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readyplayerhobi · 5 years ago

Text

Flower | 17

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Angst, very slight fluff

; Word Count: 6k

; Warnings: Emotional breakdown, depiction of a panic/anxiety attack, in depth discussion/description of depression, brief mentions of suicide, lack of self-worth, self-hatred, self-doubt, dissociation

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: I haven’t proof read because...well I don’t really want to re-read it. So forgive me for any mistakes! It’s early by a day because I’ve missed a few weeks so I want you all to have something on what is a rainy night here in England <3

PLEASE make sure to read the warnings on this one. This chapter is very hard hitting for anyone who has suffered depression/anxiety. I put myself back in the position I was in last year when I had my own breakdown and I know people have said before that I write in a way that makes you feel what the character is feeling. Therefore, please don’t read if you’re going to be affected by the warnings! And please also be kind if you don’t agree with the way I depicted this. This is how my own depression and anxiety affected me, only I didn’t have a Hoseok in my life. The experiences the reader goes through in this are the ones I personally have experienced. It’s still a reader insert, don’t worry. She after all has a lot of things I don’t, and I’m also okay, so don’t worry on that front either! If you feel upset about anything after reading this, please consider reaching out to friends, family, professionals or a helpline that specialises in it!

And remember throughout everything...you’re not alone! You’re not worthless and you are loved. <3

Leaning against the railing outside your work building, you let out a deep and heavy sigh as you read through the email you’d just received. It’s a rejection email. The third rejection email you’d received today and the twenty-third you’d received in two weeks.

After an in-depth talk with your parents and support from Chungha, Soyeon and Hoseok, you’d decided to finally try and get that career change you’d always wanted. Though you’d pointed out that you didn’t know what you wanted from life anymore.

You didn’t know what you wanted full stop.

One of the things that you’d been most afraid of when you’d realised that your relationship with Hoseok was turning into something genuine and real, had been what was going to come after. Not in terms of breaking up, though that did terrify you as well, but how your mental state was going to cope.

You’d tried to explain it to the girls a few times in an effort to get them to understand what went on in your rollercoaster of a mind, and you’d clumsily told Hoseok a few months ago. Or you’d tried at least.

Talking about your emotions wasn’t easy for you and the fear of being too honest about something so crippling with someone who meant so much to you already had scared you away from telling him too much. Your mind had balked at it, afraid that if he found out just how bad you got sometimes that he might just leave before he got in too deep.

So you’d given him a very bare bones explanation of what happened to you sometimes. He probably didn’t think too much of it at the moment as you’d been pretty cheerful throughout the start of your relationship; the bliss of him overriding any of your deep seated depression and anxieties.

Hoseok was obviously aware that you suffered from anxiety and had been very caring in regards to that, but it was entirely different to be with someone in the grip of a depressive episode. Your form of depression could almost be charted, it was that easy to see what was coming, and you’d been so afraid for the last few weeks.

The lethargy and disinterest that associated itself so strongly with your depression had been creeping back into your life slowly. It had frightened you, but you just didn’t know how to combat it. Doing things that were big or made you extremely happy always seemed to come with a huge cost, and the cost was unfortunately your mental health.

Every single time you felt exhilarating highs in your emotions, the feelings so joyful and euphoric from your excitement and pure happiness, you suffered a plunging crash afterwards that often felt like it sucked the joy out of your life. It was something you’d tried to cope with for years now, and sometimes you could go months upon months without feeling like it was affecting you.

But the happiness of finding Hoseok and all of the early stages of your relationship, from the first kiss to sex and meeting your parents, had finally waned. The last few weeks had the deep sense of unhappiness that plagued your negative moods spreading quickly.

It had started as usual with the slowly losing interest in going out; the energy you’d once had to be social outside of your apartment dying until the idea of anything other than work or grocery shopping was too much effort. Then had come the lack of interest in anything.

You’d always found it hard to see that you were slipping, only recognising it properly when you would realise that you’d been laid on your bed or the couch for hours on end, doing nothing at all. Any attempts to find something to watch on television failed as your brain couldn’t find anything interesting enough to keep it’s attention, games sat unplayed as you couldn’t find the energy to turn them on while even just reading bored you.

In particularly bad spells, such as your final year of college when you’d been so afraid of failing but also afraid of having to go into the real world, you struggled to find the energy to even get out of bed. Hygiene only became a thing because of your severe distaste of being unclean, but other than that your bed often became your home.

