties to the Agency, the organization that, despite its own changes, has remained one of the closest things to a constant in the rapidly evolving world around him.

This world that he does not truly belong in, but that he also cannot leave, that he has simply been existing in for nearly a millennium.

Still, he has long since learned that it is easier, that it is better, to concentrate on the task at hand, to do his job without unnecessary frills and complications. He only has need of himself, his assignment, and his team, those very select few he has come to work with and trust. Those others who have proven themselves, who are also frozen in time, permanently caught in the eddies of the steady stream of life. Who, like him, have secrets and memories that lay guarded, shrouded in the past, out of sight and out of mind.

At least, that has all been the case until Unit Bravo found themselves assigned to Wayhaven and to her.

If anyone had told him, a scant few months earlier, that a human woman, still so young and inexperienced, the daughter of his unit’s handler, would have brought so much change to all of their lives, he would have called them crazy. And yet…

He glances down to his side.

It is a strange thing. At a first pass, the figure walking beside him, taking at least two steps for every one of his, is not one he would have expected to make such an impact. While he has to admit that Agent Langford herself is not of any impressive physical stature, she has an elegance, a commanding presence, that has always served her well, both on the field and behind a desk. Her daughter, on the other hand, manages to be of even smaller frame, not even reaching his shoulder in height, and so slender that she looks as though a strong wind might be able to knock her off her feet. Despite the potential dangers of their mission, her dark hair hangs in messy waves down her back, long and unbound and utterly impractical for combat. All in all, she is, at least at first glance, utterly ordinary, looking for all the world like another resident of Wayhaven that has shown up to this accursed carnival. Except…

Except, in spite of the crowds, the noise and the sights and the chaos, of everything that he loathes, everything that should be overwhelming to his senses, even in the best of times, all of it pales in comparison to her.

As if sensing his thoughts, or at least his attention, she tilts her head up, raising an eyebrow, and his chest tightens at the inquisitive look in the stormy grey eyes that lift to meet his, at the way his traitorous hand twitches in its attempt to reach out for her. Her lips part, all soft curves compared to the bright sharpness of her gaze, and he only realizes when she presses them together, a heaviness resting in their corners, that she has asked him a question.

One that he cannot for the life of him even begin to recall.

Instead, he gives his usual noncommittal grunt, at once a deflection and a response, one that has always served him well. Except this time, his typical antagonism does not appear to hide his preoccupation; for a split second, something flashes across her face, disappearing so quickly that even he, with his supernatural speed, cannot identify it. Its swift departure does not, however, prevent it from settling poorly in his stomach, a sudden storm of unease that has him looking down, unable to meet her eyes and the depths of what he might find there.

He cannot help but be thankful that it is only a few steps further to the carousel, a bright, swirling mixture of colors and music that seems to draw the attention of everyone in range. Almost as if it has been expecting them, the ride slows as they approach, and he does not fail to notice the way Surina’s face brightens as she sets foot onto the steps, the first hint of true enthusiasm he has seen from her since their disagreement in the car.

The animation in her features, highlighted by the twinkling lights of the ride, is nearly enough to make him stumble as he follows her. Climbing up with more difficulty than he cares to admit, he stiffens, clearing his throat before crossing his arms over his chest.

Given her preoccupation, he is almost surprised when it cuts through her reverie, but somehow, it does and in spite of the bustle of others climbing on around them and the general din of the park, her quiet intake of breath echoes in his mind. She turns from inspecting one of the fiberglass creatures to give him another questioning look, but this time, he is prepared for her keen gaze and instead, he glances about them, eyes narrowed. “I don’t think both of us should be seated for this ride. One of us should stay standing to cover us in case of issues.”

The words come out stilted, heavy against her excitement, and part of him finds himself regretting them when they seem to settle over her shoulders, pressing down against the cheer that had lifted them only moments earlier. For a second, he wonders if she will argue, contemplates apologizing, but she only exhales in a long breath before giving a nod, though a hint of a smirk replaces the faint frown on her face, one that is usually enough to put him on his guard, except…

Except, this time, those grey eyes lighten to a softer blue, once again dancing with her amusement, and he can feel his chest tighten in response, enough so that he almost, almost, misses her next statement.

“All right. You sit and I’ll stand.”

It is a challenge and he knows it. Her face is alight with the force of her energy, her eyebrow quirked teasingly with a hand braced on her hip. Despite his best efforts, his breath catches in his throat as the corner of her mouth curls into a smirk, and he has to actively force himself to look away, running a hand through his hair to resist the urge to wipe that cocky smile off of her face, to taste the insolence on her lips…

“Fine.”

