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mariana-oconnor · 2 years ago

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Wisteria Lodge pt 2

Right, so thinking about it since last time I came up with some other reasons, like maybe Mr Garcia was scared of something coming for him and that was why he asked Mr Scott Eccles over for a few nights. Or alternatively, it was a pure coincidence that he asked him over and then someone from his past turned up and threatened him. But why did the whole household disappear overnight. They must have some connection.

Anyway, now I am free for the evening, onto the actual reading. When last we left off, Mr Scott Eccles had woken up after utterly missing his chance at a booty call to find himself abandoned and needing to do the walk of shame.

"I called at Allan Brothers', the chief land agents in the village, and found that it was from this firm that the villa had been rented."

This seems pretty extreme, although I guess what has happened is quite extreme. And if it had happened to me, I'd be all over the internet trying to work out what had happened to everyone. I'd probably at least think of asking the next door neighbours if they knew what was going on. It's different in a time with servants and stuff, though. You'd expect the servants to still be there, even if the owner has gone out or to work or whatever. Still 'no one was in when I woke up so I went to the estate agent...

He does then go to the mutual friend who introduced them - and also the Spanish embassy - which again, seems a bit like overkill. I don't think I'd go to the Spanish embassy, not if I still had all my stuff. If it seemed weird and suspicious enough I might report them to the police as missing, but then maybe they have a good reason. idk.

"My only desire is to help the law in every possible way.” “I am sure of it, Mr. Scott Eccles—I am sure of it,” said Inspector Gregson in a very amiable tone.

Is that amiable as in appeasing, or amiable as in believing? I'm not sure I'd believe all of that, although it does fall into the realm of too weird and unhelpful a story to be faked. If you're going to invent a story about how you're not a murderer when you really are, you want it to sound more plausible.

“What do you say to that, Mr. Baynes?” The country detective was a stout, puffy, red man, whose face was only redeemed from grossness by two extraordinarily bright eyes, almost hidden behind the heavy creases of cheek and brow. With a slow smile he drew a folded and discoloured scrap of paper from his pocket.

Ah, Watson, you're back in fine form with your descriptions of police officers, no animal imagery here, but at least you managed to convey your utter disgust at his appearance. Bravo.

"The note is written upon ordinary cream-laid paper without watermark. It is a quarter-sheet. The paper is cut off in two snips with a short-bladed scissors. It has been folded over three times and sealed with purple wax, put on hurriedly and pressed down with some flat oval object. It is addressed to Mr. Garcia, Wisteria Lodge. It says: “Our own colours, green and white. Green open, white shut. Main stair, first corridor, seventh right, green baize. Godspeed. — D.

What a very specific and detailed description of the note. Purple wax is particularly extra of them, I have to say. And not in keeping with the colour scheme.

I have a feeling that the green and white are going to be associated with something I have no knowledge of, a badge or flag of some Spanish political movement or other. I also feel like the mixed race cook is going to be important in some way, but I don't know enough about the politics of Spain and its colonial empire at the end of the 19th century to make any guesses.

Green baize is a snooker/billiards table, though, usually. The open and shut might be shutters painted in different colours as some sort of signal to people outside (or an indication of the house Garcia is supposed to go to, but there would have to have been previous instructions in that case, because otherwise it could be any house in the country.)

These are clearly directions and instructions. I kind of want Aloysius Garcia to be an assassin now, and these are indications of where he can find his next hit. But why they would specify a snooker table, I don't know. Although there were probably card tables lined with green baize as well. It is the fabric, rather than the table itself.

But clearly he was killed either because of following these instructions or before he could follow them.

“I'm bound to say that I make nothing of the note except that there was something on hand, and that a woman, as usual, was at the bottom of it.”

Once again, we have feminine handwriting. And, as a woman, I don't know whether to be amused, proud, or insulted that apparently we're at the bottom of everything. All three, I suppose.

“As to Garcia,” said Gregson, “that is easily answered. He was found dead this morning upon Oxshott Common, nearly a mile from his home. His head had been smashed to pulp by heavy blows of a sandbag or some such instrument, which had crushed rather than wounded."

If his head has been bashed in that badly, how sure are you that it's Mr Garcia at all? Who identified the body? I mean, if you were an assassin bumping people off, it would be terribly convenient if people just happened to mistake the body of your victim for you. Terribly convenient.

"...but his assailant had gone on beating him long after he was dead. It was a most furious assault."

Either a crime committed with absolute rage and no forethought or the complete opposite where the beating continued specifically until the body was unrecognisable.

“This is very painful—very painful and terrible,” said Mr. Scott Eccles in a querulous voice, “but it is really uncommonly hard on me. I had nothing to do with my host going off upon a nocturnal excursion and meeting so sad an end. How do I come to be mixed up with the case?”

Sir? Sir? Excuse me. A man is dead, sir.

Wow... Yeah, this is very hard for you. So very hard for you. I'm glad you didn't get laid last night, Mr Scott Eccles. You did not deserve it. Even if Mr Garcia is secretly an assassin for a group of Spanish revolutionaries, you did not deserve the hot assassin sex. Nope. 'How do you come to be mixed up in the case?' Maybe because you were sleeping in his house and were one of the last people to see him alive? (If he's dead. Not convinced on that point.

“The only document found in the pocket of the deceased was a letter from you saying that you would be with him on the night of his death. It was the envelope of this letter which gave us the dead man's name and address."

Yep, they got his ID from a letter in his pocket. Got to love policing before the days of DNA and fingerprinting. A+ identification methodology right there. No way that could be anyone but Aloysius Garcia.

Also, I am amused by the idea that someone deliberately set up Mr Scott Eccles for this. It's not nice, no, but eh the guy's a bit of a pompous racist asshole, and I doubt he's actually going to be charged with anything. They identified a man from a letter in his pocket after all, clearly they will believe anything.

“He had been there since one o'clock. There was rain about that time, and his death had certainly been before the rain.” “But that is perfectly impossible, Mr. Baynes,” cried our client. “His voice is unmistakable. I could swear to it that it was he who addressed me in my bedroom at that very hour.”

And there's the random one am booty call coming into play. Of course we have no evidence it was one am other than the reported word of the possibly late Mr Aloysius Garcia himself. Making Mr Scott Eccles' role in all of this that of impossible alibi to a dead man.

And is his voice really unmistakeable, or does he just have a Spanish accent? If three men with Spanish accents spoke to you in the dark would you be able to pick out Mr Garcia? I don't trust you to be able to do that.

“There were,” said he, “one or two very remarkable things. Perhaps when I have finished at the police-station you would care to come out and give me your opinion of them.”

I am irritated now because I want to know what these things are, but at the same time I am very impressed with Mr Baynes for not doing the thing I always yell at fictional detectives for doing and revealing key evidence in front of suspects. So... Fine. You win this one. I will be patient.

“I can make nothing of this mystification of Scott Eccles.”

Mystification is an excellent word. If this were a modern novel that would be the title: The Mystification of Scott Eccles.

"There is, on the face of it, something unnatural about this strange and sudden friendship between the young Spaniard and Scott Eccles."

Homophobic!

I know Mr Scott Eccles is kind of a dud, but everyone is someone's type. You can't just assume that because Mr Garcia was hot and young he wouldn't be into that.

Although, yeah, it probably was Victorian Catfish. Which leaves me in two minds. On one hand - hot Spanish assassin... undeniably cool. On the other hand - preying on the closeted gays... not cool. Even if Mr Scott Eccles is a Tory. You can't just have different rules for Tories, as much as you may want them.

"He called upon Eccles at the other end of London on the very day after he first met him, and he kept in close touch with him until he got him down to Esher. Now, what did he want with Eccles? What could Eccles supply?"

"I see no charm in the man. He is not particulary intelligent—not a man likely to be congenial to a quick-witted Latin."

So stereotypical. I've said it before - you can't know what a person's type is just by looking at them. And let's not kinkshame Mr Garcia for what he was into.

"He is the very type of conventional British respectability, and the very man as a witness to impress another Briton. You saw yourself how neither of the inspectors dreamed of questioning his statement, extraordinary as it was.”

Honestly, I wasn't going to question it either, but mostly because of narrative reasons and because the guy just seems too boring to be able to come up with anything halfway as interesting on his own. But I don't think I'd take anything that came out of his mouth as true. Honest, maybe, but factually accurate? Definitely seems the kind of guy to quote opinion as fact.

“Well, my dear fellow, we have already arrived at the conclusion that the massage received by Garcia at dinner was an appointment or an assignation."

I know 'massage' is a typo, but it fits in so well with everything else, that I must point it out.

"As the number of large houses close to Oxshott must be limited, I adopted the obvious method of sending to the agents mentioned by Scott Eccles and obtaining a list of them."

I was so distracted by the illicit romance of it all, that I didn't even think about the size of the house. Seven doors along a corridor is a big house, and if it does have a billiards table, then that's a sign of a big house as well.

Of course, Garcia would still have needed to know where he was going. There are six people in Holmes' list.

I kind of hope it's Ffolliott, just because of the three double letters in his name. But The Dingle and Purdley Place are excellent names, too. As is Nether Walsling. And I didn't even notice that Mr Hynes Hynes is called Mr Hynes Hynes... is that another typo or is he just so good they named him twice? And a Justice of the Peace (or at least I assume that's what JP stands for). Yeah, I take it back. I want it to be Mr Hynes Hynes. And is he the body that was found or is it actually Mr Garcia?

None of the names seems Spanish in origin, but we've already established that the writer of the note was English. Do any of the titles seem like they might be involved in some sort of Spanish political intrigue? The Lord perhaps? He'd be in the House of Lords, so politically involved in the UK. The Justice of the Peace could definitely be involved in something, but probably not internationally. I doubt the reverend is involved in politics, but there's always a chance of someone having turned to the church for redemption after a life of crime. Though Spain is a Catholic country in the main part, especially at this time, afaik, so it would be unusual for someone of that background to turn CofE. Not impossible, but unusual.

Maybe Spain has nothing to do with any of it, though. The colours definitely seemed like a hint towards something, though and political affiliation was the only thing my mind could come up with. If it's just the colours of the shutters in the house then why 'our own colours'? Also, if someone can open and close the shutters of a house, that means an inside person.

"...a fit setting for the wild common over which our road passed and the tragic goal to which it led us."

Is that the tragedy that has already occurred, or is there more tragedy yet to come? Watson?

Also, what was that extra evidence, Mr Baynes? Very rude leaving us hanging like that.

Holmes is of course, right. I am theorising without enough data. I need to put the Spanish thing and any ideas of political motivation aside. While I doubt it's going to be as simple as a clandestine affair, it probably won't be a secret revolutionary group enacting assassinations on foreign ground in order to foment rebellion. Although such things aren't entirely without precedence in the Holmes canon.

And it's entirely possible that we're supposed to accept at face value that the dead guy actually is Aloysius Garcia even if his face was beaten to a pulp and their only evidence of his identity is a letter in his pocket. I know that's been used as a form of identification before and been accurate, and it annoyed me then, too.

Getting away with murder would have been so easy in Victorian times. Just make sure the body is unrecognisable and leave a note on it with your own name and address before disappearing into the night. No one would even think to look for you again.

#Letters from Watson #Sherlock Holmes #Wisteria Lodge #long post

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starlitscars · 3 years ago

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Older Remus Lupin| Valentine one shot| Part 2

Words: 6k (not proof read. possible typos)

Summary: A few days before Valentine, someone begins to send Y/N letters and fancy flowers. She has no idea who's the sender of them. With Hermione and Ron's wedding on the way and other events, she doesn't know what to do. But... She's almost sure of one thing. Remus Lupin never likes the idea of writing letters.

