#he's always been happy with simplicity and living in the moment no matter how boring that moment is | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pedros-mustache-main · 4 years ago

Text

the arrangement

summary: it is all clear and simple—until it isn’t.

word count: 6.6k+

warnings: sugar daddy relationship, age gap (john is ~35, reader is ~23), angst, language, innuendo, suggestive themes & moments (not 18+ but be mindful—probably more so than with anything i’ve written!)

a/n: for the sake of this fic, veronica et al. don’t exist. i refuse to write infidelity. okay i hope you enjoy because i am very upset about the cottagecore!brian fic that i wrote which was eaten unceremoniously by the monster living in this website. xoxo!

1986.

he doesn’t kiss you; you won’t let him.

it’s all a part of the minutiae of your arrangement. he has his rules: a shower before and after—sometimes together, but mostly alone; meetings out of the public eye, normally his london flat; no contact with his colleagues. you have your rules: no outside arrangements with other women (or men, for all you care); no spur-of-the-moment visits; and above all, no kissing.

he can—and does—have a field day with the curves and contours of your body whenever he gets the chance. his mouth knows your skin well, and you’d like to think you know his in a similar fashion. you know what it feels like to be touched and held and loved by him, but his lips have never so much as brushed yours, and you intend to keep it that way. it’s just a quirk, a bothersome little thing you carry with you to all of your arrangements. kissing is too intimate and, though you’ve been more than intimate with john, there’s a line in the concrete you are unwilling to cross. he respects that, so the arrangement works.

you like him. he’s charming and intelligent, thoughtful when it matters. he never forgets a date despite his busy schedule, and he seems to anticipate your moods, knowing just when to spoil you a little extra to ease the pain of a ruined portrait or sour customer. he supports your art endeavors, though you are firm about him staying away from your studio apartment. like kissing, it’s too intimate, too personal. he pays the rent, though, and is admittedly happy when you confess he has inspired a piece or two.

still, he’s confounding. there’s a pervading sadness about his person, even when he’s laughing. it runs deep—that sadness—and you can’t pinpoint the origin. you suspect he must be lonely even though he’s one of the world’s foremost musicians. why else would he dote on you endlessly? why else would he throw his hard-earned money at the feet of a girl too young to be his proper lover and too guarded to ever give him the chance at something real?

not that he’s tried to move the arrangement to something deeper. he hasn’t. for that alone, you’re more than content to stay with him. you’ve had strings of other arrangements before, but never one that’s lasted this long. it always falls apart eventually—unmet expectations, dangerous feelings, the unfortunate death. a year and a half with john is a long time, and you’re surprised he’s not bored with you yet. you’re surprised you aren’t bored with him.

but truly, he is kind and well-off—physically and monetarily—and so long as he’s keen to have you around, you’ll stick around. you aren’t complaining.

of all your arrangements, you like john richard deacon the most.

he’s been gone for some time, consumed by the magic tour and promoting the latest queen album. he’s tired, ready for a break, and when he calls you a week before his return, you can hear the shoulder-crushing weariness in his tone.

“i’m getting too old for this, [y/n],” he says.

his sigh is heavy, and it gives you pause. you hold still, the paintbrush between your fingers suspended in midair. you twist on your stool in discomfort. though you know your role—and you play it splendidly—there’s always a flare of uncertainty in the back of your mind when john muses personal.

you shift, cradling the telephone between your shoulder and your ear. “you’re only thirty-five, john,” you say after a moment. “hardly an old fart.”

“well, i feel one.” something crinkles over the line. “i think we’ll be on break for a good while after this. freddie is—” he sighs again. “when can i see you?”

you can’t help but smile. you dip your head to the side as you study the foot of the angel in your painting. there’s something not quite right, so you lift the corner of your smock and wipe away the top of her big toe.

you like it when your men are eager; it means they still intend on supplementing your income and leaving you fine gifts. as soon as the eagerness begins to fade, as soon as the meetings are less and less frequent, you know it’s time to look elsewhere. nearly two years later and john is more eager for an evening with you now than he was at the start. you have nothing to worry about.

“when do you get back?”

“thursday.”

“then you can see me thursday.”

he exhales in something that sounds a lot like relief. you bite your lip to keep from smiling wider. he’s wrapped so tight around your pinky; neither of you seem to care.

“good, good. i’ll bring you something from barcelona. what do you want?”

"hmm. surprise me.”

“you don’t like surprises.”

“you’re right. how about some of those fun little tiles? the colorful ones, y’know?” he hums in agreement. “i can put those in my kitchen.”

“tiles? my baby wants tiles?” he laughs, and you’re thankful for the thousands of miles between you. the affectionate term, spoken normally in jest, sends your thoughts straight to the gutter every time, loathe as you are to admit such a thing. “fine. tiles it is. see you thursday.”

“it’s a date, mr. deacon.” you pause then add, “get some rest, john. you sound knackered.”

“i am.”

“i’ll see you thursday, handsome.”

he says goodnight, wishes you sweet dreams, and hangs up. you drop the phone to its base and sit back, stretching your arms over your head.

the canvas before you is taller than it is wide—twenty-four by thirty-six. the customer, a repeater, requested something angelic and bright, a new addition to their marble villa in the south of greece. you’re happy to oblige, but you’re stuck on the bottom portion. should the angel be in flight? poised on a cliffside? in a garden? you know it doesn’t matter, that the buyer will be happy regardless, but it matters to you. each painting needs to tell a coherent story, and you like for that story to fit well with the piece’s ultimate home.

your mother says you are blessed with a gift by god. john says you have natural talent. you think you’re just good at copying. it’s not forgery; all of your paintings are as unique as they are original. still, you’re excellent at replicating dead-and-gone styles: renaissance, rococo, romantic, hell even the odd modern piece. whatever the customer wants, you can reproduce it for a fraction of the cost. your work pays handsomely, but averaging only one painting a year doesn’t pay all the bills that pile up on your kitchen island over the months. that’s where john comes in. it evens out in the end, with more than enough on the side to play with.

rising from your stool for a much needed break, you cross the concrete floor, the stone cool beneath your bare feet. the evening has gone drafty, so you shut one of the tall windows looking onto the side garden. you pick up your mail from beneath the flap on the front door and rifle through. nothing urgent, though there’s a letter from your mother. you tuck it to the side.

john would detest your studio if he ever saw it. it’s unfeeling, bare bones and vaulted ceilings and exposed beams. most of the open floor plan is used for your painting endeavors. there’s discarded portraits along the wall, a few untarnished canvases tucked in a corner. there’s a worktable that doubles as a kitchen table, and a cramped kitchen shoved beneath the loft which houses your bed and wardrobe. you don’t mind the gray walls and gray floors and metal and lack of personal touches. if anything, the simplicity allows your creativity to explode.

after a piece of jam and toast for supper, you return to your painting. the angel should be on a cliffside overlooking the sea, you decide; after all, her home will soon be greece. dipping your brush to the mixture of tan and dark brown you’ve been using for her skintone, you curl a leg beneath you and set to work. only this time, you struggle to keep the excited smile from your face.

john’s coming home. you missed the bastard—him and his money.

thursday evening you find yourself on john’s front stoop, fist poised to knock on the door. the dress beneath your coat is silky, like water against your skin. you feel underdressed for the turn of the season but you’re likely to be without clothing entirely within the hour so you grit your teeth against the chill on your legs. you clear your throat, adjust the curled ends of your hair, and knock on the door. the bottle of champagne in your hand grows heavy as you wait, and you finger the small string of diamonds around your neck.

john inhales through his nose sharply when he opens the door. “[y/n],” he breathes before sweeping you into a tight embrace.

you laugh, crushed against his chest, your arms snug around his shoulder. he smells clean, like soap and fresh tea. you lift your legs, giggling further as he spins you about the rowhouse foyer.

“okay, okay!” you squeal. “put me down!”

he drops you to the floor, your heels clicking against the hardwood. “let me take your coat,” he says, sliding behind you to remove your outer layer. you shimmy out of the garment and bite you lip on a smirk when he sucks in a breath through his teeth.

“like it?” you ask, twirling on the ball of your foot in a slow circle. your dress—pale pink, short and open in the back—leaves little to the imagination.

“you’re a sight for sore eyes, angel.”

he steps away from the coatrack to circle his arms around your waist. he settles his hands in the curve of your spine and drinks you in, his pupils expanding with appreciation. you preen under his gaze and rest your palms on his brightly patterned shirt. you never tire of this—no matter who your benefactor is. the glazed look in their eye when they see you wearing a necklace newly bought or sporting a handbag of your choice or simply pushed against their strength is intoxicating. you feel powerful and desirable and unstoppable all at once.

“missed you.” john lifts a hand to brush a lock of hair away from your face, and the gesture is decidedly intimate. it sends a chill down your spine, your mouth tightening. you know if this were any other relationship he would bend forward and capture your lips, marking you as his and erasing the weeks apart with a single touch. you know he’s fighting the urge to do so now; you can see it in the way his eyes flick to your mouth and hold there.

to ease his yearning, you wind your arms around his neck and squeeze him tight, curling your fingers in the base of his recently trimmed perm. you like the fluff; it’s quirky—like him. “missed you, john.” you kiss the corner of his jaw and pull away, trailing to the kitchen.

he’s hot on your heels.

lifting your rump onto the kitchen island, you cross your ankles and grin as he enters the room. “did you bring me my tiles?”

john blinks, as if he’s not sure what you’re talking about, but then recognition lights his eyes, and he snaps in remembrance. “ah yes, the tiles! hold on.” he slips into an adjoining room before returning with a brown box tied with a white ribbon. “here.”

you take the box, smile at him where he leans against the counter opposite you, and tear off the string. within the box there’s a small index card covered in john’s neat script. you lift it and meet his eyes again; there’s a faint blush on his cheeks as you read aloud.

“[y/n], i thought you deserved something better than a few titles. love, john.” lowering the card to your side, you push back the tissue paper to see a framed pencil sketch of a woman mid-gown fitting. the seamstress is crouched against the floor, her back to the viewer. the woman being fitted is twisted, glancing over her shoulder as the seamstress works, her reflection visible in an invisible mirror. you squint and push your nose to the corner then nearly drop the frame to the floor.

your head snaps up so fast it cracks. “john, you didn’t.”

he just beams, nodding.

tucked in the right hand corner of the sketch is the artist’s signature, a signature you know well. mary cassatt.

“got it in paris,” he explains. “thought you could use an original from your favorite.”

you brush your fingertip along the signature and feel the sting of tears beneath your eyelids. of all the gifts you been handed—holidays in rome, designer bags and jewelry, luxury rides to and from the city—this, this, is the best. part of you hates the sudden rush of emotion that spreads through your chest, but you allow the feeling to take hold, opening your arms to him. he steps between your legs, and you curl yourself around his body.

“thank you, john,” you whisper. your voice is muffled by the fabric of his shirt, but the way he presses his hand against your shoulder blade tells you he heard you loud and clear.

he hums against the crook of your neck. the vibrations tickle your throat, and you flush. you draw back, far enough to meet his gaze, but close enough to feel his breath against your face.

god, you could kiss him.

the thought strikes you like a bolt of lightning, and you resist the urge to gasp. you’ve never thought it before; the rule of no kissing is ingrained in you so deep the mere idea of breaking it sends you for a loop. but there he is—generous and gorgeous and yours. he knows you well, spoils you well, and all he asks is you entertain him in return.

how did you get to be so lucky?

clearing your throat, you brush past him to hop off the counter. you tug the hem of your dress down a smidgen and touch his shoulder. “want me to go shower?” you ask, cocking your head toward the bathroom.

he turns to face you and shakes his head. “no.” his arms are around you again, as if it pains him to keep his distance for a moment too long. you can feel it in the thrum of his heart against your ribcage. you swallow hard.

your brow pinches in a frown. “but you—”

his mouth is already tracing the lines of your neck, warm and wet and dizzying. he grips your hip, his fingertips pressing through the satin of your dress. “forget it, [y/n]. i’ve missed you,” he whispers, a tattoo on your skin. “come to bed.”

“but the sho—”

he pulls back and lifts a hand to grasp your chin. the touch is not angry, not possessive; it’s just firm. the words in your mouth dry up, and you meet his gaze with wide eyes. “i said forget it.”

you nod, mute.

his eyes lower to your mouth. his tongue darts out to swipe his lower lip.

he steps away, his fingers trailing down your arm until they circle your wrist. he leads you through the house, silent, until you reach the foot of his bed. moonlight washes through the open terrace doors. a misty rain drifts into the room, bringing with it a chill and a whisper of autumn.

you toe off your heels, run your finger down his grecian nose, over his straight jaw. there’s this feeling in your stomach, one you can’t quite place. it’s a mixture of contentment and nerves, joy and apprehension, all at once. it’s a foreign feeling, and there’s no time to dissect it as john leans close.

his nose nudges yours. “i missed you.”

you sigh, wistful, and pull him onto the bed.

come morning you are sated and sore. you groan through a stretch, curling your back like a cat as you adjust to the morning light. you slept well, better than you have in several weeks. you can’t be sure if the dreamless slumber was due to exertion from your evening activities or pure tranquility. you missed sleeping beside john; he has a comforting way about him, even in the throes of pleasure or sleep.

you turn your face to see john already wake, propped up against a pile of pillows. you grin and reach for him.

“morning,” you mumble on a yawn.

he blinks contentedly at you, a half-smile on his mouth, a lit cigarette between his fingers. “morning.”

“sleep well?”

he nods. “that was the most sleep i’ve gotten in weeks.”

with a chuckle, you pinch his bicep. “funny—i thought the same for myself.”

he pats the space beside him, and you shuffle to lie perpendicular to his body, your head on his bare chest. he drapes an arm across your torso, and you lift his hand to fiddle with his long fingers.

the terrace door is still open, allowing mid-morning warmth and the gentle hum of the street below to fill the room. you sigh and smile when john takes a drag of his cigarette and tilts his head to exhale in the opposite direction. he knows you hate the smoke, thoughtful boy.

when he turns back, he catches your eye, furrowing his brow as he studies the look on your face. “what?”

you shake your head. “nothing.”

he grunts, shifts a little lower along the pillows. “tell me about the paintings you’ve got going in that pretty head of yours.”

“just one for the moment—an angel near the sea. it’s for the olsons and their villa in greece.”

“olson? wasn’t he the one who bought that nudie fashioned after his wife?”

“precisely the one!”

john smirks. “how’d you feel if i had you paint something like that for me?”

you guffaw, flipping over onto your stomach to slap his breastbone. “john!”

he holds up his hands in surrender, though there’s a mischievous twinkle in his gray eyes. “oy! it’s just a thought!”

you huff. “continue like that and i won’t finish the painting i’ve started for you.”

he leans back against the pillows in surprise. his neck is contorted in the effort it takes to properly meet your eyes as he sits, and you poke the double-chin that’s popped up beneath his jaw. he swats your hand away, though his fingers wrap tight around your wrist. he presses his pointer finger against your pulse point.

“you’ve started a painting for me?”

“course i have. don’t sound so surprised.”

“what’s it of?”

you narrow your gaze. “don’t know if i should tell you. it’s supposed to be a birthday gift.”

“my birthday’s not for a while, [y/n].”

“my paintings take a while, john.”

he sighs, squeezes your wrist, lifts it to kiss the bone on the side of your hand. “tell me,” he mumbles, his mouth against your skin, eyes locked on yours.

on an inhale, you give in. “it’s victoria park. well, victoria park seventy-five years ago.”

his eyebrows rise, and his fingers tighten around your hand. “victoria park? my victoria park? from leicester?”

“where else, silly?”

he goes quiet.

the air in your lungs stills, and that funny feeling you had the night before flares in your stomach. you feel your jaw slacken as he rakes his gaze over you in such unabashed adoration it makes your gut twist. there’s an overwhelming desire to be near him, to feel him as you’ve never felt him before, rising like the tide, and you are pulled to it like a baby sea turtle searching for the safety of the ocean. it’s a natural pull, but you are determined to ignore it.

you sit up, brush a lock of hair behind your ear, and turn your back to him.

he runs his finger along the curve of your shoulderblades. you shiver.

sensing your discomfort, john sits straight in bed, the covers around his lap rustling with the movement. “you know,” he says, pulling on his cigarette again. “freddie would like one of your paintings.”

“what?” you look over your shoulder with a frown. “you told him about me?”

he shakes his head. “no, i just mean what you do is his style. he’d be thrilled to have something so… romantic.” he pauses and lifts a brow in question. “i could mention it to him, ask if he’d be interested?”

your frown deepens. this is not the john you know. john rarely speaks about his bandmates, preferring to keep his exploits with queen separate from your arrangement. when he does talk about his job, it’s normally a complaint here, a silly little story there. though you’ve been with him more than a year, you know more about his life before queen than his life during. he’s private, like you, and you respect that. it’s why your arrangement works: mutual respect for the other’s boundaries.

but there’s something different about him. you noted it the night before. first no shower. now suggesting he introduce you to freddie. it doesn’t make sense.

or maybe it does. maybe this is his way of shifting the relationship, subtly, under your nose, done before you realize what’s happened.

a thread of panic weaves itself around your spine.

“what’s this about? you’ve never wanted me to meet freddie before.”

he shrugs, playing innocent. “just an idea. we’re on break now, will be for some time. i figured meeting you would give freddie something to fuss over.”

“you know how i feel about my studio, john.”

“i know, i know. you like your privacy.”

john stubs out his cigarette in an ashtray on the bedside table then scoots closer, drawing you close with an arm around your waist. his mouth works idle patterns along your shoulder, the spot where your neck meets your back, the ticklish spot behind your ear.

you tighten your hold on his arm, your nails biting his skin. when you speak, your voice is but a whisper.

“i don’t want things to change.”

he stills, lifting his head from your skin. “sorry?”

“i said i don’t want things to change.” turning, you meet his eyes, nearly losing your breath in the process. he’s close; you can practically taste him on your lips. “what we have works. don’t you think?”

“’s just an idea, [y/n].”

ducking your head, you play with the hair on his arm. your heart squeezes tight. “i know. but i say yes now and tomorrow you’ll be…” you lift your face.

he seems to understand without needing you to finish the thought.

he untangles himself and swings his legs over the side of the bed. you watch his movements, stiff and irritated. he pulls on a pair of ratty joggers, rising from the bed to shut the terrace doors. you startle at the sound of glass rattling in the windowpanes.

“john, i—”

he cuts you off. there’s another cigarette between his fingers now. “better take a shower,” he quips. his eyes remain planted on the cigarette packet in his hands. he taps the thin stick against the cardboard several times before jamming it between his teeth. “you didn’t take one last night, and we wouldn’t want things to change, now would we?”

the door slams shut, the blast echoing in your empty stomach.

you don’t hear from john for a week and a half. it’s not uncommon, the length between visits. he’s busy, you’re busy. sometimes you can barely find time for yourself, let alone him. still, there’s no box of chocolates delivered to your doorstep, no flowers dropped off at an inopportune time.

there’s just silence.

it worries you at first, and you wonder if he’s dropped you like a hot potato. it wouldn’t be unheard of. one arrangement ended in a similar fashion, and you nearly lost your studio in the process. but john is better than that. he wouldn’t leave you on the verge of homelessness, would he? he cares about you too much to do such a thing.

your fears are assuaged when a bouquet of flowers does arrive one afternoon. you have paint smeared along your forehead, and your neck cracks as you stand to answer the doorbell, but the sight of sunflowers in a pretty blue vase erases all your uncertainties. the note tucked in the ramble of flowers makes you smile—sorry for being a dick. give me a call if you forgive me – j—and you tape it to your refrigerator.

john is still yours; you are still his.

you call him that night, and after reaffirming your boundaries, the phone call devolves into a mess of heavy breathing and whispered encouragements and sinful sorts of pleasure.

as you fall asleep, you’re struck by something he said in the hazy cloud of post-bliss: even if this is all you give me, i’m happy.

even if this is all you give me…

he wants more. how much you aren’t sure, but enough that you can’t fall asleep as readily as you normally do. frustrated, you slip from bed and finagle your way down the stairs to the kitchen. you warm a glass of milk and lean against the counter, sipping slowly. your eyes fall along the mary cassatt print, now housed on the kitchen wall above the vase of sunflowers. the milk in your stomach curdles.

john deacon loves you; and if you tarry any longer, you’ll be close to loving him, too.

the decision to call the arrangement off does not come lightly. you mull over it for days on end, even as a sliver of your heart warms to the idea of allowing john to love you as he pleases, of letting yourself love him back.

it’s all you can think about the next time you see him face-to-face. as he pours you a glass of wine and lays you out on the living room floor, your thoughts are elsewhere. when he takes you shopping for canvas frames, you let him hold your hand, but you can’t focus on what he’s saying about the best fit. even when he mentions your studio and you find yourself willing to invite him inside, you cannot shake the feeling that you are losing a part of yourself you will never regain.

but would it be so bad? giving in?

you’re interested in john, that much you will concede. he’s good and kind and generous and a hell of a good romp and you enjoy your time with him. but the stubborn part of you refuses to let go of your own autonomy. you will not become his plaything, his arm candy at all the queen functions he so dreads. you value your independence too much—the safety of your well-crafted walls—to be anything other than his dirty little secret.

you’re prepared to shove your concerns aside and continue on until john makes the decision for you. he gives freddie your studio address, and freddie shows up one morning unannounced. you invite him in, sketch out a painting over the worktable, smile when necessary, and ignore his wonderings about your connection to john but on the inside you’re reeling. you’re livid and you’re hurt.

you’ve never been hurt by one of your arrangements before.

after freddie leaves, john answers the telephone on the third ring. “hello?”

“we can’t see each other anymore,” you say, your voice firm.

he’s quiet for a moment. “i’m sorry—what?”

“you heard me, john. i’m calling it all off.”

“why on earth would you do that?”

unbidden, an answer rises to your mouth: because i think i like you as much as you like me and i’m scared.

with a harsh clearing of your throat, you instead say, “you sent freddie here. i told you not to do that.”

“he did what? no, [y/n], i didn’t send freddie to you.”

“then how else would he know who i am? my clients don’t run in his circles.”

panic laces the edge of john’s voice as he rushes to explain, but you grit your teeth against the sound. “i swear, angel, i didn’t tell him where you live. i might have told him about you, yeah, but he’s my best friend, and i needed some advice.” he hesitates, sucks in shaky breath. “don’t do this. don’t call it off.”

you swallow hard. for the first time in a long time, you feel a wash of tears over your eyes. “you want too much from me, john. i can’t give you what you want. i’m not the girl for that sort of life.”

“oh, baby, i—i’m sorry. i know i’ve been pushy lately but i—” he sighs. “god, i love you so dearly. i’d give you the world if you let me.”

at this you choke on a sob. surprised by the sound, you press a hand to your mouth.

oh god, you love him too. the feeling crashes over you like a wave, and you’re the sea turtle who has found the safety of the sea. john is your sea. he envelops you, carries you to safety and uncertainty all at once. but you know him—he will protect you, guide you, with everything he is and all that he has.

you love him, you love him, you love him.

but it’s not enough. it’s not supposed to go like this, and you both know it.

“i’m sorry, john,” you whisper. you didn’t remember that tears taste salty. “please don’t call me, okay?”

you hang up before you can hear his protests any further then you crawl into bed and weep.

several months pass. autumn fades into winter, and you grow colder by the day.

you’re stressed. you cut john off entirely, opening a separate bank account and shuffling your monies and generally working to disentangle him from your life. but no john means no stable income. you’re fine for the time being, your painting for the olsons paid for and gone; but you’ve taken to rushing your artwork now, allowing customers to sit for hastily and poorly arranged portraits with their dogs and children. the paintings are lovely, yes, but they’re not you. it pays the bills, though, so you can’t complain.

you continue on freddie’s painting. he paid you upfront, so you owe him that much. in the evenings, after shooing the last snot-nosed kid and yippy dog out of your home, you turn on the lamp above the canvas and return to the sort of art you yearn for day and night. the painting screams freddie mercury all over.

there’s a man, mustached and tan, draped against a purple chaise in the center of the canvas. he’s flanked by a tall gentleman with wiry hair who is focused on a globe in the corner. to the far right, two other men—one blond, one brunette—whisper amongst themselves. you realize, belatedly, that you are painting queen in some sort of ridiculous nineteenth century daydream. it makes you snort every time you sit down to work.

you struggle to capture john in the painting. you know his face better than you know your own. you dream of it every night and wake to an image of it every morning.

you love him. you miss him.

you’re not certain when you started loving him. maybe six months in when he took you to new york and the moma and the empire state building. maybe nine months in—your first christmas together—when he gifted you a song. maybe a year in when he confessed his deepest fears—fears of loneliness and isolation and an empty old age—and made you promise to stay by his side. maybe when he came back this last tour and you wanted to kiss him so badly it hurt to hold back.

you’ve never been in love. you don’t quite understand the way it works, but you know enough to know that you love him. perhaps you always will, your disco deaky, the thoughtful boy.

you finish freddie’s painting come the first of the year. it’s been four months without john, four months entirely on your own. you have no compunction to find another arrangement. no one could fill the shoes of john deacon even if they tried, and the idea doesn’t appeal to you like it once did. you’ll go it alone for a while and revel in the autonomy you so desire.

freddie invites you to dinner when you call and say the painting is ready, and you reluctantly go. you’re half afraid he’ll pull some trick and invite john as well, but he swears he’ll be on his best behavior. the night of the dinner, you dress warm and gently arrange the framed canvas in the boot of your car. after losing your way twice, you eventually find his house and park outside. jim helps you carry the painting through the tight gate and into the front parlor where freddie waits, hands clasped in excitement.

“oh, i could just piss myself i’m so thrilled!” freddie squeezes your shoulders when you unveil the completed work. “i look so divine, like bloody oscar wilde!”

the edges of a smile lift your mouth. “yes, divine indeed.”

“you are more talented than you know, [y/n],” freddie says. he boops the end of your nose. “you shouldn’t hide your talent.”

“i don’t! i sell my work.”

“yes, but you could be a star, darling. i could make you a star.”

“i don’t want to be a star, freddie.”

“then what do you want?”

you sigh, shrug, and curl your lips in a wry grin. “not sure anymore.”

“perhaps dinner will help you figure it out. come on, it’s ready and we don’t want it getting cold.”

you follow freddie to the dining room. what awaits you sends your blood running cold as the frost outside. john richard deacon, handsome as ever, sits at the table, a smoke in hand. he looks up when you enter, surprise painting his face at the sight of you bundled in a winter coat in his friend’s dining room.

you twist in the doorway. your fists tremble with rage. “fuck you, freddie!”

he cringes. “okay, i can explain. you just have to hear me out before you slit my throat.”

john rises to his feet. “[y/n]…”

you ignore him and keep your gaze on freddie. “you promised!”

freddie nods. “yes, i know, but you see it was my fault that this whole thing fell apart.”

at this, john turns his head. “what are you on about, fred?”

“well, when you told me about your relationship with [y/n]”–-he lowers his voice to a stage whisper, looking at you from the corner of his eye—“when you told me you loved her”—he returns to his normal voice—“i got very distracted by the idea of a painting of the four of us. so i ignored your issue and looked her up and then it all fell apart.”

john sucks in a deep breath, shaking his head. he runs a hand down his face, and you note the weariness etched along his eyes. “fuck, fred.”