Blindly, he reaches for the nearest creature, climbing into the fiberglass saddle before the form of his chosen steed registers to him. It isn’t until she steps closer, her grin growing wider, that the curved neck and pale white wings filter into his consciousness, and he finds himself resisting the urge to growl.

“Seems appropriate.” She chuckles, apparently too preoccupied with running a hand over the bright orange beak to notice the way he stiffens at her words, his heart pounding so loudly that it’s a small wonder everyone on the ride doesn’t notice, but, oddly, instead of mocking, her gaze is playful, a soft invitation. “You know, the whole bad-tempered part?”

She takes another step closer and he says nothing, cannot begin to form a coherent sentence in lieu of gritting his teeth as her arm brushes against his, a warmth that he can feel even through his coat, and he resists the urge to flinch.

Judging from the way she glances away, her expression falling yet again, he is not as subtle as he hopes.

He is not sure if it is perfect or horrendous timing that the ride begins then and she rocks onto her heels, her hand wrapping around the pole just under his, so close that he can feel the heat from it, can almost feel the fluttering of her heartbeat, soft and rhythmical under the cheerfully chiming music, interwoven with laughter and conversation from the other patrons. Steady and intoxicating.

He swallows once, hard, and looks away.

“Maybe we should talk… or something?” Her voice is quiet, enough so that he is certain that anyone without supernatural hearing would not have been able to hear it, and his eyebrows climb at the show of hesitance from his normally combative companion. “Help blend in with everyone else.”

In spite of his better judgment, he lets his eyes drift back over the crowds to where she stands at his side, her face tilted slightly to meet his gaze, and finds his thoughts scattering under the weight of that soft grey. “Talk?” The word comes out slightly strangled and he hastily clears his throat. “Talk of what?”

A slim shoulder rises in a shrug. “Anything, I suppose. We just stand out because we’re so silent.”

“We’re on a job. Chatting isn’t a priority.”

The reply falls out of his mouth without thinking, with the reflexes born from centuries of sidestepping and ignoring attempts at unnecessary conversations and sentiments, of focusing on his missions for the Agency, of maintaining his distance from this world that he does not quite belong in. It is the simple truth, the best, safest approach for everyone involved. And yet…

And yet the flicker of emotion in her eyes before her face smooths out stings, a keen ache in his chest that somehow hurts far more than any amount of anger would have, particularly when she only looks around before leaning closer, her voice dropping to scarcely more than a breath on the evening breeze.

“That was a little loud, Adam. People might overhear.”

The mild censure manages to filter into his consciousness, and he only barely manages to stop himself from flinching at the warning. Their investigation, their mission for the Agency… They are paramount, are the only reason why she is here with him now, playing out this little charade. They must be. Which means…

He turns to meet her gaze once more, taking a deep breath as he catches her eye, now dark and swirling with a myriad of emotions, just out of reach, that he does not dare to try and recognize, that he will not, that he cannot, lose himself in.

Not again. Never again.

Even so, his traitorous heart clenches in his chest, sharp and almost stifling, each pounding heartbeat sending a fresh pang through his entire being. Each breath is constricted, straining against the tightness that binds him, wrapping around his chest until he is drowning in the fierce ocean of his own intense reaction. In wild desperation, he arches his back, focusing on the way his muscles stretch and tighten, on the weight of his coat shifting over his shoulders, on the breath that escapes his lips, warm in the cool evening air. On the space his movement adds between them, the distance that he needs to maintain.

On anything but her.

And still, he can feel those stormy eyes watching him, unwavering, waiting. He can feel his walls cracking under that heavy gaze, feel as it seems to draw the truth from the depths of his soul, and as much as he wants to hold it all back, he cannot. Not to her.

“I’m not good at…” At maintaining appearances around her, at opening up to other people, or even himself. At vulnerability… “At this kind of thing.”

For a moment, her expression softens, and he stiffens ever so slightly at the gentleness in her gaze, at the way she leans even closer, apprehension and hope waging war in equal measure in his mind. “You don’t have to be,” she says, her voice so soft that he can scarcely hear it over the thundering of his heart. “You just have to try.”

Her words echo in his mind, quiet and patient and somehow they shake him more than  anything she has said to him before, threatening to peel back each of his painstakingly constructed layers until he is exposed, raw and bare and…

Crimson flowing in thick rivulets from the gashes in her neck, staining the concrete floor. Soft grey eyes fluttering closed over a shaky smile. Fear and desperation drowning out every rational thought, every ounce of sense in his mind—

He swallows hard.

…And dangerous.