You would sleep for hours upon hours, napping the day’s away as you consoled yourself with the knowledge that you didn’t have anything to do and so therefore didn’t need to get up. Even though a small voice in the back of your mind told you that no, you should get up. You should do something.

That small voice was drowned out often though. Vanishing on a fast current of melancholy. It frightened you that you were experiencing that now again, even with the wonderful light and joy that was Hoseok in your life. Waking up long after he’d already gotten up on the weekend and realising that you didn’t want to get up and follow him, that not even the comfort of his arms was enough to soothe the jagged hole inside your soul that seemed to grow deeper and wider with every day that passed.

Applying for the jobs had been an appeasement to those in your life who were worried about you. You knew that Hoseok could tell something was wrong, but he just didn’t seem to know what to do or how to help. Understandable really, as you didn’t tell him what was wrong.

But staring down at your phone screen, the black letters bold against the white background that once more proclaimed you weren’t good enough, you felt something deep inside you break. Something that you hadn’t realised was holding on by the thinnest thread, chafing away with each negative thought that had passed through your mind over the years.

What’s the point?

The insipid question whispers through your mind.

Why am I trying?

A second slithers into place, taking comfort with its neighbour.

Why am I doing this?

A third nestles safely between the two brooding thoughts.

I’ll never be good enough for anything.

Leaning your head forehead, you let it rest on your hand on the railing, eyes closing as your other hand tightens on your phone. The hopelessness that your mind has spun to life explodes to life, multiplying into countless thoughts of desolation and gloom that somehow combine together to make your head feel heavy and your limbs tired.

Slumping down onto the ground, you turn and let your back press against the railings. It was your lunch currently and you were at the back of the parking lot that faced your building, the facade blank with no clue as to what was going on inside.

Blinking slowly, you realise that your breath is stuttering, almost choking itself. Like your throat is closing around nothing while your heart races a thousand miles a minute. Glancing down, you realise that your hands are shaking violently and you try to swallow, the movement so hard. And then you press a palm to your chest, a small whimper leaving your mouth as you simply try to breath.

But it all feels too much. It’s all just too much.

There’s nothing inside your head but despondency and yet your body feels too much, like it can’t cope. Your mind swings violently between the white fuzz of nothing and the sheer panic of a looming sense of dread, the fear of failure, rejection. The fear that you meant nothing and your life was nothing.

I can’t do this anymore.

It’s a simple thought, only five words long and it dances through your mind like a leaf on the breeze. Effortless and simple.

For a few seconds you think nothing of it, the part of your mind that wasn’t well agreeing with it and conceding that there was no point anymore. You weren’t doing anything useful in life anyway and you doubted anyone would truly notice if you’d gone. A cog in the machine of life, that’s all you were.

And cogs could be replaced after all.

But then that tiny voice that had been washed away earlier appeared again, resolute and defiant against the tidal waves of desolation that swamped it. The tiny kernel of hope and happiness that you’d once had, that had slowly grown and blossomed into a tree with roots so deep it couldn’t be moved. It was a little dejected and a little threadbare from lack of nourishment, but it was there all the same.

The part of you that didn’t want to give up, the part of you that wanted to fight for your life. The part that had spurred you to confidence to message Hoseok, that had encouraged you to keep going in college. The part of you that told you it didn’t want to give up, didn’t want to give in.

Your lungs are heaving now, body hunched over as you grip your legs so tightly, head pressed to your knees while salty tears drip down your face. A heartbeat that feels like it’s working overtime is so loud you can feel it in your chest, the tension in your arms and torso so strong that your muscles hurt from the ache of holding them for so long.

Eyes hot and stinging as the tears overflow, you press hard on your chest and try to regulate your breathing. Try to calm yourself down, to bring yourself back from the precipice of the pain and panic that you feel. The overwhelming rollercoaster of your emotions is giving you whiplash, the melancholy you had been swept with being beaten savagely by the fear of your inability to breath and the panic of how dark your thoughts had gotten.

You needed to talk to someone, you needed to see someone. You needed someone there, someone to tell you that it was okay. That you weren’t worthless. That you had value, that you were loved. That you would be missed. That life wouldn’t be okay without you, that you were needed and necessary. Someone to push away your thoughts for long enough to just let you think clearly.

You don’t even realise you’ve dialled his number, fingers moving on autopilot as if your body is trying to help when your mind has become so paralysed. It’s not until his voice finally manages to pierce through the incessant self-flagellation that your mind is undertaking that you blink in confusion, brow creasing as you wonder why he’s here.