“so, you see, it’s my fault. if i had just left well enough alone, you two might still be shagging like rabbits and spending all that hard-earned money instead of moping like a pair of silly-pants!” he sobers, his nose twitching. “i really am sorry. it was selfish of me.”

“freddie—” you start.

he shakes his head. “no! i won’t hear any excuses—not until you’ve made up.” a timer somewhere in the kitchen dings, and he snaps. “now… if you’ll excuse me…” he slips from the dining room, shutting the door behind him with a tell-tale click.

you look to the floor. you should get your winter boots polished. they’re horribly scuffed.

john speaks first. “you look good, [y/n].”

lifting your head, you scoff. “you always were a flatterer.”

“no, i mean it.”

you run your eyes over him and feel your heart trip. god, you missed him. “you look good, too.”

“what have you been doing?”

“oh, this and that. mostly painting portraits.”

“you hate portraits.”

“i know.”

outside, the cricks chirp loudly, but you wonder if john can heart the beating of your heart over the chorus of insects.

“[y/n], i—”

“john—”

he smirks. you look to your toes again.

“you go first,” he says.

lifting your head, you dare to step further into the room. you steel yourself, biting the inside of your tongue to keep from spilling your guts at his feet. “i was wrong, too.”

he cocks his head to the side in confusion. “what do you mean?”

it’s time, isn’t it? seeing him now... how could you ever live without him?

“i was foolish and stubborn and willful. i knew what i wanted, but ignored it for the sake of my own stupid ideals.” you step closer and catch a whiff of his cologne. it sends a thrill straight to your belly. “turns out i need people just as much as you do.”

“what are you saying?”

“i’m saying i was wrong to turn you away. i was scared. i’ve only ever known love with a price tag on it, never real love. not until you anyway. as complicated as it is, you have loved me better than anyone else, and i was blind to it for so long. and even when i wasn’t blind to it, i pushed you away. i’m sorry.”

he swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing. “what—what are you saying?” he asks again.

“i’m saying i miss you and i’m a right git and i love you and i’m sorry.”

he reaches for you, his touch like fire on your wrist. “i shouldn’t have pushed you.”

you shake your head in disagreement. “i needed a good pushing. i didn’t realize how much i needed you until you were gone. and fuck all about the money. i don’t care about that. i needed you. i need you.”

john moves his hands to cup your face, his palms warm on your cool cheeks. he leans downs and presses his forehead to yours. you exhale, sure that if you open your eyes, if you move an inch, you will wake from whatever dream you inhabit. you don’t want this moment to end—him and you and no one else, all the possibility in the world stretching out before you.

“you don’t know what it means to hear you say that,” he whispers. “i would be content to love you silently, but, god, i love you.”

you laugh and open your eyes, blinking back tears. you pull away to meet his gaze. “even though i’m a stubborn fool?”

“i’m more stubborn and more foolish than you ever could be.” his thumbs work over the apple of your cheeks. “i love you,” he breathes.

“i love you.”

you grin. he matches your smile.

“kiss me,” you whisper.

his eyes widen, his mouth parting. “but—”

“it’s part of our new arrangement. you can kiss me whenever you like so long as you promise not to smoke in bed.”

“fuck. i—” he shakes his head, eyes fluttering shut. you lift a hand to his cheek, and his eyes open.

“i know. me too.”

he captures your mouth, the touch soft and everything you have waited to find, everything you have searched for in all the wrong places. he kisses you, holds you against his body, weaves his hand in your hair. he moves his lips in tandem with yours, and you feel like you’re floating.

he kisses you, and you are home.

#john deacon #john deacon x reader #queen #queen fic #j writes #the arrangement

227 notes · View notes

akvtsuki-ari · 5 years ago

Text

Semantics

Warnings: dom!spencer, sub!reader, choking, throatfucking, dirty talk, fucking through clothes, humiliation/degradation

Length: 5.4k

Authors Note: idk how to explain the plot of this fic all that well but i hope yall like this! by the way, the two positions Spencer puts you in is the prison guard position and the pole positon, in that order i spent some time on it and i hope yall like it lmfaosjdkh

Plot Summary: You and Spencer could date other people but you both knew that it wouldn’t matter in the end.

There are few things to consider as a universal truth but some things just are. An example of that is here ;the only difference between fucking and making love were semantics. Most things in life are - semantics being the study of meaning in linguistics . As far as our universe knows, sex is an act born only out of necessity and frustration. The need to have sex to make life or the need to have sex because your body was responding to its urges and desires, aka frustration

Maybe in a lot of ways, your need to frustrate Spencer was innate to your humanity. An urge that speaks from generations past. It’s hard to say for sure why it’s happened but you both know how - it’s what has both of you in the place you are now.

Several months ago you and Spencer started hooking up. Casual sex and late night conversation at best, before life picked up any remaining free time and the both of you returned to back to reality. It was a stress reliever, a good time with no strings attached and no stakes involved. You wanted it that way and so did he - but shit always changes. Even when things aren’t supposed to be so complicated they are - because it’s almost inevitable that someone is going to catch feelings. Someone is going to feel something out for the other person or hell - someone else and things are just bound to get sticky and tangled. That’s the nature of casual endeavors - they’re designed to be ephemeral so when the date passes it all becomes complicated. Scintilla, a spark that passes through cold air and then disappears. That’s what hook-ups are intended for but you and Spencer just never figured out how to follow the rules. Neither of you were good at that.

It’s unclear who broke them first - whether your feelings of jealousy were the catalyst for what becomes of both of you. Was it Spencer for indulging her? Was it Spencer’s fault for whispering sweet nothings in her neck when he knew when you were watching? Or was it yours for retaliating? Too stubborn in your own regard to let him win. Spencer wasn’t really one for mind games of this kind but he couldn’t control himself it seemed like. It’s hard to say who started it - two parties indulging in lust-driven pettiness.

Her name started with an S, but you always managed to forget it. She was pretty, eyes low and so interested in Spencer. Her hands would wrap around his shoulders, resting her head on them when he was looking away. She’d drape herself over him at any chance and Spencer would whisper sweet-nothings to her. Laugh with her and look to you, eyes not full of challenge but faux neutrality. Spencer’s neck would always crane to look at her with surprise but you knew better.

It bothered you for a while, but who were you to be caught in a love triangle? He’s the one who had to live with it, after all - every time he was in-between your legs, he’d know she was never you. Still - you weren’t one to give up so quickly and Spencer was waiting on it. Check in 3 moves, your turn.

Imitation is the biggest form of flattery so when you walked into the function with a man on your hip - he wasn’t surprised. He watched the man who followed you in, the way his eyes were all over you. The way you sat on his lap, giving him all your time and attention - stroking his ego just because. You’d giggle at the shared promises, the feeling of his hands on your back. He was gentlemanly with you, carefully paying attention to you and no one else. He was handsome enough to get approached but he’d show disinterest before returning to you. He was moth to flame, but who was surprised? A woman as beautiful as you could do less to achieve that and you just happened to be so much more.

Every work function of any scale, your plus ones would follow you in as you and Spencer would speak to each-other in careful language. It was subtlety that was key because the two of you were the only people who knew that this was happening. It was behind the scenes a love story born of shadows, if you could call it that at all.

Penelope’s Christmas party was the beginning of the end, really.

“How’s Tyler?,” Spencer’s voice is minimal. You were impressed that he managed a name. He looks at you as you pour a glass of wine and you look back, flashing him a smile.

”He’s good. In the other room talking to Rossi and Tara about cars, I think,” you explain softly, wistfully. Spencer looks at the way you talk about him and a part of him seethes. Always does.

“How’s Sarah?,” you ask warmly. You bite your tongue as you talk but it’s killing you. He looks at you, brows quirked smiling back.

“She’s good. Her and Penelope are talking about cats,” Spencer laughs warmly. You hate the way he sounds about it. You want nothing more than to argue with him.

Speak of the devil, you figure. Sarah walks towards Spencer, immediately wrapping herself around Spencer’s side. She whispers something in Spencer’s ear and he smiles, whispering something back before looking to you, eyes full of challenge. You don’t say anything, smiling back at him before you sit up on the kitchen counter. Spencer watches as your skirt hiked up - the garter around your thigh making him... distracted. You just look at him for a second, looking into his expression before getting irritated.

Tyler walks in soon after and you give him a small smile. Sarah is quick to say hello to him and he returns it with ease. He’s polite, always is.

“You ready to go Y/N,” He asks kindly. You give him a grin, wrapping arms around his neck and drawing him in, burying your face in his neck before nodding. He laughs for a second and looks at you as you lift yourself up.

“Weirdo,” he jokes. You scrunch your expression up at him before looking at Spencer. His jaw is tight - you win.

“We’re gonna hit the hay, y’all, I’ll see you tomorrow though,” you say back. Spencer just nods, awarding you a tight lipped smile.

“See you,” his voice is a distant sound as you walk with Tyler.

_____

But, hook-ups were ephemeral, predestined to be anything but long-lasting and in order for things not to get sticky it was only a week after that you and Tyler broke things off. Tyler was too kind for you to let things get too messy. So you didn’t, and for you that was the end of road. Spencer was well... Spencer, still.

The game was still on, but you had no moves for now. You figured for now you just go and have fun, see what happened.

That would work better than you wanted. The next function was Tara’s birthday. She was disappointed that you and Tyler had ended things but was happy to hear you two were friends. You wish you could explain everything else to her but you figure that it’s obsolete.

Spencer was there with Sarah, eyeing you as the both of them sat in the corner. He watched you carefully, not frustrated just... interested.

He catches the way you look to the people around you - listening intently. Your eyes would flash with challenge while you and Luke played drinking games, truth or dare. He watched the way you talked to Luke, confident and excited. He watched the way you danced and ignored him, and it was getting to him more than he wanted to admit.

There was something in the universe that said this was it. He wasn’t sure what it was, or how to explain it. He knew the moment Sarah said she needed to go home, the moment he walks into the kitchen and sees you swaying to music while you poured yourself a drink. The way you talked to him - mostly sober but tipsy enough to just speak candidly. Spencer was in for it, that much was so goddamn obvious now.

“Where’s Sarah?,” your voice is curious.

“Went home, she has a long day tomorrow. For work,” he clarified. You hum in response.

“That sucks, you must be bored,” you say honestly. Spencer shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says back. You look at him curiously, eyes reading his expression that seems so far out.

“She’s sweet,” you say earnestly. You stand next to him, sipping your drink as you stare out. Spencer looks over at you and nods.

“You’d know something about that,” his voice is low. You’re a little startled, but you just pick yourself up to walk out of the kitchen.

“Too soon,”

——

Soon the picture was bound to fall together. Sarah and Spencer ended things - on good terms but it didn’t matter. It was just you and Spencer again, stagnant in an impossible place with impossible ends. Months of jealousy and mind games, combined with stubbornness wasn’t going to end in a way that was pretty but maybe that’s what you wanted. Maybe that’s what needed to happen.

Spencer broke first. Months of frustration would do that to a man who fucked you like you were the only woman on earth. It was just a text message, it should’ve been just a text message anyways but how could it be? No such thing as simplicity in this universe the two of you shared, one of jealous reminders and sly comments. All that subtext meant that the build up was that much more impactful.

Spencer: How long has it been?

You: Long enough.

You: Checkmate.

Spencer: Good game, Y/N.

It probably wouldn’t make a lick of sense to anyone else but you and Spencer just knew. You knew what it was - an invitation to come over like you’d done so many times before. It was a recognition that the game was over and it was up to you to reap the benefits of your long-term, maddening and frustrating endeavors.

——-

The drive to Spencer’s house was taking more time than it normally did. You knocked at his door and when you opened it, there Spencer was. He was pretty.

“Come in,” Spencer’s voice was low. The whole environment was thick with an immediate feeling of lust - derived of painfully long and drawn out arguing. It was foreplay in its own right, you suppose.

It was instantaneous. Like the second the door shut behind you, Spencer backed you into a wall - shedding your coat while his hands found themselves underneath your blouse. He hikes your leg up to his side as he looks at you, down into your eyes as his lips and breath ghost over yours. Your breathing is so fast you’re afraid you might pass out. You can’t help yourself whimper. Spencer voice borders visceral.

“You’re gonna drive me fucking insane,” Spencer comments. You hold your eye contact.

“I always was,” you challenge Spencer still. You were determined to piss him off as much as humanly possible because you needed him to own you.

Spencer can’t hold out for another second as his lips press against yours. Open mouthed kisses that are carried over and drawn out, as Spencer’s hands grip your thighs - pushing his hips to yours. He’s so eager to touch you - fuck you over and over again until you’re too tired to speak. Spencer was ready to do things to you that he’d never let himself do before. When his teeth tug at you bottom lip, tongue let reckless along your lips as he kisses you deeper - you know he’s been thinking of you. He’s indulging his own selfish desires by kissing you this way and he knows it. You kiss him back with just as much frustration and anger.

It needs to be everything. It needs to fulfill your needs and desires that have been growing for the last few months and you’ll fuck him till sunrise, sit on his face and disrespect him till he gets it. That he’s yours just as much as your his.

You and Spencer kiss like there’s no oxygen left, but you pull back from Spencer to breathe. Your chest rising and falling as Spencer looks at you - really looks at you. His eyes are full of fire.

“Don’t you wanna talk, Spencer?,” your voice is biting. Spencer rolls his eyes.

“You start,” Spencer comments, picking you up as he buries his face in your neck. You smile for a second as he carries you to his bedroom.

“Was she good?,” it’s your first question of the night, Spencer shrugs as he lays you down. His fingers work to unbutton your blouse, eyes glued to your chest. Lace, it was new but not new enough to be for him. A purposeful move on your part as Spencer’s fingers work their way around your back, unclasping it and letting it fall from your frame. You lift your hands up as Spencer slides it off of you - eyes drinking in the sight of you. He hasn’t seen you on display like this and fuck did he miss it. He doesn’t know where to start so he starts at your neck. Kisses being pressed onto your jaw, you relish the way Spencer’s hands find you. They find themselves at your hips, encouraging them to wrap around his waist which you do without question.

Spencer’s lips are soft, his teeth scrape along patches of skin as you crane your neck up so he can get more room. He draws your skin between his lips, sucking softly before kissing the marks, admiring the broken capillaries underneath your skin for a few seconds before continuing. You almost wanna laugh at how much he adores them and they way they decorate your neck.

“She was good,” Spencer replies to you between actions. You’re a little distracted but you had so much you wanted to know still.

“Better than me?,” your voice is bitter. Spencer laughs, pressing his dick against you, before speaking.

“What if she was?,” Spencer replies back.

“Answer the question,” you demand. Spencer looks up at you as your expression shifts into one much more displaced.

He decided to be honest with you.

“Not better than you,” Spencer responds softly, mouth travel down to your chest. His mouth finds your nipples, his tongue flicking against t back and forth. The wet trail it leaves behind a cold sensation that made you a little dizzy to how easy they came to attention. Spencer’s fingers touch them carefully, brushing against them with rhythm. You moan, shivering at them.

You felt good - but you could feel something missing in the endeavor. Spencer was holding back and you could feel it, slowly reverting back to his old ways by keeping you out of his thoughts and you weren’t going to let that happen again.

“Spencer,” you warn. Spencer’s eyes are glassy, but you sit up to look at Spencer. He sits back on his knees and looks at you as you fix yourself up.

“Don’t do this shit,” you explain carefully. Spencer rubs his face with his hands, not saying anything.

You look at him, your chest bubbling with anger and borderline resentment as he stared at you. His expression is unreadable, as his eyes gaze to your body then flick back up to you.

“For fucksake, Spencer - I’m not doing this. Gimme my shit so I can leave,” you say beyond annoyed. This was one of the problems - that Spencer didn’t have the backbone to just be real with you. Not about how he felt, not about how you made him feel. He always counted on you to force the upper hand but not this time. Semantics required that both of you participate accurately to how you feel and it was always your job. When Spencer sees you move, he holds you back and looks into you. His eyes are dark.

“You’re so fucking aggravating, you know that,” Spencer leans into your neck, his hands on your back as you go to move away from him.

“Clearly not,” you complain. Spencer’s hands come around your neck, both of the around your throat as he forces you to look up at him.

“Color?,”

“Green,”

“You wanna know I’m holding back, Y/N,” he says into your ear. You’re too stubborn to choke out a yes.

“Because you’re such a fucking brat and you haven’t earned it,” He speaks into your ears. You can feel his hands grip tightly around the column of your throat.

“Everytime you open your mouth you manage to piss me off. You think it’s cute to be like that, don’t you? ,” His hands release from your neck as you look at him with suprise, trying to hold back your delight. He unzips his pants and pull his cock out.

”Get on your knees,”

“I don’t want to,” you lied between your teeth. You wanted to suck the soul out of Spencer’s body but you needed him to keep this up.

His hands grip your hair and pull tightly. A gasp escapes your mouth as your eyes flutter up to look at him.

“Funny, I don’t remember asking,” Spencer laughs sarcastically, he leans into your ear “Get on your fucking knees,”

You stand up stubbornly and do as your told, keeping your mouth shut as you watch Spencer stand up over you. He’s intimidating like this, his dick clear over your face. He’s huge, which is good and bad.

“Open,” Spencer asks. Your instinct is to open your mouth and stick your tongue out like Spencer had instructed you to do so many times before but you don’t. You look at him dumbly, watch as he hands cup your jaw, tilting your head to look at him.

“It’s only been a few months and you’ve forgotten where you belong so quickly,” Spencer hums. His hands rests on the side of your face as he looks down at you.

“Tyler wasn’t putting you in your place like you deserve to be, no wonder you’ve acted out so much,” he comments, annoyance clear in his voice.

His thumb presses against your lips, forcing your mouth open. You’re quick to oblige after that, your tongue stuck out as you await Spencer.

“Good girl,” The praise is music to your fucking ears. You knew he didn’t want to say, but he meant it and that’s what mattered. You rub your thighs together, as Spencer hits the tip of his cock against tor tongue.

“Before, I would’ve never done this, but you’ve just somehow managed to upset me so much that the prospect of you interrupting my thoughts is so annoying that I just have to make sure I shut you up,” Spencer explains lengthily.

Spencer eases his way to the back of your throat, his hand on the back of your head as he feels his dick hit the back of your throat. Spencer’s bigger than you remember him being, and the idea that he was going to fuck your throat made you sore, voice already disappearing. You just look up at him, through long lashes and Spencer groans.

“Touch yourself and I won’t fuck you for months,” Spencer warns. You damn yourself for wanting to obey him and doing as he says.

Spencer’s hips pullback before he snaps them back to the back of your throat. You choke on and Spencer relishes in the noise. Tears forming at the corners of your eyes as you managed to look up at him. Mascara runs under your eyes as Spencer falls into rhythm, filling your throat with his length at a constant speed. The sounds of you gagging around it filled the room as Spencer’s voice fell to your ears, spit spilling from the corners of your lips. You move your hands to wipe it away and Spencer’s stops you.

“Leave it, you’re prettier like that,”

Jesus Christ.

“You always manage to make me so angry, and I’m honestly kinda impressed by it,” Spencer says softly, groans mixed with his commentary. You hum for him to continue and the sensation makes his leg twitch.

“You’re just so fucking stubborn. If you would’ve told me you were so jealous, I would’ve ended things immediately,” he admits to you.

“Then Tyler came around and I lost my patience,” he explains, fingers brushing your hair out of your face.

“As far as I’m concerned, you’re mine,” Spencer repeats. You feel your heart melt.

“Seeing you with Tyler was lesson enough, so I’m gonna fuck you until every memory you had with him is shit compared to how I fuck you,”

“Every mark on your body, my dick down your throat - stretching you out when I fuck you. I should’ve know this was what you wanted really,” Spencer quips. You groan around him - absolutely turned on by his possession.

“You’re a slut for me, and me only, right love?,” Spencer asks you, pulling his dick out from the brutal session as you look to him with a bordering disgusting amount of adoration.

“Yes, sir,” your voice is hoarse as you look up at him. His eyes look at you with so much love as he smiles down at you.

“You’re so good for me,” Spencer says softly. He kisses you softly and slow and you could cry from how pliabld you felt.

“Sir, I love you,” your voice was fucked beyond belief. Spencer’s heart melts at the combination of title and sub space. He kisses you softly, petting your hair and wiping your chin of spit.

“I love you too, princess,” He says, making sure that you two talk about it later. “You still want it rough, sweetheart?,” he asks checking up on you. You appreciate the sentiment but you shake your head with vigor.

“If you don’t fuck me like a total brat I’m going to be unbelievably upset,” you say, the sad thought sobering you up immediately. He laughs aloud, kissing you again.

“Okay, what’s your safeword?,” Spencer asks.

“Gren for go, yellow for slow down, red for stop,” you repeat obediently. Spencer smiles.

“Get on the bed for me,” Spencer says softly. You oblige fast, holding your legs in the air as Spencer kneels between your legs. Your legs wrap around his shoulders pulling him closer and he chuckles.

Spencer’s rock hard, thinking about the outfit you chose for him. White cotton panties that left a mess all over your thighs and clit. The stain between your legs makes it hard for Spencer to slow down.

Spencer places a kiss on your clit, swollen and untouched, your cry immediately in his ear, your hands gripping his hair as he places kisses all over your clothed pussy, your skirt pushed over your stomach. His fingers hook into your underwear, sliding them down, and letting you maneuver your legs to slide them off. You go to take the skirt off but Spencer stops you.

“Leave it,” He breathes out. You nod, biting your lip as you feels Spencer lips work around your clit. He doesn’t make you wait long, and you’re not sure whether or not you should be grateful or scared for whats to come.

Spencers mouth is terribly skillfully, his tongue licking a long swipe - collecting arrousal in his mouth before spitting it back onto your clit. You were a goner before this but watching Spencer do something so filthy really pushed you to the edge. You grinded against his mouth but he pushes your hips down. He uses his fingers to spread you, eyeing how wet you are before closing his eyes - tongue placing long flat swipes along it. Your clit pulsates as he buries his face between your legs - tongue placing minmal pressure it as his head bob up and down. Spencer was so good at giving head it was kind of annoying. He’d draw you close to the edge a few times like that, watching as your legs shake before he slows down again -mpaying attention to your thighs and waist everytime he watched you come down from your high.

“Spencer, please let me cum - please,”

“Please what?,”

“Please sir,” your voice escapes you as you hear Spencer chuckles looking at you pathetically. He shakes his head.

“Brats don’t get to cum so soon, you wanna cum - you have to earn it remember?,” Spencer reminds. You whine at the reminder, immediately protesting.

“I did earn it, I did,” your argument is meaningless but you wanted to cum - needed to cum and if he doesn’t give it to you soon you were going to cry.

“Aw, is that so? You behaving while I facefucked you means you earned an orgasm huh? That’s news to me, love,” Spencer says sarcastically. You aren’t sure how you could be more turned on but here you were. Spencer could be so biting when he wanted to be and it drove you up the wall.

“God,” you were infuriatingly turned on. Spencer strips of his shirt and pants, leaving the both of you in similar positions. You lay in wait for further instructions, but catch Spencer admiring you for a second. You hide your face in your hand and Spencer refrains from saying anything. He wants to tell you you’re so cute and that he loves you but he’s still supposed to be being mean to you - so his hands are tied.

“Stand up,” Spencer instructs. You oblige, stretching a bit as you do. Spencer comes behind you, pressing his dick against your backside as his voice is drawn next to your ear.

“You wanna cum don’t you?,” Spencer asks. You nod, chewing the inside of your lip.

“But, I already told you you have to earn didn’t I?,” Spencer repeats, you nod again.

“Use your words,” Spencer orders. Your voice croaks out.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then bend over with your hands behind your back and take it for me, will you?,” Spencer instructs. You do as your told, bending down, placing your hands behind your back. You feel Spencer's hands grip around your wrist - holding you up as he lines himself up at your entrance. It’s a slow, aching burn. Your more wet than you can really fathom being, but Spencer manages to make you feel tight. Every inch of him slowly gnawing you from the inside but it feels so good. It aches so good - you don’t recall the last time you felt this fucking full. Spencer was sunken into you so deeply, it felt like he belonged there. Like every claim about your body is his when he fucks you wasn’t just showy shit-talk but facts, plain and simple. You didn’t really know it could feel that good to get fucked before this and it could’ve been anything that made it so maddening.

Spencer's hips pound you out. You can’t feel everytime he speeds up, slows down, moves up or draws the gesture out. Your body aches, but the position is so goddamn perfect - hitting your g spot, pressing up against it so forcefully - you feel your legs threaten to give out everytime he hits it. It’s fucking ridiculous - fucking ridiculous how good fucking one person could be but Spencer proved himself every damn time.

“Wanna fuck you on the bed, love,” Spencer leans down to whisper. You let Spencer rebalance you as you stand up, and Spencer pulls out. You whimper, missing the feeling of him in you, but you soon feel Spencer's arms around you.

“You’re too pretty to make such filthy noises, my love,” Spencer whispers “But that’s what sluts do, don’t they? Be pretty and filthy all at once,”

You’re really incoherent. You want to say something that makes sense, argue back and fight with him but your desire to cum so hard you black out is much stronger than any urge you may have had to fight. You don’t know how to do anything but whine, so high-pitched and needy you feel like your voice could crack and disappear. Spencer just laughs.

He lays down, and awaits you. You managed to get on the bed, facing away from Spencer as you throw your legs on either side of him. He bends his knee, as you turn to straddle his thigh - pressed against your clit. He clenches the muscle and you feel your legs shake.

“Sir, please tell me I’ve earned it,” are the first words that leave your lips as you begin griding against Spencers thighs, riding his dick to the point your thighs felt like they’d give out at any second. Spencer groans at the feeling of you convulsing, so close to the edge. Spencer just nods.

“You’re such a good girl for me, of course you can cum for me,” Spencer says lovingly, voice missing any trace of disrespectful strict dom Spencer. Replaced with adoring Spencer in an instant.

“Fuck, fuck - Spencer, thank you. Oh my god, thank you,” you hold onto Spencer's legs as your orgasm breaks the tension rope that was holding it back. You’re unknotted, the feeling of pleasure clawing at all the aches that appeared all over your body, your skin burning. Your stomach was full of butterflies, all releasing at the same time as your entire body convulsed around Spencer. It was earth-shattering - your body struggling to keep up as you cum the hardest you have in months. It was so fucking good, the type of orgasm that keeps you awake for days at a time.

You breathe out, steady yourself as you slide off of Spencer and get on all fours infront of him. You take his dick into your mouth, sucking on the tip before taking all of it in your mouth. Spencer groans aloud as he finished into your throat, and you swallow without hesitation. Spencer looks at you so adoringly right after, as you crawl onto his chest and lay on him. He wraps his arms around you and smiles at you so brightly, it could blind you.

“You did so good for me, I’m so proud of you,” Spencer praises. You blush hiding in his chest, looking at him with disgraceful amounts of affection.

“You ready for aftercare?,”

You nod lazily, before Spencer sits up and whisks you away to the shower.