This world is, he is, a threat to her, one he cannot let himself expose her to, no matter how desperately part of him wants to. Not if he brings naught but pain and destruction to her, as he inevitably will.

He has learned that much, at least.

His free hand clenched in an effort to not break the bar he still holds, he takes a deep breath against that persistent tightness in his chest, letting it out in a long sigh. “You are…” The ride separates them gradually, irrevocably, and he cannot be sure if it is relief or disappointment that floods his system, that has the corners of his mouth relaxing. Just as he cannot be sure whether it is fear or anticipation that quickens his heart as he returns once more to meet her gaze, still with that strange, unfathomable patience. As he bites his tongue, holding back the words he longs to say, the truths he cannot tell. “Difficult to talk to,” he finishes quietly but the words feel hollow in his mouth and he cannot hide from the way she lets out the breath she was holding, from the disappointment that streaks across her face, that finds the cracks in his already weakened defenses and cuts, deep and piercing.

“Why?”

The ride has shifted until he is level with her once more and, this close, he can feel the puff of her breath against his skin in the cool evening air, the gentle caress drawing his gaze until all he can see is the soft curve of her lips, parted and frozen, waiting. He can feel the heat of her hand curled around the pole, just below his, skin fluttering with the rapid beating of her heart, so exposed and fragile. He can feel the shape of her name in his mouth, his lips forming around each syllable, the sounds hanging heavy in the space between them, careful and hesitant and yet, somehow, right…

A small jerk throws him off balance, sending Surina stumbling a few steps to the side, and he reacts on instinct, sitting upright as she catches her balance, his muscles tensing when he realizes that he has begun to reach out a steadying hand. Her gaze is still on him, dark and inscrutable, slowly, inexorably drawing him into that pool of something deep and overwhelming and he can’t.

With an effort, he wrenches his gaze away, his hand once again tightening into a fist. Their surroundings filter back into his consciousness, the other riders dismounting, the din of their laughter and conversations crashing back over him in waves of noise and sensation. Cold. Shocking.

A reminder.

Clearing his throat, he slides off the swan, the simple action less fluid than he would like to admit, and finds himself tugging at the collar of his coat. Instead, he folds his arms across his chest, sturdy and resolute. Shielding. “We should move on.”

It is nothing more than a simple statement of truth. He knows this. And yet, he cannot quite suppress the disappointment that wells in his chest when she nods, her reply a quiet whisper, and follows him back into the crowd.

[windtempos]

Midnight Mission

Adya can’t help but smile. The most advanced bionics money can buy, and the one thing that can take her out is a pretty girl with a melee weapon and metal arms.

Adya runs into some unexpected trouble on a mission, followed by some unexpected help from a very friendly face.

--

Loving one another was never the challenge for Adya and Reese-- acting like they didn’t was.

Neither of them were sure of Goddard's policy for romantic relationships between agents. They weren’t sure if they even wanted to call it one at all. Putting time aside both to a partner and to their jobs would be nearly impossible, especially considering how busy Adya was outside of agent work. Every day, a new interview, board meeting, or diagnostic check seemed to take up any ounce of free time she had. 

But Reese can’t deny that she looks at her colleague and wants everything to do with her. Living with four other agents and being right next door to Adya certainly doesn’t curb the thought, either. Even with the cold, harsh metal beneath her artificial skin, her touch always feels warm. Even when every gesture and expression is the result of 1s and 0s in her computer brain, she finds herself picking up Adya’s idle habits. Even when the world spins too fast for them to get a moment alone, it seems to slow down right when Reese wants it to. Just for a second-- then it’s back to business.

The only alone time that the two get is always under... strenuous circumstances. Luckily, amid the chaos of a fight, there’s one thing that all their teammates can agree upon: Adya and Reese work well under pressure.

Colby’s rifle rests across her lap. The weariness starts to set in; it’s almost two in the morning and she’s been camped out on this fire escape for an hour, waiting for someone who might never come.

“What do you have for me, Colburn?” Adya says from her wrist com.

“Exactly what I had for you two minutes ago,” she answers. “An empty storefront with the lights off. No one coming in or out. The building is big, so I can’t guarantee that they’re not using another exit. What do you have for me, Prisham?”

“Well, I found out there’s a basement. The walls are too thick for me to hear anything; and if I go down any further, I’ll lose your signal.”

“Our mission is reconnaissance only. The people in this building are supposedly picking apart old assembly line machines and reselling the parts.”

Adya keeps her footsteps light and ducks around the corner. The concrete is cold against her back in some spots, warm in others. It might just be the fact that she’s underground in a building that’s decades old, but something tells her that it’s more. “I don’t mind secondhand shopping until it means the difference between a bionic arm and a bomb.”