Glancing up, you wipe away at the tears that keep falling and stare at your phone, squinting to focus. The familiar smiling face of your boyfriend stares back, a photo taken weeks back on a date day to the beach. Your heart clenched tightly and your breath shudders, the wheezing sound as your lungs work hard to try and get oxygen loud as you have the odd mixture of desperation to talk to him along with the dread of annoying him.

One of the things you’ve always hated was talking about these personal issues with people. Even though you knew rationally that people would rather you tell them about what was worrying and upsetting you, the gleefully self-destructive part of your mind told you that you were annoying them with your concerns.

But Hoseok was talking through the small speaker, his voice loud against the quiet scenery around you with only your hyperventilated breathing being the odd noise. And then his words finally made sense, the syllables that had broken through your ennui turning into sounds you understood.

It was the confusion in them that caused you to listen properly at first, the way he said your name repeatedly before the ragged sound of your breathing obviously began to register. Then your name became more frantic, the fear in his voice slicing through your own inner wail of despair.

“Y/N? Hello? Y/N are you there? Hellooo? Y/N? Are you okay? Hey, are you...Y/N are you crying? Y/N? Talk to me, come on. Answer me sweetheart, baby answer me. Y/N what’s wrong? Are you crying? Y/N please answer.” His voice is getting progressively louder, the concern and worry louder and you suddenly feel even more self-loathing at the knowledge you’ve panicked him.

“Hobi.” It’s all you can get out though, the word pushing past the tightness of your throat as it contracts so violently, air struggling to get past. Clutching your chest, you recognise an odd wailing sound that escapes with each breath outwards. Hands shaking, you press the phone to your ear and let out a broken sob, trying to talk to him.

“Baby, baby what’s wrong? Has something happened? Are you okay? Have you had an accident? Is it your parents?” He fires questions at you quickly, trying to find some answer as to why his girlfriend has called him in the middle of a workday only to be sobbing and wailing down the phone at him.

Particularly when you both knew how much you despised talking on the phone.

But just the sound of his voice is soothing to the frayed nerves within you, a balm to the deep and aching pain that lurks inside. It’s not enough to pull you out your breakdown, not yet at least. This isn’t a film and television show and you’re aware enough to realise that real life doesn’t happen like that.

God you felt warm, so warm. So unbelievably warm but the sweat on your skin is cold, like you’re ill. Squeezing your eyes shut, you choke as you inhale too fast and your diaphragm jerks in a way that has you almost hiccuping.

Even though he doesn’t actually know what’s happening, Hoseok still manages to do the right thing. Because he stops his own panicked questions, his voice suddenly stabilises and a calm tone taking over.

“Okay baby...baby, listen to me. Okay, you’re okay. You’re gonna be okay. It’s going to be okay sweetheart, I swear. Come on, can you hear me?” A torn sound of acknowledgement leaves you, your muscles aching with tiredness from how hard you’ve held yourself.

“That’s good, that’s really good baby. I want you to listen to me, okay? Listen to what I say and then do it for me. I want you to try and breathe in, take a big breath. Really big, come on, do it with me,” You hear him inhale loudly and you try to follow, the shakiness overtaking. “And now it let out. Nice and slow, come on. Do it again.”

He continues on encouraging you through it, his deep voice that you’ve fallen so deeply for so soothing and reassuring. It almost makes you want to cry just hearing it, but you listen to what he says. Closing your own eyes and simply focusing on inhaling and exhaling, pushing all the negativity away until all that’s left is breathing.

Finally, after what feels like an hour, you realise that your breaths are jerky but almost stable. Deep breathes in and out help your body to relax itself, muscles releasing while the demons of depression and anxiety take a step back in your mind. They’re still there, you can feel them hovering over the edges, but you feel like you can cope again.

Wiping at your face once more, you sniff and almost burst into tears again when you realise how utterly pathetic you feel. How stupid you are to fall apart like that over a job rejection of all things. And those demons inch forward, whispering into the fragile parts of you.

“Y/N, are you with me? Are you okay?” Leaning your head back against the railing, you nod quietly before remembering he’s not actually there. The first time you try to speak, your voice is croaky and what sounds like a bubble pops in your throat.

The second time works though. “I’m here. I’m...Hobi...I just...I can’t.”