___

You knew that you were in love with Spencer a while ago - but until now you hadn’t realize just how much you missed him. His fingers were massaging shampoo into your hair, the shower lightly pouring on the both of you as you made idle and loving conversation. There was a suprising about of things to catch up on. Spencer kissed your shoulders as he continued on.

“I liked Sarah, you know,” you say softly. Spencer is confused by your sudden statement.

“I really did - but at the time I just figured we were just having sex so it made me jealous when I saw you with her. I didn’t know how to tell you so I just let it be but it was killing me,” you confess honestly, wiping your nose as you sniffled. Spencer wrapped his arms around your back and kissed your neck - softly pressing kisses to all the bruises from the moments before. You leaned into him and sighed and he held you for a long while.

“We were never anything more than casual,” Spencer assures you. You nod, turning around to face him. Your arms envelope Spencer, holding him close to you with your face carefully in the crook of his neck.

“I know, but still, sex is just sex and the rest is semantics isn’t it,”

“Well, yeah. It means something to me when I do this to you. You’re my world, so it means I love you. Maybe it looks the same but it feels so different, it feels right when it’s you,” Spencer says sadly. You look up at him tear eyed and he smiles at you.

“I love you, Spencer,” you say softly. He hugs you and makes you feel so safe. Even after all the words and glances and difficulties Spencer shows you in bed - he gives you twice that in love without question. He makes you feel whole, even when he was the one who unraveled you. He adores you, so clearly and you adore him too.

___

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#spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #dom!spencer #Criminal Minds #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds self insert #lmfaooo this was a wild ride to write but hope yall like lmfao

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tarithenurse · 4 years ago

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Nightingale - 22

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: Hatake Kakashi &/x Fem!OC Contents: More good stuff. And some serious. A/N: Sorta got the job! As in: not the steady contract but they arranged a 1year temp so I can get more experience (that was the only reason I didn’t get the full). Anyhoodles, might explain more in a separate post when I get home from my grandma’s funeral. As usual, ASK or REBLOG for tag!

Ch. 22

Darkness has fallen over Konoha, but this time the early night walk leads Kakashi and his mystery woman ambling down the streets towards the housing reserved for the jōnin and higher-ups who haven’t got their own real estate.

Apparently, Uguisu has been more or less ordered to live in an apartment there and her own reasoning is, as she’s explaining, that it’ll be easier to keep an eye on her. “That way...there’s no need to have anyone assigned to follow me 24/7, like Mitarashi...”

Makes sense – both the arrangement and the fact it’s Anko keeping an eye on things right now. “Is she’s gonna be your warden?”

“I dunno...” They’ve reached the complex on the Academy grounds and she takes the lead up the stairs towards her new home. “I suppose I’ll find out tomorrow if it hasn’t decided already...”

Leaving the staircase and coming to a halt, Kakashi realizes it’s an apartment wedged in between the homes of fellow jōnin. That’s not a coincidence. Handing the stack of books over to free her hands, Uguisu procures a key, unlocks and opens the door, but then holds out her arms for the borrowed goods in a clear but polite hint that he’s not invited inside. Can’t blame you. It gnaws inside him nonetheless, even if the jōnin doesn’t show the concern – he would much have preferred to make sure everything was as it should be indoors before leaving her alone.

“Well,” he nods resolutely, “if you need anything...”

She looks small and sickly in the unnatural light of the outdoor lamp. Dark bags under her eyes are suddenly prominent, the less than completely sincere smile unable of pushing away the grim demeanour. Still...there’s also an air of something calm about the woman. She’s hopeful, and that warms Kakashi’s heart.

“Thank you,” she hums.

He waits til she has closed the door. No footsteps? Perhaps she remains standing just on the other side of that barrier, perhaps it’s just the hopeless imagination of a man in trouble, either way he has to force his legs into action or he would have stayed there the entire night.

...

Among the shinobi comrades, Kakashi is often equalled with tardiness. He knows this. It's never his intention to be late and he always gets up and gets ready in time, but there's one stop he has to make at some point during the day and once there...old friends are hard to say goodbye to. All that remains of them is a memorial build in their (and many others') honour and visiting the site somehow detaches the living from time while granting them a brief respite surrounded by memories. Sometimes the faces of old are smiling. Often, though, the emptiness they've left behind is tainted by bitterness at the evil that stole these people away too soon.

Today was different. This morning, the white-haired jōnin lingered for no more than five minutes before hurrying off to see to his students because he was adamant, the day's training must be finished before the Recruits' classes ended. Needless to say, Team 7 greeted him with stunned silence as they arrived later than their sensei and none of them opposed the day's curriculum either.

"Who is she? Really?"

Kakashi glances over at the black-haired boy who's sitting in the grass with the lunchbox open. "You mean Uguisu."

The two other (yes, even Naruto) stop eating, favouring instead to listen and hopefully have their curiosity satisfied. There's no doubt they will take matters into their own hands and dig around if the many questions aren't answered soon, but...it's not my place to tell anyone and they have no reason to know. Turning the page of his favourite Icha Icha volume, the senior considers his options which could be better because, truth be told, even if Kakashi technically knows more than them, what he can tell will only lead to more speculation. He had hoped for news this morning only to be disappointed at the slow decision making. And the woman at the centre of the uncertainty? She'd left early for class.

"As I said yesterday," he mutters, "she's a friend from far away. She'll be staying here in Konoha and...maybe become one of our shinobi."

Oh yes, the kids are itching to find out more.

"Why does she have to do Academy classes?"

Sasuke is the one to answer the girl. "The Hidden Villages' schools don't teach the same things. If she's from somewhere with a very different choice of subjects then she might not have learned the things we take for granted. Right?" The last part is addressed to Kakashi who merely nods in agreement.

"What was her name?" Naruto has never had a great memory – a trait generally vital to ninjas.

"Minami Uguisu." And it fits her too. "Well! Better get back to work. How's it looking?"

They've been testing out a variety of knots and other rope-works. Some with better results than others.

...

Soon, the open area in front of the Academy will be swarming with kids as they flee from the last lesson of the day either to play or return home, but right now the only sign of life is Hayase about 20 meters up in the tree with his legs dangling lazily.

"Bird watching?" Kakashi calls out to him.

The chunin nods. "And revisiting the boring days from when I was little." He does look like someone who was half asleep only a moment ago – or at least wishing he had been.

"Gonna take her off your hands the rest of the day." Already walking through the front doors, whatever the assigned shadow says remains unheard.

Some of the little students acknowledge Kakashi as they rush past him on their way to freedom once more bu thankfully it isn’t long before the path is clear and the jōnin can enter the classroom without fear of toppling anyone over. Only two people are left: Iruka who’s gathering a wad of papers that probably are assignments, and the blue-haired girl that’s been haunting him regardless of being asleep or awake.

“Ah, I see they got a hold of you,” Iruka smiles at his friend who doesn’t admit he hasn’t been contacted, “that’s good! It seems my work with Uguisu’s gonna be fairly easy.”

The woman in question has joined the two men at the teacher’s dais, her arms laden with the borrowed books and a few pencils. Today, she’s tucked her hair into a messy bun which allows a peek at the curve of her neck. Pretty. It’s hard for Kakashi to focus, but he fights his attention back to the words flowing from the teacher.

“There are...some areas we need to cover, but none connected to the theoretical works of a shinobi.”

“What he means,” Uguisu smiles, “is that I’m a disaster when it comes to math or history, for example.”

Oh? Watching a blush grow and fade rapidly on Iruka’s face, some corner of the white-haired jōnin's guts tighten in protest before the brain catches up with excuses or explanations – all of which are necessary as he hasn’t been able to ignore the distance the woman keeps between her and anyone else. Including him. Less than 48 hours ago, he’d been kissing her, feeling her reciprocate and making his heart sing...then the dream ended and a nightmare unfolded, and now she’s pulled away.

“Well, that’s quickly fixed,” Iruka promises, “however!” He turns to fully to Kakashi at this, slapping a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “As her warden, I hope you’ll remind her to hand in the written assignments regardless of their simplicity and ensure she’s capable of applying theory to the practical training you’ll be overseeing.”

I’m her...? YES! None would have known how happy the revelation makes Kakashi just like they would be ignorant of the fact that he, until this moment, had had no clue of his role in the relation to Uguisu’s potential as a Leaf Shinobi going forward.

“Hai, I’ll keep her busy with studying,” the warden nods.

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amindofstone · 4 years ago

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Nyx- Im Changkyun

{

a/n: For better reading keep in mind that the words in italic are Changkyuns train of thoughts.

Genre: Fantasy (ancient greek gods)

Words: ca. 1500

Info: I won´t be writting this and the other six storys fully based on the actual mythological gods and their myths. I will be making changes or only taking aspects that are fitting the ideas I had for each imagine.

Warnings: None (maybe grammar or spelling mistakes. (I apologize. English is not my mother tongue and I´m trying to improve.) Have mercy)

!!! Please do not steal my idea or work. Credit me please if this is shared or published in any other platform. The pictures used aren't mine. Credits to the rightful owner. But the moodboard is made by me. !!!

Inspired by @monxhours (IG) ♡

Q.: Should I do a part ll to this? I kind of have a idea. The ending... }

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

There is this place. A place everyone knows but tries to avoid. A place every living being fears. A place that makes you feel uncomfortable, lost and weak. No matter how strong or how old you are. That place makes you feel small and gives you the feeling of being inferior while the place itself turns into being the superior. A place even the gods from the Olymp don`t like. But at the same time it can also be comforting and loving. It´s silence and raw beauty can be mesmerizing and warm. All he´s doing right now is think about it as a place but is it even one? A place or a location? What is the actual word one can use for describing this existing spot? Spot, location, place. Why does every word sound so weird. No, even wrong when I try to put it in a same sentence with it. “Darkness is a place....” , “The darkness is a location in...”, “Darkness is a spot just right at the bottom of....” A frustrated sigh left his lips. Why is it so complicated? All I wanna do is try to explain my home to a freaking friend. “Dammit!!”. I really should start reading dictionary's. Mother and me are literally reading the same books but how come her vocabulary is better than mine? This absolutely makes no sense. Should I get help from Mr. Google? “Oh my god! Did my brain really just said Mr. Google?! Shit Maddox is really making me dumb as well.”He was about to take his phone from his nightstand when a knock on his door made him stop in his tracks. Is mother already back?

“Yes, come in.“

Just right after the allowance left his lips the massiv black door to his chambers was fully opened. Changkyun was lying in his bed shirtless and just in his boxers when he saw a woman of pure beauty enter. Oh how he regretted not changing into his night garment after showering. “Mother?!” His cheeks turned into a light pink what put a smile on her face. While looking everywhere but her face he tried to cover himself with a pillow. “I´m your mother. There is no need to be embarrassed my little prince. I raised you up. I carried you in my arms. There you where sometimes clothed and sometimes... well... not. But you always liked to be comfortable at home. I can´t blame you. It actually was always really adorable.”. A little giggle left her lips while she closed to door. When the doors where closed she turned around and looked around her sons chambers. While she did so she tried to hold back a laughter. “You really were bored when Maddox left am I right?”. A little confused Changkyun looked at his mother and then around himself. “What do you mean?”, he asked while giving her a sign to have a seat. She looked around one last time and decided to take a seat near the chimney. It doesn´t matter how much time he spend with his mother or how close of a mother son relationship they had. He was always amazed by her gracious and charming appearance. Beside her beauty which is well known, she was more than just smart. Even Athena was amazed by her. She might not say so and not even think about admitting it but sometimes he could see a glimpse of jealousy when Zeus asks for his mother advice on anything he was up to. Not only Zeus but also his beloved wife. Would he ever be respected and feared at the same time just like her? Will he ever be someone worth to be called a god? Someone who couldn´t even answer the question of his friends. A question of such a simplicity. What´s darkness to you?

And again Changkyun got lost in his thoughts. The goddess sitting in his bedroom was intensely looking at him with a bit of concern. She knew that he was only physically with her at the moment which why she cleared her trot to get his attention. The moment he looked in her eyes again she gave him a warm smile. “Lately I have been finding you lost in your thoughts a lot, my dear son. What´s the cause of you lately wandering around the palace without a destination or reason? Did Eros say something?”. Should he tell her why he was so confused and aimlessly spending his time in his or his mothers library? If so, what exactly was the reason? Why was he like this? Lying to his mother by making something up was not an option since he knew that she can sense it when he or anyone lied. Saying that he was alright and fine would theoretically be also a lie since he obviously wasn´t in a great state. He was lost. “Mother. May I ask you something?”, with a small nod and a loving smile she gave him her approval. “What is darkness to us?”, the little smile his mother carried left her just to be replaced with a sweet laughter. The goddess stood up just to approach her son and sit next to him. While still laughing she put his right hand in hers and gave him a kiss on his forehead. “Get dressed. I want you to accompany me tonight. Would you like to do that?”. A little confused and also pained about his mothers laughter he simply nodded and stood up to get dressed like she requested it. Before he could enter his wardrobe he was told by his mother that she would be waiting for him in the entrance hall and that he can take his time. “I´m not in an rush, I want to spend time with you.” He clearly did not understand her but still went along. “Oh and your place is a huge contrast to your personality but I really like it. Black and gold really does go well together.”

Leaving his room he was greeted by the dark hall of the palace he lived in. Black sconces which were slightly shimmering in silver where lighting up the massive halls. The halls in this quarter of the palace had just a few windows what were exactly the reason why he choose his room to be here. Although he had to argue with his siblings a lot about it. Mostly with Alec who is known for being annoyingly stubborn. The thought of the many fights he had with him over the room made him smile a bit. And just for a second he felt happy and carefree again but just for a second. At the end of the hall stairs lead him down to the entrance hall. Thinking about having to take the stairs from the highest floor in the palace makes him want to go back to his chambers and lay back down in his bed while reading the book he recently started. Damian was the title and indeed a book one can´t miss. But he can´t be doing that. All in all he´s supposed to meet his mother who wants to take him on a walk. With a last sigh his eyes turned pitch black and wings spread at his back. Each wing being as tall as Changkyun himself and as beautiful and majestic as the ones his mother had. With a small smile he spread his wings and let himself fall from the window to his left. Let´s see if I get scolded again for being lazy. So it happend that he did not came approaching his mother by waling down the stairs but flying through one of the black glittering windows. Lighter than a cat and quieter than a feather falling down he landed in front of his mother. “I apologize for making you wait.”. With a innocent smile and a look through his warm chocolate brown eyes into hers he offered her his arm before she could think of scolding him.

In less than a second and even before Changkyun could ask where she planed on going they were leaving the dark. He could see that they were leaving the underworld behind what made him think that she might bring him to the olymp. But he was wrong. Midway to the olymp they were stopping and landing on earth. A little confused and lost he was looking at his mother with a slightly tilted head. The place they were standing on wasn´t making it better. In fact it confused him even more. Why would she bring me here? Was someone coming to see us? But if that would be the case why would they want to meet up in a place like this? One question after another was going through his head what made him feel uneasy. When there was something he hated the most, it was not having a answer to a question. He couldn´t bear the feeling of being clueless. It made him feel small and weak. Powerless, dumb and pathetic. He was turning around while trying to absorb his surrounding but still he couldn´t understand why he was here. Not being able to handle this ignorance he turned to his mother. “Why are we here? Is someone coming? Did something happen?”, but his mother keeped quiet. “Mother?”. Still keeping the silence she decided to have a walk while telling him that she is trying to find a spot to sit. Although he couldn´t understand her because they could be sitting anywhere. He still followed her. Letting her son walk behind her all confused and lost in thoughts she was calmly enjoying her nightly walk through her favourite place. Stopping infront of a sea and looking over her shoulder to check if her son was still keeping up with her. When she saw him still following her, she smiled and offerd him her hand. Changkyun on the other hand was a bit mad since his mother decided to ignore his questions and make a inprovised trip to the forest with him. Seeing him hesitating she smiled and took his hand in hers and lead him to the pedistrian bridge she was walking to. Careful on when and where he made a step he followed her and wondered if her dress was not bothering her. The train wasn´t even that long but still made him wonder if it was hard walking with it. It´s train was definitely shorter than the dresses she usually wore but still long enough to be thankful that he is a man and not a woman. At the end of the bridge she stopped and sat down while letting her legs dangle above the sea. Changkyun was about to tell her that her dress might get wet but then realised that it would be ridicolous. So he simply keeped quiet and sat next to her. A long pleasant silence filled the atmosphere what was broken for a few seconds by the goddess of darkness by simply stating that this was her favourite place. Changkyun closed his eyes and gave every little noise around him his attention. From the insects and the forest animals up to the howling of the wind. He absorbed every little noise. This place was so different compared to his home. With every minute passing you could hear something else. There was not even a second where Changkyun could feel the comfortable silence he liked and was used to. The silence he grew up to. After 120 years of living and visiting the olymp, the underworld, the earth and of course his home the darkness, it was the earth he liked as the least one. It didn´t resemble his home at all. If was way to different, loud, hectic and chaotic. No matter where he was on earth, he simply felt out of place. But his mother liked the earth compared to him. In fact she loved it. There was not even a night where she didn´t left for a walk on earth.

“You asked me something, remember.”. Changkyun who´s eyey were still closed opended them to just to be greeted by his mothers loving smile. How could she be always in such a positiv and happy mood? “How could I forget that. If you would ask me this in hundred years I still would be able to remember it because you literally called me stupid by laughing at me.”. Changkyuns words made his mother hold her stomach because of laughing. Her laughter was filling the silence of the nights darkness. As if their entire surrounding was just waiting for a sign of her happiness the clouds which were covering the night sky slowly were leaving and allowing us the sight of a beautiful starry night. With every second passing the amount of stars on the sky were increasing and were showing themselves brighter and clearer. With every second passing more stars were filling the night sky. Just like a nation that is gathering around a pedestal to come and take a look at their leader and savior. To come and thank them, show them their respect and love. As if the stars around the univers are getting together out of happiness and respect to the goddess of the dark who was visiting them after a long time. A amazed sigh left his lips while he was looking at the starry night sky. Next to her he never felt like a god or even like a king. His mother, the goddess of the dark, the Nyx was literally the definition of majestic. He always felt like someone noble who was simply lucky having her around while being able to say that they are from the same family.

“Oh Changkyun I wansn´t laughing at you. I just was suprised to hear that question from you. I remember Amalia saying that you will never come to me to ask that question because your simply too proud of yourself and who are. Who thought that my proud little son would come up with that question now after 120 years. But I guess that Jooheon and Kihyun were messing with you again.”. His mothers words made him smile and shake his head slightly. “You know me to well mother. But yes, that´s exsactly what happend. We were talking about what we like to do the most and what our favourite places were. Without thinking much about the queston I said home and my chambers but that was confusing them a bit. Even Kihyun what was actually really amusing.”. The goddess turned a bit to her left so she could look him in the eyes properly. With a sweet smile she went through the hair of her youngest and maybe even favourite child and tried to help him out of his weeks of thinking about a simply question. “You see home can be anything and everywhere. It differntiates from person to person. Home can be a house, a city or even a whole country. Home is where one feels safe, happy and comfortable. Home does not have to be a place it can also be a moment in which you feel secure. Jooheon for example is the most happiest when he can fly around the sky of the olymp. And Kihyun for example feels home in literally every existing libary. And for you my beloved son it´s the deepest and darkest location of the entire universe. The darkness. The darkness that is me and you. The darkness that is the only reason why day and light exists. Son, my dear Changkyun, look around this beautiful sight. It only exists because you and I exist. This is you and at the same time your home and comfort. Our existence is a bleassing to anyone and it doesn´t matter if we´re talking about humans or gods. They are alle appreciating and loving us. One way or another it´s us that shows them the beauty in chaos.”

After finishing her train of thoughts she took her sons hand and gave it a light kiss. And without even giving him a chance of saying anything or starting a dialogue with her she gave him a last smile and said “I know that you want to see that one half goddess you always give a visit. You should do so otherwise she might get mad at you for making her wait.”. Changkyuns cheeks turned into a light shade of pink what made him look down in his lap. With a little chuckel the Nyx left him alone. Embarrased and a bit flustered he went through his hair and took his phone out. Turning his phone on he saw that he had a message from her what made him laugh. Amalia was right. Trying to keep a secret from the goddess of the dark was impossible and a waste of time.

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ichor-and-symbiosis · 5 years ago

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mothman tomura

- Tomura escaped from a government facility headed by Dr. Ujiko for the purposes of studying paranormal anomalies. The trauma Tomura endured rendered him incredibly hostile and avoidant of humans. Upon finally being freed, his immediate instinct was to find somewhere to hide. He neglected any form of self-care during those weeks, too afraid to venture outside of his makeshift hideout lest he be caught again.

- His tentative step towards true freedom was the sound of rain, oddly enough. In the darkest depths of his home, where he lay curled up with his wings wrapped around him, the sound of rain lulled him to sleep. It had been difficult for him to sleep during the first week after escaping because of his paranoia, so he grew thankful for the simplicity of rain on a dark and stormy evening.

- Slowly but surely, the sounds of the outside world drew his curiosity. Tomura would venture out for longer and longer periods to explore his surroundings, always on alert in case something wandered into his territory. He stayed low to the ground no matter how much he yearned for the chance to spread his wings and fly. Assess the perimeter first, enjoy life later.

- Tomura grew comfortable. Each day spent hunting was a day he regained his proper strength, and he felt more alive and healthy than he ever had before. It was this brazen attitude that propelled him into flight one day, towards the full moon hanging low in the sky. He would never forget that exhilarating feeling.

- Sometimes he ventured far beyond his territory to observe humans from afar. He knew it was a foolish thing to do, but a part of him felt invincible, as though he could handle any threat. After all, Dr. Ujiko was no longer around to keep him sedated and weak. As Tomura watched the townsfolk, a twisted sense of glee welled up within him – their life was in the palm of his hand, and they did not even know it. He loved this feeling of control, no matter how tenuous and imaginative it might be.

- So when your car broke down in the dead of night near his neck of the woods, Tomura sat perched atop a tree branch overhead, watching you with glowering red eyes to make sure you were not sent by Dr. Ujiko, or had sinister intentions of your own. But no, you were just a silly bystander in full-blown panic at being alone in the middle of the night with a dysfunctional car. His fur, once raised in agitation and alertness, slowly smoothed down as his antennae twitched curiously. You were mumbling to yourself as you examined your car, and he was beginning to grow a bit bored until you hit your car with your foot out of frustration. You instantly gained a pass from him after that. He stayed for the entire time to watch over you, feeling an odd sort of protectiveness for your pathetic little human body. He felt disappointed when you managed to start your car up again. For the first time, Tomura realized how much he craved some kind of meaningful interaction with a creature smarter than a squirrel.

- He memorized every detail of your car – and you – that night. Sometimes he would wait in that same spot high up above the main road just to catch a glimpse of you. Sometimes, it worked. He entertained the thought of causing your car to break down again, just so you would come out and he could smell your natural scent. Cars were annoying that way. He could only ever smell that disgusting gasoline whenever you were driving. On some particular nights, he would even fly after you, zigzagging through treetops to see how far he could go without crossing over into the city.

- Tomura always had a penchant for predicting disasters. Always at the right place at the wrong time, always watching from afar as something dangerous unfolded. It was what had caught Dr. Ujiko’s interest in him, and it was a curse he could never escape from. He didn’t want to witness these disasters, but they simply called to him, like a moth drawn to a flame. It always started as a niggling feeling, an itch that made him anxious enough to leave his nest and prowl the forests.

- He always watched you at night. This time, something compelled him to watch for your car during the day. And as luck would have it, there you were, headed straight for a rickety bridge that made his fuzz stand on end.

- The bridge would topple. Tomura knew this. He should have gotten to you in time, but he didn’t, because he did not want to expose himself to witnesses in broad daylight. But consequences be damned, he got to you before you could reach the same fate as other unfortunate drivers, tearing open the metal with ease as he scooped you up in his arms and sped away to the safety of his home.

- You were freaking out, and he was enjoying every second of it. You gripped onto him for dear life and screamed out of fear – it was either the height or himself, he did not know – and he was too busy enjoying your scent and your softness to care about how squirmy you were.

- Your leg had been injured during the collapse. Tomura deposited you onto his own nest – you should absolutely be grateful for it, and he is slightly miffed that you didn’t appreciate his gesture – and he impatiently kept you seated as he examined your wounds.

- You didn’t know how to react to this. One moment, you were living a normal, boring life, and the next moment you were whisked away to safety in the arms of a legendary cryptid. A cryptid that was prodding your injuries with a ridiculously long tongue and handling your limb with utmost care. A cryptid that looked equal parts terrifying and beautiful, skin cracked yet obscured with fuzz around his collar, and darkened wings that folded neatly behind him as he observed you. And those antennae. You had never wanted to touch something so badly before. Surely he would let you? He was treating you so kindly, after all.

- Nope. He almost bites your hand off. You learn that patience and boundaries go a long way with Tomura.

- A creature compelled to help you yet shy away from your touch stirs up conflicting feelings within you. You go slower next time, keeping your distance as you simply talked to him and thanked him for his help. His antenna flicked as he stared at you, unsure of whether you were being genuine or meant to manipulate him.

- He refused to let you leave. You couldn’t understand why, but you did not want to anger your host. In truth, he was afraid of you ratting out his existence, and he was just happy to have you around for this short while. He could easily find someplace else to live, but he liked it here, and he liked being near you.

- Close proximity was a recipe for bonding. Tomura would rest beside you as he listened to you talk about anything and everything, and he would pout whenever the conversation died out. There was just something about the vibration of your voice that tickled his sensitive wings in all the right ways. And the smell of you grew more and more intoxicating. He thought it might have been the scent of your blood that slowly drove him crazy, but once your wounds had healed, he realized that it was just … you. You and your kind smile and soft hands that tentatively reached out to brush through his fuzz when he finally relented, you and your delicious taste when he wrapped his long, thin tongue around your wrist just because he could, because he liked to see the unbridled curiosity and awe in your eyes when you looked at him. He was a novelty to you, as he always was to humans. It was unpleasant and invasive to suffer through the scrutiny of the humans at the facility, but when it was you, Tomura actually enjoyed the attention. - The nights were cold, and you were unprepared for them. Tomura would spoon you and wrap his wings around you both, vibrating them slightly to produce heat. The gentle hum that accompanied his movements lulled you to sleep, and he took those opportunities to examine you. - You were as alien to him as he was to you. He marveled at the unique texture of your hair and your weird eyes, but most of all, he was concerned about your short tongue. It didn't seem natural to him.