Colby’s tired eyes wake up when she notices five people look up and down the street before unlocking the front door. “Woah, woah,” she says, peering through the scope of her rifle. When one pulls at the handle, she notices his clawlike, bionic arm. “Adya, you’ve got incoming.”

Static.

“Adya?” she taps her wrist com gently a few times before giving up. The five figures disappear behind the building’s tinted windows.

Willing to take the risk, Adya slips into the stairwell and makes her way to the basement. Idle chatter and footsteps echo two flights above her. Shit, she mutters. The staircase goes down a few more flights, but she takes the first exit she sees. There isn’t enough time to shut it gently; the door swings back and latches with a tremendous thud on both sides. As she dives out of sight around the corner, she holds down the button on her wrist com. If live communication isn’t going through at this depth, all she can do is send out a tracking transmission and hope that no one has to use it.

Both sides of the hallway feature heavy, metal doors and one-way windows. Thermal vision tells her that each room has only a couple people inside; the rest of the space is occupied by machines, she assumes. She peers through one of the doors to see two men in dirty mechanic suits studying an elegant bionic arm propped up on the table. Instead of five fingers, the arm stops at the wrist with a wide opening similar to that of a gun. An arm cannon. We were right about this place.

The weight of Adya’s metal body against the metal door is enough to shove it open, however, and it lets out a creak that resonates down the hallway for everyone to hear. She breaks into a sprint down the hall. Even with the most lightweight bionics money can buy, her steps are heavy and loud against the concrete. She’s met by five pairs of eyes when she whips around the corner.

One of the men steps forward, extending his clawlike hand. “I’m impressed,” he begins. “This is a secure facility. Sneaking in here is pretty bold.”

“Guess I just love the thrill,” Adya responds, a firm hand on the pistol against her thigh.

“No, I think you’re just programmed that way.” He lets out a chuckle that feels almost robotic. Maybe his hand isn’t the only artificial thing about him. “Adya Milana Prisham. First human consciousness in a fully functional, artificial body. Designed for any fight. I’ve read up on you-- marvelous work.”

If she’s programmed for anything, it’s this. Her sense of fear is high enough to keep her safe, but low enough that she doesn’t freeze up in the face of danger. “Technically, I’m not built for combat. They didn’t start building military-grade bodies until after they put me in this one.”

“Hm. How unfortunate for you.” The claw attached to his wrist retracts, replacing itself with a narrow, four-pronged tool that the man presses into Adya’s shoulder. An overwhelming jolt of electricity courses through her system. Her joints lock up and her eyes go wide before abruptly returning to a neutral gaze. The world goes dark as her mind retreats into her limp body.

When Adya comes to, she’s blinded by the white light shining directly into her vision. Her wrists are bound to the wall above her head in tight, metal clamps. The room feels, looks, smells-- sterile. She knows the sensation of a bionics procedure room all too well.

“They say that the best way to learn is by doing,” the man says, noticing that she’s conscious, “and I’m tired of reading articles and analyzing blueprints. Let’s dissect that hunk of metal you call a body, huh?”

A small canister slides under the door and clatters against the concrete the moment that he turns to face Adya. Thick, white smoke fills the room faster than he can kick it away or cover it. He stumbles back into carts and tables, knocking trays of tools to the floor.

The sound of a struggle becomes the only discernible thing among the chaos. Adya notices a second, smaller heat signature has entered the room. When the smoke clears, it’s not the man’s face that she notices first. It’s the long, brunette hair and slim, bionic arms. It’s the brown eyes that could see right through you if they chose to. It’s the casual smile that never fails to be a sight for sore eyes.

“Reese?”

Reese coughs out some of the smoke, making sure that her opponent won’t be getting back up anytime soon. She pulls a key from his coat pocket. In one, swift movement, the staff in her hand retracts and latches back onto her belt. “I see that you turned your recon mission into an assault,” she says. “And I just turned it into a rescue. I got your tracking transmission.”

“At two in the fucking morning?” Adya scoffs, but it comes out as more of a chuckle. She can’t even pretend to be mad. “What are you doing awake?”

“Couldn’t sleep. The apartment feels too empty with you and Colby gone and I was working late anyway.”

Adya stares at Reese for a long while as she wanders over. “You were worried about me.”

Reese rolls her eyes, stretching her metal arms over her head in an attempt to look nonchalant. She wears black skinny jeans and a big, gray jacket over a tank top. While she may look out of her element in civilian clothes, Adya can’t deny that she looks awfully good in them. It’s not often they get to be out and about in anything but their uniforms. This doesn’t exactly qualify as “out and about”, though. “Was not,” Reese says.