***

February 13

Next morning arrived faster than ever. One day was left to the ceremony and obviously everyone was in a tizzy, running around the house, floors cricking under their steps and noises echoing in the air. Mrs Weasley occasionally scolded one of her children or instructed them to take part in preparation for the upcoming day.

"Ronald Weasley, STOP poking at those desserts. Uh... George, don't encourage your brother-"

"Those wedding presents just need sorting out... MIND YOUR STEP, mind it- no, Fredrick!"

"WILL YOU EVER GROW UP?"

"Arthur... HELP."

You remained in bed for a few minutes, not moving one bit. You were both afraid and excited to open your eyes. Excited, because you had no idea what kind of bombshells and secrets awaited you. Afraid, because you probably wouldn't still know who was the mysterious sender of them.

And last night, you had a chance to figure that out... but you missed it anyway.

When everyone was asleep, you'd stayed up most of the night, pacing around the room and trying to stay awake, so you could see who would show up in the room and set up all those flowers. But despite all your efforts, you fell asleep at the crack of dawn.

You sighed. The sounds that came from downstairs weren't getting slower, so instead of putting a silencing charm in the room, you decided to wake up.

"Ginny," you called for her on the other side of the room, yawning and rubbing your eyes. "Get up before your mum bursts through the door and, and- oh no!" You gasped and clapped a hand over your mouth when your gaze fell on your surroundings.

"Oh please. Seven in the morning? It's Sunday." Ginny woke up with a groan, ruffling her red hair.

But you didn't even notice her. Your attention was set to something else.

Festoons of brilliantly-coloured flowers were spread over the walls, from top to the bottom. Even the ceiling was adorned with them. Ginny's room had turned into a gorgeous wonderland.

All in purple.

Purple Orchids.

This was crazy.

You pushed the sheets off and jumped to your feet, making your way towards the nearest wall. You gently caressed your fingers against the velvety petals and leaned over to get a better view, biting your lip in excitement as you felt the softness of them under your touch.

You smiled, and more blossoms grew between the tiny gaps on the wall.

How could others say that they couldn't see this masterpiece? Maybe they were just teasing you. Maybe this was a part of their prank.

You were clueless.

Shaking your head, you took a deep inhale, taking in the floral scent of the magical flowers that had a faint smell of sweet candy into them too.

Each day was more beautiful than the other one.

"What are you doing, Y/N? Does it smell good?" Ginny asked from behind, catching your attention. You only nodded.

"You know... since Harry's eyes are green, I decided to make a change and paint the walls in green. Mum's still unaware of it though. I had no idea you like the smell of freshly coloured walls."

Your eyes widened in disbelief.

"Huh? Please don't tell me that you can't see these flowers on the wall too. I- I'm losing my mind." You whined, running a hand over your face.

"Wow!" Ginny gazed down at somewhere on the floor, completely ignoring your dropped expression. "Sounds like your secret admirer has a way of playing with colours. First white, then yellow, and now purple."

There sat a new vase at the foot of your bed, filled with a bouquet of fresh Purple Orchids and a bunch of evergreen foliage, all finalized by the third envelope you'd received through the past three days.

She picked the vase and examined it, smile not dropping from her face.

"I, um, I thought you could see the changes on the walls, Ginny."

She stood up and came over to your side, putting her hands on your shoulders.

"Well... of course I can't see them. No one can. Haven't you realized it yet? That means they're only charmed for you to see. You're not losing your mind."

Your heart gave a strange thud.

Ginny then went to your bed and fetched the new envelope, saying something about how excited she was to read one of these letters since she'd only heard about them from Hermione. You nodded absent-mindedly and she wasted no time in tearing it open and scanning the note.

Were the flowers really charmed for you? And only you? This was on another level. You thought of Ginny's words, finally concluding that she was probably right.

"And here you go... that was admirable!" The girl gestured to the letter and handed it to you.

You took it with shaky hands, hoping to see someone's name in it as you swallowed dryly and began to read.

~~~

Purple Orchids,

They represent admiration.

I want you to allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and worship you. I admire you not just for your smile (though it's ravishing and beautiful) and not just for your eyes (though they shine brightly).

I admire you for your strength and courage.

I admire you for the battle scars and war wounds that you so proudly display for the whole world to see. You always stand for the right things, defend your loved ones, and never give up on your values even if the world turns upside down and your beliefs are to be tested in the hardest way possible. That must be so foolish of me and anyone around you to not worship every inch of your exquisite being.

I admire you for your grace, elegance, kindness, compassion and more importantly... your bravery.

Y/N, I admire you, for being you.

And thinking of this fact while I'm writing for you, makes me want you even more. If that's possible.

I hope that you still want me too.

P.S. Don't forget about the delicate petal in the envelope. Just wait one more day.

~~~

There was someone who ardently admired and worshipped you? There was someone who admired you for being yourself and reminded you of your bravery? How could this be possible?

"Just way one more day."

That meant tomorrow...

Your heartbeat began to raise again.

"Do you think our bridesmaid dresses will be ready today? I'm dying to see what colour they're in. Hermione doesn't tell me either. Maybe they're purple... or even yellow." Ginny asked from the front of her dresser while she quickly combed her hair. Probably to get out of the room before Mrs Weasley could barge in.

"Maybe."

"Here's a thought. Find your secret admirer and ask him the colour of our dresses, will you, please?"

Him? Did she know who...

Your head snapped up. You looked at her with suspicion and realization slowly dawned on her face. Keeping an unfazed expression, she straightened her shirt and turned to leave the room with quick steps.

"Wh- Ginny!"

She was out of the door before you could stop her. You chased after her all day long, but she did her best to stay out of your reach and keep herself locked in a room with Harry or helped with the housework to show that she was very, very busy and had no time to answer you.

You had no choice but to wait for the right time and see if you could figure out what she meant by 'him'. So you went outside to help Mr Weasley, Bill and Fleur to put up a large tent at the yard in front of The Burrow. Then you set the tables, decided on decorations with Fleur, arranged the balloons and other fancy items before going back inside.

Fred and George didn't stop messing with Ron, and that surely got on Mrs Weasley's nerves. It was funny to watch how she nagged at Sirius for secretly teaching them some new pranks.

In the evening, when you found Ginny alone in the balcony, you confronted her, in hopes of getting an answer.

"I was just thinking about Harry when I said it, that's all." Was her only reason.

And did it convince you? Probably.

Most of the evening was spent with you trying to comfort Hermione and reassuring her that everything was fine and ready for tomorrow. When she finally gave up and agreed to take a rest, you gave her some alone time.

First thing you noticed after going downstairs was that Charlie had arrived... with his girlfriend. Without a doubt, he was crossed out of your list too.

Now you had an empty list. Great.

Late in the night, you found Mrs Weasley alone in the kitchen and away from the noisy cheerfulness of others. She was looking through the pages of an old photo album. You decided to ask her about the flowers too. You knew it was hopeless, but since it was her house and she was probably the first to know everything, maybe she had some information.

"Mrs Weasley, I was wondering if you knew about the, um, the person who sends me those flower pots?"

The witch put the album aside and quietly wiped her eyes. "Oh... those flowers. The kids told me all about them. I thought you've figured it out on your own by now."

"No, no. It's all really confusing. There's no name tag or sign for me to know who it is."

"Molly!" Mr Weasley called for her from the living room, catching the witch's attention.

"Y/N, dear, wait a little more. You won't regret it." She smiled weakly and exited the kitchen, leaving you there.

Just one more day, the questions lingered in your head until your eyes fell close. You wondered what would happen tomorrow now that you hadn't changed your room anymore.

Purple Orchids were still on the walls.

You still had no idea who was messing with you, but admittedly, all the flowers were astonishingly beautiful.

***

February 14

From the early hours of morning, guests arrived one after the other, adding to the buoyant aroma of the house of Weasleys. To your great delight, or dismay... the Purple Orchids were still at their previous spots, all around the walls that surrounded you.

Nothing had changed.

There was no sign of new letters and flowers anywhere. The three vases were lined at the foot of your bed, shining brightly in the morning sunlight that

No more new flowers.

You had no idea how to feel about it. Happy, because today was your friend's wedding? Sad, because the thought of receiving more flowers was exciting to you? Anxious, because now you couldn't find out who actually sent the gifts? Worried, because today, in a few hours, you had to meet with Remus after so long?

You had many many things to tell him.

What if he had found someone new?

What if he didn't want to see you ever again?

What if he-

"SEE WHO'S AWAKE!" Three girls burst through the door, breaking your train of thoughts and nearly giving you a heart attack.

"Good heavens! You scared me, moonstruck lasses."

"Uh-huh. We'll see who's the moonstruck lass in here." Ginny chuckled, closing the door behind her.

"Moonstruck la- what? What does it mean?" Fleur looked at the three of you confusedly.

Hermione dragged her to a corner and began to spill out her knowledge. Ginny followed behind them as you examined the dresses. "... let me tell you that. Lass means girl and Moonstruck is used for someone who's in love and acts slightly crazy. In general, you take it to a girl who's crazily in love..."

"Or should we just say moony-struck." Ginny leant over and mumbled the words to both of them who quickly nodded in agreement, wearing a knowing smile.

You couldn't possibly hear what she said even if you'd strained your ears. What was up with the whole lot of them?

"What did you just say, Gin?"

She shrugged negligently. "Absolutely nothing... I was saying that we're going to make the prettiest bridesmaids the world has ever seen. Come on... try it on."

You rolled your eyes playfully and grabbed the delicate dress, putting it on and standing in front of the mirror.

It was a beaded floor-length dress with thin spaghetti straps and a piece of ribbon which was tied delicately around its waistline. Shiny little sparkles were embroidered all over its soft chiffon material, finalizing the magical view of the dress in the most elegant and beautiful way possible.

All in a sweet shade of pink. And glittery.

"It's fabulous!"

"You're fabulous." Hermione corrected you.

"Oh my, Y/N, you're going to steal the spotlight tonight. This is mind-blowingly beautiful." Ginny exclaimed in a dreamy voice.

A faint blush crept up your cheeks. "Alright, now don't flatter me."

"Believe it or not, a gorgeous couple are going to make that happen. It's a promise. Though... by the looks of it, you don't have to fight hard. You already got it."

A gorgeous couple?

Your heart sank a bit, old questions rushing back into your head. What if Remus had found someone new? It was going to be an unbearable night if that was true.

"A couple? Do I know them?"

"Patience darling. You'll find out soon, though I guess you know this couple very very well." Fleur put a hand on your shoulder and winked at you through the mirror. "Now get a move on, girls! We don't have the whole day to ourselves."

She briefly glanced at the three vases next to your bed. It went unnoticed by you.

In the following hours, more guests arrived and half of the tent was nearly full. You did each other's makeup and listened with interest as Fleur gave Hermione some useful advice and bragged about the perks of getting married on Valentine's day.

Now all the pink and white adornments made sense. The dress was pink too.

What else was in pink? Oh... the small petals you'd kept so far.

Mrs Weasley came upstairs every five minutes to check on each of you and unmistakably her eyes filled with joyful tears each time her gaze fell on Hermione who looked stunning in her white dress.

You didn't dare to ask the old woman if Remus had made it there yet.

By 4 in the afternoon, everything seemed to be ready and from what you'd seen through the windows, the boys looked charming in their suits. Only you needed to wait some more for the rest of the visitants.

But Mrs Weasley's worried outburst said that everything wasn't actually ready.

"Oh no... something's missing. Ugh, we can't start the ceremony without it."

"What- Where is it?"