- Although Tomura demanded personal space, he was not one to return the favor. If he wanted to study something, he had no qualms about manhandling you to carry out his plans. The moment you stuck your tongue out at him, he caught it between his fingers, and you were whining in alarm as he held it and examined it, wondering how the hell you ate anything with that strange muscle. But his thoughts quickly changed course when he felt the wetness coating his fingers, the undulating movement ... something stirred deep within him, something pleasant. His long proboscis darted out for a taste, and he was a goner. You jolted at the contact yet remained in place, transfixed by his behavior. His fingers fell away as he curled the slick appendage around your tongue like a vine, and you let him explore your further, opening your mouth to let the proboscis slip inside and lick you. - You didn't know how or when his face came so close to yours. All you knew was that his hands were cradling your face and your lips were on his as your tongues twined with each other, and you were being coaxed to lay back against the nest. You were shrouded by Tomura's wings as he climbed over you, and you were struck with the overpowering scent of something unique. Tomura nuzzled into your neck and pressed his body close to you, and you wondered if he was trying to rub this scent onto you. Your suspicions were confirmed when he scrambled to tear off your clothing just to continue this maddening rubbing and gyrating all over you. You giggled when he started to sniff you, yet your mirth slowly died out and became replaced with desire when you realized he was trailing down your body towards your nether regions. This had been the source of your scent, Tomura realized. This was his nectar. This was his. - That tongue is every bit as skillful and incredible as you imagined it to be. Long and dexterous as it rubbed you in all the right places, lapping at your most sensitive areas as Tomura sucked up your juices with a heady groan. His wings vibrated, an odd, high pitched tone that sounded entirely different from when he tried to warm you up during cold nights. It was simply his mating call. - He mounts you immediately upon you coming down from post-coital bliss, having just enough thoughtfulness to brace your healing leg around his waist before he plunged into your wet heat. He was earnest and unrestrained, gripping you tightly as he shoved his tongue down your throat to swallow your cries while he pounded into you. You could only hold on to him and let him rut against you, lost in the feeling of his powerful thrusts and the way his claws tenderly held you and stroked wherever they could reach. It felt intimate and right, and when he came deep inside you, you were compelled to let him cling to you with his cock still buried inside you, feeling yourself succumb to exhaustion as he preened you. - You could not leave, and this time, it was for another reason entirely. The clawed hand kept possessively over your stomach as Tomura fucked you again told you all that you needed to know. - And this is how you got a mothman boyfriend.

#shigaraki tomura #shigaraki/reader #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura/reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #i really #i dont know what this is or how it happened #forget i ever put this out into the world #this is so long what the fuck #i wrote a fic outline here #jesus #he lets you touch his antennae after this #they feel like soft fuzzy feathers #and he'll take you flying if you get over your fear #and he will leave you on top of a tall tree if you misbehave #why am i not including this into the main post #im an idiot

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atariince · 4 years ago

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Anathema, chapter 13 : The Shadows of ancient hopes

Previous chapters on SWG and AO3

tw: Self-harm

Light.

How could there be so much light? A cave is not supposed to be so bright. Where were the shadows, those very shadows in which light is made brighter?

“You look awful, brother.”

Curufinwë replied with a ironic smile and snatched a cup from Turcafinwë’s hands.

“If this wine does not cheer you up, Curvo, nothing will.”

“Nothing, indeed.”

After a quick sip, Curufinwë strode in the hall, heading with a dignified air towards the chairs beside the dais. All around him, people were moving and talking, engrossed in their petty discussions. A loud laugh on his right, the sound of a lute behind him, two Noldor smiling to him on his left, and above him, one heavy pression, like that of an invisible cloud hanging over his head and threatening to break into a violent storm. He didn’t smile back. They should have bowed, not smile. He was a prince after all. A landless prince. But still a prince.

Once under the dais, his gaze lingered on the throne for a moment. Empty. Where was Findaráto? A sigh, and he sat down on the closest chair. This one at least, was worthy of a prince. Not a king. He sniggered.

“What’s so funny?”

Tyelkormo, again, who, apparently had emptied a few more cups in a couple of minutes. Curufinwë shook his head. “Are you following me?”

“I’d rather keep an eye on your gloom”, said Tyelkormo, pouring more wine into his brother’s cup, more or less neatly. “Thought you’d join the party and use this opportunity to talk and…. how did you call that again? Ah, yes, ‘speak in our favour’.”

“This is not a political campaign, Turco.”

“No?”

“No.”

“My bad”, shrugged Turcafinwë as he took another sip. “Should it not become one?”

Curufinwë didn’t answer, but his severe gaze never left his brother’s face. Impressive how he could talk about all this with such detachment, how he dealt with this situation in such a casual way. And his capacity to absorb so much fermented beverage without losing any of his grace… He wouldn’t even make a fool of himself.

“Come on, Curvo, why would you not relax a little and enjoy the evening?”

“What for?” he replied. “I do not understand why they would celebrate. What message the king tries to convey through such a decadent display of festivities.“

“‘Tis not about celebration, but about allegiance, influence…”, Turcafinwë suggested, grabbing a chair, and pulling it closer to his brothers. Its feet rattled on the stone floor with a screeching sound, and all the Quendi around turned, to Curufinwë’s greatest displeasure. Ignoring them, Tyelkormo slouched down with the most delicate grace. “You are no stranger to politics, brother.”

A slight wince distorted Curufinwë’s face. “Sometimes I wish I were”.

The laughter which then fell from Turcafinwë’s lips was so loud that a few other Eldar standing nearby looked at him, startled.

“What sort of confession is that?” he asked. “Brother, are you already drunk or did you paddle in your stock of sulfuric powder again?”

Curufinwë gave him a look that could be described as lethal, if a look could kill, but Turcafinwë simply lowered his voice, unimpressed.

“You will not make me believe such folly”, he continued. “Not this time, Curvo”.

He sat up suddenly. “What do you mean by that?”

“You always act like this”, explained Turcafinwë who was now gesturing emphatically. “You pretend to not want something, to regret another or to despise a third one, only to make everyone – including yourself – believe that you are above those petty matters.”

“Lies.”

“Alright, perhaps not today”, added Turco. “Today you only want to make yourself more miserable than you are. Point taken.”

That was unfair. Unfair and disloyal. Turcafinwë might know him better than anyone else, but he could not speak as if he knew everything about him, specially not about the things that were still hidden to himself. Besides, he did not pretend.

“But you know what, Curvo?” asked his brother as he stood up to give a gentle slap on Curufinwë’s shoulder. “I am tired of this nonsense. Be miserable if you like, I care not. And if you cannot bring yourself to enjoy this feast, I’d strongly advise to go back to your work, your make-believes and your citadel of sulk. We shall talk when your mind will be clearer.”

On that, Tyelkormo strode away, probably looking for another bottle to open. And Curufinwë was alone again. Alone amidst the crowd of seemingly happy Quendi, flirting with the glimmering twinkles of the lamps. In the luminous aura of the room, one couldn’t distinguish between them, the Calaquendi and the Moriquendi, although Curufinwë could usually tell them apart, by the reflection in their gaze, the iridescent glint of their iris. But not here, not tonight. They were alike, sharing the same meal, the same wine and the same music. The same doom. Or maybe not. Maybe it was only what he wanted to believe. One dim hope: his fate would not be worse than theirs.

Was Tyelkormo right? Was he living on simulacres, feeding on his own illusions to better fortify this citadel of… pride? He shook his head. The light was not so bad after all. Perhaps that was what he actually needed. He stared at the small diamond glimmering on one of his rings. Diffracted light.

“I did not know you were still wearing that one”, said a voice.

Tyelperinquar was standing right next to him, staring, like his father, at the jewel on his finger. “It is so old. I believed you would have gotten bored of it.”

“It is not that old”, muttered Curufinwë who stood up with no hurry.

“Not that old? Father, I was only a child when you crafted it! it was probably the first time I watched you work. I remember perfectly.”

“And do you deem yourself old, son?”

A pause. Tyelperinquar frowned but Curufinwë smiled softly. It was not the most sophisticated jewel, but he liked its simplicity. There was an appeasing grace in the curves of its subtle interlaces. With one determined hand he took off the ring and gently grabbed his son’s fingers. Without a word, Curufinwë put the jewel right in the middle of Tyelperinquar’s palm before wrapping his callous fingers around the strong fist.

“I am glad you remember it”, Curufinwë whispered, caring not if Tyelperinquar could hear him over the music and the chattering.

His son stared, then frowned again, and a smile finally shone on his face. His fist moved up to rest against as he bowed his head.

“Thank you, father.”

Light on his face. Fire dancing in his heart. They were both silent for a moment, both of them staring at the crowd, but Curufinwë eventually murmured in a long breath:

"What shall we leave behind? What place for us in the tales if we do not take up our own quills and write our own story?”

“Are we not too much involved in those stories to writhe them ourselves, father?”

“Time, that is all we need… Time, and patience will be give you the eyes fit to look back and see what is hidden right now.”

Tyelperinquar frown deeply, and then shook his head in what seemed to be a frantic impulse. “Have we not been patient enough, father?”

Curufinwë reached out as to lay a hand on his son’s shoulder but he withdrawn it before his fingers could even touch him. “You still have many things to learn before – before you can apprehend the past.”

“Because you can apprehend the past properly?”, asked Tyelperinquar, and there was a sudden shift in his eyes: colder, just like his voice which now sounded like the blow of hammer. “Do you have learned how to seize and face the past?”

No answer came, and so he continued:

“Do not lecture me in that, father. For if you can indeed teach me a lot of things, it is not from you that I will learn how to face the past… You can barely face the present moment.”

The taste of bile filled Curufinwë’s mouth and soon after he was biting his tongue, and the metallic flavour of his own blood came to replace the bitter taste. Tyelperinquar seemed to be expecting something from him, an answer perhaps, a reaction. His father gave him none, and the young Ñoldo turned around, shaking his head as he walked towards the heavy doors, his fingers tensed around the ring his father had given him.

Later that night, Curufinwë would blame himself for this; he shouldn’t let his son talk to him like that. He would have never talked with so much disrespect to his own father. Tyelperinquar did not talk with so much disrespect to him before. Why the change? Why did things change? Was he changing? turning into someone, something else? an impostor in his own skin, a hröa not yet corrupted but rotting slowly with the juice of its own decay.

But was not Tyelperinquar right, after all? What did he know about the past? What could he teach, now that all that remained seemed to be no more than the shadows of ancient hopes, the shadow of himself.

He felt a timid poke on his forearm and lifted up his eyes to see a Ñoldo beautifully dressed. One of the king’s closest valet whom Curufinwë would often see near his cousin, but who was always silent in his presence.

“The king wants to see you, my lord”, she said with a bow.

“The king?” he replied, and realised as he spoke that he had been holding his breath since Tyelperinquar had left. He coughed. “Where is he?”

“Waiting for you. Please, come and follow, for he will grant no delay.”

With that, she walked to a door on the opposite side of the room, in which the throne remained desperately empty, towering above the eldarin celebration like a fountain of hopes, and threats. Without any further ado, Curufinwë followed her.

***

The only light in the little room, which resembled more a personal study than the private chamber of a king, came from that one single candle on the desk. Sitting at it was the king, or, as far as Curufinwë could see, someone whose back looked like the king’s, his head bending over what could be a piece of parchment.

The valet closed the door behind the Fëanorian, living the two cousins alone in a silence only broken by the sound of a quill on vellum.

Curufinwë waited, but the king ignored him. The screeching sound was growing faster, as if the hand that held it had started to frenziedly move over the manuscript.

He gave a quiet cough, and suddenly, Felagund was on his feet in front to him, eyes gleaming and his hands moving quickly as he talked.

“Cousin, you came, at last!”

“As you asked, indeed. I was told there were… urgent matters at stake?”

“Absolutely! I am so relieved by your presence, dear cousin! I do need your help with this.

“My help?” Curufinwë asked, tilting his head as he crossed his arms on his chest.

At least, this issue, whatever it was, explained why the king had not joined the feast. But nothing explained why he had asserted that only he, Curufinwë, would be able to help.

“Please, cousin, let me show you!” said the king with the same enthusiasm, and he stepped aside to reveal the desk, the untidiness of which made Curufinwë cringe a little : vellum sheets here and there, broken quills and stains of ink were covering it, and the candle, almost completely eaten by its own flame, had spilled its wax all over the wooden table. After a confused look in the direction of the king, he carefully picked up one of the sheets and deciphered it carefully.

“You see, Curufinwë, I have been thinking a lot since Fingolfin’s death. Thinking about him, about Finwë… about my father and brothers.”

Curufinwë’s eyes left the vellum and found the king’s face, but he was quiet, waiting for a word that would explain the offensive scribbles.

“I miss them all,” Felagund admitted in a voice which was suddenly slow, and deep. “I miss them painfully. I know you understand… and I realised I need to pay tribute to our uncle and to my father’s house.”

“By spitting on my father’s name?”

There was an awkward silence which was growing in intensity with every second, until the king snatched the parchment from Curufinwë’s fingers. “Let me explain, cousin.”

“Be quick. And stop calling me this. Use my name.”

“Alright, Atarincë.”

His whole body titled, fists clenched at his side, but he didn’t answer back.

“As you know, our uncle chose to adapt his name to the tongues of this land, after he had officialised the prefixion of his name with that of our grandfather…Finwë Ñolofinwë”

Oh, no, Curufinwë had not forgotten. Nor had he forgotten the anger and pain in his father’s face when he had heard about it. They had just fallen under that odious curse, and the first sprout of treachery had already been growing among them; Ñolofinwë had been complacently watering it with his provocations.

“An insult,” he simply said.

“A foresight”, corrected the king, paying no attention to his cousin’s growing anger as he started to tidy up his desk. “Anyway, although this prefixion was perfectly appropriate, he is now gone, and the elder Finwëon still alive is my father. I am saddened to see that among the Sindar who live on my lands, only a few of them know about him…”

“And you believe that adapting his name to their tongue will increase his fame in Beleriand?”

“I believe he deserves to be acknowledged by all the Eldar, as the high king of the Noldor in Valinor…”

“Which will ultimately increase your own power in Beleriand”, Curufinwë concluded sharply, his eyes observing the king every movements.

The king smiled. “My word! You are obsessed with power! Be careful, Atarincë! It might—”

“Keep your advice for yourself, Ingoldo!”

They both froze, holding their breath. The very picture of challenge and defiance. And all the while, Curufinwë could feel that heavy ball of acid, his old companion, burn in his stomach. He had to get out of this room.

“I asked you to come here tonight for your advice in the construction of my father’s name in Sindarin. And I must say I was pretty excited about it. A pity you do not share my enthusiasm.”

“I – wait… Do you really believe that I would approve of that prefixion, the same prefixion that tore my father’s heart apart many years ago?!” he shouted, pointing at the papers in his cousin’s hand.” “‘Finwë Arafinwë’? Are you trying to mock me?”

“How do you think it would be best rendered in Sindarin?” answered the king calmly, the reversed reflect of his cousin. “Fiiiin…? Finarfin, right? I think he would like it. What say you, Atarincë?

He was suffocating. His skin was itching. His guts were flaming. “I say you are stupid. Or mad. Or both. What made you believe that I would approve of any of this?”

For a second, the king looked confused, sincerely confused, and Curufinwë scoffed.

“Well, I thought you would have had grown in wisdom since the beginning of the exile”, explained Felagund. “I hoped that – no, I actually believed you would have come to understand how sound and appropriate these names –“

“Sound and appropriate? No. No, you will not entrap me with your so-called wisdom.”

“I wish not to entrap you, Atarincë. But we are allies and we need to – “

“I am Curufinwë!”

His heartfelt cry was followed by another silence, during which all the tensions seemed to bounce on them, leaving the two Noldor exhausted and out of breath.

Felagund blinked. “Are you ?”

A dark veil seemed to fall on Curufinwë’s face, but it didn’t last, and soon after he was storming out of the room, as the king smiled, his eyes on the scribbled names:

King Finrod Felagund, son of Finarfin, High-King of the Noldor.

***

Later that same night, once the feast over and the jolly warmth of wine evaporated, Turcafinwë was drumming with his fingernails on his knee.

“But he was mocking you, was he not?” he asked. “He could only be jesting… Or else, it would be a declaration of war.”

“Not of war, Turco,” answered his little brother. “He still needs us here.”

“Us?” A loud laugh fell off from Turcafinwë’s lips, thick and harsh. “You mean our warriors… And the few of his people who would gladly join our side.”

“We said there would be no side,” Curufinwë commented thoughtfully as he stared absently at the newly made astrolabe, which he found too heavy to call it well-executed. Brass could be made lighter.

“Do you know what I think this is all about, Curvo? I think he fears our power. He is terrified by our leadership skills. Hence his ridiculous attempt to gain a bit more influence with this new name for his father.”

“Ridiculous, huh? I am not so sure”, Curvo sighed.

He put the instrument back into its case. The stars could wait, but could he?

“He wanted to impress you, Curvo. That is why he so kindly ‘asked for your advice’. It was a threat in disguise, nothing else.” He paused and stared at his brother still working on the case’s lock. “Please, do not tell me it worked.”

If Turcafinwë had deserved to know what had happened in the king’s study, Curufinwë had yet found unnecessary to tell his brother about his final outburst. Insignificant.

“Of course, it did not.”

“Glad to hear it”, said Turcafinwë. “And he will not impress them, our people shall not be deceived by his mask of humility.”

Curufinwë’s mind quickly explored the vault of his memories, and he remembered Tyelperinquar… the way he would praise the king, always so eager to pay his respect…

“Oh, I hate him!” stammered Tyelkormo, and he stood up abruptly, as if driven by an impulse that would have been restrained for too long.

“I admire him”, muttered Curufinwë.

“That is not funny, brother.”

“It was a smart move. He is smart; we must acknowledge that.”

After an embarrassing moment of confusion, Turcafinwë began to chuckle scornfully, but he was stopped by his brother’s severe gaze.

“Go to bed, Curvo.”

***

He didn’t go to bed.

Long was the way, or so it seemed to him, from the throne room to the smithies, and dark were the corridors, narrower and narrower, that slithered through the earth, underneath the green lands of West Beleriand. Darker and darker too. Until nothing was left but the profound emptiness of his beating heart. Beating yes, but for how long? Someday it would be torn apart, or pierced, or it would explode under the pressure of his scorching delusions. And who would save him then? Not his brothers. Not his son. If only his father…

What colour was the sky tonight? And the stars, did they still shine with the same peace? Did they still look on them with benevolence? There was no sky here. No sky left at all.

“Anyë tirë, Menel!”

Embers, ashes. Dust and smoke.

The dark stream of his wishes flows backwards, swallowed by his aching heart. Follow the stream which runs deeper and deeper, follow the arteries of the earth, the arteries of his soul. There is nothing to see. Soon there will be nothing to feel. But if he cannot be taken by the everlasting darkness, where shall he go?

Flashes of light. A bell in the wind. Spindrift on his face. He tastes the foam of the reddened waves, salt and iron. Seawater and blood. Still no sky.

There is a moment of truth hidden in every eyes, and in the face of the blessed ones shine the apathy of the world it is there always and forever but he cannot grasp it with his slippery hands fingers glistening with blood and only then he understands why the ashes only would stick to them, and his father walks to him, faceless but he knows this is Fëanáro only Fëanáro and he is voiceless too but he reaches out for his hands, red and grey like the sea, he reaches out but he is already slipping away far from him and from the world and perhaps he should cry out for him perhaps he could run and catch him or perhaps he could…

He does not.

Motionless and senseless too, he watches the silence and smell the shadow that grows over him. Huge and terrifying, a tower of dreams and hopes and wishes. An illusion as comforting as illusions can be, and as dangerous as the sweet perfume of love. But the shadow is already swallowing him too, and he knows how painful the fall will be, but he cannot hide he cannot run he cannot fight it because the shadow has a voice and the voice is that of his son and he would not he cannot he refuses to end it.

“Tyelperinquar!”

Curufinwë woke up with a start, both hands trembling as they left the table in front of him to wipe off the sweat on his brow. He had fallen asleep in his workshop, something that never happened before.

“Good morning, Curufin.”

He jumped on his chair once more, and turned around. The king was standing in the doorway, a gentle smile on his face, but a glitter of unquietness was in his eyes. “I daresay you did not sleep well…”

“What are you doing here, what do you want?” Curufinwë mumbled as he got up, dusting his tunic and his hair.”

“After you left last night, I began to worry about you… rightly from what I just saw.”

A confused frown distorted his forehead. “What you saw…?”

“It seemed like an odious nightmare that you had. I was about to wake you up, when you…”

With a sudden brutality, Curufinwë walked toward his cousin, pointing his finger at his face. “I forbid you to sneak around me when I am asleep!”

The king didn’t move, but he lost his benevolent smile.

“You may be the king here, Felagund”, continued Curufinwë, “but that gives you no right to spy on us and to creep into my mind.”

The king looked deeply into his cousin’s eyes, and when he finally answered, he gently pushed away Curufinwë’s pointing and threatening finger.

“I did not look into dreams. I only saw you struggle alone at your table, fighting against enemies I could not see. I told you, I was worried.”

Curufinwë gave a spiteful laugh, but the king didn’t lose his bearings.

“When will you stop believing that I am your enemy, Curufin?” he asked softly. “We are on the same side. I am on your side, and if I can help you, I shall.”

Both hands now leaning on the workshop table, Curufinwë was staring thoughtfully at the stools, refusing to give the king any chance to see his eyes. He was shaking his head slowly, catching his breath silently after this succession of shocks. His mind wasn’t quite clear yet, and the blurred images of his dreams were still hanging behind his eyes, haunting the vault of his reason.

“But you need to let me help you, Curufin.”

“No.”

Felagund sighed. “You still refuse to understand.”

“Spare me your hypocritical speeches and your pity, will you?” he spat, not even trying to hide is irritation. “It is you who do not understand: there can be no further bonding to fix what happened, no fraternizing or affinity. We have to tolerate each other for the sake of victory, end of the story. And yes, this story stinks, it is hideous and obscene, an ugly mess from which neither of us can escape! And it would be sheer folly to hope for anything better!”

He had to stop to catch his breath, but he expected not his cousin to answer immediately.

“What happened to you, Curufin? I have never seen you so pessimistic.”

He turned around, hiding again from the king’s keen eyes, but it didn’t stop Felagund:

“After all, was it not hope that drove your father on those shores in the first place? And is it not hope that have been keeping you and your brothers going? At least, that is what Macalaurë told me a few years back…

“Enough, Findaráto. I shall hear no more of your sermon.”

“A sermon? Why, no Curufin. You said I did not understand so I am barely trying to help…” answered the king, stepping towards his cousin.

But Curufinwë jumped back, on his guard. “I told you I do not want your help! Besides, you could not understand.”

“You realise you are not the only one who lost something during the Sudden Flame, do you not?”

“I know this very well. Thank you.” Curufinwë spat. “And that is the only thing we have in common.”

“Wrong. We also have a common grandfather.”

“How dare you mention him here and now? Last night was not enough?”

“Your problem, Curufinwë, is that you cannot see beyond your tiny little world. And you refuse to accept that you are not the only one who suffers.”

“Nonsense. And I am fine.”

“I see”, The king sighed, and he walked back to the doorway. “I hope you will soon see it too.”

Alone at last, Curufinwë could focus on chasing away the bitterness that coated his tongue and his mind. One shake of his head was not enough. He had to get back in touch with reality. With the world as it stood.

He walked to the dying fire silently burning in the stove, and knelt with infinite care, as if approaching a treasure. Under the soft pile of ashes, a few embers were still red, warm, and comforting with their familiar shape and smell. With no hesitation, Curufinwë picked up one with his bare hand and wrapped his blackened fingers around it. He held it tightly. As tightly as he could, until the coal turned into dust under the pressure. He had kept his eyes on the painful process all along, turning it into a ritual of his own invention. To conjure more sufferings, to erase the ancient ones. There was no expression on his face, only his jaw was tenser than usual, and for the first time in months, his hands weren’t shaking. Under the ashes which now covered his skin, he could see the growing blisters, the creased, reddened skin which cried its agony through every pores. The pain was insufferable.

He closed his eyes and saw it again. The same pain, the same warmth. Only the smell was different. The ashes too were the same, or so it seemed. And if he focused more, he could almost hear them, his father’s last words as he, his dearest son, cradled his lifeless head on his knees, his father’s last breath before he turned into ashes in his own arms. The scars on his palms had remained for many years, but as they were vanishing, Curufinwë needed to keep something of them, or something which looked like them. A token if his grief, of his wishes and of his oath. He shall never forget; it is for him that they had fought. And for him he will fight again, for the hope his father had bestowed them.

Curufinwë opened his eyes.

He could see clearly now. He knew what he had to do. All he needed was a plan, and an opportunity, an open window through which he would be able to slither in. And if the king wanted to play this little of game of his, this foul play of secret authority, soft power and concealed control, then he would indulge. There was nothing like a little challenge to assert his own mastery. Yes, even if it meant using tools Fëanáro wouldn’t have approved of. Because after all, he was not Fëanáro, was he?

#curufin #finrod #celegorm #The Silmarillion #silmarillion fanfiction #anathema

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clxvdd · 4 years ago

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Self Control- Rock Lee

Summary: Rock Lee and the other Shinobi go out to celebrate a job well done, but his favorite person is nowhere to be seen. Chaos ensues, and his favorite person is the only one who can stop it.

Warnings: drinking, mourning, fluff, tiny bit of angst

Characters/Pairings: Rock Lee x Reader, Naruto, Tenten, Habu (Waiter), the rest of the gang

(fem!Reader)

Word Count: 1903

“Where is (Y/N)?” Lee couldn’t stop himself from asking as his trained eyes searched through the group of ninjas all crowding together at the bar.

He knew it was a bad idea to come in the first place, but he had more self control now and he knew the effects those drinks had on his body. After all, he was here to celebrate and spend time with his friends. They scarcely spent time all together like this.

But it seemed as though someone was missing.

As he entered with Neji at his side, his friends came in waves to come and greet the two with kind smiles and swift hugs, none of them seeming to notice the lack of the shinobi that had caught his eye the most and who was the greatest reason for him to show up. When his teammate herself went to pull away from the greeting, he caught her arm and looked into her eyes with a concerned look.

“Where is she?” He said breathlessly, his mind racing with a thousand different reasons as to why the girl in question was not present. Even without speaking her name, Tenten knew of who he was inquiring about, being (Y/N)’s best friend as well.

“She said she was going to be a little late,” Tenten shook her head lightly, “she had something to take care of.” She plainly stated, not having any more information to give. Pulling her arm out of his grasp gently, she patted his drooping shoulders in solace.

Of course, Lee knew that with everyone’s busy lives and their responsibilities of being a shinobi that not everyone would have time to show up, although he had hoped that person at least would not be her. It was a one out of more than ten chance, but Lee always had the worst luck.

“Come on, Lee, don’t be so down,” Tenten whined as she lead him over to the group again, “she will be here. You can be sad any other night.”

He shook his head but straightened up anyway. The kunoichi was right, tonight was a night of youth and celebration, not of despair. He would live his best moments as (Y/N) would want him to.

Lee didn’t quite know why he was so drawn to you. It wasn’t like his former crush on his, now friend, Sakura. That was simply an infatuation, but with you it felt like more. Like he lived and breathed every day to be able to see your face, and he died a little inside when he couldn’t. You brought out the best and worst in him all at once and he couldn’t explain how, yet no matter what it reigned true.

Again, he shook his head, forcing himself out of his own thoughts and threw himself down into the booth seat next to Naruto. He was determined to be his normal, youthful self without you for a little while, and if he couldn’t– well I’ll just have to do 3,000 more pushups during tomorrow’s training.

“Nice to see ya, buddy!” Naruto exclaimed at the boy, slapping a hand to his jumper clad back. The signature wide grin that he sported was enough to convince him that the night would have to be great. He needed it to be.

Not long after, a young– and bored– waiter rounded the bar to Lee’s table, in one hand a notepad and the other a pen. He cleared his throat lazily and spoke up at the group with a tone similar to the one Shikamaru always used, nearly making Lee laugh at the thought.