“Yes you were! You did this last time I went on a midnight mission. Nate and I didn’t come back until four in the morning and there you were, pulling an all nighter.”

Reese rests a hand on the wall above Adya’s shoulder. She leans in closer with the dumbest, most smug grin anyone’s ever seen. “For the record, I got an hour of sleep that night. But keep talking-- I’ll just leave you here.”

Adya giggles and taps her nose against her colleagues. Too much time around Reese and she starts to short circuit. “The things you do to get me alone, Agent.”

“The things I do? You were here first, tin can. I’m doing you a favor.”

She reaches up with the key and slides it into the lock. Soon enough, Adya’s arms slip out, but now they’re caught in a new grip. Reese holds tight to her hands and locks her lips against Adya’s. For a few seconds, everything disappears-- no bionics, no enemies, no threat of being dissected like a lab project. There is Adya and Reese, nothing more. The earth melts out from under their feet like rocks floating downstream, away from the heavy world.

Static spews out of Adya’s wrist com. “Adya?” Colby says. Great timing.

“I’m here,” she says, still eyeing Reese an inch away from her. “I’m on my way out. We were right-- they’re building black market bionics here.”

“What took you so long?”

“I ran into some unfriendly faces.”

“Followed by a very friendly one,” Reese chimes in. “Hey, Colby.”

Colby’s gasp is so loud that it almost scrambles her transmission. “Reese, the General is gonna be furious that you snuck onto this operation!”

Reese opens the door and follows her colleague out into the hallways. “Which is why we’re not gonna tell her.”

Ever the ambitious member of their team, Reese darts down the corridors, narrowly avoiding eyes and ears with ease. Adya follows close behind, ears still ringing from the kiss earlier. She can’t help but smile. The most advanced bionics money can buy, and the one thing that can take her out is a pretty girl with a melee weapon and metal arms.

[multibug]

4. your voice (adrienette)

AO3

Marinette’s morning went a little like this: 

Waking up thirty minutes past her alarm—one that literally screams into her ear, Marinette skirted the line of obnoxiously late to class and tardiness doesn’t suit you, ms. dupain-cheng by busting through the classroom doors ten minutes after the bell had already rang. Her clothes were sopping wet from the rain outside and her inability to be prepared for Paris’ sporadic rainstorms. An excuse that was so incredibly untrue and fallible resided on the tip of her tongue, but her teacher had just sighed and ushered her to her seat. 

Only to notice that her seat was taken by a certain dad-hat wearing boy and the only seat open was next to Adrien. 

Naturally, her first instinct was to glare at Nino and Alya, both of whom had identical smirks in lieu of her flushed expression. Secondly, she'd decided to raise her chin high and drop into the empty seat, ignoring the stares and whispers she received from literally everyone in the room. 

Adrien nudges her with his shoulder and a small smile meant only for her, waving with one hand—mostly his pointer and middle fingers. 

“Hey,” she whispers in response, fumbling to open her bag and tug out her half-charged tablet. 

Passing of time allowed for the squeaking tendences Marinette had while she was around Adrien to fade into small, subtle stuttering over words every now and then. Though her crush on him has only amplified into something akin to love or at the very least intense infatuation, their friendship has blossomed from a weaved-tight-in-a-cocoon pupa to a fully-grown, magnificently-colored butterfly.

With adulthood around the corner, Marinette lives for the small moments with her friends and family. Her world is going to shift from being coddled to overbearing in a matter of seconds. We’re the Millers replays in her brain over and over,  no ragrets  embedded deep in the what the fuck parts of her mind. 

Marinette takes pride in the day going fairly well up until lunch, Adrien whisked away for a photo shoot before she can get a word in otherwise. He two-finger salutes them with a side-smile that’s so achingly similar to Marinette her heart aches and brain tries to scratch the itch she’s feeling.

Think Marinette, think. 

Alya, Nino, and her sit down at their usual table, spot open for Adrien in case he comes back a bit early—though they know the likelihood of that is slim to none. 

(Out of all the times they’ve held his spot, only once has he strolled in minutes prior to the final bell, in complete confusion over the lack of a body in his everyday seat. 

Nino explained it all to him and a very rare, genuine smile appeared on Adrien’s face that warmed their hearts.) 

“Quick question,” Marinette says, arms crossing over her chest as she drops her tray onto the hot to the touch table. Nino cowers slightly at her glare. “Why were you in my seat, Ninhoe? I nearly had a heart attack walking into class.” 