"The, umm- the bridal veil. Yeah, Hermione's veil. It's in Sirius' house." Ginny answered.

"Alright, he's probably downstairs. I'm going to call him and he'll fetch whatever you need to-" You went to exit the room and find Sirius, but Hermione stepped at the doorframe, blocking your way.

"No, no. Only you can do that, Y/N."

"I- I can't go there."

Mrs Weasley silently ushered the girls out of the room, dragging you to a corner. Last minute Hermione stopped to pick the small jar of petals and hand it to you.

"Please, dear. You know it's not about the veil. You've left an important part of yourself at 12 Grimmauld place. We'll be right here, waiting for you."

She gave you a comforting smile and left you alone in the room. None of them even gave you a chance to complain. You paced back and forth for a few minutes, not trying to hide your panicked state.

Grimmauld place was full of your old memories. How could they ask you to go there?

Knowing that you had no other choice but to go there, you took a deep breath and seized your wand, apparating to that place in a blink of an eye.

It was empty, dark and unbelievably cold. A thin layer of dust was prominent over the torn portraits on the wall and the oak door that led to the kitchen was slightly ajar.

Memories started flooding back to your head the moment you began to walk and step a foot on the cold floor of 12 Grimmauld place. It was a weird feeling. You knew where this was going and at the same time, you didn't know anything.

You peered over at the living room, hearing the muffled sounds of the past.

"So, tell me... Do you love him, Y/N?" Hermione asked in a low whisper, sitting next to you on the couch.

"Oh my god, do I love him? If I had a flower for everytime I thought of that man, I could walk through my garden forever. I- I think it's love." You fiddled with the cup of coffee in your hand, finding it impossible to not love Remus Lupin.

"I think he loves you too. Yeah... he does."

You gave the girl a questioning look, as if to ask her "How so?"

"Oh, haven't you noticed it yet? He can't stop staring at you during the Order's meeting... It's not new. He's been acting like a dreamer for almost two years by now. In fact, he's staring at you even now-"

POP

A sudden sound echoed in the narrow hallway and disturbed the silence of the place, causing you to jump in surprise.

A small neon arrow had appeared out of thin air, lighting up the space that surrounded you. It was right above your head, directed to the staircase.

You raised a brow, wondering if you had to follow up with it and make your way upstairs. Having no other choice, curiosity outweighed your fear and you walked up the creaky stairs.

The arrow took a turn and vanished behind the door of your old room.

You followed swiftly and pushed the door open, heart beating fast inside your chest. The arrow stood still over a wooden table in the corner of the room, pointed at an envelope that was placed there.

But you caught sight of something else and a chill ran down your spine.

A wardrobe. Your wardrobe.

You hesitantly made your way to the dust-covered wardrobe, pulling its door open with shaky hands. Your gaze instantly fell on the familiar white stack that was laid forgotten in a dark corner.

All the letters you never sent to him.

You didn't need to squint your eyes or rummage through the shelves to see that your old diary was right there too, a few inches away. This was a hard moment, knowing that once upon a time that diary was your inseparable company... whenever Remus was miles away in a tough mission. All your lovey-dovey midnight talks under the roof of this room were recorded in its pages.

Remus never fancied the idea of writing letters, you reminded yourself. You could exactly remember the day you'd it from him. That was the reason you'd decided to buy that diary...

There was this one night when you were curled up into his lap next to the fireplace, only hours before Remus had to leave you again. You were complaining with him about the fact that he never wrote you any letters, saying that you had to memorize and write down his words to read them later whenever he was on a mission for weeks.

"Remus, why don't you just write one letter? Just one." You pouted sadly, resting your head against his chest to listen to the melodious beat of his heart.

The only natural way you knew that could distract you from breaking down and crying in front of him.

He chuckled softly, tightening his arms around you as he left a kiss on your hair.

"I- I don't like the idea of sending you letters. Look... as long as I have the chance to meet your pretty face, hear your enchanting voice and see your precious reaction while I say what I want to say to you, I don't feel the need to be away and trust the written words to do what they can't truly do."

A lump formed in your throat, ready to make you cry at any moment.

You put all the hesitations aside and took a deep breath, reaching out to grab the diary. There was a reason behind all these incidents.

Brushing off the thin layer of dust from its cover, you flipped through the pages and randomly came across a page, immediately remembering what the memory was about. The last memory you'd recorded in it. Words were scribbled down rapidly, causing your handwriting to look horrible. You chuckled lightly, reading through it.

_______

The day Remus called me 'my love' and I asked him why:

"Y/N, I call you my love because I know no other name in which to call you," He paused, placed a sweet kiss on my cheek and hugged me tightly before continuing. "I could call you my rose, but the petals of the rose die and wither after some time, unlike the light and liveliness I see in your eyes. I could call you my sunshine, but it's not just about sunny days and pure lights. My love for you doesn't dissipate when you're made of dark shadows and cracks of lightning too. I could call you many pretty names, but I will call you my love because that is what you mean most to me."

I can just melt away from how lovely this man is.

God, I'm sure he saw my rosy cheeks. I, I can't- I want to cry so badly right now.

_______

Then there were dried stains at the bottom of the page, indicating that you had in fact cried your heart out the moment he'd closed the door and left.

You flipped to the next page, coming across a new note. But it was completely different from your previous notes. Your eyes instantly widened as you recognized the new handwriting. You were shocked for a long while.

It was exactly like the three letters you'd received during the past few days.

But how? Was it there all along and you were unaware of it?

_______

My precious Y/N, time was running out the last time we talked together. I hope you don't mind me reading out a few pages of your diary. I'm writing this to let you know that I wasn't finished with what I was saying that day and there's more to tell, hoping that it'll fulfill your dreams and make up for all the letters I never wrote.

Love is the way I feel when I hear your breathing while you're sleeping peacefully in my arms. Love is that captivating look on your face that makes me forget everything. Love is the way you turn our moments into forever with a single word or a gentle touch of your hands. You can melt my heart completely and put it all back together with your presence. As simple as that. The only word I can use for these feelings is Love.

Love is the way you rub your feet against mine and admittedly it's the only natural way I know to sleep, and love is the way I feel my eyes tear with happiness to be writing to you now.

My darling, I write to you with no other intentions, but to explain to you how you're the passion that helps me get through the day and put all these tough days behind. You're an angel and a friend, and you're everything I want, because I wouldn’t know how to be if I had to be without you.

And yes, I happened to see your blush and it's admirably cute. As always.

If you could see what you do with my heart whenever you blush like that, you'd do it every single day.

P. S. Your handwriting is marvelous, by the way. Take care of yourself for me.

_______

The writing style, the speacial PS parts. It was from Remus. It was the way he wrote his letters.

And you hadn't even seen this page for months.

All of it was from Remus. You weren't mistaken. He was your secret admirer.

You put the diary aside and shook your head in disbelief as you strode towards the table to grab his latest letter.

But just as you took a hold of the white envelope, your surroundings started to twist and disappear from your sight, dragging you out of the house.

It was a port key.

Seconds later, your feet landed softly on the ground, next to a cottage. You were practically used to all the surprising events by now, so you quickly collected yourself and looked around. The field around the cottage was filled with fresh grass that rippled freely in the air. Sun was dipping down and disappearing behind the mountains, throwing its red and orange glow all over the ground.

The whole view was breathtakingly beautiful, making you wish you could live there forever.

The neon arrow led you towards the cottage and you followed it with slow steps. Its front door was opened and a dim pink light was coming out from the inside.

If what you saw outside was breathtakingly beautiful, you had no idea what to choose for the new scenery that made you gasp out loud.

It was a true wonderland, much better than what you'd ever seen. Much better than all the Jasmines, Sunflowers and Purple Orchids.

It was all in red and pink.

The pink light from earlier was coming from the enchanted ceiling above you. Little sparkles and stars were raining down from it, covering the velvety petals of the flowers.

Lush bushes of red rose were gathered all around the floor and over the walls. Some pink roses could be seen between them too. They gently rustled in the wind that came in through the open window, causing a delightful and lingering fragrance to waft through the air and fill your lungs.

How could Remus do all of these?

Right when you tore your gaze away from the flowers and ripped open the envelope to read the last letter, the neon arrow that had led you here exploded above you and turned into countless red petals that softly fell down on you.

You found it hard to breathe by each passing second. Your heart couldn't take all of his amazingness.

~~~

My dearest Y/N,

Red roses convey love. Yeah, love... this four letter word that took me four years to realize the deepest meanings it carried inside.

I love you

enough to fight in the hardest battles for you, and genially sacrifice myself if need be. Enough to miss you incredibly when we're apart, regardless of the long distance and infinite time.

I love you

enough to believe in what's between us, and stand by it through the worst of times. Enough to have complete faith in our boundless strength as a couple... and enough to never give up on us.

I love you

enough to blissfully spend the rest of my life with you, be there for you when you need me, or want me. Enough to never ever want to leave you or live without you. I love you this much.

Well... even though this letter isn't the most poetic of all, I sincerely and honestly poured my heart into it. And yet... I feel that something is incomplete in here. I still don't fully trust the words to do this truly and have a nice ending, because...

~~~

"... I love you much more than that."

A familiar voice came from behind you. Your heart skipped a beat... and skipped all the beats when you turned around.

He was standing there next to the now-closed door, only a few feet away from you, sporting a nice dark suit and looking more healthy, handsome and charming than the last time you remembered from him. Time slowed down when your eyes met.

You couldn't bring yourself to move. Your feet were stuck to the floor. You couldn't remember how it felt to breathe or talk. Your mind was in a trance.

He gave you that endearing smile. One of those smiles that never failed to take your breath away.

It was the last straw. Tears began to stream down your cheeks, causing your vision to go blurry.

"Remus."

His name was all you could manage. Your legs gave away and you nearly lost your balance, but he was quick to make his way towards you and hug you into his arms. You were finally at home.

He was finally at home.

You stood there for long minutes, reveling in each other's presence. Remus couldn't believe that the hard times were finally over and he had you back.

"You came here..."

But he could believe it the moment he heard you calling his name.

"I love you too. I shouldn't have fought with you, Remus. I shouldn't have let you go." You snuggled into his chest, your shaky voice muffled into a whisper.

"Shh, please don't cry, angel." He whispered softly, caressing your hair with his fingers. The feeling was like no other. "It was foolish of me to give up and leave. We both made mistakes, but now look... we needed to be apart from each other for some time. If anything, distance made me love and yearn for you a million times more."

You pulled back to look into his warm eyes. He brought a hand up and wiped away your tears. You were certainly sure that you were breathing the same air.

It warmed your insides.

"You, Remus John Lupin, have a way of making everything look so easy. You called me moon and stars, but I was lightless without you." You confessed truthfully, resting your hand on his cheek. "I should've told you that. I always dream of you. You so perfectly made me feel warm and healed and... yeah. I want you more than anything else in the world. I love you, so maddeningly much."

His smile got wider. He tightened his grip around your waist. "I love you too, sweetest thing."

His gaze was locked into your starry eyes for what felt like an eternity. Then it drifted to your cheeks... oh there it was, those adorable blushes of you. Then down to your lips. He couldn't help it.

He wanted to kiss you, just as much as you wanted him to.

Remus looked up into your eyes again, one of his hands gently holding the back of your neck.

"May I?"

You nodded and he closed the gap between you, your lips connecting together into a sweet and tender kiss. His other hand ran up and down your bare back, giving you butterflies.

A few blessed minutes passed.

"I see that you brought the petals, hm?" He said when you pulled back for air, having spotted the small jar you were carrying earlier. His eyes glinted with something you didn't know what.