“What drinks would you all like to get started off with?”

The table boomed with a variation of drinks, ranging in simplicity and taste, although the overwhelming majority was alcoholic some way or another. Lee had struggled to even hear himself, but requested a simple glass of water nonetheless. The waiter rubbed his forehead and focused in on individual requests, but they all blurred together and he just nodded and retreated back to his station, never even marking the paper with his pen. Thinking he had just been overly intuitive, Lee told himself that he shouldn’t be worrying so much. After all, he had promised himself to enjoy the night. Taking a deep breath and relaxing his previously furrowed brows, he listened in on Naruto’s and Shikamaru’s conversation, soon forgetting all about his anxieties.

It seemed like seconds before the same waiter came back with a tray, for Lee was so busy having fun and joking around with his friends. Setting the tray down and passing around the drinks, the waiter, whom Lee now noticed was named Habu, gave each of them a once-over before speaking again.

“Would you guys like any appetizers or something from our happy hour menu to go with your drinks? They’re 15 percent off for the next 20 minutes,” He glanced at his watch to confirm. Upon hearing this, the group– Kiba, Choji, and Naruto mainly– began throwing out orders in a chaotic fashion, not even bothering to take their time. Lee grasped the glass in front of him with a loose shake of his head and proceeded to take a long sip of the still, clear drink, believing it to be the water he asked for.

Of course, he realized it wasn’t when the familiar burn of his throat and tastebuds reached his brain and his eyes widened before drooping as he lost his grasp on his supposed self control.

Meanwhile, across the village was a girl, made small by her posture crouched over a large stone burial site with flowers in her hand. Her long hair fell over her face in wisps and her shoulders heaved, taking a long sigh before placing a finger to the cool rock.

“I miss you, mom,” she whispered as she took another shaky breath, blowing her hair out of her face, “I have so much to tell you.”

“For starters, I completed another successful mission yesterday,” the girl continued staring solemnly at the letters she had imprinted in her brain from reading over and over, “I’ve grown a lot. I’m not a little girl anymore,” she huffed then followed it with a breathy chuckle. Nervously picking at the skin of her fingers, she spoke again.

“I met a boy. Surprising, I know, but I really think he could mean something,” she smiled faintly as she thought of the boy with the bushiest brows and brightest attitude she had ever seen. He always made her feel important, like she was ruler of everything in the universe, but she was just her. Plain little (Y/N) from the village hidden in the leaves. Nothing more, nothing less.

“I’m going to see him again tonight. I know you would like him, mom,” again she leaned her head down towards the grave, a tear slipping from her eye, staining the gray surface, “you really would.”

Then, all at once, (Y/N) stood up from her position and heaved. This was hard. Even though she had been coming to her mother’s grave frequently for almost 3 years, she never knew how to say goodbye. She didn’t like it. It reminded her of the last time she had meant it. Wordlessly she turned away, beginning her walk back into the village where she would be meeting her friends to celebrate their successes. Hopefully that would cheer her up.

Along the way she passed many shops and buildings, most of them closed for the night. The scenery at this time was beautiful, though, and she took her time in making it to the bar she had been invited to.

As she turned the corner, a stream of people, all panicked and hurried, pushed past her away from the direction she was headed. Confused, she kept towards it and the kunoichi approached closer to her destination, the chaos growing with screams and loud sounds of breaking, cracking, pushing, demolishing.

With one glance she gasped, her hands dropping to her side as she ran towards the once bustling building.

“Where is she?!” Her ears perked up with the familiar voice in such an unfamiliar tone. She knew it had to be Lee, there was no doubts about that, but what he was doing was another story. And who was this girl that he had mentioned?

“Where is (Y/N)?”

Another gasp left the girl’s lips and she furrowed her brows in determination and understanding. If it was her he wanted then it was her he would get. She had heard stories about Lee’s troubles with the burning liquid, but she wrote them off as exaggerations and never had she seen it for herself until now.

“Lee?” She almost whispered as she warily opened the door to the destroyed building. A chair flew past her head as she ducked and squinted to focus on the taijutsu specialist. Noticing he was distracted with his back turned towards her, he towered over the group of shinobi before slurring again.

“Where is she, where is she, where is she??!” he growled as he stomped his feet and evaded every attempt his friends had to try and catch him, “I want her! I want to see her!” He stomped again, swaying slightly before he heard a gentle voice from behind him, almost too soft for his ears.

“Lee?”

The raging boy turned as his eyes landed on the girl he had been calling for. All of the sudden he felt guilty. He felt everything. Dropping the furniture that had once been raised over his head, he swayed his way over to her, stopping just short of arm’s length.

His breath caught in his throat when his half-lidded eyes ran over your concerned face. Your hair was loose, messy even, but it was still the most beautiful he had ever seen you. The red in your eyes was a clear tell that you had been crying and he reached a hand out with a pang in his full heart. Your eyes never once left him as he grew closer and closer to you, his hand holding yours.

One step, he was close enough to hug you.

Another step, you could feel his breath on your cheeks and smell the alcohol on his tongue.

Another, he pressed his chest to yours, still holding your hand as you gazed up into his glittering eyes.

“I’m here, Lee,” You whispered.

Your heart was beating so fast it could’ve quit on you right then, but you wouldn’t have noticed. All you had on your mind was Lee. Lee and that stupid face of his.

“I’m right here.”

And you took him into your arms, letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. His arms came under yours to drag you impossibly closer to him and the next thing you knew his lips were on yours.

Tender. Gentle. Soft. All uncharacteristic of Lee, but when your lips moved together as one of a whole it felt just right, like everything was meant to lead up to this. You knew he felt the same.

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raleigh-ocean · 4 years ago

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| Ally Mayfair-Richards x Danna Bishop Alphabet |

A - AU (My favorite AU for them)

This one is hard damn, they already are living in a Chef AU of some sorts hahaha I think I really love that of them but if I had to put them in one...well, I still dig a lot the idea of Lawyer/The Good Fight AU, the one I said in Mina and Ray’s alphabet, so I totally see them in the same AU. But also, maybe, The Holiday AU. That’s a good film, I love it a lot and I could make it work somehow Danna and Audrey exchanging houses and then Audrey meets Dani and Danna meets Ally, I totally see it.

AND maybe some kind of Fighter AU? Boxing AU? OR BETTER Superhero AU OR OR OR WAIT ME A MINUTE D&D AU. Yeah, God, that would be awesome for fucking sure. Danna is totally a bard and Ally is the queen or something, I totally see it.

B - Baby (Do they want a family?)

They have a family: Ozzy and their dog, Bob. Danna didn’t think about her having kids and Ally doesn’t want another one, so they both are pretty content with Ozzy. So it was kind of a surprise family, at least for Danna. At first she was pretty much worried about not being good influence for Ozzy or Ally not wanting her to be close to him, but after a few pick ups at school and home dates, Ozzy totally fell in love with her mother’s new partner. Like from all the women Ally dated after Cult, Danna is the one that Ozzy liked the best and actively asked for her to Ally, which always got tear-eyed because not many could get a reaction out of him in such way.

When I say everyone was shocked and surprised upon knowing that Danna was dating someone with a kid, I’m totally honest with you. I mean, Dara could have say Billie and her were having a baby - which they both agreed not to - and it would have get less surprising and shocking reactions than the ones Danna got.

C - Cuddle (Cuddler? How would they cuddle?)

Ally is the cuddler and Danna loves cuddling her way too much, so there’s no much fighting about this to be honest. It doesn’t matter where they are, Ally always finds her way into Danna’s arms and they settle after Danna kiss the crown of her head or gave her a tiny peck.

With Ivy, Ally held back a bit on the PDA, but with Danna she’s all over the place and she doesn’t care at all because Danna seems as happy as her. Though sometimes Danna is the cuddler and it’s funny because their height differences are pretty much noticeable and Danna is like a human blanket.

D - Dates (What are dates like?)

Pretty...basic. They are content with simple things, simple dates at most, because they are always busy. So big dates are always for important stuff. This doesn’t mean they don’t feel the need of going out only the two of them once or twice, though, it’s just that too many times they are satisfied with their little dates at home or even when they’re on a break in the restaurant.

E - Everything (You are my ______? Life, world, etc)

Danna to Ally ‘You’re my pandora’s box.’

Ally to Danna ‘You’re my new sunrise.’

F - Feelings (When did they first realize they had feelings for the other?)

Five months after Danna started to work for Ally in the restaurant, around the time they were more comfortable with each other. I like to think that Ally was hesitant at first but she knew that her feeling for Danna were sincere from the beginning. And Danna was scared when she realized she was catching feelings for Ally, like hard feelings, after their fifth date and it wasn’t until it passed two months in their relationship that Danna actually addressed them properly.

G - Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

They are, both. But we all know Ally can be a bit harsher at times. With each other though, they are the most gentle even when they tease each other and such. I think it’s because they didn’t feel things so strong for someone in a long time and well, I always said Danna and Ally are the soft spot of each other, so what else can I say?

H - Holding Hands (Do they like it? How often?)

Heck to the yeah. But it’s always Ally the one doing it more naturally, Danna tends to overthink somehow. Maybe it’s because everything that Ally makes her feel is a bit new for her, so she feels like she’s walking over egg shells, not knowing if it’s okay to do this or that. Ally helps her get braver and it’s cute watching Danna, this enormous woman, be so nervous about holding her girlfriend’s hand. They do it pretty often, Ally always takes Danna’s hand in hers and leaves her free hand in Danna’s bicep, head resting in her shoulder a bit and all, which makes Danna to lean a bit to kiss her forehead with love.

I - Impression (What was their first impression of one another?)

Ally thought Danna was like a cartoon character, her reactions too big and weird at first and not matching with all the impressive stuff that was in her resume. She was really walking on thin ice because yeah, Danna looked and was a good professional, but as a person she was a bit over the place.

Danna was a bit scared of Ally at first, she made her nervous and that made her act in her silly self to ‘break the ice’. Danna had some sick respect for Ally upon meeting and for the next six months that were their pre-relationship, even when they started dating Danna went as far as blurting all of that out of nervousness to Ally, which found it hilarious.

J - Jealous (Would they ever get jealous? How would they act if they were jealous?)

They both get jealous more than they want to admit, but they act on it playfully most of the time. Ally tease Danna about it, maybe a new way of approaching it taking in count everything that happened with Ivy, and Danna is always pretty oblivious about many stuff that happens around her that isn’t Ally or the kitchen related so Danna goes to Ally and picks her up like she weights nothing, trying to draw some laughs from her and kissing her, telling her afterwards that she didn’t notice that the new scullion was flirting with her because the most beautiful woman was around the kitchen.

When it’s Danna’s turn to get jealous the feeling is all over her face, it’s so easy to notice it? She tries to hold it back but all her unsaid words are there in the form of Danna getting closer to Ally, wrapping her from behind and being a bit more cuddly than she is on daily basis. Ally always comment lightly about how nice this whoever was once they are alone and it’s then when Danna just let it all go and get all flustered and everything and Ally can’t help but kiss her all over her face before dragging her to bed.

K - Kisses (How do they kiss?)

There are times and times, but they kinda kiss slow most of the time, big ones when they think none’s watching but everyone’s totally is. Danna have this thing of holding Ally’s face between her hands in such delicately way that has Ally all heart-eyes without a single doubt.

But the quick kisses with the ‘D wink trademark’ that everyone in Danna’s family has...those are a good soft spot, though.

L - Love (Who says ‘I love you’ first?)

Danna! And it was by accident but Ally followed her the next second. I want to specifically write this because it’s a wholesome and cute scenario, but let’s say Danna was talking over the phone with Dani and Ally overheard her saying that she loved her a lot and that Ally was making Danna to want to stay and not escape like pretty much of her relationships. It was way too early in their relationship though, like two months or so, they knocked each others socks off pretty hard.

M - Memory (What’s their favorite memory of the relationship?)

I think their favourite moment, forever and ever, would be the night Ally asked Danna to move in with them. There wasn’t crazy, big, whatever, in the whole memory but the simplicity of it all, the warmth in the moment, was enough to make it their favourite. Ally was cooking dinner while Danna watched over Ozzy, who was doing some homework, and when she turned around to see why they were bickering...well, it got Ally’s heart all soft to watch Danna mess with Ozzy because she was ‘bored’, all in a lighthearted way.

The question came out of Ally’s lips too fast and she looked at Ozzy quickly, because his reaction was the most important one in that moment, but seeing how Ozzy was even more excited with that idea...well, what else could I say? Danna moved in the following week, though, but between us she totally cried a bit that night in Ally’s bathroom out of happiness.

N - Nicknames (What do they call each other?)

I said this before but with Danna is like a russian roulette of nicknames, each day she has a different one, words and combinations that she comes up with in a second and stick for the rest of the day and Ally is always pretty amused of what will she be every day.

Ally sticks with sweetheart, darling and sunshine, but this one is something pretty intimate and holds a lot of

O - Orange (What color reminds them of each other?)

Orange is the colour that reminds Ally of Danna, mostly because it was the colour of the flowers Danna gave her in their first date. Prussian blue reminds Danna of Ally though, really specific blue, but it was the colour of the shirt she was wearing the night of their first time and Ally put it on in the morning afterwards - said shirt is constantly borrowed by Ally, needless to say.

P - Proposal (Who proposes and how?)

You know those videos of people that propose at the same time? Ally and Danna are those. And Ozzy knew all the fucking time because they took him, separately, to buy the rings and he’s the one in charge sending the video over the group chat with the rest of the medium gang and let me tell you, they both cried like a lot. It was over movie night, pretty casual thing, they’ve been planing it for the week and like they just wanted to have a calm night with Ozzy since it was hectic at work and everything. So basically Ally went to the kitchen to make popcorn, thinking about when would it be the right time to propose, and it was then that Danna took advantage of the situation to be there on her knee when she was back. Ally literally couldn’t respond, she dropped the popcorn and knelled in front of Danna to do the same and Ozzy is like holding Bob so he doesn’t eat their snacks but at the same time holding Danna’s cellphone so he can make the video.

Q - Quiet (Do they like to talk, or are they more of an actions type of person?)

Ally is, little by little, changing some of Danna’s ways of handling stuff into building some sort of ‘safe space’ so she can voice her opinions more easily. If it was for Danna, she would show Ally the world only with her actions but Ally needs to be verbally reassured, like, it’s something that clung to her bones since Ivy in such heavy and nasty manner that she couldn’t help it. For someone that speaks so much, Danna have some serious troubles voicing her feelings tbh.

R - Rich (Do they spoil one another?)

They do, but both are quite the ‘hesitant buyers’ as to speak. Like they always over think if it’s really okay of them to buy something to each other and many times, even when they end up buying it, they have their heads full of thoughts against it. However, upon seeing each other’s faces full of surprise and love those thoughts change and they are more at ease.

S - Sleep (What are their sleep habits?)

They both have, impressively, the habit of not going to sleep late. Ally because she built that but Danna because after ten is falling asleep as they speak. If there isn’t something that hold them back, they both are in bed around eleven or so. It quite the contrast taking in count, per example, how Dani always go to sleep late and one would think Danna, being the upbeat twin, has the most energy of the two.

Sometimes they take a bath together before bed though, it depends of what has transcended during the day, and that may be ending up in sex...more times than they want to admit but hey, a bit of fun here and there in between the calmness of their nights it’s good.

T - Touch (Their favorite place to touch?)

Ally’s favourite place to touch in Danna will be her hands, it’s something she can’t get enough of it. She also found that Danna, weirdly enough, is ticklish when touched softly over her knuckles, and Ally finds that really endearing for some reason.

In Danna’s case it’s a bit harder, mostly because is hard that she admits having a favourite place to begin with since she loves all of Ally but there’s something that keeps drawing her to just place her hands over Ally’s tummy. Overall when Danna is hugging her from behind, she can’t help it, or when she’s hugging her sideways with one arm. Ally always giggle a bit because she isn’t used to that kind of things.

U - Unencumbered (What do they do to relax?)

When they are together, Danna loves to watch Ally cook, it puts her in a good mood and also she likes being told what to do, taking in count she’s the one giving orders on the daily around the restaurant and all. It also form some kind of silly sweet moments together and Danna is a sucker for those, because she gets to see the softer side of Ally. At times she likes to take care of the garden too, it reminds Danna of home, of afternoons spent with Dani, her siblings and cousins when they were younger.

For Ally it’s whatever chore she has at home to be done, it helps her to ground herself, to remember that even with everything that has happened and it’s happening, she still pretty much is there existing. That and reading, she likes reading too much, so when she’s with a book in hand both Danna and Ozzy know that they have to keep their loudness down and let her enjoy. Sometimes Danna nap with her head in Ally’s belly if she’s reading and Ally loves to brush Danna’s hair with her fingers or resting her hand in her nap, caressing her skin with her thumb, while at it.

V - Virgin (What’s the sex like?)

At the beginning pretty vanilla, being completely honest. They kind of enjoy not rushing it, as if they were and are learning their ways around each other, which is nice and makes Ally feel comfortable since their first time Ally thought Danna was about to go full bananas but ended up being pretty wholesome the whole thing. But, as of now, they are experimenting a bit here and there and Ally likes Danna’s assertiveness because it lets her know clearly her limits and how far she is willing to go.

But overall their sex is fun, lots of giggling and laughing, they have fun and they are happy while at it, which is the most important thing. Is a bit of their little gateway of daily life, because only them exist there.

W - Wedding (What’s the wedding like? Big, small?)

Small! Well, as small as it can get with Danna’s family. But yeah, pretty much Ally is still worried taking in count is her second marriage and Danna promised her that it would be like a tiny gathering. Ally’s family is a bit intimidated at first with Danna’s family but after a few hours they are like a big family. There are some friends too, but only the closest ones.

Someone will think that Danna was going to have the biggest wedding and party ever, but after so many years she just wanted to make Ally happy and have a good day with everyone important to her.

X - Xylophone (What’s their song?)

Their song, no matter what, is ‘You Make Me Feel Like Dancing’ by Leo Sayer. They love it and Danna has it as her tone for Ally in her cellphone. They also danced to it any time they can, because the happiness that it brings them is unmatched. Ally always jokes that this song is like really old, way older than her, but it makes her feels something in her chest. For Danna, it only makes her lean to kiss her fiancee because all that song is for her is like she’s talking to Ally about how she fell in love with her.

Also I feel like Danna will show Ally ‘Magic in the Hamptons’ by Social House as a joke and that song ends up being their guilty pleasure song. I said what I said.

Y - Yearn (How do they cope with being away from the other?)

Incredibly well, to be completely honest. Danna has always been travelling and living away from everything she loves and holds dear to her, and it still is really hard but she knows how to handle it through texts, calls, videocalls and such. She can’t take a shirt from Ally or something, ‘cause it doesn’t fit her, but she does take one of her bracelets, or even a ring or one earring. That’s enough for her to not miss her new home that much, taking in count Danna already has a picture of them three as her cellphone’s background.

In exchange...well, Ally does suffer a bit more with this. However she has the advantage that anything she takes from Danna’s side of the closet fits her perfectly big and comfy and she already has a favourite sweater and all. She has even worn some wool jackets for work here and there, and once Danna’s big coat too. Maybe it is because of her own trauma is acting up a bit, but having Danna calling her everyday to check on her helps a lot.

Z - Zoo (What kind of pet would they have, if any?)

They got a dog! As I said, after months and months of Danna and Oz joining forces to convince Ally to get a pet, they finally did it after a whole year of it. They went to get a rescue dog, though, and after much deliberation Danna and Oz decided to get an old chihuhua that had been there for a really long time.

His full name is Roberto and maybe he’s a bit ugly, okay, and trembles a little too much and his left ear is a bit chomped, but when he crossed the main door for the first time and went directly to Ally, who was in the kitchen...it was like love at first sight.

They three are pretty in love with Bob or Bobito, which is how Danna calls him, and he got used to his new home pretty fast, which was the best thing. And outside of home and talking about the rest of the gang...Billie and Dani still doesn’t get how can he be that ugly and still are kinda worried about the fact that they got him; Dahlia is okay with him, she likes him and sometimes gives him little beacon bits; Shelby is pretty neutral, but she’s likes him enough to agree to ‘babysit’ him if necessary; Dara still cries because she’s allergic to animal fur and wants to pet him every time; and Audrey is mostly awkward around him, but Bob loves her for some reason and he’s always with her if he’s not with Ally.

#ally mayfair richards #ally mayfair richards x original character #danna bishop #alphabet #american horror story #ahs cult

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thenovelartist · 5 years ago

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Ladybug’s Lament, chapter 1

After fighting with six different ideas for what I was going to write for my friend @rosegardentwilight birthday, I settled on a Siren’s Lament AU ;D Happy birthday, my friend! Hope you enjoy this :D

Next>

Marinette’s life was a simple one. She lived with her parents at a bakery in Paris, helping them run the business. At twenty-two, she knew every single in and out there was to the bakery. Though it was always unpredictable what kind of day it would be, and though some days were much harder than others, the simplicity of her life was a comfort, one of the few she had growing up.

Her home life was fine, and even handling the bakery was easy. But school…

School had been brutal.

She’d been bullied so heavily that her academics had suffered. She found it easier to play hooky for the day than face the hallways of the cruel place filled with cruel people just waiting to knock her down, verbally or physically.

However, during one of those days was when she met the one person that she could say had become her only friend.

She knew who he was—his posters were everywhere so it was nearly impossible not to know Adrien Agreste—but he had begged her to be quiet and just let him enjoy being free from the paparazzi and fans and his bodyguard for the day. She’d agreed, knowing what it was like to feel like she had to hide at any given moment. She’d helped him decide which movie would most likely have the emptiest theater, and they watched the movie together.

Though, in hindsight, ‘watched’ was a generous term. They had started talking during the previews, which lead to them continuing talking throughout the movie, and by the time the credits were rolling, they were exchanging numbers suggesting they should do it again.

Which they did.

Again. And again. And again.

They became best friends, and it wasn’t just because they were each other’s only real friend at the moment. He was the first person who truly encouraged her and stood by her side even when school was rough. And he’d admitted that it was wonderful having a friend that never cared about his celebrity status and genuinely cared for him and his wellbeing.

But somewhere along the line, she’d fallen for him. It was so embarrassing. They were friends. They were supposed to stay friends. He liked her because she was a genuine friend to him, because she wasn’t looking for anything more from him than friendship.

Meaning that no matter how hard it was, she’d have to stay mum. She would never tell him that she’d been crushing on him for a few years now. Because as he’d said many times before, they were great friends. A great team.

A tap on her shoulder sent her leaping into the sky, yanking her from her reverie.

She glared at the blonde offender, her supposedly best friend who knew better than to sneak up at her like that, who was laughing. “Sorry.”

“You’re not sorry,” she grumbled.

“Guilty as charged.” Adrien held up his hands. “Hey, I think that we’re past any rush. Could I take my break? Kagami’s here. But I could tell her I can’t if you need me to—”

“It’s fine,” Marinette interrupted with a forced grin. With Marinette’s parents out of town visiting relatives in China for the next few weeks, Marinette was running the place on her own. Well, besides Adrien who had been more than happy to pick up any extra shifts she needed him to. He was such an amazing friend and helper, which made Marinette feel guilty over just how far her heart sank at the sight of Kagami standing outside with a cup of coffee in her hands. “Go see your girlfriend. Besides, you deserve a break.”

“Thanks, Marinette,” he said, slipping out of his apron. “Be back in five.” He roughly folded the apron, then set it in a cubby behind the counter before heading outside to meet her. Marinette forced her smile to remain, but in reality, it broke her heart to see Adrien out there with the girl he knew from his fencing club being all smiles and whatnot.

“Oh, you poor girl.”

Marinette looked over to where Miss Lila Rossi, her worst school bully and yet a regular customer, was standing with a mock frown on her face.

“Seems nothing goes your way, huh, Marinette?”

She scoffed. “You’re wrong. I was the one who encouraged Adrien to date Kagami.” Which, she had been. Adrien had often talked about Kagami and how they usually sparred together. The mention of the girl always seemed to put a smile on his face, and Marinette wanted nothing more for him to be able to smile since his father disowned him when Adrien decided to quit modeling… with Marinette’s encouragement. She’d never not feel guilty for causing such a rift between him and the only family member he had left.

“Yeah,” Lila said with a knowing smirk. “I doubt that. Anyway, best of luck dealing with that broken heart. I hear chocolate ice cream’s a good remedy. Don’t worry about the calories. A girl with a face like yours shouldn’t have to be careful of her weight.”

Lila strutted out of the store, leaving Marinette alone, sulking from that sting. She had to learn to let those go and not obsess over her appearance in the mirror like she had in high school. Lila was a liar, had always been, and apparently, always would be. But Marinette had to admit that even though she knew they were lies, sometimes it was hard to convince herself otherwise.

With a sigh, Marinette turned away from the counter, mostly so she wouldn’t be able to watch Adrien and Kagami interact. After all, Kagami was practically perfect. She was fit, fearless, and had a fine face. But even telling herself that, the selfish part of Marinette still regretted ever encouraging Adrien to go out with her.

The bell for the door rang, and she instinctively put on a customer service smile. “Hello, how can I help you?”

The old man looked over the case of treats. “Hmm. I don’t know. I’ve never been here before. What do you recommend?”

Marinette glanced over the lines of baked goods. “The macarons are always enjoyable.”

He hummed, looking at them. “Perfect. I will take two of whichever ones you think are the best.”

With a nod, she grabbed a little bag and a pair of tongs, using them to put two of her personal favorite macarons into the bag. When she returned to the register, he was ready with a bill to complete the transaction.

“Perfect,” Marinette said, taking the bill, then pulling out his change to hand back. “Thank you very much. I hope you enjoy them.”

He smiled. “You wear a smile, yet I see sadness in your eyes.”

Instantly, Marinette’s smile disappeared, mostly because it was near impossible to keep smiling when a perfect stranger calls your bluff so bluntly.

The man looked out the window to where Adrien was chatting animatedly with Kagami. “The ache in your heart wouldn’t happen to be from that boy out there, would it?”

She wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and die. “Is it that obvious?”

He shook his head. “I’ve been around many years; I know the signs of a broken heart. I think I have just the thing to cheer you up.”

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a little octagonal box to put on the counter.

“Oh, no no no,” Marinette said, waving her hands around. “I couldn’t take that.”

“Of course, you can,” the man said. “They’re said to give you a little luck. Maybe, it will help you with your boy troubles.” With that, he headed out of the store before Marinette could stop him. “My best wishes to you, Miss Marinette.”

He disappeared from the store before she could say a word. “Thank you,” she mumbled, despite no one being around to hear it.

Curiously, she reached down to open the box, gasping as she saw a pair of Ladybug print earrings. They were really cute. And with that ladybug pattern…

She put the earrings in her ears. What did it hurt? She could use all the luck she could get.

…

Monday nights for most people would be the boring start of the work week. However, Monday nights for Marinette meant going out with Adrien and walking around the city and maybe seeing a movie.

She had picked a dress to wear, a simple pink one that she paired with a denim jacket. She tossed her hair up into twin pig tails and finished them off with two pink bows. She smiled at herself in the mirror, thinking she looked pretty cute.