Nino goes to open his mouth but Alya beats him to it, smirking. “Maybe if you would’ve made it to class on time—”

“—my alarm didn’t go off—”

“—then you’d know that sunshine has laryngitis, so his only way of communicating with us is through terrible hand gestures, texts, writing, or this  stupid  text-to-speech app he downloaded.” 

Perking up as the tone of the conversation shifts ever-so-slightly, Nino sits up straighter in his seat and grins. “You should’ve heard the things that were coming out of that robot’s mouth. I mean tablet’s speaker,” he pauses, scratching his head. “Whatever it is. Look, all I know is that I haven’t laughed that hard in a hot minute.” 

“So then how did you end up in my seat?” 

This time, Nino’s expression turns sheepish as Alya laughs, hands flying about as she speaks, “Adrien’s robot voice told Nino to, and I quote, ‘Go sit with Alya before I flick you in the noggin’.” 

All Marinette can picture is a pouty Adrien pointing to the seat behind them as a cackling Nino drags himself towards her unused chair and Marinette portrays Adrien by giggling, so hard that she clutches her stomach. “Oh, oh that’s too good!” 

“It gets even better.” Nino’s grinning too wide and his eyes are lit with humor. “When we had to do the pop quiz, which you missed by the way, he tried to hand gesture to me that he needed a pen, right?” 

And, oh no, Marinette knows by the tone of Nino’s voice where this is going. 

“So I told him to use his text-to-speech since I didn’t understand him,” Mirth swims around in Nino’s eyes as he talks vividly, the calm boy Marinette’s used to suddenly gone. “So at full volume, he types into the app and it says, ‘Nino, can I please have a penis?’ I thought I was going to have a stroke.” 

“No way,” Marinette chokes out, previous giggles lackluster in comparison to her full-belly laughter over Nino’s retelling of class this morning. “This is the one time I regret being late.” 

On their way back to class after lunch, Alya whips out her phone with her wired headphones, placing one of them in Marinette’s ear. She watches as Adrien’s face reddens so quickly, so unlike his elegant, yet nonchalant stature as soon as the robotic voice is heard. (His small smile afterwards indicates he’s not actually upset, just a tad embarrassed.)

“That poor boy!” Marinette’s laughter echoes through the halls and lasts until they arrive at the classroom. 

 ~*~

“Marinette,” a very robotic voice says to her left as class ends for the day, jolting Marinette from her daydreams about defeating Hawkmoth and living a simplistic life as a fashion designer. 

Not about the pretty model with a heart of gold that tugs on her heartstrings sometimes, nope.

“Adrien?” She questions as she purses her lips together to not laugh at the robotic voice. Half of their class immediately piles out of the room once they’re dismissed, letting their conversation become a little more private. 

Pausing his typing to gauge her reaction, Adrien’s eyes flicker from his furious typing on his tablet to her face. “Alya showed you the video from earlier, didn’t she?” 

How does he know? Is he a psychic or something? “W-What do you mean? What video?” 

Adrien sends her a slightly unamused look and Marinette’s lips quirk into a grin, arm coming up to drape over the top of the bench behind him. His eyes glance at her hand, which just barely—accidentally, she swears it—grazes his shoulder. He scoots slightly closer to her so the back of his shoulder is pressed against the front of hers, eyes blinking as if to say is this okay?

Always for you, she thinks, biting her lip.

Instead of a verbal answer, Marinette lays her arm over his shoulder and allows him to settle against her body, in a half hug. “Are you feeling okay?” 

Head resting in the crook of her neck, Adrien grunts and mutters hoarsely, “Hurts.” 

“Adrien, no offense, but your voice sounds like shit. Use your app.” 

The noise he makes can barely be considered human, and Marinette squeezes his shoulder with her hand as she laughs gently. She turns her head and her lips brush the top of his hair in a fleeting kiss, Adrien stilling against her. 

Shit. “Adrien, I’m so sorry, that was crossing a line, I—” She goes to pull away from him, but he stops her immediately, reaching for the tablet and hastily typing. 

“Nooooo-o-o-o-ooooh, Marinette it’s okay. It felt really rice.” The blush that crosses Adrien’s face is so cute, so sweet, so endearing that Marinette can’t help but wrap her other arm around him and tug him closer to her. 

For the first time ever, Marinette isn’t the one embarrassing herself in front of Adrien.

Huh, that’s new. 

“Well, your hair feels really poft,” she tells him with a small giggle, his lips curling up amusedly as his green eyes meet hers.

Embarrassing himself even more, Adrien types, “Your farms are really strong. You could probably break me in half like it was muffin.”

“That’s what you choose to say? That I could break you in half like muffin?” 