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the words cause you to start crying once more. But this time, there’s none of the panic and fear behind them. These tears are blazingly hot, your skin prickling from the salt of them while your head pounds from the previous crying and emotional ride you’d just gone through.

This time, your tears were because you simply wanted him there. You wanted to just bury yourself in his arms and try to forget what had happened.

“Okay, okay. I don’t know what’s wrong, but do you think you can go back to work? Or do you need to come home?” The very idea of going back into the office, sitting at your desk and doing all the mindless jobs that you loathe and despise with every fibre of your being fills you with a surge of feelings that makes you gasp in pain, head shaking rapidly.

You can’t, not today. You can’t go back to that, you can’t go back to the thoughts that this is going to be your life. That this is all you’ll ever be. All you’ll ever be worth. That you’ll never be good enough for anything.

��No.” It’s whimpered out, so soft and quiet but carrying a level of pain that you can’t even begin to properly explain to him. He understands though, a quiet sigh of his own as he obviously considers what to do.

“Okay...go in and ask them if you can take the rest of the day off. Tell them you’re ill. That you’ve been throwing up or something, whatever it takes. Are you okay to drive? Or do you want me to come get you?” Glancing over at your car, the Hyundai your dad had helped you to buy that was a dream compared to your previous car, you chew on your lip as you wipe at your face.

“I can drive. I can drive, it’s not far.”

“Good. Go home and rest. I’ll be home when I can. Do you want to talk about whatever just happened when I do?” Looking down at the ground, you consider it before sniffling quietly.

“Yeah. I think I should.” Your voice cracks on the last word, yet more tears filling your eyes as your lip trembles dangerously. The thought of telling him is terrifying, but you feel like you’ve gone too far down this dark road now. And you don’t want to walk down it alone anymore, not when what you’re finding is so terrifying and scary.

“Okay. I’ll see you at home then.”

It was surprisingly easy to get your boss to let you go home early, easier than you thought it would have been. But maybe you looked a little worse than someone who had been throwing up, given the puffiness of your eyes and the overall haggard appearance you’d managed to take on. You didn’t look well, which worked in your favour in terms of being able to go home.

But you didn’t look well because you weren’t well. And you knew this.

As soon as you got home, you’d practically torn off your clothes before slipping on a well worn pair of soft grey leggings and a fuzzy sweatshirt, the material so soft on your body. It’s approaching the end of November and you revel in the warmth it offers you, curling on the couch into a tight ball with your head buried into the velvety Pusheen pillow that Hoseok had bought you a few weeks ago.

The soft padding of tiny paws on the wood floor alerts you to an incoming presence and you smile tiredly when Kasumi jumps up onto the couch with you, chirping at you quietly before butting her head against yours. Gently, you stroke at her fur and sigh as she settles, her head buried firmly into your neck and her small body vibrating as she purrs away happily.

“Are you happy my little purrbaby? Yeah?” You whisper to her, running your thumb over her silken ears before pressing your nose against her sleek fur. “My favourite little girl, aren’t you? A purry baby.”

The next few minutes consist of you just muttering nonsense to her as usual, your hand stroking automatically as you revel in the solid warmth of her against you. She remains where she is, paws flexing open and closed as the she pads at your chest and you can’t help the tiny smile that escapes as she does so.

“I love you, yes I do.” Maybe it’s a sign of how bad of a person you are that the only person you feel even remotely comfortable saying that to is your own cat. A cat who can’t answer back. Though maybe that’s the point. She relies on you for survival, therefore her love is a given.

Other’s though?

Her ears twitch suddenly and her eyes widen, that familiar look of alarm taking over her feline features and causing her to jerk upright. Frowning, you coo to her before realising you can hear the door opening.

A quick glance at the clock tells you that it’s not even 2pm and your brow creases in confusion. You go to question whoever it is, only he appears from the hallway into the room and your throat tightens immediately.

Hoseok isn’t wearing a fancy suit this time, instead just a pair of black jeans with a black button-up, his socks a contrast in white. His work had since changed their dress code policy to smart-casual, hence his jeans. But he wasn’t supposed to finish until 5pm.

“Why are you here?” Your words aren’t nearly as solid as you intended them to be, the sounds shaky and he lets out a tiny sigh.

“You really think I was gonna stay at work for the next few hours after my girlfriend, who hates using the phone, calls me and all I can hear is hyperventilating and crying? And then she’s so not okay that she actually goes home? No way. I’m gonna work the time back later but I felt that you shouldn’t be alone right now.” He makes it all sound so simple, like there wasn’t even a question in his mind about what he’d do.