But suddenly, an image of Kagami came to her mind. That woman was always perfectly put together, and her hair was sleek and stylish, not put in little pigtails and definitely never decorated with bows.

She should change before Adrien arrived.

“Marinette?”

Too late. “Coming.”

She grabbed her purse, shoving her phone and her wallet inside of it before making her way downstairs to where Adrien was.

Only to see him on the phone.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Kagami,” he said. He caught Marinette’s eye, then pointed to the phone mouthing ‘sorry’. “I would come over right now, but I’m with Marinette.”

“Go,” Marinette said, her heart slowly breaking. “If you need to go, then go.”

Adrien covered the mouth piece. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Marinette said with a forced smile. “Sounds like Kagami needs you. Go.”

“Thanks, Marinette.” He then took his hand away from the mouth piece. “Yeah, I’ll be over as soon as I can. See you in a bit, Kagami.” He hung up and slid the phone into his pocket. “I’m so sorry. Kagami wasn’t accepted as a teacher for the fencing league she was applying for, and so her mom’s upset meaning she’s upset and—”

“It’s okay,” Marinette said, interrupting him. “Go to her. Tell her I’m sorry, too. That must be really hard on her.”

Adrien grabbed hold of her shoulders. “Thank you, Marinette, for being so understanding.”

“What are friends for?” Her smile was growing more forced by the minute as the number of pieces her heart was being broken into was growing.

“Still, thank you.” With one last squeeze, he turned around and headed out. “We’ll reschedule!” he hollered right before he slipped out the door. “Have a good night, Marinette.”

“Thanks. You too.”

The door shut, and instantly, Marinette felt her knees buckle. From her spot on the floor, she bit her lip, playing with the hem of her dress. Of course. She’d never be able to compete with Kagami. But that was what she had wanted for Adrien, right? Happiness? Someone who made him smile? He had someone who he cared for so much, and Kagami was very lucky to have him by her side.

She reached up to brush an errant lock of hair behind her ear, fingers brushing against her earring. “Lucky, huh?” she mumbled rubbing her finger over the jewelry. “Yeah, right.”

As she looked out into the Parisian night, she couldn’t help but think that maybe it would be nice to just get out and spend some time by herself. She rarely left, it seemed, unless it went out with Adrien.

As a friend, of course. Because that’s all they were and all they would ever be: the best of friends.

She decided to go for a long walk; she needed it to clear her mind. She soon found herself at the Seine, looking over the bridge into the water. The moonlight shone off in little ripples, constantly swaying and moving. The sound wasn’t loud enough to drown out the ambient noise of the city, one that had grown quieter with the fall of night. The cool air was such a contrast to that of the bakery, and the slight breeze felt good blowing against her exposed skin.

It was enough to help her drop the weight on her shoulders, if only for a moment. The weight of having been bullied for years. The weight of helping her parents run a bakery with a smile always on her face. The weight of having a wild crush for her best friend, the one who was always by her side.

The one who was dating another woman.

It was so much for one girl to handle. It hurt, the pain in her heart not able to be held back. She bit her lip, trying not to cry. She let out deep breath after deep breath in hopes to keep her tears at bay, but only succeeded in making herself light-headed, forcing her to lean against the barrier wall of the bridge.

“Oh, broken-hearted one, your soul has grown weary. Have you turned to the lonely tides to engulf your tears?”

A single tear slipped from her eye as she looked up to find where that angelic voice was coming from but there was no one she could see. But, to be fair, she couldn’t see anything with her vision so blurry and head as fuzzy as it was.

“May the waves embrace you, lull you softly to sleep. Ease away all the hurt and pain you’ve carried through the years.”

Slowly, she stood up straight to look over at the water, feeling as though it was calling for her. How, she couldn’t know, but that was definitely where it was coming from. Was there a boat?

“But if given the chance, would you forget the past?”

She leaned over ever more, wondering if she could see it, her grip slowly slipping as she leaned further and further forward.

“You and I could start all over.”

She was falling, the water fast approaching.

“We can love again, my dear.”

Splash!

#miraculous ladybug #fanfiction #Siren's Lament #Siren's Lament AU #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste

184 notes · View notes

quirrrky · 6 years ago

Text

gardenia

secret lovers (tumblr thread | fanfiction.net)

Chronological One-Shots / Blank Period / Pre-Last / Canon Compliant

After the Fourth Shinobi War, Naruto was gradually falling in love with Hinata and the whole village of Konoha knows it…Well, aside from him.

entry thirteen

Prompt: It's his 18th birthday and a time to visit certain people.

/gardenia/ a dainty, white flower; a message of secret love

"Happy Birthday!"

"Thank you." Naruto said, rubbing the back of his head.

It was becoming a normal trend for his life now. He had been receiving a lot of presents from different people he never really knew.

When he was still Naruto the homeless demon-child or whatever, no one really even paid any attention to him. Ha! He was even an omen that must be avoided.

Before, shop owners would kick him out of their stores, saying that he was bringing bad luck to their profit.

Now, he got free stuff from them and they would even ask him to frequent their stores.

Before, the passersby and the bystanders would distance themselves away from him and would tell him just as how awful he was, a demon, a nuisance, society's basic garbage.

Now, they looked at him with such admiration. They even asked for his signature, and to have a photo with him. He was now being hailed as a hero, an inspiration and a role model for everyone to look up to.

Things drastically changed for him and the village ever since the war ended. And it was not that the he was being such a brat about his current status in their village, sincerely, Naruto was thankful above everything else.

He didn't condemn how the village saw him before from what he was presently. Instead, he saw those as stepping stones. They taught him humility, they taught him how it felt to be at the lowest ring of the society, that he never wanted anyone to ever experience what he had.

Whatever he was right now was all because of the trials, hardships and uphill mountains he had to face.

When he was still an annoying little boy, he thought that gaining the village's respect, was his ultimate goal-that it would make him feel fulfilled. And he already achieved that, even without being a Hokage. On top of that he was seen as a hero. It wasn't even part of his dream, but he exceeded the expectations.

Thankful. Yes, he was sincerely thankful.

However, amidst all the piled-up gifts and the prestige recognition, he was still Naruto and nothing really changed. His world still felt like a shallow sea, his home still didn't feel like a home and his heart was still half-filled.

Standing before the entrance of his apartment, he leaned on the door and exhaled heavily. He never desired solitude as much as how he did at this moment.

"Naruto," a voice came from the outside.

"Thank God! Someone I knew - ttebayo!" He hurriedly opened the door and saw his pale teammate.

"Well, since it's your birthday, I've been tasked to fetch you. We're going to your ramen place. "

As expected, he jumped and down in excitement. It had been a while. Kakashi-sensei was too busy being the "coy" Hokage, Sakura-chan was running around stuff at the hospital and Sai was always out on missions.

In no time, probably due to his excitement as well, they reached Ichiraku's. There he saw his team-the nearest thing he knew of family and he couldn't help but feel happy. Yamato-sensei was already seated, Sakura-chan was whispering something to Kakashi-sensei and there's a cake on top of the table.

"Woah! Is that cake for me?"

"Who else Naruto? " Sakura remarked in her usual bullying tone, but gladness was evident on her face. "Happy Birthday, idiot!"

"Happy Birthday Naruto!" The rest greeted as he expressed just how much he appreciated everything.

They caught up with each other as they waited for their bowls to be prepared. Talking about how busy yet boring their current routines had become and laughing off Naruto's perception about being a Hokage.

He still didn't get the cruel part yet. Kakashi thought to himself.

"Gahh! All the missions I was getting was fixing these darn paperworks in your office, Kakashi-hokage-sensei." Naruto complained that made the silver-haired man a bit embarrassed and waved-off,

"It's not really official yet."

"Eh? Oh kami, here we go again with this. You're still saying that Kakashi-sensei, although your face is already carved on the mountain." Sakura remarked with a sigh.

Sai, who had been contemplating all this time finally spoke, "Oh! Is Hina-"

Their pink-haired teammate immediately nudged him and went to whisper, "Still on a mission."

"Oh I see. I see. That's too bad." Sai acknowledged as Kakashi-sensei nodded in agreement.

With a tilted head, Naruto was about to ask what's going on until Teuchi broke in and announced, serving the blonde an extravagant bowl of ramen,

"For my favorite customer… There you go, my boy. A celebratory ramen for your 18th birthday!"

Naruto's mouth quickly watered at the sight of his celebratory ramen. Ribs! It was that especially dipped ribs this time!

"Thank you, ochan! I can't believe this!" He said ecstatically and started to munch down his favorite food.

Ramen, it was the only flavor his tasting palettes ever had when he was still considered a nobody in the village. It was ramen that filled his empty stomach, and he never thought that it would be ramen that will fill his then empty heart.

He ate it everyday, everytime. His heart knew no other food than ramen. Some may say it's irrational, but it was his first taste of ramen that he felt like he was just an ordinary child. It made him feel just like a normal boy, not a demon, not some catastrophe and not a monster. It was ramen, the first real food he actually ever had.

Most importantly, the wonderful memories he made in his life happened with a bowl of ramen. He could still remember the first sip of that warm broth, when he also first met ochan and Ayame-neechan. Then, the bowls he had with the original Team 7, with his comrades, with his newly gained friends and so much more! Naruto didn't have a formal home, but somehow in this ramen stand, his heart belonged.

Whenever he was tired and deflated from a very complicated mission, just the sight and aroma of ramen brought him back to life. That cute yet very tasty chasyu made him forget about the worries in life. Ramen energized him. It made him feel like he's home. How simple-minded of him isn't it? But it was his simplicity and child-heartedness that gave him the courage to smile, even at the toughest of times.

"Wow! I just couldn't believe it. You're 18 already. Who would've thought?" Teuchi said with nostalgic tears forming at the edge of his eyes.

"Ah! You're a young man now, Naruto. Which means…You'd soon be bringing here a girlfriend!" Ayame commented that nearly choked Naruto out.

"W-What the hell are you talking about?" The blonde asked quite weirded out.

Sakura was about to throw in something sharp, but she preferred to shut her mouth up instead, thinking that Naruto might use her as a scapegoat again to dodge the topic.

"Well, you know… You are now known as a hero, isn't it just right that the hero finally gets his princess, huh Naruto?" Ayame teased, to be followed by Teuchi,

"In speaking of princess, where is Hina-"

Sakura abruptly signaled the old man.

Hinata was supposed to go home last night, but due to certain changes, she might get back to the village a little late. Informing the birthday boy that something went quite wrong with the kunoichi's mission, may not be the best one to do, since everything was still under control.

Sakura awkwardly brought back the topic, "Okay, so a princess, huh? Let's just get back to it, Naruto."

The blonde stared at her for a while, keenly scanning her features. His eyes didn't miss every corner of her face, making her a bit uncomfortable and self-conscious.

"Meh, you're so far from being a princess, Sakura-chan."

Cha! You knucklehead! If it wasn't only your birthday, I would've!

Sakura swore. Naruto might be very dear to her, but she was sure as hell that she could destroy his face!

"So Naruto, what type of girls do you usually find attractive, huh? We have a lot of patrons here and you might not know, we could have found the perfect girl for you." Ayame asked slyly.

"Eh!? I just turned 18! What's the connection –ttebayo!?"

Aside from Sai, they all sighed exasperatedly, but the young brunette's spirit never wavered.

"Do you prefer shy girls with long hair and hime bangs? Or how about the timid, and innocent-looking ones with porcelain skin? Perhaps, a girl from a powerful clan? I'm pretty sure we know someone from those categories."

Naruto burped loudly. "Man, that was great! Thanks for that ochan! Now, let's go to the cake!"

They all sighed again, except for Sai who was counting how many of those did he have to watch out for. So far, apart from Sakura who already did thrice, they already sighed twice. Interesting.

Soon enough, the gathering was over. Kakashi-sensei brought Yamato-sensei with him back to the Hokage office to discuss some matters, while Sakura-chan was hurriedly called by someone from the hospital to do some necessary rounds.

Naruto couldn't help but feel thankful for the time they have imparted although he knew their lives were pretty much occupied unlike his. The loss of an arm made him not qualified yet to do his usual missions. Instead, he was stuck with Shikamaru and stack of paperworks.

"You don't seem happy, Naruto." Sai pointed out as they chose to traverse the less-crowded path.

The blonde immediately panicked at his question. He was about to deny, but he couldn't lie to himself.

"Well, the village treats me a lot better now. I supposed that makes me happy? "

"Based on what I've read, you can be thankful but not feel happy at the same time."

Thankful, but not happy? Was that what he was feeling right now?

He just sighed loudly at Sai's sharing, hinting his teammate that he needed to expound the idea.

"Well, it says there that you may truly appreciate everything you've been receiving in life, but you would still feel empty."

Naruto just scoffed. How would being thankful not enough to make you happy? Well, he's happy right? Is he?

"And by happy, what I meant is purely happy."

"Purely happy?"

"Well, yeah. The book came from Sakura, so there's a lot of embarrassing stuff in it. But it stated there, that being purely happy… It makes you feel like your heart is full. Like there's nothing in the world you could ever ask for."

The blonde fell silent for a while. Sai might be miscalculating a lot of things, but he surely hit the bullseye on this one. Naruto always felt that straight-up hollowness from within. He started to realize this when he saw his mom. He might get the success, the respect and the glory, but he still won't be able to piece himself altogether.

Unlike other people, Naruto knew that he couldn't complete himself alone. And that deep inside, he was still missing something else, but he didn't even know how to fill it, because he didn't even know what it was.

"I hope that clear things up."

"Yeah, thanks. It did, a bit. Hmm… by the way, where are the others? "

"Hmmm… I believe that Team 10 with Kiba and Shino just went out for a mission this early morning, while Shikamaru, Hinata-san and Ino are still out on a mission. In speaking of, I should head on to meet Shikamaru, they must return by now." Sai said as he made his way.

"See you around and thanks again!" Naruto bade as he ran off, deliberately choosing to take the empty streets.

Atop the Hokage monument, he went. And finally found peace just on top of his father's head. Like this, he felt so close to him, no wonder why this was his favorite spot after all. Although his birthday signified the end of the war as well, people of Konoha decided to not celebrate it as a festival. This was to honor the death of their loved ones who fell into their demise during the war. Rather, this day was being celebrated in solemnity and peace.

With a deep exhale, he closed his eyes and went Sage Mode, closely feeling his surroundings. It was just a shortwhile before he moved and identified his target.

He roamed the streets in a haste, avoiding the stare and attention of the people that might recognize him and would stop him along the way. He was planning to go somewhere else. It was not because it was his duty, but it was to pay his honor and earnest tribute.

He deactivated his Sage mode as soon as he reached the quiet haven-the sound of the green grass being swayed by the wind was playing like a calming song, matched with the clarity of the tranquil blue skies.

"Hinata," He called out with a humming voice.

"Oh," She looked at him and gave a vibrant smile.

"So I see… flowers." The blonde muttered, looking at the white Lilies as his heart jumped at the sight of it. Out of nowhere, he looked back and forth the white Lilies and Hinata, he didn't know but there's something about it…

"Well, that's one of Neji-niisan's favorite."

"Neji liked flowers?"

Hinata giggled softly and confirmed, "Yes. Secretly, he did." Slight sadness coated her voice, recalling how her Neji-niisan would love to sit at the balcony watching the flowers in their garden as he sipped tea. It was one of the few moments, when Hinata saw the gentleness in his face.

"Well, sorry about that Neji. I didn't know you liked flowers. But even if I did, I still find it weird that I will give you one. I know you will find it odd too -ttebayo."

The timid girl chuckled at his remarks. It felt like Neji-niisan was still with them by the way Naruto-kun talked to him.

"Hey! You know what Neji, Hinata here is super awesome dattebayo! You should see how amazing she is with Taijustu now. I know she is strong since then but I never truly experienced it firsthand until she air-palmed me in the face-"

"Tha-that was an accident, Naruto-kun! I'm sorry, I got carried awa-"

"Nah, don't be sorry, Hinata. Neji here is truly an effective teacher after all. Tsk! How much I would love to kick your as- Anyway, anyway, anyway. Do you know that I've already been inside the Hyuga compound? Damn! You guys didn't tell me that it was that cool there. However the people are a bit creepy, though aside from Hanabi, she was really fun although a bit bratty just like Konohamaru."

Hinata gave a faint laugh at his rumblings. Being with him like this with Neji-niisan, somehow made her feel like he's a part of their family.

They talked some more, with both of them trying as much as possible to infer how Neji would've reacted if he was still with them. It's heart-warming how the tears they poured the last time they've been here were replaced by light-hearted laughter and wishes.

They paused for some air.

Hinata felt deeply grateful and happy. She'd only wish that Neji-niisan already found his peace up above.

Naruto felt like he should be thanking Neji for something more. Not just for laying his life for him as a comrade, but also for something else he still could not fathom. In his head echoed his last words as he died in his arms.

Hinata-sama is willing to die for you…

They sat still in quietness for several minutes. Until, they both felt like it was time for them to go. He helped her get up, holding her hand in the process-she felt the strange electricity that came with it and reflexively pulled away immediately, her fingers started fiddling along the strap of her sling bag.

They stood by the grave, internally bidding him goodbye.

Neji, thank you. It's to you I'm very thankful of and I feel like I owe you more than just my life.

They started walking, wrapped around the peace and the quiet of the memorial park. Naruto kept at glancing Hinata's way, trying to measure her up.

"Uh, Hinata. Today is, uh... Today is… You know what today is right?" He asked her a bit sheepishly.

He felt so selfish to demand Hinata to remember his birthday, when he can even barely remember hers. Well, it was snowy during that evening, so that must be during the Winter.

December! It was December!

Hinata looked at him speculatively and gave out a cute laughter. "About that Naruto-kun… "

He raised his head and looked at her expectantly.

"Today was the day we won the war right?"

The blonde pouted and rubbed his nape, hiding his dismay. 'Yeah, yeah, yeah."

Did she really forget about my-

"I was really supposed to be home last night, but something went a bit wrong with our mission-"

Instinctively, he grabbed her shoulder and examined her dramatically.

"Are you okay? Aren't you hurt? God! I was so stupid! I didn't even consider-"

She reassuringly took his hand away. "Naruto-kun, I'm fine. I'm fine. It's just that Shikamaru-kun and Temari-san had an encounter along the road."

He sighed in relief. Thank god. Thank god.

The shy girl just laughed at him sweetly. They strolled around quite awkwardly for a while, with Hinata waiting for his next words and Naruto trying to figure out a way to stretch time, until he remembered something.

"Oh Hinata!" He said as he took her hand and led her somewhere.

"N-Naruto-kun?"

"I want you to meet them. I'm sure they'll like you dattebayo!"

Them? They'll like me?

She looked at their intertwined hands, remembering that moment during the war. Then her eyes landed on him. She noticed how she almost look up at him now. He got taller and the fit of his orange-collared, white shirt couldn't hide the breadth of his shoulders. He was also starting to lose certain chubs along his jaw.

She blushed.

He looked a bit stronger now than before. He was becoming a man.

She bit the inside of her cheek.

What was she thinking?

However, his tight grip on her hand was making her feel fuzzy. His hand-it was rough and callous, but it was warm and her hand felt so little against his.

They stopped by two graves. She looked at Naruto and he had with him a longing yet genuine smile.

"Touchan, kaachan, I want you to meet Hinata dattebayo!"

Her eyes widened for a short second and she instantaneously bowed down her head.

"Nice to meet you, uh, Minato-san, Kushina-san." She greeted reading the names carved on the stone plates.

Naruto couldn't prevent that light tickles in his chest. How wonderful it would be if his parents were actually alive to meet her?

He was certain that they will both like her. He was so much like his mom, so he was sure that she would greet Hinata ecstatically. She would bombard her with embarrassing questions and she would tell stories about him much to his humiliation. He could imagine his mom squeezing Hinata's cheeks, because she would find it a bit puffed. His dad, although not big on personality, would probably ask him how did he make friends with Hinata and will warmly welcome her.

"Ah, it's Kakashi-sensei's efforts that had their graves in here since touchan was his sensei. We were supposed to visit later, but I cannot wait to show you. Before, I didn't really get to know who my parents were. Now, I'm glad I could get to visit them even just through here."

"Naruto-kun," she murmured his name as few droplets of tears fell from her eyes.

"Anyway!" Naruto segued noticing that he was already making her cry. "See, Hinata here is a bit delicate. She cries easily, but that's just because she's really kind dattebayo!

"Ah, she's a bit quiet and calm just like touchan though, but she's very strong, just so you know. And it was also Hinata who saved me many, many times already. Plus, she was really smart!

"You must try her cooking as well. They are really great! Kaachan, you would definitely love to cook with her!

"She's a bit odd to explain, but if you ever get to meet her cousin, Neji, up there, I'm sure he can tell you how precious she is. So please watch over her, just as how she watched over me. Because Hinata here is always by my side."

He said, glancing down on their joined hands. Just like during the war. In his heart, that moment will always remain symbolical.

Her eyes widened and a blush never left her face, but she regained her stature at an instant.

"Minato-San, Kushina-san, I'm very pleased to have this opportunity with you. N-Naruto-kun grew up as a very strong person and he was getting even stronger everyday. And it wasn't because of his jutsus, it was all because of his spirit to never back down. Thank you for gifting him into this world. For me, he's more than just a hero, but he also became my inspiration. So there's no need to worry, we will be watching over him as well."

Even if Hinata had such a frail and silent voice, her message came vivid to Naruto. And just like before his fight with Neji and practically everytime he was around her, he felt revived, like nothing was ever above him and he can do everything.

A tear escaped his eye and he hurriedly looked away, concealing from the shy girl.

So not cool…

He swiftly wiped it away, letting go of her hand in the process.

Forget about her not remembering his birthday, her enlightenment alone was the best present ever!

They stood in comfort with Hinata trying to picture Naruto having his parents with him- a complete family, all in all a bittersweet dream. Naruto was internally telling his parents stories he was a bit embarrassed to let Hinata hear.

The air softly blew and a fragrant scent came across. His attention was caught by a beautiful white flower, swaying below his kaachan's grave. He watched as it broke from its stem and flew away. With no effort, he caught it. It looked elegant yet simple at the same time and it gave off a very calming scent.

Naruto looked at Hinata, whose attention was still on the graves.

"Hinata," he called out, with his arm a bit stretched, giving her the flower.

Her cheeks were tinted light pink. She flustered, not expecting him to be giving her a flower, asking herself where did he get it from.

"F-For me?"

With eyes pinched closed and a delighted grin etched on his face, he nodded in affirmation.

"T-Thank you, Naruto-kun."

"Well, it's cute… kinda' reminds me of you."

He just grinned at her with that child-like grin.

She looked at him quite dumbfounded as he rubbed his cheek absent-mindedly. "Anyway!, We must get going. You must be hungry, it's getting late -ttebayo!"

He started walking, but she didn't move.

"Naruto-kun," she called him, "I-I well… "

He looked at her a bit puzzled, "What is it Hinata?"

She pulled a brown bag from her sling bag and slightly shoved it onto his chest. With a bowed-down head, she shyly greeted, "Happy Birthday Naruto-kun! I-I didn't forget… I-I was just teasing you, so… "

"Woah! Is that true? You remembered?! Hey… " His reaction turned mopey. "So you were teasing me all this time, huh Hinata! Tsk, I never thought you could be so mean like that. "

"I-I-I-"

"I'm just kidding - ttebayo! So what do we have in here-" He broke the paper bag in excitement and, on the grass, dropped a premium cup ramen. "Wait! Hell no! I can't believe this. Thank you so much Hinata!"

"You're welcome, Naruto-kun and happy birthday again."

Naruto kept on blabbering on how excited he was to try the imported ramen once he gets home. Hinata then offered to place the cup noodles for awhile,

"For safekeeping, Naruto-kun."

He happily obliged. "Let's protect my birthday ramen -ttebayo!"

They both laughed afterwards, while she placed the ramen back inside her sling bag.

The two walked back, enjoying the play of light as the sun began to set.

Before Hinata's eyes, flashed the memories she spent with her Neji-niisan. She couldn't really pull it off without crying. A bold step forward. Just like what he said and she will forever bear that in mind.

On one hand, Neji's last words still bothered Naruto. They said that a person's last words were their dying will. He knew that Neji stated such during the war to remind him of his responsibilities and the many lives he had at the weight of his shoulders. But he somehow felt that there was still something more…

Hinata-sama is willing to die for you…

He looked at her-her face radiating such purity and serenity like the lily on Neji's grave and the white flower she was holding, the one that swayed from his kaachan's grave, which he gave her. He gazed upon her hand.

How would it feel to hold it again?

Impulsively, he held her hand.

She gasped and suddenly looked at him.

He gulped at the sudden realization of what he just did.

"Well, uh, I just remembered the-the chakra transfer thing we did during the war and… I" He closed his eyes and composed himself, "I just want to know how it feels like again, since I was so focused to fight against Obito and Madara, I didn't really get to-"

"It's okay, Naruto-kun."

She calmed her beating heart and he was trying to figure out what he was doing.

"Na-Naruto-kun has… Back then, you have a very warm chakra. Even just by holding your hand like this it still feels…comforting."

He was quite taken aback by her, but soon a smile came across his face, "Same here, Hinata."

Naruto confidently walked beside her, recalling everything that transpired that afternoon and it was like there's nothing he could ever ask for.

The fog filled their views and they all gathered around for a Yakiniku. Tenten was solo in calming down Lee and Gai-sensei as she internally cursed Neji for leaving her alone in handling the two. Shino, with Shikamaru and Choji, was busy catching up with their former senseis. On one hand, Naruto was bickering with Kiba from their height up to how frequent they take a bath.

On a little spot at the corner of the room, was Sai sketching something or maybe someone.

"Hey, Sakura." Ino called out her friend in a whispering manner and pointed out her finger on Hinata, who was seated across Sai. "Has someone else been seeing Hinata lately?"

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Look at Sai's drawing and just look at her closely. She's holding a flower."

The pink-haired kunoichi's eyes widened as she saw the girl in question holding a beautiful white flower, while her dainty little fingers marvel its petals. Her eyes and smile showed tenderness and fondness.

"Being a florist myself, I knew what that flower means, Sakura. It's…" She came near her ear and whispered.

Suddenly, Sakura felt a bit nervous and sad at the same time. She looked back and forth at Naruto and Hinata with worried eyes. She turned into Ino and she knew that they were both getting the same hint…

They definitely need to act before it's too late.

#naruhina #naruhina fanfiction #fanfiction #naruto #hinata hyuga #the title is the flower guyth #slquikynovelist

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fatrainbowmermaidunicorn · 7 years ago

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Girl Back Home (Jimin x You x Jungkook) // Chapter 1

MASTERLIST

Jeon Jungkook looks up to the clear blue sky as he inhaled the fresh air. Its been quite some time since they were given a long break. He immediately chose to go back home the moment his manager released their schedule. Jungkook misses his family, and his beloved hometown. Living in the big city is amazing, but at some point, he just miss the simplicity of his home town. Jimin who will usually come back home with him decide to stay in the city for a few more weeks, asking Jungkook to proceed with going home first. He didnt know what his hyung is up to, nor does he care. He is finally back home, and that is what matters.