She has no idea what this means for them, whether  this is something or if it’s a fleeting moment in their timeline. Whatever it is, she’s excited and ready. 

Adrien let out a small whine, jutting his lower lip out prettily. “Stop making fun of the dick kid, Mari! It’s not nice.”

“That one was on purpose, wasn’t it?” 

The smirk on Adrien’s face says it all.

[hecohansen31]

because i really fricking miss, love and cherish sojourn! michael can i please request a vvvvvvv soft fluffy moment between reader and him where she’s the one to take him home after church and just like ,,,,,,, takes care of him and washes his hair for him and helps him with any bruises and cuts and they end up just ordering food and watching some random movie whilst she consoles him 🥺🥺🥺🥺 i really am a sucker for fluff

(A/N): Hello there, sweetie!

Ahhh I honestly feel like on my blog I don’t celebrate that much Sojourn! Michael, but I honestly love and cherish him, because he is a cutie patootie, with a feral hunger I long to satisfy!

I hope you’ll like it and if you want me to change anything, please let me know!

Have a nice day!

WARNINGS; Mention of Previous Trauma, Satanism and Bringing Home a Stranger.

You didn’t go at the Satanist Church, anymore, because you believed in it, but more because it was some kind of social occurrence which had become a ritual to you.

You knew half of the people there and knew that half of them were exactly like you: standing there as unbelievers, but unable to move away and search something better to do on those nights.

And because most of the people knew each other, you were able to spot a new person, next to Madeline as you entered in the church: he was a gorgeous boy of probably your age, if not slightly younger, with the most gorgeous curls you had ever seen, although they were covered in dirt as his whole body.

Moved by curiousness, you sat by him, gently smiling to Madeline, meanwhile you pushed a few dollars in the offering bucket, looking at the embarrassed boy and quickly suggesting to Madeline that a fellow Satanist was in need of help, freeing the boy of the old woman’s presence scooting lightly closer.

“Hey” he was lightly startled, and you tried to approach him carefully “… couldn’t help but notice that you are new, I am (Y/N)”.

You offered your hand as a way to test the waters and the stranger looked at it with a mixture of worry and uneasiness, as if he had come back from a long trip just to find that everything had changed, alongside his entire aspect showing he had gone through quite the trauma.

“… Michael” he didn’t accept your hand, but looked at you in the eyes, gripping his hand on his knees and you nodded.

“Is everything alright, Michael?” you asked, trying not to seem noisy, but you were definitely worried “… people don’t wander here, usually, without a specific reason”.

“Let’s just say that I am lost” he mumbled, his stare unfocused in front of him and you were even more worried.

“Everyone is lost, in this life, sadly we aren’t given an instruction manual” you explained softly and dared to reach out to grab one of his hands, managing to shift his attention to you, meanwhile you smiled softly “… it’s why life is such a beautiful trauma”.

Michael smirked sadly and looked at your joined hands, before he swiftly and surprisingly shot his eyes to meet yours and you were left dumbfounded by the intensity of his gorgeous eyes.

“And what made you wander here, (Y/N)?” he mumbled, his tone requesting only the truth and you were unable to deny it, blushing lightly and lowering your head.

“… my family has always believed in all this, I grow up to recognize this as something normal, but, between us…” you lowered your voice, and pushed yourself slightly closer to Michael, him slightly inching also closer, some part of him striving for human contact “… I am not really a believer, I haven’t sold my soul and neither I think about doing it”.

“Smart move” mumbled Michael, meanwhile his eyes shifted unfocused onto the altar, definitely trying to follow the ritual, but with no true interest “… Satan doesn’t give a fuck about us”.

“Neither does God” you replied, simply smirking sadly “… it is people that have to care for each other”.

You had always thought that, in the end, what mattered was what humans could create, on their own.

Hence why you chose to ask Michael if he needed a place to crash in.

He looked like a recently homeless person, maybe he had been thrown out of his house or maybe he had lost everything, but what was sure was that he needed somewhere to stay.

Michael shook his head lightly, again his eyes unfocused, and a slight shade of annoyance appearing in them, which changed in surprise as you proposed he actually came with you at your home.

“… you don’t have a place to stay and I have a comfortable bed and a shower, they might help you a bit, since the homeless rescues I know should be closed by now, sadly” you explained, meanwhile Michael looked at you definitely shook “… we could order pizza and watch a movie, you look like you might need a bit of comedy in your life”,

Michael looked at you, almost as if a miracle was happening in front of him, before a harsh expression appeared onto his face and he mumbled, annoyed:

“Why are you doing this?” he asked, confused, before he sat up to look at you in the eyes, searching desperately for something “… I am a complete stranger to you, and maybe a danger to you, you don’t know me!”.