But you knew why there were four petals. Four years of knowing and loving each other, through highs and lows. That was it.

The man enjoyed your wonderstruck expression while he pulled out the pink petals and put them next to each other.

He pointed his wand at them and seconds later they turned into a floral crown with pink buds of rose and tiny green leaves adorning it. It was mesmerizing. He placed it upon your head, stood aside and smiled widely.

You were speechless.

"Pink roses for happiness. Because you make me happy in a way no one else can," His eyes gleamed with adoration as he took your hands in his and spoke. "Will you be mine? Will you be my Valentine?"

"Always."

He beamed at that and placed your hands on his shoulders while his arm snaked around your waist, drawing you closer to him.

"Do you think we have a little bit of time for something?" He asked hopefully, casting a brief glance at the clock on the wall.

Still enchanted by the feeling of him standing this close to you and holding you into his embrace, you weren't on your right mind to decide what to do, but somewhere deep in your heart, you were sure that you needed more alone time with him. Even if it was just a second or two.

"I feel like we do."

"Great, then." Remus pulled out his wand again and directed his attention to somewhere in the corner before flicking it in the air. He quickly stuffed it back in his pocket and tightened his hold around your waist, nodding calmly as a response to your questioning look.

Seconds later a soft melody rose from the rocord player and filled the air, adding to the lingering romance of the place.

He wanted you to dance with him.

For a fleeting moment, right in the middle of that cottage, all the disturbing thoughts started to rush through your head, causing you to doubt yourself and tense up a bit. What if you messed it up? What if you couldn't dance well and match his-

"I've got you." He interrupted and smiled reassuringly, stopping the thoughts from affecting your heart.

In your heart, you knew how to dance with Remus and that was enough to keep you moving.

Oh how well he could read your mind.

Remus slowly began to move and waltz around on the wooden floor, holding you delicately as his determined eyes silently talked with you. You followed suit and soon realized how easy and endearing it was to dance with this man, just like how it used to be... Just like the nights of past memories in the burning candlelight of his office or the dim light of the moon in your room at Grimmauld place.

You always matched each other perfectly.

Remus was in awe as he swayed you, his dearest angel, around. He was almost sure that this was the sweetest dream he'd ever had... and if it wasn't for you resting your head against his chest, he would assume that this was all in his imagination and he'd lost his mind. He believed it all over again.

Remus was the luckiest man in the whole universe. He was living in the middle of his sweetest dream. You were his. It was real.

"Precious..."

He leaned down pressed a kiss onto your hair, inhaling deeply and getting lost into your intoxicating scent.

By now the whole room was resounding with the soft rhythm of the song. The flowers were still there. The sweet scent of them was still in the air. You were still alive... and you still belonged to Remus.

The song came to an end. This was by far the best Valentine you've ever had.

"You're breathtaking, you know that?" Remus cooed into your ear, not wanting to let go just yet.

But there was a wedding, waiting for you.

"Now I know. It's because you're standing here with me."

You went to drag him to the door in an attempt to hide your playful smile, but he cut you off fleetly, giving you one long kiss. You wrapped your hand around his neck and let your other hand run through his hair as you kissed him back with the same amount of passion.

After a minute or so, he slowly pulled back and cupped your cheeks, smiling tenderly.

"They're gonna hate us, aren't they?"

"And why's that?" You asked impishly, pretending to be clueless. Only now you noticed his tie was pink too.

Oh... you were the gorgeous couple Fleur had talked about.

"To be fair, we're late and well..." He looked you up and down.

"If I'm being honest... we're going to steal the spotlight anyway." You finished with a wink and he let out a hearty laugh, holding your hand and casting one last look at you before apparating to The Burrow.

They were right. You were the moonstruck lass.

A girl, crazily in love, with him... Moony.

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧:

58 notes · View notes

jimlingss · 4 years ago

Note

I saw that u were taking requests (yey) I'd want like a soulmate au (there are numerous kinds but I want u to have freedom to write what kind u want!) but it's just pure angst 😳😳 it could be any member n possibly an open or no happy ending :] I'm just a sucker for angst n think u would write this so well!

Anonymous said: Yoongi x reader, soul mate au, angsty but happy ending pls cuz I'm sensitive 🥺 maybe both soul mates get a weird tattoo, or hear each others thoughts or something else

Both these requests are asking for soulmate AUs, so I’m compiling them together. But one wants it to be angst city and the other wants a happy ending LOL. Guess we’ll see what happens.

�� The Soulmate Gift

3.6k || 70% Angst, 30% Fluff || Min Yoongi || Soulmate!AU

Warning: depiction of child abuse

It happens when you’re ten.

They told you it was different for everyone, that it usually started during puberty and it was perfectly normal. But you’re pretty sure it’s not supposed to be like this.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

You flinch at the noises, the bathroom door quivering against the frame from the pounding on the other side. Your mom shouts, “Get out!”

“Just give me one second!” You look back into the mirror, staring at yourself with seaweed green hair and streaks of bright purple. You look like a clown and you want to cry.

You don’t run into your mom on your way out, so you go to school with a tattered baseball cap, stuffing all of your hair in it. During the trudge to school with a grumbling stomach, you hold the cap tight against your skull, not letting a single strand loose. You’re nervous on the playground, your other hand coming to grip at your backpack strap. But luckily, no one asks.

At least not until you’re inside and getting settled into your desk.

“Good morning, class!” Mrs. An struts into the room, beelining towards the front. “Open your books! Tommy, shush!” You try your best to hide beneath your open textbook that’s propped up, but the moment she looks in your direction, she’s already saying, “Y/N, no hats inside.”

You straighten. “Um, my mom—”

“Rules are rules. Take it off,” she commands without leaving room to argue or explain. “This is the last time I’ll repeat myself unless you want detention.”

So you do.

You slip the cap off your head with tears stinging your eyes.

Mrs. An turns to the whiteboard, beginning to write the title for today’s lesson, but a loud gasp from the classmate sitting behind you captures her attention again. She swivels on her feet and her eyes land straight on your head. Everyone’s eyes do. On your stark, fiery red hair.

Your cheeks burn in embarrassment.

The next thing you know, you’re being dragged by your teacher into the principal's office. From the hall, you can still hear the entire classroom giggling, whispering about you and making a complete ruckus much to Mrs. An’s dismay.

“This is unbelievable!” she howls, hands lifted to the sky. “How could a fifth grader have hair like this?! It’s entirely inappropriate! It’s a complete distraction to the classroom!”

The principal, Mr. Park, hums. His hands are clasped on top of his desk and he calmly asks, “Did your parents dye your hair yesterday, Y/N?”

You slump and mutter, “No.”

He frowns. “Then who did?”

“No one…”

Mrs. An spits, “Then you did it yourself?!”

“No!” Your voice pitches in an attempt to defend yourself and your teeth sink into the bottom of your lip, trying to hold back your tears. You don’t want to get into trouble. “I woke up like this!”

But Mrs. An doesn’t believe you. Her eyes narrow and she scoffs. “How dare you lie to me and the principle?! If you didn’t do it, then who did? It’s against the rules to have anything other than your natural hair colour!”

Mr. Park sighs lightly. “We’ll just have to contact your mom and speak to her, Y/N.”

Immediately, your eyes widen and you bolt to a stand. “No, please!” you cry out. “Don’t! I’m sorry! I’ll dye it back! I won’t do it ever again!”

But the man shakes his head. “It’s too late for that.”

Your fist crumples and you deflate.

Your mom comes in half an hour later, dressed in stained jeans, old boots, and the only clean flannel she has. She’s not happy. You can tell by the look on her face. Even if she smiles and nods her head at the principal, you can see the tick in her eye and the muscle in her cheek twitching.

The moment she looks at you, her eyes become rounded at your crimson hair.

“I had no idea this happened. I’m so sorry for her behaviour. She must’ve gotten her hands onto my dye kits somehow.” She sighs and turns to you. “It won’t happen again. Right, Y/N?”

You nod. “I’m sorry.”

Mr. Park smiles softly. “Not at all. It’s not that big of a deal. Some...teachers around here just adhere more strongly to the rules, so we want to make sure it’s consistent for everyone. It’s a bit of a distraction to her peers, but as long as Y/N comes in tomorrow with more...appropriate hair, it won’t be a problem.”

Afterwards, you’re sent home early.

Your mom is silent on the walk home. You trail after her, dreading what will happen when you get back.

The neighbours’ dog barks against the chain link fence, growling and baring their teeth. You flinch, getting closer to the gutter to avoid them. You’re safe when you get to your yard a few steps away and onto the worn, wooden porch that nearly breaks with your mom’s stomps. She kicks a few cigarette buds to the side and opens the squeaky screen door. You swallow hard and follow after her.

The living room is messy with clothes and old pizza boxes on the floor, and the TV is still on in the corner.

“Mom….mom….I didn’t do it.”

You drop your backpack, watching her stride towards the kitchen. She opens a drawer as you plead to her, and your voice becomes louder as the silver reflection of sharp scissors catches your eye. “No! Please! I swear I’m not lying!”

It’s useless.

She’s larger, taller, bigger and stronger than you are.

She comes over and grabs your long hair, yanking it from your head. You cry as she starts to cut. Jagged lines, quick snips, sawing off the strands. A sob breaks through your chest and trying to get away only makes her grip on your hair tighten and she pulls it to get you back.

Mom grits her teeth. “How dare you go behind my back and cause my trouble, you bitch. You stole my dye, didn’t you?! You thief!”

You scream and cry. “I didn’t! I didn’t!”

She never once notices how your hair returns to its natural colour as it sheds to your feet. That the moment it’s snipped from your head, the blazing red has faded away and lost the colour.

When it’s over, the scissors are tossed on the floor.

You’re left slumped on the ground, in a pool of your own hair. There are bald spots on your scalp while the other side is longer, uneven. What’s left of your head bleeds bright yellow, the colour of sunshine.

The next day, the shade mellows out, almost into a dirty blonde. You hope it’s good enough.

Your mom’s asleep on the sofa, snoring away with the TV still playing in the background. So you make it past her and trudge to school.

Kids are playing on the playground when you get there and you grip your backpack straps as you look on. But you don’t join them. Your feet turn and you duck out of sight, slipping into the school through the side doors. You’re lucky the janitor hasn’t locked them.

You’re not supposed to be inside the building yet, but you hope no one notices. Unluckily, someone turns the corner down the hall. But you breathe a sigh of relief when it’s just Mrs. Jung.

She’s always been nice.

“Good morning.”

She’s busy tapping on her phone, yet in a chirpy voice, she still exclaims, “Good morning! How are you—”

Mrs. Jung finally looks up and she suddenly stops.

You don’t know why her face looks like that. Like she’s seen a ghost. Is your hair really that bad? You tried to fix it and you thought it turned out okay.

Mrs. Jung gets closer and then lowers to a kneel in front of you, matching your height. Her shaking hand lifts and she touches the side of your head. You feel her fingertips against your scalp that still stings. You hiss and when you look at her, you see tears in her eyes. You wonder why.

“Who did this?” Her voice is quiet, gentle.

“Um….I was playing with scissors.”

Mrs. Jung looks at you again and says, “You’re allowed to tell me, Y/N.”

You stay quiet, not sure what to tell her, not sure you want to get into any more trouble. If you do and get sent to the principal's office again, who knows what your mom would do then.

But as you’re thinking about it, Mrs. Jung adds on, “No one will get into trouble, I promise.”

She looks into your eyes.

Your head droops, downcast vision looking at the floor. A quiet mumble escapes— “My mom.”