Its nice waking up to the delicious smell of his mother's cooking instead of the normal take out he and the boys will usually have. Its good to know that he can laze around all day doing nothing if he choose to do so, instead of being force to comply to a pack schedule where he sometimes couldnt even find the time to pee. Dont get him wrong, he loves what he do. He loves being an idol. He loves the fact that he can share his love for music, singing and dancing with million others. He loves interacting with fans who keeps on cheering him on. But everyone needs a break sometimes. And being back home is exactly the kind of break that Jungkook needed.

Jungkook decided to take a walk by the seaside today. An advantage of living in a town located by the beach. Its peaceful and quite empty as its not yet tourist season and Jungkook planned to use it to his full advantage by enjoying every second of the sea as much as he can. He can rest assured that he wont be mobbed by fans here since most people from his hometown doesnt know who he is and the other half who does just doesnt care. That is a different feeling that he can only have here in his hometown, and never in the city.

As he sat down by the seaside, letting his bare feet touch the waves that is crashing the white sand, a huge furry golden retriever came running towards him, tounge playfully out, yapping happily and without warning, jumped on him, making him fall back onto the sand. Jungkook laughs as the dog keeps on licking his face and nuzzled his neck as he keeps on rubbing the dog's thick fur.

"Cusco! Dont do that! That is not someone we know!" A voice filled with panic makes Jungkook turn around to see a girl running towards them. The dog immediately jumped off Jungkook and ran towards the girl's direction, nuzzling her legs.

"I am so sorry. He is always too friendly for his own good. Are you okay? I hope he didnt hurt you," she rambled on, eyeing Jungkook up and down, trying to see any evidence of him hurting. Jungkook laughs and shakes his head.

"No. I'm perfectly fine. I dont mind really. Your dog is very cute. I wish I can have one just like him," he smile. The girl seems to relax a little at his friendly greeting.

"Oh... thank you. But I'm still really sorry," she fiddled with her hands, not knowing what to do. "Why didnt you?" Jungkook looks at her, confused. "Have one? A dog I mean,"

"Oh," Jungkook nodded his head, finally understanding her question. "I dont live here anymore. Urm I mean, my family still does and I came back from time to time but I work in the city so I dont really have the space or time for a dog," he explained. The girl nodded.

"Oh. No wonder I havent seen you around before. I walked Cusco by this beach everyday and I know mostly everyone from this area. I thought Cusco just mauled a tourist! That would have been bad!" she laughs. Jungkook smile as he looks at her. This is the kind of girls that he always prefer. The easy going, happy go lucky girls. Not like the ones he met in the city or the other girls in the industry who is always uptight and care too much about the image they hold. Its boring and superficial and Jungkook is sick of it. He wants to meet someone real. Someone who can hold a decent and fun conversation. Someone he can be friends with.

"You walked him on this beach everyday?"

"Its a her actually," she smile and motioned towards her dog who is now happily chasing the waves. "And yes,"

"Ah. No wonder she's attracted to me then. All female does," Jungkook winked and instead of blushing like Jungkook assumed the girl would do, because come on, who wouldnt swoon when Jeon Jungkook winked at them?, she gives a loud laugh.

"You are funny," she smile after her laughter died down. "Oh well, I should go. Sorry to disturb your peaceful day," she bowed and motioned for Cusco to follow her as she starts to walk away. Jungkook immediately hate the idea of letting such a refreshing girl go. After all, she is the first interaction he had outside of his family since he came back a few days ago. Jungkook is usually akward around girls, but there's just something about this girl and her dog that heavily attracts Jungkook to her, making all akwardness disappeared. After all, there is nothing wrong with making new friends, right?

"Wait!" Jungkook called out making her turned around. "Urm, since I dont really have anyone else to hung out with anyway and I live just near this beach, why dont I walk Cusco with you every day?" he suggested, hoping the girl wont find him weird. "I swear I'm not a serial killer or anything. You can even come over to my house and meet my mom. She will tell you that I am a good son, and definitely not a serial killer or a mass murderer," he quickly added when he saw the girl is looking weirdly at him. At his strange and bold explanation, the girl laughs.

"Okay. I would love too. And no, I never thought you are a serial killer. I think Cusco would know if you are one," she giggled. Jungkook smile at her, showing his bunny teeth.

"Great. Now we are officially friends, thanks to Cusco," he looked down at the dog and ruffled its head making her bark happily. "I love her. She is such a happy dog,"

"Well, I made sure she has nothing not to be happy about. Life is full of ups and downs but we shouldnt live in sadness right?" she rubbed Cusco's head lovingly, making Jungkook nod and ponders on her words.

"I'm Jeon Jungkook by the way," Jungkook held out his hand as a greeting, looking to see if there is any sign of recognition of who he is in her face.

"I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you Jeon Jungkook," she nodded and smile, not showing any sign of knowing who he is. Without realizing, Jungkook let out a deep breath that he didnt even know he held, anxious to know if she knows him and if she is only being friendly to him because of who he is. Cusco starts to bark around happily, pushing his head on Jungkook's arms, asking for some affection. As Jungkook reached out to rub the dog's head, he knows that this break is going to be the best one yet, he can already tell.

"Well Y/N, would you like to come over to my house and meet my mom? I mean not to ask her if I'm a serial killer, but maybe for tea and dinner? She is a pretty good cook," Y/N laughs again.

"Well, if you insist, then I would love to,"

The rest of the week passed by quickly as Jungkook is having so much fun with Y/N. They always start their day with breakfast that Jungkook's mother had insisted on making, forcing Y/N to come over and eat every morning before they can move on to walk Cusco by the beach. They will run along the beach, barefooted, playing with the water and splashing each other while Cusco will run and bark happily by their side. After lunch time, Y/N will usually sent Cusco back home and take Jungkook out to the places that even he didnt know existed in his hometown.

"That's because you didnt come back often enough!" Y/N said one day when Jungkook claimed he never knew his hometown has so many interesting and beautiful places as they were sitting on a huge rock on a hill by the sea, facing the sunset. They swing their legs happily over the cliff as they enjoy the beautiful sun which is slowly fading, giving way to the dark night sky. Jungkook turned to look at Y/N as she said that and he took in her face.

To most people, she probably just looks like an ordinary girl. Brown eyes and long dark hair with a petite frame. But to Jungkook who had spent almost every day with her for almost a month, Y/N is nothing but ordinary. She is everything but.

"Maybe now I will have a good enough reason to come back home more often," Jungkook whispered so softly, he is sure Y/N didnt hear him as she just turns and smile at him, throwing pebbles into the sea as the wind blows her free hair all over her face.

Jungkook smile and know that this is the best view he could have ever asked for, and its all because of this girl he met back at home.

/////

Jungkook knows everything is just too good to be true when his mother woke him up one day, notifying him that his managers are waiting for him downstairs. With sleepy eyes he walked down the stairs to see two of his managers sitting at the dining table, looking stern.

"Good morning Jungkook. I believe you are having a nice break?" Jungkook rubbed his eyes and stare at the two. Did they come here just to ask about how he's enjoying his day?

"Ye..yeah. You can say that," he answered, short and simple, wishing they will just go straight to the point.

"Oh, we know," one of the manager replied and look at the other. "Do you know what news is currently circulating in Seoul right now Jungkook?"

"No. Not really. I dont really keep myself updated with tabloids when I'm on a break. I tend to keep away from them, you know that," he shakes his head.

"Well, let me enlighten you then," the manager took out a pile of newspaper and tabloid magazines that is folded neatly on his lap.

"BTS' Jungkook secret girlfriend," he placed the paper on the table.

"Jeon Jungkook's hometown sweetheart," he placed another one.

"Jungkook is back home to see his girl!" he threw another one to the pile.

"Sweetest couple alert: Jeon Jungkook is in love with a girl back home?" he stacked another.

"Is Jungkook married to his hometown sweetheart?" Jungkook's eyes widen at that.

"Yeah. The headlines gets more creative from here," the manager said as he placed the rest of the pile on the table, not bothering to read them anymore. "I think you get the idea of what they are saying right?" Jungkook nodded.

"Hyung, I-"

"Save it Jeon Jungkook. You should know better! You know you should always be aware even when you are on a break! All eyes are always on you and your hyungs. You know that!" Jungkook lowered his gaze. He admits its his fault, but how can he not spend time with Y/N?

"What am I supposed to do now?" he ask in a small voice, understanding how much trouble he is in. Jungkook seldom creates a problem, but when he does, he sure gives his manager something to think about. The manager sighed.

"Alright. We have discussed this with the other management team. The way we see it, you only have two choices. Either you stop seeing her altogether and release an official statement to the media that she is just some fan who is obsessed with you and you are just entertaining her," Jungkook eyes widen and shakes his head. There is no way he could do that to Y/N. She dont even know who he is. He is not going to taint her name as a crazy fangirl just to save his own ass. "Or... you can ask her..."

"Pretend to be my girlfriend," Jungkook is currently standing in front of Y/N's house, nervously telling her what happened and what his manager had suggested. Now Y/N is crossing her arms across her chest, feet tapping and is looking at him as if he's grown two heads. "Please?" Jungkook pleaded.

"Wait. Let me get this straight. You are actually an internationally well known popular idol and now some papparazi has taken our photos together and is telling everyone that I am your girlfriend and the only choice you have to save your career is either to stop seeing me altogether and say that I'm a crazy fangirl or I have to pretend to be your girlfriend?" Y/N summarized everything in one breath, leaving Jungkook with mouth slightly opened.

"Wow. That's just... wow. But yeah. That's basically it,"

"Okay you are crazy," Y/N raised her hands. "I knew you couldnt just be some normal stranger lounging on the beach," she sighed. "I knew it..."

"Dont say that," Jungkook lowered his gaze, hurt by Y/N's words. "Being an idol is just my job. I'm still just the Jungkook that you know," Jungkook's voice is laced with sadness.

"Yeah, a job that dictates your life. And apparently mine," she huffed. She stayed silent for a while, contemplating her choices. "So I think you can just go ahead with plan A. Tell everyone I'm just a crazy fan and stop seeing me, okay? Okay goodbye Jeon Jungkook, nice knowing you!" Y/N quickly stepped back into her house and tries to close the door as fast as she could but is stopped by Jungkook.

"No! I wont do that," Jungkook gritted his teeth. "How could you even suggest that? That is not even an option! Doesnt the last month we spent together meant anything to you?" Y/N sighed at Jungkook's sad face. It was never her intention to hurt Jungkook's feelings. He is a great guy but she really dont want to be involved in this. She just wants to go back to her quiet life. Living day in and day out with her dog, drama free, patiently waiting for his return. Y/N immediately pushed all thoughts of him aside and focused back to Jungkook.

"Of course it does Jungkook. Our friendship meant a lot to me.But you dont understand, its hard for me to pretend to be your girlfriend," she lowered her gaze, trying to think of the best way to inform Jungkook of her situation. "I really cant pretend to be your girlfriend, because I'm... I'm ma-"

"Please?" Jungkook cutted her off. "I promise you wont feel anything different than when you were hanging out with me. And its only for a few months. And you get to go to Seoul, for free!" Jungkook tried to plead his case. To be honest, he really wants Y/N to say yes. He really wants her to come to Seoul with him. Being a part of his life there, and not just stayed as the girl he knew back home. It also doesnt help the fact that having Y/N to be his pretend girlfriend excites him a little. Y/N ponders on her options for a while. Jungkook has been a great friend to her, maybe she could help him just this one time.

"You promise it wont be long?"

"No. I promise. Only a few months and we will annouce the break up. I will even let you be the one who breaks up with me and you can tell everyone how much of an asshole boyfriend I am," he grins. Y/N smile back at his teasing.

"Deal,"

/////

"So I heard you went back home and get yourself a little girlfriend?" Taehyung's voice filled the room. Jungkook is currently on speaker wirh the rest of his hyungs, who is all already back in the dorms. Jungkook chuckled as he toss his clothes inside his luggage. Packing is always a hassle, but he cant wait to go back this time.

"Way to go maknae!" Hoseok chimmed in.

"Is she pretty? We didnt read the news yet," Jimin questioned.

"It doesnt matter. We are not dating for real!" Jungkook remind his excited hyungs. "But yeah, she's very pretty. Beautiful in fact. Smart and funny too,"

"Ohhh, sounds like you want to date her for real!" Jin's voice filled the room, together with teasing laughter from the others.

"Shut up hyung!"

"Ohhh, are you blushing?" Taehyung continue to tease.

"I think he does like her for real!" Hoseok squealed. "Did a girl from back home finally managed to make the impenetrable golden maknae fell in love?"

"Okay shut up guys," Jungkook has never felt so grateful for Namjoon's interruption. "When are you coming back Jungkook?"

"Tomorrow. We are taking the evening flight,"

"You are flying together with her right?"

"Yup. We are going to let people see us together at the airport, acting all cute and couply, bound for Seoul and we will announce our relationship officially next week,"

"Okay. Stick to the plan and dont do anything else stupid maknae," Namjoon warned.

"And dont make out in public either!" Taehyung's teasing voice filled the speaker and Jungkook heard a smack and an 'ow hyung' before the line was cut off. He is pretty sure that is the sound of Yoongi smacking Taehyung right across his head. Jungkook shakes his head and laughs. His hyungs are weird and annoying but he misses them. He cant wait to see them tomorrow and of course, to introduce Y/N to them.

He just cant wait.

/////

"Are you nervous? Excited? Scared?" Jungkook asked Y/N as their flight landed at the airport.

"A little bit of everything," she admitted. Her first time in Seoul and she has to be the girlfriend to someone well known. What has her life become? "Why do you seem so excited?" she raised her eyebrows.

"Dont worry. I'll be there with you at every step of the way," Jungkook smile an held her hands. "And I am excited. I'm coming back with my girlfriend, why shouldnt I be?" he winked making Y/N rolled her eyes. "Here, wear this," Jungkook shoved Y/N a pair of sunglasses and a black face mask, which Y/N donned quickly. Jungkook pulled his on and grabbed her hands.

"Ready?" she just nodded. "Lets go,"

The airport was filled to the brim with screaming fans. As hard as they try to keep their schedule a secret, fans will always somehow found out their whereabout. With the help of security, they managed to safely entered the black van that will take them back to the dorm.

"Wow, I really didnt know you were this popular," Y/N peeked through the van's curtain to see the fan girls still screaming, cameras clicking, some are even crying.

"You really live under the rocks Y/N. How can you not heard of us?" Y/N rolled her eyes again and ignore Jungkook's self proclaimed popularity, although she now understands why Jungkook is so cocky sometimes.

"I think I got about 20 death threats in that 20 second walk towards the car alone," she chuckled.

"Dont worry, I'm your boyfriend. I will protect you my love," Jungkook held her hands and placed it in his lap, turning to look and smile at her.

And for the first fime since they met, Y/N blushed.

/////

"Hey hyung, we are here!" Jungkook screamed out once he opened the dorm's door, one hand still tightly holding Y/N's nervous hand.

"Are you sure they will be okay with me?" Y/N eyes flickered around the dorm, anxiously looking to see if the boys are here, feeling extremely nervous. "What if they think I tricked you into this?"

"Dont worry Y/N. They will love you. And they wont think that. They know for a fact that I screwed up and you are helping me. They couldnt be more grateful for that," Jungkook smile at her, trying to ease her nervousness. Their conversation was cut off with the the sounds of footsteps approaching their way.

"Hey Kookie. Welcome home-" Jimin is the first one to come out from his room and stops immediately when he saw Jungkook standing in front of Y/N, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Hey hyung! This is my girlfriend, Y-"

"Y/N," Jimin finshed the sentence, eyes looking past Jungkook's smiling face and looking straight into the face he will recognize anywhere, at Y/N who is looking back at him with wide surprised eyes.

"Ji...Jimin,"

A/N: The first chapter of a new series. Comments ARE WELCOMED!

#bts #bts jungkook #bts fanfic #bts scenario #bts fiction #bangtan #bangtan boys #bangtan seonyeondan #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook scenario #bts jimin #park jimin #jimin scenario #kpop #kpop scenario

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thiswomanshouldbewriting · 6 years ago

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A Tale of Magic - Chapter 5 (Quiet Minds)

After way too many days of procrastinating out of fear of getting this chapter wrong, I finally found the courage to post it. infinite thanks to @galactic-pirates, my wonderful beta, who was even more patient than usual with me.

In this chapter we learn how Rumplestiltskin was brought back from the dead, and what that meant for him. In present-day Storybrooke, Belle has a very emotional day. Zelena makes everybody miserable.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Ao3 link.

The Enchanted Forest, five months ago.

The man trembled before Zelena, his hands clenching nervously around the old key.

“So I just need to open that vault?” he asked, made suspicious by the apparent simplicity of the task.

“Yes. I believe even a monkey like you should be able to do that. Or should I give you a little incentive? Four children, three children… it doesn’t make much difference, does it?” Zelena threatened.

All color drained from the man’s face.

“No, please, you said you wouldn’t harm them,” he begged.

“I said I’d spare them if you did as you were told. If you really want to keep them safe, stop asking stupid questions, and do what I say,” Zelena remarked.

He nodded nervously, then turned around and walked to the center of the clearing. It was a warm day, but the metal circle that marked the entrance to the vault was ice cold. He knelt beside the lock, brushing the dirt off of the opening, then took a deep breath and pushed the key inside.

The key seemed to catch fire, turning incandescent against his hand as the air filled with the stench of burned skin. He screamed, falling back as he let the key go, the pain so intense that at first he didn’t even notice the black, gooey substance coming out of the vault.

“What’s going on?” he asked, terror rising in him as he realized how difficult it was becoming to form words.

“Don’t you know that all magic comes at a price? I needed to bring someone back from the dead, so someone else needed to die. I promised your family would be safe, I never said anything about you,” Zelena cackled.

He collapsed to the ground, his vision blurring. The last thing he was aware of was the shape of a man emerging from the goo.

Zelena watched in awe as her old mentor was forcefully brought back from limbo as the peasant’s life force was transferred to him. Centuries before, an ambitious king had tethered the Dark One’s soul to this vault, so that not even death could ever free him of the king’s control. The spell he had crafted to bring the Dark One back had never been tested before, but Zelena had never doubted that she would succeed. She was surprised by Rumplestiltskin’s appearance once the spell was completed: he looked human now, but there was no doubt that he was still the Dark One: the dagger in his hands still bore his name. Just as Zelena had expected, he was barely conscious once the spell was completed; being brought back from the dead was bound to leave him weakened for some time. He collapsed to the ground and barely even flinched when she took the dagger from his trembling fingers.

“Zelena… no…” he murmured, but not even panic could give him the strength to fight back. He was completely at her mercy.

“Save you breath, dearie,” she said, kneeling down so that her face was mere inches from his. “You’re going to need all of your strength very soon.”

**********

Storybrooke, present.

Belle had been in the shop all day. Ever since they’d come back to Storybrooke she’d been checking the inventory to see if anything had gone missing or if something new had made its way to the shop. She had found nothing relevant so far, but the pawnshop was so filled with trinkets that it would take her several more days to finish the job. She didn’t mind though; she enjoyed the cozy quiet of the shop, and being surrounded by Rumplestiltskin’s things made her feel closer to him. Sometimes she could almost imagine he was fixing something in the back, and that at any moment he’d walk past the curtain and ask her if she wanted a cup of tea. It was a bittersweet thought, one that sometimes warmed her from the inside and at others left her in tears.

Today had been a bit of a rollercoaster. First the news about the cloaked figure in the woods, then the ripple of magic as the curse was broken, and not long after that Neal had walked in, telling her of his encounter with his father. Rumplestiltskin was clearly in some sort of confused state, but after a while he had recognized his son. Belle was determined to see it as good news: if Rumplestiltskin had improved slightly after such a short time with Neal, whatever had been done to him was probably reversible. It had to be.

When her cellphone rang, Belle took a deep breath before answering, readying herself for the latest crisis.

“Hi Belle,” Emma said, her voice frustratingly neutral, carrying no hint of whether she was the bearer of bad or good news. “Are you sitting right now?”

Belle understood that Emma was just concerned for her and her baby, but even this short delay was hell on her nerves.

“Yes, now please just tell me what’s going on,” she all but begged.

“David and I just stopped a flying monkey from attacking Gold. The monster was chasing him through the woods, but while we dealt with the monkey Gold ran away from us too. He was confused, but he seemed to recognize me, or at least to remember that I’m on his side. He looked as though he was trying to say something but couldn’t bring himself to focus on it,” Emma explained. “We’re trying to track him down again, but I thought you needed to know immediately. The monkeys follow Zelena’s orders, they shouldn’t be attacking him. Either she lost control of them, or she lost control of Rumplestiltskin. Maybe he managed to get his hands on his dagger and escape. And if he did…”

“He’ll come to me,” Belle concluded for her, a smile forming on her lips. Her Rumple was coming back. He was coming home. “I’ll keep my eyes open, and I’ll be ready to face any flying monkey that might be chasing him. There’s more than enough magic in here to deal with them.”

“Still, I told Neal to join you at the shop. He has already been through enough today, and Gold will want to see him as well. If anyone can bring him back to his senses, it’s you two,” Emma said, her tone turning softer. She truly hoped things would turn out alright for them. She remembered what it was like, to be pregnant and scared, and she wouldn’t have wished that on her worst enemy, let alone Belle.

After hanging up the phone, Emma resumed her search with even more determination. She was the Savior, it was her duty to bring back the happy endings, and that now included Rumplestiltskin’s as well. She’d reunite him with his family, then they’d defeat Zelena together and Henry would be safe. That’s what she kept telling herself. It was a good mantra, but it didn’t stop the doubts from creeping up inside her, a dark thought she was completely unable to push back. Safe, sure, her fear whispered, but for how long?

**********

The Enchanted Forest, after Rumplestiltskin’s resurrection.

Rumplestiltskin was going mad. He had no memories of what being dead felt like, but he was sure not even hell could be this bad. Zelena had confined him to a small cage in the great hall of his own castle, forbidding him from doing any magic, and laying helplessly in the dirt day after day was quickly chipping away at his sanity. Zelena had total control over his life; she could starve him for days just as she could force feed him, all while taunting him and mocking him for his weakness. His immortality prevented him from suffering any lasting damage, so he couldn’t even hope death would put an end to his misery.

Even the solace of sleep was eluding him. Dark Ones didn’t need to sleep, and the constant fear and frustration he was living with guaranteed to keep him awake at all times. Dark magic was simmering in his veins, begging to be released, not accustomed to being trapped for so long. Every day he found himself spending more and more time picturing Zelena’s death, the images becoming increasingly gruesome as the darkness inside of him mounted. Soon enough, his skin started to show the change, gradually going back to its old reptilian appearance.

“We’re the same, you and I,” Zelena commented one day, pointing at his now completely scaly skin. “Our skin reflects who we really are on the inside. No matter how much you try to fight me, how much you want to tell yourself that you’ve changed, the truth is that you’re every bit as dark as I am. We both revel in darkness, and you were a fool to push me away.”

A wave of the dagger sent him to his knees as Zelena entered the cage and sat on the stool in front of him. This was the part of his imprisonment that he hated the most. He tried to keep his breathing under control as Zelena put her fingers on his temples and started reading his mind. Under any other circumstances, he could have stopped her; searching someone’s memories and thoughts was a delicate process, requiring both the expertise of the reader and complete compliance of the subject. Zelena’s magic was strong enough to grant her access to his mind, but she took no care in making the process any less painful for him. Every time it felt as though his head was about to explode, but he was forbidden to fight back, and the witch only seemed to take pleasure in the whimpers that sometimes escaped his lips.

He collapsed to the floor once she left him alone, fighting to hold back the tears and retain what little was left of his dignity. As always, he tried to make sense of all the memories that had flashed through his mind as Zelena read them; there had to be a pattern, something she was looking for, and if he could figure it out then maybe he could find some leverage against her. It worried him to no end that she seemed particularly interested in his family; she was digging for information about Belle, Bae, Henry and Emma, and he dreaded to know why. If he couldn’t get free, he had to at least find a way to warn them. One day Zelena would make a mistake, no matter how tiny, and he’d make sure that was her downfall.

**********

Storybrooke, present day.

Belle had never been good at waiting. She wasn’t one to sit around and wait for something to happen, or for someone else to solve the problem, yet waiting was the only thing she could do right now. Considering how nervous she was, she had given up on taking inventory - lest she accidentally spill a potion or break some rare item- and tried to distract herself with a book, but it was the tenth time she had read the same page, and she still had no idea of what it said. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Neal looking worriedly at her, but there was nothing he could do to help.

The sound of the front door banging open made her jump in her seat. Rumplestiltskin stumbled over the threshold, crumpling to the floor. Belle rushed around the counter, kneeling with some difficulty by his side.

“Rumple? Rumple can you hear me?” Her voice choked with emotion as she caressed his face. His eyes were closed, and she could already feel herself panicking when she heard Neal’s voice.

“He’s breathing. He just fainted. He’ll be alright,” he told her, laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

She didn’t want to leave Rumplestiltskin on the floor, but with her belly making her even clumsier than usual there was no way she could carry him to the cot, even with Neal’s help.

They had to wait until Regina arrived and used her magic to move him. Thankfully she was prompt and soon Rumplestiltskin was resting comfortably on the cot in the back. Belle sat by his side, taking one of his hands in hers. There was dirt under his nails and over his suit, and he had lost weight since the last time she saw him. Still, he was alive and with her, and that was the only thing that mattered.

She held her breath when he finally stirred. She knew he wasn’t quite himself, but she had to see it with her own eyes. She needed to see how bad the situation was before she could attempt to improve it somehow. Rumplestiltskin looked around confused, clearly trying to make sense of his surroundings.

“Hey, Rumple… do you recognize me?” Belle asked, gently squeezing his hand.

Rumplestiltskin stared at their entwined hands for what felt like a lifetime.

“Light,” he said eventually, looking up to meet Belle’s gaze.

In that moment, Belle knew that they’d be alright. Rumplestiltskin might not have said her name, but he knew that she and Bae were his guiding lights. Rumplestiltskin was trying to come back to them, and now she had proof of it.

“It’s alright, Rumple. You’re safe now,” she said reassuringly.

Apparently, those were the wrong words. Rumplestiltskin immediately became nervous, sitting up and slipping his hand from her grasp.

“Not safe, never safe,” he protested. “I must… warn you. Danger… Zelena… she’s coming for our baby.”

Every word seemed to cost Rumplestiltskin energy, and he took his head in his hands, on the verge of tears. The world was spinning around him, clearer than before and yet still so confused. He could feel cold sweat trickling down his neck, and he was starting to feel dizzy. The feeling of a warm, soft hand carding through his hair cut through his panic, anchoring him back to reality.

“Hey, hey it’s okay. You already warned us. You were incredibly brave, and without you we would have already lost,” the woman in front of him murmured, her voice soothing his fears just as much as Zelena’s presence fostered them. Light, that was the first word that came to his mind when he looked at her, but he knew she had a name, one that was close to his heart, a name that he should remember. How could he had forgotten it? Forget… forget… an accent you wouldn’t soon forget. Brown hair. Beautiful blue eyes. Her name is…

“Belle,” he breathed out in relief, in joy, in recognition. Another piece of the puzzle was in place, and he felt peace like he hadn’t in weeks, maybe months.