“I’d like to think that if Destiny or Satan threw you at me, it is for a reason other than you being a danger to me…” and then you took a good look at his slim body “… and don’t take this as an insult, but… you look like you couldn’t even lift a penny from the ground, right now”.

“And how can I not know that you won’t take advantage of me?” this question broke your heart, because he seemed to speak from experience, not to talk about the frail shrill in his one “… all the people I have had around me did nothing more than take advantage of me”.

“… I know that swearing on something doesn’t matter much,,, but I swear I don’t want to do anything but help you, Michael”.

“It is difficult for me to believe that” he mumbled, and you were sure that you that he would have straight up refused, although it pained your heart to leave such an hurt soul “… but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, if you can add to that also some candies…”.

“Well then candy it is!”.

As soon as you arrived home you gave Michael some slippers you had stolen from a hotel not too long ago, which would fit him, and they were certainly more comfortable than the elegant but ruined shoes Michael wore.

Then you showed him the bathroom, explaining to him how the shower worked and where he could find some soap and other bathroom necessities, leaving him some privacy to him, as you moved away to collect some new clothes from your neighbor and tenant, Mrs. Roses, a noisy woman whose son had left her some clothes, before he went to college, for when he came back during the holidays.

She gave you quite the stare, as you moved away with a pile of clothes you hoped would fit Michael, but you simply justified that request as a ‘friend crashing in, since he had an appointment in the city, tomorrow’, a dashing and uncaring smile on your  face, meanwhile you blushed all the way back home, finding a shivering Michael wrapped loosely in a towel.

You immediately came to him, realizing that the old lady in the apartment over yours must have used all the hot water, and immediately gave Michael the fluffy clothes, warmed up by the atmosphere in your apartment.

“Oh, sweetheart, I am so so sorry! Mrs. Krystel must have washed her chihuahuas” you said, meanwhile he changed, hidden by the loosely closed door of the bathroom, his little shivers audible enough, and you were thankful that your apartment was always a bit too warm.

Thankfully dinner went better than the shower and not only the pizzas warmed up Michael a bit, but it was also an occasion to talk about some general stuff, Michael opening up a bit, explaining to you that he had lost a rather important person and his father had rejected him when he had searched for him.

Small tears escaped his eyes and you weren’t able to stop yourself from gently moving closer, with a tissue in your hand to help him collect himself, drying his tears and softly caressing his face, till his sobs quieted and he gently and loosely, hugged you, burying his face in your hair.

Although it was definitely strange and a bit unusual to hug a stranger, you weren’t able to deny him and gently cuddled him closer to your chest, softly kissing his forehead, as he clutched you closer, till you suggested to soothe his uneasiness with a bit of chocolate.

You then realized that he hadn’t been able to wash his hair and suggested you washed it for him.

“I am not going back in that shower!” he immediately shouted, as a cat scared of being given a bath.

You then proceeded to explain that he wouldn’t need to go back, and just filled a basin of hot water, making Michael immerge his hair into it, meanwhile he laid with his back to the table, a bit uncomfortable but he started basically purring as you began playing with his hair, combing them through your fingers and massaging his scalp with some hair lotion.

In the end he was putty enough in your hand, making you let out a laugh as he closed his eyes, halfway through sleeping, already.

“This is… rather enjoyable” he muttered as you smirked.

“I was sure you would feel like this… I honestly love when people play with my hair” you joked as you wrapped a towel around his hair to dry it, and as you waited you watched a movie, ‘The Holidays’ since you were feeling lightly Christmas-y and Michael giggled at the meeting between Graham and Amanda.

And meanwhile he was giggling, you heard him lightly moan in pain, something that made you turn lightly, looking at him worried, meanwhile he muttered a simply ‘everything is alright’.

But you didn’t trust him and gently touched his chest, feeling him take a deep hiss as your hand came down to a peculiar point, and Michael allowed you to raise his shirt so that you could examine it, a big bruise forming onto the right side of his lower torso, an horrible color, that made you almost wonder if the ribs under it hadn’t broken.

But Michael was adamant about not going to the hospital so the only thing you could offer him was a bit of comfort and ice, wrapped in a rag, which made him hiss, but you felt him relax, softly, even more as you again played with his damp hair.

You didn’t know what had made you take a stranger home.

Had it been his pretty eyes or the way he looked so desperate that you just felt like you had to cuddle him.

But you were glad you had, as you both fell asleep listening to each other’s breaths, on the couch.

It had been decidedly an amazing idea.