You’re not sure what happens after that. You’re sure your mom would be enraged if she knew you were talking about her and if you got her into trouble, that would be the worst. But for some reason, you don’t feel scared. Not when Mrs. Jung takes your hand and brings you to her science classroom.

You sit behind her desk that’s hidden away from the rest of the class by bookshelves and she gives you an apple juice box. You slurp it up — you haven’t eaten since yesterday’s lunch.

When you peek out, you see Mrs. Jung talking to another teacher in the hall. Soon after, the principle comes to visit you. He has the same expression as Mrs. Jung did and asks you if your mom’s done something like this before.

That day, your grandma picks you up from school. It’s a pleasant surprise. You’ve always liked your grandma but your mom never let her visit much. She hugs you tight.

The colour of your hair is a warm shade of gray.

...

Mrs. Jung takes you on a one-on-one special field trip on Sunday. She picks you up from Grandma’s house after you’ve had your favourite for breakfast: sunny-side up eggs. She drives you to the clinic and the female doctor hits your knee, making it bounce. The doctor also measures how tall you are, shines a light in your eye and asks if green is your favourite colour.

You see in the wall mirror that your head’s turned into a teal shade. You tell her no.

Half an hour later, you’re put in a machine that flashes lots of colours. They reassure you but you’re not scared. The vivid hues and mosaic of shades that blur past your eyes are pretty.

When it’s done, the doctor holds a clipboard while sitting next to the computer. Your legs swing from the edge of the examination table as you’re situated comfortable on the plush seat.

“It’s as I initially suspected, the hair is her soulmate gift. It changes colour based on her soulmate’s emotions.”

Mrs. Jung frowns. “I’ve never heard of something like that before.”

“Yes, well, it’s much more rare. Only point zero six experience a hair quirk.” The doctor looks from Mrs. Jung to you then back at her again. “Typically, as you know, soulmate gifts come in the form of names tattooed into skin or even countdowns of when the person would meet their soulmate, but soulmate gifts can take all kinds of different shapes and forms. Luckily, this shouldn’t affect her too much aside from, obviously, her hair changing color. Kids usually receive their gift around puberty, but looks like she’s an early bloomer.”

The doctor briefly smiles at you and then rolls on her chair towards her desk. “She’s also malnourished, but I believe with the proper nutrition, she’ll be able to recover. We should book another appointment in a few months to keep an eye on that and the hair.”

When the trip to the clinic is over, Mrs. Jung brings you to the mall.

You look around with wide eyes at all the clothes in the windows, but she eventually stops in front of a particular store and kneels in front of you. Her eyes lock into yours and she takes your hand.

“Y/N, you understand what the doctor told you, right?”

“Yeah. My hair’s my soulmate gift.” You had guessed it was that anyway.

Mrs. Jung nods with a smile. “Yes, you’ve always been a smart girl.”

She strokes your head affectionately and says, “I know you might not feel it now, but it really is a gift. Your soulmate is the one meant for you, your other half. They’re the one who can make you even happier. It’s both a blessing and a privilege to have. But it’s also okay if you hate it. You don’t have to like your soulmate gift,” she reassures. “If one day, you’re more comfortable with your hair, then that would be good. But it’s also okay if you’re not. It’s up to you.”

You nod after a moment.

Mrs. Jung smiles. “We’re gonna go into that wig shop, okay? You can pick two that you like and I’ll help you get it.”

Picking out wigs is more fun than you expect. The people there are happy to help and you end up going home with one black, long hair wig and another brown bobbed one that makes you look like Rapunzel after she cut her hair.

...

You only see your mom three times after that.

Once, she comes to your grandma’s house. Your grandma doesn’t let her see you, but you watch them yell at each other on the porch from the upstairs window. The next time is a year later in court. Your mom cries out for you and you tell her you’re sorry. Her hug is so tight, you can barely breathe.

The last is a visit on your own accord years later.

The small house you spent your childhood in is falling apart, windows broken, trash in the yard. You find her sitting on the armchair with a hazy expression, TV playing in the corner. She’s in the same exact position as if you never left. You put a blanket over her, but she stirs awake and sees you. She asks to borrow a hundred dollars.

Your mom winds up throwing a dirty plate your way when you give her twenty. It’s all you have on you.

You don’t realize the significance of what Mrs. Jung’s done for you until years later after you’ve long graduated elementary. So you visit her during High School with a thank you card and a bouquet of flowers. She’s gotten old by then, but she still remembers. She cries and hugs you tight. It feels comforting. And her hand brushes against the strands of your baby blue locks.

Grandma helps you grow out your hair again and is one of the people who help you become comfortable in it. By university, you’ve discarded your wigs in favour of your real hair that’s gotten luscious and shiny. Your friends think it's the coolest thing they’ve ever seen and some people approach you to tell you they love it and ask where you got it done.

You tell them it’s your soulmate gift.

Throughout the years, you pick at the ends of your hair and keep track of its changes in your diary. It becomes a habit to play with your hair, to memorize the shade it morphs to. You find that during the winter seasons, your hair becomes white often. One day, it turns white twenty six times.

On Valentine’s Day one year, your hair stays solid pink the whole day. And on another, it’s black for an entire week in April.

You start to hypothesize on the data you collect, noting the frequency of the hair colour changes, of each shade. You suspect hues of yellow signify happiness, reds are anger, blues are sadness, white is when your soulmate is cold. You’re not so sure about the others—

“Y/N.”

Seokjin is leaning on your cubicle as you shut your journal, having recorded your hair turning into a shade of lilac.

“Boss man wants to see you.”

Your eyes widen and you stumble up, pushing your small office chair back. “What for?”

The man shrugs. “Beats me. I wouldn’t worry about it though. It’s not like he’s going to fire you………..right?”

Seokjin grins, but his joke only spurs more nerves on you.

You get to the door, smooth out your pencil skirt and with a deep breath, you knock.

“Come in.”

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Min?”

You step inside his office, finding him looking into a small table mirror at his desk. He’s peering at his left eye and bats his lash several times. But then he sets the mirror down and looks at you.

“Yes, please take a seat.”

You clear your throat and sit in the chair across from him. The mirror is propped up in your direction, and you notice how your hair turns into a shade of monotone gray. It starts at the roots, bleeding downwards until all the strands have altered completely.

You pipe up, “If this is about the Jeon files, sir, I already redid them.”

“No, that’s not it.” He rubs his left eye that’s watering and then blinks. “Actually, I wanted to have a conversation about this for a while. Joy was supposed to talk to you about this, but she’s busy at the moment.”

Joy from HR.

You’re immediately on alert. “Yes, sir.”

Mr. Min says, “It’s about your hair.”

Oh.

He rubs his eye and then clasps his hands together on top of his desk. “Recently, we received a customer complaint that your hair was unprofessional.”

“It’s my soulmate gift.”

“Yes. I know. You mentioned it during your interview. But it still could be considered a distraction in the workplace.”

The word ‘distraction’ has a muscle by your brow jumping. It makes you practically bristle as déjà vu washes over you. But you aren’t ten anymore. You don’t have to be afraid.

You straighten. “With all due respect, I don’t think it’s a requirement for me to have to change my hair. This is out of my control….sir.”

Suddenly, your hair turns a faint hue of red.

Mr. Min’s brow raises as if he didn’t expect you to be so difficult. “It’s part of the rules to have business appropriate attire in the office.”

“Attire yes, but there is nothing referring to hair,” you quietly assert.

His jaw shifts and he leans back into his seat. “Well, we’ll have to confirm if that’s true with HR—”

“I already did,” you interrupt him with a meek smile and as an afterthought, you add, “sir.”

Your hair turns a stronger shade of red. From pastel to a raspberry. Your pupils flicker to the mirror on his desk and your brows furrow as you notice it.

Mr. Min breaks you out of your trance and you redirect your attention to him again. “Is it impossible to make it less of a distraction?” he asks while rubbing his eye that’s tearing up again.

“If it becomes a requirement for me to wear wigs to work every day and not an expectation for others, sir, then the company should pay for it, put it on for me each morning and help me maintain it.” Your hair turns a stronger shade of red — crimson — as Mr. Min rubs his eye more incessantly. You add, “With all due respect, I don’t consider my hair a distraction at all. It is out of my control and it isn’t my fault if others are distracted. It has to do with their attention span.”

He stands. “That’s enough.”

At the same time, from his watered eye, you see something fall out.

You point. “Umm, sir…”

“Shit,” he mutters underneath his breath and looks to the carpet. You stand there for a delayed second before deciding to help him. You round his desk and descend to the ground where he is. All he says is, “It’s a contact lens.”

It’s a surprise to you considering you didn’t know he wore them.

But you quickly spot the transparent half-sphere. “Oh, it’s over there. By your foot.”

Mr. Min frowns. “Where?”

He looks up to see where you’re pointing. Your faces are inches away and instantly your eyes widen. A quiet gasp leaves your lungs. Not because of your close proximity but because Mr. Min’s iris is a fading red. And as confusion takes you, it morphs into a shade of gray.

Blooming outwards from his pupil, colour swirling into place.

“Your eye…” you murmur.

He mumbles, “It’s a soulmate gift.”

Yoongi grabs the brown colour contact lens, cursing at how it’s gotten dirty. But before he can get up, your hands latch onto his wrist, fingers digging into his skin and you tell him, “Wait.”

“What?”

There’s an unquenchable thirst to test the hypothesis that’s dawned upon you.

So when your hair starts to turn into gray as well, you surge forward on sheer intuition. And you kiss your boss, Min Yoongi. Your lips press against his, enough to register how soft and velvet his mouth is, long enough to feel his vanilla chapstick transfer onto your lips. But it’s a chaste peck. Shy and hesitant. And you pull away just as quickly.

Yoongi falls back on his butt with eyes nearly falling out of their sockets.

Immediately, you look over to the mirror on his desk. Your hair is turning from gray to red with faint streaks of cotton candy pink.

You gaze back at Yoongi to find his iris is peony pink.

“D-Did you just kiss me?!”

“Umm, sir, with all due respect, I believe you’re my soulmate.”

The words to dawn upon him. For the first time, your strands of hair morphs into a soft, pastel pink and his irises match the same shade.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #bts drabble #yoongi angst #yoongi fanfic #yoongi reader insert #yoongi fluff #maso-cxhi #HOPEFULLY this is sufficient #it was definitely hard to balance out some extreme angst while also delivering some fluff lol

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boldlyvoid · 4 years ago

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Amoreena | chapter eleven

chapter eleven

main summary: Heaven is a real place and it's located exactly 14.6 miles away from the FBI, Quantico Headquarters. Off behind a small park, under a fantastical willow tree surrounded by wildflowers, in every colour young minds can imagine.

Don't forget, heaven also comes with angels.

Chapter Warnings: Y/N POV: details of what happened to Stephen, her grandmas cancer, and very detailed explanations of how babies are made (as biologically accurate and not very graphic as possible) this is an angsty trauma filled chapter that made me cry a lot just writing it so I'm sorry in advance

word count: 3K

from the beginning <3

June 13th, 2010

There’s a knock on her parent's door at 4 in the morning, Y/N’s sound asleep on the couch back at her grandma’s, awoken by said grandmother as she hears all the noise beyond the porch. There are 2 cop cars at the main house, worry starts to settle over them.

She puts on a pair of shoes, taking her grandmother's hand in hers as they begin the early morning trek up the road, anxiety seeping in deeper and deeper as they get closer to the lights illuminating their driveway.

Her father is talking to an officer on the steps, her mother is crying behind him. “We’re so sorry for your loss,” the officer says and Y/N’s blood runs cold, numbing her from the impending despair.

“What happened?” Her grandmother asks, rubbing a hand along Y/N’s back in preparation for the worst.