“Yes, it’s me, I’m here, and our baby is safe,” she said, smiling brightly as she took one of his hands and placed it on her belly.

That contact seemed to light another spark of recognition in his brain. More and more memories came to his mind as the world once again started to make sense.

“Bae, where is Bae?” he asked. He needed his family to be complete, he needed them all to clear the fog away.

“I’m here Papa,” Neal said immediately, taking Rumplestiltskin’s free hand.

Memories flooded Rumplestiltskin’s mind as he held hands with those he loved the most. Separations and reunions, fights and tender moments, all characterized by the love that had guided him and shaped him into the person he was now.

Even if Belle hadn’t felt the tingle of magic go through her fingers, she could have pinpointed the exact moment in which Rumplestiltskin remembered by the look in his eyes.

“Belle… Bae,” he called their names again, emotional and disbelieving, then pulled them into a hug.

Rumplestiltskin was finally home.

**********

Regina’s palace, three months ago.

“I have a surprise for you,” Snow told Belle one day. “If you want, I can tell you if you’ll be having a boy or a girl. I’ve finally found Ruth’s locket, and I can guarantee it works.”

Belle was fascinated by the locket, and gladly took the offer. She wasn’t hoping for a boy or a girl in particular, but it would be nice to know in advance, and she watched with bated breath as the necklace dangled over her palm.

“North to South,” Snow observed, “It means it’s a boy. Congratulations.”

Belle smiled thankfully at her, as the image of a little boy with Rumple’s eyes formed in her mind. Snow had been extremely supportive of her during the past several months, and they had grown a lot closer. Belle was incredibly thankful for her and her other friends; thanks to them, she had found new happiness in her life, and the thought of Rumplestiltskin was starting to bring more melancholy than despair. She still cried herself to sleep sometimes, and she doubted she would ever be over him, but her life had to go on, for her sake just as much as for her child’s.

The sound of the large windows bursting open made everyone in the room startle. Zelena flew through the open window and dismounted her broom, and then beside her appeared…

“Rumple,” the name left Belle’s lips in a choked whisper. After months of believing him dead, her True Love was in front of her. He was real, he was alive, and his dagger was in Zelena’s hands. David drew his sword, and a fireball formed in Regina’s hand, but before any of them could take action they were all frozen in place by a spell.

“Belle,” Rumple called to her, his voice full of despair. Then his gaze moved to her belly, and his eyes widened in surprise and horror. “You… you’re…”

“Yes, your little maid is pregnant with your child, why are you so surprised? Oh, I must have forgotten to tell you; I’ve known for months,” Zelena taunted him, and Belle felt white, hot rage course through her veins.

“Shush now, we didn’t come here for a family reunion. We came here to deliver a message,” Zelena went on, and Belle could see how Rumplestiltskin’s body tensed with her command, how abruptly his jaw slammed shut. Belle wasn’t sure if she had ever felt such fury before. She didn’t just want to get the dagger back from Zelena; she wanted to hurt her, and that wasn’t a sensation she was familiar with. All thoughts of revenge left her mind, however, when Zelena strode directly towards her and laid one hand on her belly. Trapped and unable to react, Belle could hardly hear Zelena’s words over the desperate, terrified beating of her heart.

“You see, I have a spell in mind, and your child is exactly what I need for it. So take care of it for me, because I’ll be back for your happy day,” Zelena gloated, her lips spreading in a smile that made Belle feel sick. She wanted to scream and run away, to get rid of Zelena and wrap her arms around Rumple, but all she could do was stare at the witch with wide eyes, unable to hide the utter terror in them.

Zelena and Rumplestiltskin vanished, the spell was lifted, and Belle staggered forward, her legs threatening to give out. She had just found out that her True Love was alive, but that joy had turned to ash in front of her eyes. Fear was drowning out all of her thoughts: if she didn’t do something, she was going to lose her child.

**********

Storybrooke, present day.

“I’ve dreamt of this moment for so long,” Belle breathed, eventually pulling back from their family hug.

Neal, feeling suddenly awkward, decided to join Regina in the front of the shop. He had come a long way with his father, but he was definitely not ready to see him be all sappy with his girlfriend; and he was one-hundred percent sure that his father was the sappiest, most foolishly romantic man in the world.

“I knew that our love could beat Zelena. That you could,” Belle went on as Neal left the room.

“Your unwavering faith constantly astounds me,” Rumplestiltskin replied, his voice breaking with emotion. There were tears in both his and Belle’s eyes, and after so long apart he simply couldn’t get enough of her. He wanted to hold her close and never let go, to bury his nose in her hair and forget the world. They both leaned forward at the same time, desperate for the kiss that they had been denied for too long. When their lips were only a breath apart, however, Rumplestiltskin abruptly pushed her back.

“Run,” he said in a whisper, his voice suddenly panicked.

“What?” Belle asked, confused. It didn’t make sense, everything was going so well.

“Run!”

Rumplestiltskin screamed this time, but Belle barely managed to get to her feet before Zelena appeared beside Rumplestiltskin, the dagger held firmly in one hand, her cruel laughter sending chills down Belle’s spine.

“Don’t mind me. I was just enjoying the show,” Zelena taunted, roughly grabbing a fistful of Rumplestiltskin’s hair and forcing him to look at her. “I’m sorry to ruin such a sickeningly sweet reunion, but I’m afraid Rumple and I have a lot of things to do. Thank you for bringing him back to sanity, by the way.”

“You knew. You set this all up. You set him free knowing that Bae and I could heal him,” Belle accused her, realization hitting her with the force of a truck. She could hardly believe how stupid she had been; with Zelena holding the dagger, it was ridiculous to think that Rumple could have escaped, but she had been so blinded by her own feelings that she had failed to notice all the red flags, and she had played right into Zelena’s hands.

“You heroes are so predictable; all I had to do was set him free and make him forget about it,” Zelena gloated.

“You made a huge mistake,” Rumplestiltskin growled. “Now that my mind is clear, it’s only a matter of time before I get that dagger back and run it through your chest.”

“You know you can't hurt me, but you're more than welcome to try. I do so enjoy watching futility wreck a man's will. Now be a good little Dark One, and get back to your cage,” Zelena said, pressing the dagger against Rumplestiltskin’s face.

Belle could see him tense at the contact, and saw the struggle in his eyes, how strongly he tried to fight the command, but to no avail. After one last, desperate glance at Belle, Rumplestiltskin disappeared in a puff of smoke. Zelena followed, and a beat later Neal and Regina barged in from the other room.

“She caught us by surprise and paralyzed us. What happened here, where is my father?” Neal asked immediately, kneeling beside Belle, who had collapsed into the nearest chair.

She wanted to tell him, but the more she tried the harder it was to form words past the lump in her throat. It hurt. It hurt to be this helpless. It hurt to think of the despair in Rumplestiltskin’s eyes, and how she hadn’t been able to do anything for him. It hurt to know that, despite all her efforts, she could never make things right. She wanted to be a hero, but the truth was that she was more of a liability. Her sobs grew louder and louder as the weight of what had just happened came crashing down on her, until a sudden pain in her low abdomen turned her despair into shocked horror.

“Belle? Belle, what’s wrong?” Neal asked frantically, worried by the sudden change in her expression.

Belle’s voice came out hoarse and feeble, each word dripping with fear.

“I think I’m going into labor.”

#Rumbelle #Rumbelle fic #Rumplestiltskin #Belle Gold #Belle French #Belle French-Gold #A Tale of Magic #Sara talks #Sara writes

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ncbodyknows · 6 years ago

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MGA Season 4 ;; Episode 6

Contestant #4026 Choi Youngjae Performing Hot Potato by N. Flying { 0:00-1:11 + 1:41-2:05 } Dance break { 2:30-2:45 } Wild Card performance Outfit

‘Boring’. That was the word he had been sent home with. ‘You don’t have what we’re looking for’. That had been it last time. And perhaps it was true -- he didn’t possess the will to become an idol, and in fact he usually scowled at the occupation and had nothing but negative opinions upon people in the entertainment industry and the rabid fans it brought along. But if there was one thing he didn’t handle well it was rejection, and even more so when it was with a reasoning he could not fully comprehend. Were the ballads themselves boring? Was their mix not good enough? Was Yoojung’s efforts at mixing the choreographies not good enough? Was it not good enough that they had chosen to focus on what they could do instead of trying for something overwhelming like he had done and failed with before during his week as a Flower Ranger? He hadn’t expected first like Donghyun apparently had, but dead last and eliminated to boot with a bullshit reasoning: that was something he just couldn’t accept.

He was pissed to say the least. Pissed off at Mnet and quite frankly wanting nothing more to do with the shows or the CEOs or whatever, but now that he had actually started to want to be in this competition it was impossible to just sit down and let another chance pass him by. The very concept of it was bullshit he thought to himself -- why the fuck eliminate people only to give them a small hope to come back again? He doubted he was the only one grasping for this straw and chances were going to be slim, but it was there and that fact alone was so endlessly cruel. Mnet would trample on people only to give them a tiny bit of hope and then trample on them again. He knew that very well. But Youngjae couldn’t allow himself to not even try.

Beside they had hit a sore spot by calling this very performance boring. Any other he couldn’t have cared about, but this one he had a part of the creation in himself and thus it felt like an insult to his very person. Even more annoying was the fact that they apparently recognised his hard work from the sound of their words when eliminating him, and yet had done nothing to acknowledge all the sleepless hours he put into it. He was still nothing more than a good voice who didn’t have any other particular assets. That was how he understood it at least, ,and that pissed him off so endlessly much.

It was with feelings of disappointment, anger, and a need to avenge himself that he had sought out Yuta. The older had looked equally disappointed with the result which somehow had made Youngjae happy. If nothing else his old senpai was still supporting him despite his antics and usual behaviour. And he was also more than ready to help the artist despite his own busy schedule. The other option for this endeavour had been Jeongguk, an idea that had also jumped into his mind, and he had been so close to contacting the younger before deciding against it. The Red Ranger was probably going to be just as busy as he himself was, and even if he had no intentions of trying again, he had that injury to think about.

But there was just no way Youngjae could do it on his own. Although he had improved significantly over the past weeks due to the constant training, he wasn’t a dancer by any means, and even less did he know about choreographies and what other shit it included. But he also knew that he couldn’t get back in on song alone. Yuta’s training regiment had been tough -- tougher than anything he had experienced in his MGA groups, the older definitely wasn’t lying when he said he was a harsh teacher -- but in the end Youngjae was actually capable of performing the routine without stumbling over his own feet. He dared even suggest it looked good despite its simplicity. There were some fast movements that he had been struggling greatly with, but Yuta had been looming over him almost sadistically any time he even seemed to wish for a break let alone dare utter the words.

Even though he wanted to complain; even though he wanted to just lay down and die from the exhaustion and the fact that he hadn’t had a proper sleep for at least four weeks now; even though he could beat Yuta to a pulp for that cocky attitude; in the end Youngjae actually felt grateful to his senior. Although he had underestimated the amount of time he would have to put into it, this was what he had wanted -- no, it was what he needed. He could only do so much on his own as had been proven thus far. Certainly he had always been on a team of four other people until now, but in the end it was a competition where everyone was to their own and everyone were rivals, so they could only do so much to help each other without neglecting their own training.

Unlike the other times he barely had any time to finish this performance, a mere few days gracing him to save his chances at a second shot. Until now he had been fine because he had a whole week to memorise everything, but to deal with a dance break no matter how short as well as having to remember all the Korean words this time was a whole other matter. He had considered going with a Japanese song, but that was truly stupid if he wanted a chance. He should at least use something people would understand the meaning of if he wanted to show his appeal. And thus his love for rock returned into focus, for until now he had had to settle for much more mainstream pop thanks to the fact that the music that took his heart rarely had dance to it. Which was ridiculous in his opinion. This was a talent and auditioning show in general so why the fuck did people have to dance to pull off a successful performance that wasn’t ‘boring’?

With what felt like it wasn’t enough time at all, the day of filming the Wild Card performances arrived, and Youngjae proceeded down the halls that had become familiar to him by now. The same procedure as usual except this time the tension felt much more dense for himself and other contestants that appeared to have a second chance. He spotted Donghyun, not to his surprise as the other truly had seem affected by the whole thing -- in fact Youngjae would have been more surprised if his fellow vocalist hadn’t shown up after so confidently stating he would. It wouldn’t make sense with how much practise he put into it either. Youngjae might even have thought it would have been a waste although he was never going to lecture the other about it. First of all he wasn’t close enough to the guy and second of all it would be a major pain in the ass even if he had been.

Youngjae felt as though he had done an awful lot of just waiting around while on this show and now was no different. Whether or not people shared his sentiment of the Wild Card opportunity being bullshit, it had drawn a lot of old contestants back, and thus it took a while before it was his turn. At least he didn’t have to sit through another fifty performances in total like in the beginning because that had been only all too draining. But he did also see Moonbok perform -- funny, he hadn’t even thought for a second that the guy might give it a chance: in fact Youngjae had kind of forgotten about him in the heat of the moment. Probably not something he should say to his face, especially not after he had helped him in the new songs round.

When it was finally Youngjae’s turn, he took the stage with a smile that suppressed all the loathe he was feeling about everything the show stood for right now. “I’m contestant #4026, Choi Youngjae. I’m here to take the exam again and this time I intend to pass,” he introduced himself, making a reference to the words they had used as a reason to eliminate him. If you failed an exam you tried again, that was just how it worked. They should have expected a college student like him to show up again if they were going to use such an analogy. “If my singing alone isn’t good enough for you, then I’ll show you my greed as well.” It was corny as fuck and quite frankly Youngjae was hugely opposed to fancy opening speeches, but his approach thus far obviously hadn’t worked. If they wanted him to just jump along the bandwagon of mass produced dolls that acted and behaved the same way so be it. He could easily toss away himself for the sake of living up to an expectation.

After a small pause where Youngjae got in position and the first few tunes of Hot Potato began. Over the melody were two voices, his own and one that could easily be recognised as belonging to Kim Donghyun doing the initial conversation with Donghyun asking him what he wanted to be if he could be born again. “A potato,” Youngjae’s voice sounded, and the other repeated, ‘a potato?’. “Yes, a hot potato.” With Donghyun’s ‘what?’ the song began properly. He had considered doing the first part alone live on stage, but that would just be awkward as fuck, so he was happy that he had managed to get the other’s help

Wherever I go, they all recognize me My face is my business card My every move, whatever I do They all copy me

The first bit of the song was more of a melodic rap, but it was melodic enough to flow well still when sung. It wasn’t just because the song was rock that he had chosen it particularly for this occasion. It was also because the lyrics hit home in his current situation. Being stuck at the bottom but wanting to bask in the sweet sunlight at the very top. It was a show-off song and he knew that much, but perhaps that was exactly what he needed at this time. A song to portray his desires and show that the boring Choi Youngjae had more to him than just working hard and singing. He had the greed to go somewhere, the greed to make others recognise him for his talent, even if he had to shove it down everyone’s throats after they had already let him go.

They go so crazy Everyone gather here Even when I put on a small smile They fall like dominos Oh so hot, so high

After he had finished the lyrics for the verse and before going into the prechorus, Youngjae shot a smile at the camera filming him, the corners of his lips curled into a small one to reflect the lyrics and his head tilted ever so slightly. He then went back to his initial position moving his body to the beat and hoping he didn’t seem all too stiff and awkward. But this wasn’t the part that was focused on dance anyway. Perhaps he would have felt more confident in his movement if he had had a hand microphone, but alas, it would get in the way of his dance break, so unlike his former all-song rounds back in the initial rounds Youngjae had opted for a microphone set strapped to his cheek.

Sometimes, I wanna rest But people keep calling me From my head to my toes

Yet again he tilted his head as he prepared to deliver the spoken punchline of the song: “are you all the paparazzi?” As he spoke, he held out a hand gesturing to the camera as if though asking the audience. His expression was mirroring the original drummer of the band upon the delivery of the line -- an expression he had been practising in the mirror to get down properly and convincing, for if there was one thing he was aiming for with this song, it was to show a brand new him through a both fun and serious stage. Then the chorus began and Youngjae was rocking his head along to the beat that got even more intense in its melody.

The lights shine brightly Whenever I sing, they all fall for me I’m a hot potato A famous man Say my name

I won’t easily cool down Cuz I’m a hot potato I won’t easily cool down Here and there, pretty girls say hello Hot! Hot potato

Just as the chorus was finished in its entirety a sudden halt came to the music and the melody switched. It was for this moment that Youngjae had been sweating his ass off for the past few evenings -- no, maybe even the practice he had put in for the past weeks too during the stages. No, he wasn’t a good dancer. But Yuta had helped him come up with something simple enough that even he could pull it off convincingly with enough repetition. In a mere fifteen seconds, he was going to show a perfect dance performance from the one who had become known as one who could not dance. He hadn’t just been slacking off for all these weeks after all. His body flowed with the beats and even the fast part he managed to execute mainly out of fear of what Yuta would do to him as his trainer if he managed to screw it up on live camera. He then held the ending pose for a second or two as the tune dragged out only to switch back to the original song.

Youngjae was genuinely happy that he had managed to pull it off, so as he began the last chorus he was bouncing in his spot, the music getting to his body as it usually only ever did when he was drunk. If anyone were to ask him he might even in his mind have called this very moment ‘fun’ even though he would never express it out loud. But right now Youngjae was actually enjoying himself, and such a sentiment wasn’t half bad at all.

#rkmga4wildcard #Ch: Solo #sp: MGA4 #yutark #rkdonghyun #special mentions to:#yccjungrk #rkjeon #moonbokrk

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idolizerp · 6 years ago

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[ LOADING INFORMATION ON OLYMPUS’ LEAD RAP, SUB VOCAL JUNE…. ]

DETAILS

CURRENT AGE: 26 DEBUT AGE: 18 SKILL POINTS: 10 VOCAL | 07 DANCE | 10 RAP | 13 PERFORMANCE

INTERVIEW

Somewhere between scribbles of organic formulas and sloppy syllables of chemistry notes the words ‘’chain reaction’’ were written in midst of yellow highlighter. Had Junhai opened his notes, the road he’d gone through would have made much more sense. The simplicity of lacking in a skill crucial for his environment – the Korean language – had Midas media giving the boy on the edge of debut orders in the delicate form of advice. If you don’t know how to say it, don’t talk at all. Such simple words helped him make a conscious decision of sinking his teeth into his tongue, no matter how much it wanted to cut loose. It formed a whole delusion around the young man right from the start of his career. Unapologetically held eye-contact with ones hovering at the tip of his nose, foot gently swinging on top of the other, shoulders back and a tilted smile pulling up the corners of stained lips mixed well with overall soft features into a mirage of a foreign prince or at the very least – a well-mannered diplomat. Staying relatively quiet until pushed to talk did him justice, short and sweet answers to questions received the perfect amount of minimum to keep Olympians happy.

“You seem soft,” was an implication Junhai often received in fansigns in various shapes and forms. For a moment the answer was replaced with the idol leaning forward, nimble fingers catching the lukewarm digits of a fan and placing their palm right on top of his neatly styled hair. “Am I?” An unnecessary plead of confirmation and a simultaneous offer of freedom for the fan. Bait witch was always taken whether it was a loving pet or a slightly uncomfortable attempt to collect DNA samples for possible cloning in the future, a collection of similar occurrences easily found and compiled in fan videos along with titles of ‘ June poking fans’ cheeks’ and ‘ June making fans blush for five minutes straight’.

There was no spite for Junhai to act the way he had in front of the masses of fans of Olympus. No hidden agenda, other than compensation for a lack of words he desperately wanted to say but was forbidden to. That’s how idols act, right? Well, no, as interviewers questioned his intentions for the sake of variety, to which the young man could only respond that he loved Olympians very much – the only politically correct response in the idol chaos.

Lack of words spoken could have been his greatest strength, hadn’t it been his greatest weakness, leaving him defenseless. ‘If it’s not scripted, you don’t say it’ was an imposed motto, his overall considerate and diplomatic nature chained up and drowned for at least eight years in front of the masses. The inappropriate level of fanservice he caught up to too late to take back gathered loyal fans along with stable saesangs, because of whom June was swept into situations he later couldn’t explain himself for due to the image that had been created – the too accessible prince who can be shared by all. It’s not like he would ever refuse it, only we are in his heart, he loves us too much, they claimed who he was right to June’s face, the ten year contract a heavy weight, making him nod his head and taste blood in his mouth. The man became property in the socialist society of the ones that claimed to be their fans as he kept on smiling warmly at his friends behind closed doors “I’m fine, really. Let’s talk about you.“

BIOGRAPHY

i. Junhai’s father wholeheartedly believed that the reason his son was average is due to the blood that ran in their offspring’s veins. One couldn’t expect someone related to middle ground to become spectacular – June didn‘t have the genes for that, having born into a family of two middle children with boring lives they chose to carry in Guangzhou, China.

Whether it was a placebo effect or not, Junhai was simply average at everything he’d ever chosen to do. He tried soccer, but he only became a professional bench boy. Wood warmer, they called him, as he wasn’t fast enough or sharp enough to join other players on the field. Fencing was thrilling. At least for those who managed to skillfully hit targets and gather points. Not Junhai, unfortunately. He came across drawing, yet no matter how many pencils he used up, there was always someone around him who shaded better and drew better proportions by the rule of the thumb. He was never a top student either, ‘Li Junhai’ always resting somewhere in the middle of a long list after class evaluations. Popularity didn’t mold with him, too, eyes often shifting to his athletic friends or the publicly notorious outcasts he exchanged small talk with. Attention was never on him, it slipped past the boy and lurked around the manifestation of a bare minimum of a personality. It was was almost beyond belief how Junhai had passed the Midas Media audition with a score above average, believing that maybe he had finally found something he wasn’t just ’alright’ at.

ii. “At this point you’re either good, or they will make you good, kid,” was something he heard once he stepped onto the foreign land. Yet, the first year in Korea was a blur of syllables and noises the thirteen year old desperately tried to make sense of as his tongue twisted and turned in failed attempts to communicate with those around him. It was a proper inconvenience to his roommate, who ended up nursing a preteen with the intellectual capacity of a toddler. Or so it seemed, as any reminder of a practice or invitation to a meal was greeted with a pair of knitted eyebrows and Cantonese mutters, while hours dedicated to sleep were disturbed by the foreigner trying to read his Hangul schedule into a translator.

Time was powerful – lesson learned after a proper amount of time and double the amount of effort. Words directed at him didn’t sound like white noise. Hangul wasn’t just scribbles. Messages came through without any interruption. It evolved into Junhai repeating the sentences directed at him in an attempt to form variations in his head which were later verbalized as he tried to communicate like a functioning human should. It was hilarious, the way he spoke without knowing proper words or diction, the base of his sentences formed only by an overall structural understanding. Scissors became sharp cut sticks and toothpicks were sharp mini wood sticks. The sweet combination of mispronunciation along with a relatively limited vocabulary won over some snickers around the company. Had he known the good-nature of the laugh he drew, maybe his stomach would have stopped sinking whenever people expected words coming out of his mouth.

iii. Understanding the language unlocked a new level of comfort and security. The small room he lived in didn’t seem so alien, the streets weren’t that bewildering and the features his eyes stuck upon weren’t uninviting anymore. The mundane life of a trainee caught up to the teenager quicker than one would expect. Yet, no complains or hints of exhaustion were ever heard from the boy. On the contrary, Junhai reached out for ‘above average’ right when making sense of his own schedule and duties allowed him to put his all into training. But overtime could not save a boy of an unclear focus.

“What am I?”

No one ever told Junhai what they were planning for him, training hours marked no certain direction either. You hit that note? Good. You learned that choreography? Good. Your tongue didn’t twist while rapping? Good. Yet, in comparison to others around him, he lacked a spotlight skill and no one had any intention of giving him one. Therefore, his training felt loose and messy. While he did give his whole to train the modest amount of talent he had naturally, lack of a clear path distributed his energy in a way that didn’t allow Junhai to reach the level of skill he wanted. “You’re good. Not great, not special or spectacular. Just good.”

An alright vocalist, an alright rapper, a decent dancer. That was it, he was just.. Good. Not a step over, not a step below.

iv. For someone labeled as average, Junhai wasn’t sure why it was that he belonged in the lineup for Olympus. Charms that he might have had were useless due to how exchangeable he felt, many stronger contenders left lining up behind his back. It only came to him later, that he was just as much interchangeable and that’s why he was wanted. To be the middle ground that fills in the gaps - lines that were too unimportant to belong to main members of the group. A member can sing it better? June, do an ad-lib. Another member can rap better? June, take the background vocal. From multiple well-tailored lines in the subunit he debuted in his position switched to a few bars and maybe some lines if the producer felt generous. Never more, just enough to fill in spaces.

Junhai felt like he was a background member, not important enough to take much lead, not unimportant enough to be kept in the shadows. His members were talent and he was.. There. The feeling of low importance molded the barely existing relationship with the Olympus members. He never held it against them either. It’s my problem, he told himself, I can’t offer much. Therefore, decisions in which the members took part in slipped past his ears and if not the few fans he gathered offering himself to them due by stares and dimpled smiles, maybe no one would really notice if he had been dropped.

v. He really didn’t like being quiet, barely shutting up behind closed doors. His friends could only laugh about it, of course you have a lot to say after bottling your voice up. Yet, the ten year contract hung heavy on his neck like a chain. A bobble-head, well controlled by Midas media. One that got used to the slow attempted homicide of his own character. He wasn’t even that mad anymore, relying on charms and foreign mysteries to keep himself afloat in midst of the talented group. So much that people following Junhai start to seem mundane. There weren’t any ways to object the generous public figure he himself created. They followed him on stage, they followed him abroad, snuck into bathrooms and left presents at his doorstep. And when a number of Olympus fans kept themselves in tact, there was no getting away from the ones that didn’t. After all, he was public property even at the point when forceful pull of an open-hearted fan managed to dislocate his shoulder.

Olympus’ Junhai minor injury practicing; Olympus wrap up ‘Tell me’ promotions as five.

Minor. Did all minor injuries take more than a few months to heal? Midas knows best.

vi. Sometimes his modestly sized friend group worried about the lack of a fitting reaction for being mistreated. June never got mad, never cried or showed signs of distress about it. A dimple appeared on his cheek whenever questioned, as he beamed brightly at his company. “It’s my job, I’m used to it. No big deal.”

Junhai never lied to his friends. Unless the topic was his career.

vii. Guangzhou missed him, or so his mother told him whenever he Skype-called his family whom he hadn’t visited in years. How were his friends doing? That one’s married, that one became a surgeon, the other one has three children already. What he’d done in eight years? Really didn’t feel like much. He became an average member of a boy group in Korea with some lines and screen time. Somewhat liked, somewhat disliked. Needed, but not to the point of survival.

“I don’t think I will continue,” he admits time and time again into the glossy faces of his parents on the screen. “When the contract ends, I mean. We have over two years, the members will likely be planning their military service. And I’m not good enough to be a soloist.” It’s nice to talk in Cantonese again, he notes to himself. “I don’t think I belong here.”

As his mother kept howling into the microphone, he could hear his father murmur the same truth he’s been telling right from the start - mediocre people can’t escape their genetics.

#id.bio #id.olympus #id.midas #id.zhang yixing

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