“Evan was in a car accident,” her father says softly, knowing that Y/N knows Stephen was with him tonight. She breaks away from her grandma and without thinking she’s right in the officer's face.

“Which one of them died?”

“Ma’am,” it was never a good way to start the worst conversation of her life with that word or in that tone. She felt like a '40s housewife learning her husband wasn’t coming home from the war, only he wasn’t even her husband yet.

He would have been on next Saturday.

“I’m sorry, Stephen was pronounced dead on the scene,” he says the worst sentence she’s ever heard, and now she’ll never forget it. “The passenger side took the worst of it, once again, I am so sorry for your loss.”

She’s surprisingly calm, managing to whisper, “thank you,” before she’s walking off into the field, pushing everyone's hands away as she travels as far as he feet will take her.

She ends up at the willow tree by the pond as soon as the sun is rising, it happened a lot earlier in June than the rest of the year. The birds singing, the wind blowing against the leaves making them carry a tune in harmony together. The world is still spinning, life is moving on, but how?

She sat there against the tree for a while, picking blades of grass and weaving them into a chain, soothing her brain as she makes a pattern. Giving her hands something to do so they stop going numb, it’s the only thing that really reminds her that she's real, that she’s controlling the twists and tucks, the shape and length and the fact that it was created at all.

Ending the life of the single blade of grass as she picks it, never to be whole again. Snatched from its happy place, where it grew loved and surrounded by other matching green strands as they blew in the wind.

Then she's pulling fist full after fist full of grass out of the dirt, her hands covered in mud as she shouts, throwing handfuls of grass and dirt towards the pond. The once blue water starting to turn cloudy; disrupted and upset with her anger as it swallows her weapons, but it doesn’t make her feel better. All she did was disrupt the earth, changing the way this once beautiful patch of land used to look. She couldn’t help but sob, realizing that she was like this field now and her beautiful green pasture was disrupted, overturned and ruined.

The life that flowed through her died along with the love of her life.

“Stephen was pronounced dead on the scene,” the words echo in her mind in a constant circle like she’s stuck in a tin can.

It starts to reverberate, getting louder and louder as the same 7 words all run around in her head. Bouncing off the walls, smacking her down again and again as she hears them over and over and over… she’s holding her hands on her ears, shaking back and forth, sobbing when she feels someone wrap their arms around her.

She doesn’t open her eyes, instead, she's rushing to push them off of her, struggling out of their grasp as she fights them. Finally, she loses, being held in her brother's embrace as they both cry, he barely has a scratch on him when she finally looks at him.

she’s never been physical in her life, but she punched him right in the face. Her twin brother, best friend in childhood and the person she’s known the longest in her life. He held her close in the womb, crying if they separated as soon as they were born, she loved him deeply and yet she hated him something fierce at that moment.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Evan cries, “we were stopped at a red light, Y/N!”

“I don’t care! He was supposed to be my husband!” She swats at him, smacking his arms again and again as he tries to hold them back, holding her so tightly as she basically screams bloody murder in the field.

All she can see is his face, her beautiful happy Stephen. The first time she ever saw him, standing under a street light in Boston, papers in his hand and wonder in his eyes. The way he looked up at her, the glow of the light making a halo glow over his head.

She should have known he was too good to be true. Always destined to return to the heavens, he was truly angelic with his big emerald eyes that were only the tiniest bit yellow on the edge of the pupil, the way her name sounded on his tongue like a blessing coming true.

They buried him 2 days after what was supposed to be their wedding. Disrupting another beautiful patch of earth to hide him away forever, she placed a single rose on his casket, she never said goodbye and she never planned to.

“See you later, superstar,” she patted the glossy black box once last time before sending him down into the earth.

—

September 2012

This fucking willow tree and 7-word sentences…

“What do you mean you have cancer?”

Her grandma let a tear slip from her eye, “I’ve got colon cancer, honey, the doctors said I have another 2 years, maybe 5 if I'm lucky.”

Every time someone sat beside her in this one spot, she learned the worst information in the world. Sure Evan didn’t mean to kill Stephen, doesn’t mean she’s talked to him at all in the last year. with Grandpa dying only a few summers back, her favourite house cat now buried in the yard, she can’t lose her grandma now too.

“Okay,” she starts to plan in her head, her eyes about ready to jump out of her skull as she tries to think of all the things they need to do before it’s too late, “let’s go to England, let’s blow my bank account, you can’t leave me without going to England with me? We were supposed to get tea and pretend to be the queen and princess?”

She couldn’t stop the tears, her whole body heaving as she sobbed into her grandma’s dress, “you can’t leave me too!”

“Your grandfather and I have a fund for you, you were the last baby we got to raise when your mom went back to work, I want you to use it for that baby we talked about,” her grandma’s voice is barely a whisper, softly getting the words over her vocal cords as the tears joined Y/N’s on her dress.

Without another word, she took her hand and walked home, getting in her car together and heading to the closest fertility clinic, she booked her first insemination for February, pre-paying for a round of IVF hormones and everything to start in January, she had 3 months to plan.

Finding the perfect donor was the only hard part. She had 3 different books to choose from with all the clinics in the DC area sharing 1 sperm bank. She finally made her decision 3 weeks before they were set to get her pregnant when they updated the books.

Sample 2319, male 30’s, healthy, high IQ, 6’1, brown eyes, brown hair (curly). “Sounds a lot like Stephen,” her grandma agreed, saying his name for the first time in over 2 years, she knew this was her guy.

—

June 14th, 2021

Peeing on a stick shouldn’t be as terrifying as it is.

She hasn’t been this nervous since the first time Dr. Collins inseminated her. Laying back on the table at a weird elevation to make sure she got pregnant, her whole body tense as she thought of the possibilities of her future child.

Sample 2319 sitting in a cup not too far from her face as she prepared for a man she barely knew to put the semen of another man she didn’t know, inside her. She only picked this guy cause he was smart and tall, no health issues to report and the number made her think of Monsters Inc.

In her mind, she made a baby with a man she named mike wazowski, not knowing his real name was actually Spencer Reid and he was only just down the road at Quantico the whole time. It was the weirdest day ever, and then it became the second-best day of her life

Nothing could top holding her baby in her arms for the first time. Her grandma and mother beside her as they all cried, the perfect purple baby screaming on her chest as they tried to wipe the white gunk off her tiny body. her sweet little coos, seeing her swollen eyes open for the first time, the silence that overcame her as they made their first introduction to each other. Her little person, the love of her life, her wonderful Amoreena.

Her cry was perfect, like music to her ears she wanted to hear her little voice as long as she could because it meant she was alive and real. She was healthy and beautiful and the most perfect bundle of joy she could have ever made.

Now she was hiding in the bathroom to pee on a stick while her 7-year-old had breakfast in the next room. Oh, how times changed, but one thing remained the same, she was finding out alone again. Only this time she meant for that to happen, it was exactly 4 days since her period was supposed to start and it wasn’t there, neither was Spencer.

He had something to do that morning, but he’d be meeting them later that afternoon, it was Amoreena’s last day of kindergarten after all. She wanted time to either enjoy the thought of having another baby or cry in peace because for once it didn’t work, giving her a week to recover before trying again.

Amoreena was a miracle, the easiest IVF baby they ever made at the clinic, apparently. If she was pregnant this easily again it was a sure sign that he was Amoreena’s father too, only he could get her knocked up while not even trying.

She didn’t remember pregnancy tests taking this long, she flipped it over and walked out of the room, unable to think of anything else while she waited for 3 minutes to pass. Amoreena noticed she was being weird, studying her mother's movements as she paced the hall outside of the bathroom door.

“What are you doing?” She asked, curious as ever as she twirled lightly in her new princess dress.

“Can you keep a secret?”

“Always mom, I’m the best secret keeper in all the kingdom, remember?” Amoreena smiled, holding onto her leg as she stared up at her.

“Your dad and I tried to make a baby,” she whispered, petting the litter hairs on her forehead as Amoreena looked up at her, her first little baby. “I’m waiting to find out if it worked, but we can’t tell anyone in case it didn’t, okay?”

Amoreena’s eyes were wider than she’s ever seen them, her mouth opened slowly as she understood the words in her mind. She didn’t look happy or surprised, nor upset or worried. She looked confused, “how?”

She laughed then, shaking her head as she lifted Amoreena into her arms, she would have to know soon anyway. “You know how every month mummy has a bad week where she bleeds and her tummy hurts?”

“Yeah?”

“When people with our parts grow up they make little tiny eggs but we don’t lay them like chickens do, they stay inside our tummies and wait to become babies and if they don’t we have a period and release all the stuff our bodies saved up that month to make a little person. You’ll have one soon too in a few years, probably when you're 12 like I was, and when people with a penis get old enough they’re able to help us make the babies like roosters help the chickens. Our bodies are really special and make some really cool things when we try to,” she explained it in the most simple farmhouse way she could.

“Like when the goats are all born in the spring and they just show up?” She tried to clarify, understanding it at the basic level.

“Kinda, you’ve seen the photos of you in my tummy and how aunty Shannon’s stomach grew when she had your cousins, I’ll get really big like that too if I’m pregnant, the baby will grow for 9 long months till they’re nice and healthy and then we’ll have another person in the family,” she couldn’t help but smile as she thought about it.

“How do we find out?”

She opened the bathroom door then and carried Amoreena inside, setting her down on the sink and pointing at the upside-down test stick. “We create a special hormone when we’re pregnant, it’s something that can be detected in our pee!” she explained it like it was magic, watching her get excited instead of grossed out.

“So I peed on that stick and if it has 2 lines I have a baby in my tummy, if not then your dad and I have to try again.”

Amoreena picked up the test and looked at it, keeping it out of her mothers sight as she did so, “there’s two lines,” she lit up waving the stick lightly as she squealed.

Y/N wrapped her up in her arms and twirled her around, “you’re gonna be the best big sister ever!”

“How do we tell dad?” Amoreena’s soft voice whispered in her ear as she snuggled into her shoulder.

“I have an idea,” she whispered back before carrying her back into the kitchen.

Her All About Me project was sitting on the counter, ready for Y/N to drive her into school today. She set Amoreena down on the floor to watch her as she took some tape and taped the stick to the bottom corner of the project. “Pass me the marker, please?”

Amoreena ran to the counter to get it, coming back and placing it in her mom's hand before leaning in to watch what she was writing.

“I’m going to be a big sister sometime next February!” Amoreena read the words as her mother wrote them, unbelievably excited.

“Your dad can read that at the ceremony tonight!”

“I thought you said we can’t tell anyone yet?” Amoreena questioned her, like always.

“Your teacher can know, the other kids won't know what it means, it’s just important Spencer sees it, but we will wait to tell nanny and poppy, okay? Sometimes the babies don’t always stay, it’s sad so we keep it a secret until they’ve got a tiny little heartbeat in there,” she didn’t want to scare her, but she knew it was always a possibility.

“Then we try again,” Amoreena smiled, “It’ll be easier now that you don’t need Dr. Collins to help you, how did you even make me without Spencer?” She didn't use his real name often anymore, only in times when she wasn't referring to him as her father.

She sat down then, pulling Amoreena into her lap so she could hold her while she thought of the right words. “So we have eggs, but people with penises have something called sperm. When adults, and I mean adults you have to be at least 25 to have a baby it’s the rules,” she teased her slightly, ticking her arms.

“Adults have sex, babies are made when someone with a vagina and someone with a penis get together. But when you don’t have a partner with a penis to help, sometimes they’ll donate their sperm to the doctor's offices to help people like me make their perfect little families all by themselves.”

“Interesting,” is all her little mind can say, she has learned so much in one day, Y/N was surprised she was still listening and surprisingly still for once. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

“We won't know for a while,” she smiled, holding Amoreena closer to her chest. “How do you feel about all this?”

Amoreena was quiet as she thought about it, “is Spencer the guy who gave the doctors the sperm for me?”

“We think so, but we don’t know, why?”

Amoreena looked at her softly, “it wouldn’t be fair, I know he said I don’t need a father but why do they get to have him for both?”

“I think Spencer is your father, you’re just as smart and wonderful as he is, there’s no doubt in my mind that you’re his baby too. but if you want to know if he isn't, when you turn 18 the doctors will tell you who it is, it's completely up to you to find out,” she whispered, the tears starting to fall down her cheeks as Amoreena tried to wipe them away.

"I like thinking he's my father, so he is." Her mind worked in the most wonderful way. Y/N couldn’t help but hold her close as she lightly cried, “I had a dream yesterday that I had 8 sisters,” her voice was so soft and innocent as her tiny hand cupped her mother's cheek.

She gasped lightly at the words, remembering Spencer’s panic in the middle of the night last night, how scared he was to leave her all alone with 9 babies and no one to help her. They knew something that she didn’t yet, cheaper by the dozen seemed less like a dream and more like a prophecy.

“I’m so happy to make your dream come true,” Y/N whispered, “I promise I’m happy, the baby just makes me emotional.”

Amoreena placed her hand on her tummy then, “I love you, baby.”

Y/N stuck her tummy out as far as she could, “I love you too, big sister,” she said in a funny voice to make Amoreena laugh, leaning back in the chair as she held her.

And just like that, getting pregnant with Amoreena was bumped into 3rd place for the best day of her life. Sharing the moment with her and no one else was perfect, insuring she knew that she was just as important moving forward as the little person she was growing this time.

tag list: @shemarmooresfedora @spencers-dria @spookyspence @reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @samuel-de-champagne-problems @jswessie187 let me know if you would like to be added as well!!

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid request #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #amoreena

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coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe · 3 years ago

Text

Superheroes with Secrets: I'm Not Her (Fic part 92) (Set in 2001)

Around 2000 Words. 18+ in places.

please inform me if you wish to be tagged/untagged from posts

Tags: @piratewithvigor

‘Giantess’ Kirby Roussimoff x Shane ‘Hurricane’ Helms (Circa 2001)

Reference Posts: Shane ‘Hurricane’ Helms

Kirby ‘The Blacklight Bandit’ Roussimoff

Notes: The story is set in 2001, which would make Helms 27 and Kirby 31. This story also blends Kayfabe and Reality. Certain people speak in different colours, Mainly: Helms is Green. Kirby is Orange. Kane is Red. Undertaker is Purple. Big Show is Blue.

Other members of the BSK are also in purple.

Other women are in Pink.

DX Members are also in Green.

"You looked like you were about to leave a few moments ago..." He says softly.

"I didn't want you to see me cry, or throw up." Kirby admits sheepishly.

He laughs weakly, wiping away a stray tear. "Yeah... it wasn't a great year... and it was one of the best years I had on the streets..."

"You don't have to tell me, unless you want to, just maybe don't start debating that when I'm stressed because I'm pregnant."

"I figured it would be easiest to take if I got to it as soon as possible. Wanted to tell you about them before you got too far along..."

"You choose a good time to tell me, and before you even start worrying, come here." Kirby whispers, pulling Helms into a gentle kiss, before hoisting him over her shoulder.

He chuckles a little, some of the stress leaving his body as she carries him.

"You, me, and our biological child, are going to get breakfast at that café we went to earlier this month, and then. The Hurricane, the Blacklight Bandit and their super baby are going to the gym." Kirby murmurs as she gently pats his ass.

"I like the way you think, Bandit."

Kirby smirks as she grabs her satchel, making sure she has her purse before walking out of the room with Helms over her shoulder.

"Gonna carry me the whole way to the restaurant?"

"Yes, I am." Kirby whispers as she continues carrying him to the café, putting him down when they reach the entrance.

"Guess that's one way to get a workout." He says, his cheeks bright red after being carried two blocks.

"I kinda got carried away, wanted to impress you." Kirby admits sheepishly.

"You don't have to impress me. I'm impressed by you every day, sweetheart."

Kirby blushes as they enter the café, settling into a small booth and it takes all of Kirby's self control to turn down coffee.

"Juice and milk are the name of the game for the next few months. Kurt recommends milk, so why not give it a try?" Helms shrugs. "And I'll be with you through it the whole time. No coffee or alcohol for me either."

"Ooh, chocolate milk, and fruit." Kirby murmurs.

"God, I didn't even think about chocolate milk! But you need more than just fruit. We've got a match tonight and I know you probably won't be big on lunch or dinner."

"Shane, you order for me, I trust you to make good decisions, so you decide what I eat today." Kirby whispers, taking his hands in hers.

"Could be a misplaced trust, but I promise I won't betray it." He assures. "I mean, remember the time I thought it'd be a good idea to tell Jeff he should stretch his lobes?"

"You're never convincing me to do anything like that, Hon, you're just making sure that your pregnant wife eats right for the baby." Kirby half-jokes.

"That, I can do. Once Lizzy got to be around seven months along, leaving the apartment just wasn't on her to-do list, so shopping was my job."

"Thank you, baby. Now, what should I have for breakfast, Shaney baby."

"Eggs and toast, with a side of fruit, and a yogurt if you think you're that hungry."

"That sounds good ... almost as good as last night." Kirby whispers, mostly to herself.

"Glad I've still got the touch."

"A superhero's magic touch." Kirby jokes.

"Of course. How do you think I knocked you up so fast?" He laughs.

"You cheeky little beast." Kirby chuckles.

"I can be."

"So, mon ange, what is my baby daddy having for breakfast?"

"Hard boiled egg. Don't need much."

"Something really is wrong, isn't it?" Kirby asks, concern heavy in her voice.

"What do you mean?"

"You usually order pancakes or something sugary, so you not wanting sugar makes me worry that something's wrong." Kirby admits softly.

"Nothing's wrong... Just part of me trying to be better. For you, for our kid... keeping caloric intake low... it's why I only had one pancake at the Samoan brunch as the last time I ate..." He murmurs.

"Shane, if something is wrong I want to know, now, not in five hours." Kirby murmurs as she looks at Helms, her expression stern but caring.

"Ten years ago, I spent nine months starving myself just so my girls could live. Ever since I found out you were pregnant, I've felt sick at the idea of eating..." He admits softly. "Not just not hungry, but panicky, sick-to-my-stomach, might-hurl kind of sick."

"Shane, I'm not Liz, I'm me, Kirby Andrea Helms, formerly Kirby Andrea Roussimoff. I'm not going anywhere and if I had known you back then, I probably would have given you one million just to keep you off the streets." Kirby whispers, mostly to herself.

"I know you are. But being hungry was the only thing that felt right then. Feels right now. I know it's not, but it feels right. If I stopped feeling hungry, I'd start feeling selfish. I'd go until I passed out after sex. It's probably why I'm so scrawny now..."

"Shane, for my sake, for the sake of our child, eat something, a proper meal, I don't care how expensive it is because I'm paying for this meal, so you better treat yourself."

"I'll eat what I can." Is all he can promise. "Little things at a time and if I think I can stomach something else, I'll order something else. Okay?"

"Okay." Kirby murmurs.

It doesn't take long for them to order and Kirby to pull out her sketchbook and start drawing while they wait.

"If I described someone to you, do you think you could draw them?" He eventually asks quietly.

"Maybe, depends on how good your description is."

"I'd like to try."

"Go for it, describe away."

"Five months old. Bright green eyes and hair a shade or two darker than Mark's. A little bit on the skinny side for a baby, but smiling. No teeth yet. A tiny button nose and two crinkles on the side of either eye."

Kirby starts sketching, producing a spot on portrait of the person Helms has described before sliding the sketchbook to him, "like that?"

He's tearing up instantly when he sees the drawing. "That's her..." He whispers, his voice choked with sobs.

"Let me guess, I've just drawn Harleen?"

"Yeah. That's what she looked like the last day I saw her. Gave her a bath that morning and took her to the park. Dressed in the nicest dress we'd found her at the Walmart... all pink with little rosettes around the collar. I wanted our last memories together to be happy ones. She was still supposed to be on formula only, but I let her have her first taste of ice cream. A little scoop of soft-serve that we shared together. Then we went to visit her mom's grave... all I could do for her was a small wooden cross, but at least it was something... Harleen left a handful of dandelions there... then I brought her to the sanctuary at the fire station and left her there with a note I'd spent the night writing. Saying everything I could about her, her name and age, birthday, what happened to her parents and assurance that she was loved."

"I'm sure she's doing fine, you make it sound like she was your actual daughter, I would like to think that in a perfect world she's happily growing up with her mom, but I know that can't happen ... I'll be back in a minute." Kirby whispers, getting up and heading to the bathroom, not wanting Helms to see her emotions get the better of her.

Helms knows she's gotten deeply emotional, but he has too. He can't take his eyes off the picture, holding it like it's something precious.

Kirby's phone goes off in her pocket, she gathers herself before answering, "Hi, Steph, what's up?"

"Just checking on you. Show said he saw you carrying Helms out of the hotel like he was a dead body."

"I was taking him out for breakfast, can't help that my husband's shorter than me, or the fact he likes me carrying him over my shoulder."

"Just making sure he's not dead. Hard to find a replacement with such short notice." Stephanie pauses a little. "You sure you're okay? Sound a little... off."

"Yeah, just ... emotional and stressed ... things are taking their toll on my mind, you know how it is Stephanie, I'm recently married and struggling to adjust to big changes."

"That's not all it is... Hon, you sound like you've been crying."

"I have been, it's just ... I'm struggling to keep those dark thoughts from my mind, I know I'm meant to wrestle tonight ... but I, God, Steph, i don't think I'm up to it."

"That does it, where are you? You and I need to chat this out. I've never known you to not wrestle. If Something's on your mind this much, we need to work through it."

"You know that little café, two blocks away from the hotel, I'm there with Helms." Kirby murmurs before Steph hangs up.

Stephanie's in the café and hunting between tables before Kirby's even out of the bathroom. Helms closes the sketchbook and tries to dry his eyes as he sees Stephanie stalking towards him. "H-hey, Steph." He says, trying to sound as normal as possible.

Kirby appears from the bathroom, right as Stephanie reaches the table, Kirby practically sprints over, "Steph, don't kill him." She squeaks out.

"Is there a reason I should? You're trying to back out of tonight and he's here with you and you're both wrecks. Now, unless someone died or another personal tragedy just happened, I need to know what's going on so we can work through this."

"Stephanie, breathe, okay, I'm just... oh fuck everything." Kirby murmurs, leaving her stuff and heading out of the café, on the verge of tears as she sits on the sidewalk.

"If she backs out on me, you're in big fucking trouble, kid." She hisses at Helms before following her out.

Kirby's breathing is heavy and ragged, she's emotionally exhausted and it's obvious. Stephanie sits next to her and rubs her back gently. She even does Kirby the favor of staying quiet for a bit. Kirby struggles to control her breathing, unable to stop the tears from falling

"Whatever's going on, it's gonna be okay. You know that, right?"

"What if it's not?" Kirby asks, fear in her voice.

"What’s so wrong that it can't be fixed?"

"Steph, I barely know the man I'm married to." Kirby admits softly.

"That sounds like it can be solved by talking with him."

"There's more than that, I'm not allowed to tell you about, and something I don't even have the confidence to tell him."

"Okay, you don't have to tell me about it. It doesn't concern me until it does. But what could you possibly not have the confidence to tell him? You're the Blacklight Bandit, the toughest woman alive."

"I don't want him to know ... Stephanie, I don't want him knowing that I'm dealing with suicidal thoughts again." Kirby admits, barely above a whisper.

"Would you want to know if he was?" She asks gently.

"Yeah, but I don't want him worrying about me, he has enough to worry about already."

"You're his wife. I was there when you vowed to each other. For better or for worse, you take the worries of the other and help them through. He's your husband, what do you think he'd rather: knowing you want to die and helping you through it, or him finding you dead?"

"You're right," Kirby sighs as she gets up and heads back inside, "Shane, we need to talk."

His heart sinks down to his feet as he bites his lip a little and nods. "What about?" He barely whispers.

"I ... I, God, Shane, I don't want to lose you by telling you this." Kirby weakly murmurs as she takes his face in her hands.

#Kirby Roussimoff #Shane Hurricane Helms #Blacklight Bandit #Orange and green - the perfect team #Superheroes with Secrets

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coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe · 3 years ago

Text

Superheroes with Secrets: Mr + Mrs Helms (Fic part 74) (Set in 2001)

Around 2000 Words. 18+ in places.

Tags: @piratewithvigor please inform me if you wish to be tagged/untagged from posts

‘Giantess’ Kirby Roussimoff x Shane ‘Hurricane’ Helms (Circa 2001)

Reference Posts: Shane ‘Hurricane’ Helms

Kirby ‘The Blacklight Bandit’ Roussimoff

Photo References 1

Other members of the BSK are also in purple.

Other women are in Pink.

DX Members are also in Green.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Kirby takes the knife in her hand, flipping it in her hand and holding it out for Helms. He takes her hand, letting them cut the cake together. Kirby gets a plate with her free hand, cutting the first two slices hand-in-hand with Shane, and placing the slices on plates.

"God, this thing looks so good."

"You wanna sit down to eat then, Hurricane?" Kirby asks gently.

"Yes please."

Kirby leads Helms back to their seats, sitting down next to him and watching the guests, not touching her slice of cake.

"I know I promised not to shove your face in it, but why aren't you eating?" He whispers to her.

"I'm fine, baby, just wanna make sure everyone else is having fun." Kirby whispers back.

"Don't worry about them. This is our day. It's all about us."

"I know, I'm sorry about that." Kirby murmurs, taking a bite of her cake and moaning slightly, before slapping her hand over her mouth.

Helms can't help but grin as he hears the moan. "Good, huh?"

"So fucking good." Kirby murmurs, trying to keep her voice as quiet as possible.

"We definitely made the right call."

Kirby nods in agreement as she gets through the cake, practically shovelling it in her mouth.

"You're so beautiful." He whispers.

"Thank you, my husband." Kirby whispers back, placing her left hand on his thigh.

"Trying to seduce me, Mrs Helms?"

"Maybe, Monsieur Helms."

"You're succeeding."

"Do you wanna sneak off for a couple minutes?" Kirby purrs in his ear.

"Damn right I do."

Kirby takes the opportunity to rile Helms up, taking her hand off his thigh and taking a sip of her champagne.

"Oh now you're just being mean."

"Says the man who decided to edge me," Kirby jokes to herself, "babe, I'm gonna go to the bathroom, alone, don't follow me." Kirby whispers, kissing his neck and rubbing her hand over his crotch softly before heading off.

She says so, but Helms only waits 30 seconds before following. Kirby's freshening up in the bathroom, trying to keep composed and double checking her makeup. He sneaks in after her, either intending to bone or to make sure she's okay.

"Helms, I thought I said, alone, why you in here, mon mari?" Kirby asks gently as she sees him in her peripheral vision.

"Mainly because no one ever mentions alone unless they really mean one of two things: one, they don't actually want to be alone. Two, they do want to be alone, and if it were a regular potty break, you wouldn't have mentioned it, so something was going on. And I know you're stressed as hell, so I guessed something might be going on."

"I'm mentally freaking out, alright, I've never actually been to a wedding." Kirby admits sheepishly.

"You're at one now. There's no right or wrong way to have a wedding. There are traditions, but they aren't set in stone."

"Helms, it's weird, I don't know how to act or what to do, and ... I always have a plan at events, but this ... I don't have a plan for this."

"Because this is our event. We decide how we want this to happen. Our word is law here."

Kirby pulls Helms into a gentle kiss, "I wanna be with you, just us two, I don't care what everyone else does, I just want to be alone with you."

"Tonight, we get that."

"God, I love you, mon amour, mon ange, mon sauvage, mon mari." Kirby murmurs, pulling Helms into a much more heated kiss.

"I love you too, sweetheart. Forever and always."

"You're very handsome in the suit, mon mari." Kirby whispers to him, kissing his neck and nipping at his flesh.

"You're gorgeous, my angel. The dress is perfect."

"You wanna head to our room, babe, rock me like a Hurricane?" Kirby questions teasingly.

"Planning on it."

Kirby smirks, hoisting Helms over her shoulder and heading to their hotel room. Having decided to take the stairs, every step up to the room, Kirby jokingly teases Helms in one way or another, grabbing his ass, pressing his groin into her shoulder and so on until they get into the room and Kirby puts Helms down.

"How can someone so beautiful be so evil?"

"You speaking about yourself, Hubby?" Kirby questions teasingly.

"Both of us."

"I'm only being evil so I can rile you up and get you off." Kirby whispers as she pulls Helms into a heated kiss.

"Think I may have to be evil right back. Ravage my beautiful bride."

"I'm all yours, mon mari." Kirby purrs as she removes her dress.

She drops the dress to the floor, revealing the garter around her thigh, some black lace underwear and the harness they bought for their wedding night.

"My god..." he whispers, in complete awe.

"I thought, maybe, we consummate the marriage now, get cleaned up and changed and then go back down to open the wedding presents." Kirby suggests, taking Helms hands and guiding them to her breasts.

"I like the way you think."

"So, mon sauvage, you gonna claim me as your wife, possibly get me pregnant as your first act as my husband." Kirby whispers, messing with Helms' suit.

"You know it, babe. Wanna undress me?"

Kirby smirks, almost ripping the suit off of Helms. He's already looking a tiny bit bigger compared to when she issued her challenge to him. He's been working hard and pushing himself at every chance.

"Oh, mon roi, mon ange, my love, you have been pushing yourself, you sexy beast." Kirby purrs as she gently touches his musculature.

"All For you, sweetheart. You made the request, and I'm working hard to beat the challenge. If I get a reaction like this each time, I'm gonna be very inclined to keep it up."

"You know, I think you might be able to pick me up for long enough to slam me onto the bed and make me scream your name." Kirby purrs in his ear as she palms over his crotch.

"Let’s find out." He smirks, picking her up and giving a fairly decent slam onto the bed. A little wobbly from nerves and excitement, but otherwise done well.

"Oh, Shane," Kirby murmurs, blushing bright red and looking up at Helms, "fuck, Helms you're perfect."

"And I'm all yours till death do us part."

"Even death won't part us, the grim reaper knows better than to piss of a giantess, or a man strong enough to lift a giantess."

"Yeah, Mark definitely knows better than that." He chuckles.

Kirby stifles a laugh as she pulls Helms down into a kiss.

"Are we gonna go slow and sensual or are you gonna fuck me like you own me?" Kirby questions teasingly.

"I do owe you, babygirl."

Kirby goes silent for a moment before realising what he means, "Shane, you don't have to do that, baby. I mean, you can do what you want, but you don't have to do anything you don't want to, I would do anything for you if you asked me to-" Kirby's rambling is stopped by Helms kissing her gently.

"I want to. I want to be the man you deserve." He assures gently.

"If you're sure, then there's nothing I can do to stop you." Kirby whispers.

"I'm positive. When we go home, I want to carry you over the threshold."

"I'm just nervous, Shane, okay, I'll let you do whatever you want to, but I'm just a little nervous."

"About what?"

"Everythin'." Kirby admits softly, her accent a little thicker than usual.

"Gotta give me a bit more, darlin." He murmurs.

"Well, I'm worried that you might get me pregnant and that'll stop me working, and I'm worried about what we're going to do when we get back to Ellerbe, cause we have to move your stuff in, and everything is just driving me insane."

"Well, a single U-Haul trip of about three hours there and back should cover it all, we don't have to have a baby right away if you don't want, and I think the rest will sort itself out."

"That's the thing, Shane, I wanna have a baby with you, I don't care if you get me pregnant now or in a year from now, I just wanna have a family with you. I'm worried because Vince McMahon is a crazy person, he tried to make Stephanie announce him as the father of her child because he thought it would be a good storyline, he's a mad bastard who hardly ever takes no for an answer." Kirby explains.

"He may be a crazy lunatic, but he knows better than to punish his biggest female star."

"Shane, if I'm pregnant then I can't wrestle, if I can't wrestle then I go down the card popularity-wise, if I'm not that popular, I don't have a say in what Vince does with me, you see why I'm worried yet?"

"But you are that popular. The fans adore you. And then when you do come back, you get the return of a beloved hero."

"And what happens when I'm off, they put you with someone else, like Molly?" Kirby asks, genuinely scared of what might happen if she's not at work, "Shane, I have worked in this business since I was thirteen, I have done everything you can do in the ring, I've refereed, I've valeted, I have never been off for longer than four months, never, I'm worried what happens when I'm not at work, work is my life, always has been and always will be."

"And it will be again. Think about it this way- your Dad broke his foot for a while, right? And when it healed, he was in the Princess Bride. That had to be at least half a year he wasn't wrestling. And afterwards, they started building up his match for Mania three, and he didn't wrestle a lot in that time either. I'd say he was out of the ring at least nine months, maybe closer to a year, right?"

"Shane, don't even mention Mania three around me, I'm still mad about it." Kirby half-jokes.

"I'm just saying a year off won't end your life. And you won't have to be off the camera right away either. We could do like some tag teams and you accompany me to the ring while I wrestle. Not ideal, but then it won't be too long that you're gone. Maybe at ringside, you get hit somehow and they cart you off. You're fine, but the audience thinks you're just recovering during the time you're off."

"Shane, I'd rather be pregnant and on-screen, than be away from you."

"So would I. Besides, once we're married on-screen, pretty sure everyone will be wanting to cheer you on."

"So, Shaney, do I have to rile you up some more or are you gonna give me some 'wedded bliss'?" Kirby questions teasingly, pulling Helms into a gentle kiss.

"I'll give you all the Bliss you can handle, sweetheart." He smirks.

"Oh really, now." Kirby jokes.

"Absolutely."

"Give me all you got, you vampiric sex God." Kirby purrs.

"I'll be discrete, don't want to bloody up the bride." He smirks.

"You and discrete are two things that don't mix, Shaney baby." Kirby teases.

"I mean I won't leave bite marks on your neck."

"Oh, but you will bite other places on me?"

"You don't call me a vampire for nothing."

Kirby smirks, "go wild, mon sauvage." she purrs.

He bends down to her chest, biting the side of her breast hard enough to break the skin. Kirby lets out a small gasp of pleasure and pain in response. Kirby ghosts her fingers over the hickey she left on his neck earlier.

"Shane?" Kirby asks gently.

He's licking at her bloody wound, savouring her blood slowly

"Shane, babe, I need to ask you something important." Kirby whispers as she tries to hold back moans.

#Kirby Roussimoff #Shane Hurricane Helms #Blacklight Bandit #Orange and green - the perfect team #Superheroes with Secrets

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