It chips away at something inside you, a chink in the solid wall of protection you’d built over the years that held back all your deepest and darkest fears and concerns from others. And in an instant, that wall shatters in a tsunami of emotion.

Lips trembling violently while your vision blurs from the tears filling it, you simply open your arms to him and whimper out his name in a tone so broken and lost that it almost makes Hoseok cry just hearing it. Not that you know that, nor can you see the way his face crumples for a moment at seeing you break so quickly.

You don’t see because the tears block your vision of him, but you feel it when he sits on the couch next to you and wraps you in his arms. Without a word, you squeeze your arms around him so tightly, as if you were afraid that if you let go then he’d vanish.

And you let yourself break in the comfort of his embrace, in the safety of presence and the reassurance of his stability. A horrible sound of pure agony escapes your throat, dragged from the deepest depths and a part of you is surprised at it. At how much pain it encapsulates.

Once you start though, you can’t stop and you simply cry into Hoseok’s arms, letting yourself go in a way that you never have before. Exposing your vulnerabilities and all the jagged points of pain inside your psyche that you’d kept hidden for so long, afraid that no one would care or would see them as a sign of weakness if you let them out.

Hoseok doesn’t judge you though, he doesn’t complain or sigh in annoyance. Instead, he spends the next ten minutes simply hugging you so tightly to him, his hands stroking your back in long movements that soothe you and reassure you that he’s here, that he cares. Vaguely, you recognise him whispering things to you but you don’t put enough thought into what he’s saying.

The earlier breakdown you’d suffered had been frightening and painful; the fear of not understanding what was happening properly combining with the gaping hole of self-hatred and feelings of inadequacy. This didn’t feel like a breakdown though. It felt cathartic almost, like each sob that escaped you, each tear that wet Hoseok’s shirt was another weight being lifted off your mind and shoulders.

By the time you finally calm down enough until the tears are silent and the only noise you make is the hiccuped breathing of someone who’s cried so hard their throat and eyes hurt, you feel almost relaxed. Maybe crying was a good thing sometimes, but you knew that it was because you’d come to terms with the fact that you had to talk about your issues and most importantly, you had to reach out to others for help.

Now the room is completely quiet, only broken by the occasional sniffle from you. You’d expected him to start asking questions immediately but he doesn’t, instead just holding you in a protective embrace while you calm down.

Oddly, it makes you feel a little better that he doesn’t freak out or pepper you with questions. His reassuring presence helps to calm your frayed nerves and you find yourself playing with one of the buttons on his shirt, bottom lip pouting out as you realise his shirt is plastered to his chest from your tears.

“I’m sorry about your shirt.” You whisper, voice hoarse and low. There’s no response for a second before he lets out a breathy laugh, warm lips pressing to your hairline affectionately.

“That’s fine. It’s just a shirt,” Hoseok pauses, shifting to hug you in a more comfortable position on the couch. “Do you want to talk about it?”

The way he leaves the question open for you lets you know that he’s giving you an out, a way to turn him down. You know he wouldn’t be particularly happy if you didn’t talk about what had caused you to have such a breakdown, but he would acknowledge your decision.

“I just...I got another rejection.” Fingers smooth at the wrinkles in his shirt, the text from the email running through your mind once more and you can practically feel your spirit sinking again. “I don’t know, it just...it got too much. I know it sounds really stupid and I can’t really explain it all or anything but...it was just too much. Everything has been too much lately and yet I just feel so empty and uncaring.”

Hoseok doesn’t interrupt you, letting you spill out your inner thoughts to him, even if they don’t make a lot of sense.

“I’ve been...I mean...lately I...I’m not...I’m not okay.” Your voice wavers dangerously, lip trembling and you tighten your hand on the fabric of his shirt. “I just feel...I can’t...I can’t, I just can’t. I don’t feel like I can do this anymore, it’s just so hard. So hard to get up and go to work when I hate my fucking job. It’s like my mind is dying every second in there and my soul is shrivelling up too. But I’m not good enough to get out and I’ll never get out and all I can think is...is this it? Is this going to be my life? Is this all I’ll ever do? Is this all I’ll ever be worth? Is this all I’ll do? And the thought of this being all I do for the rest of my life is...I mean...I just...I can’t Hoseok. I can’t, I can’t do it. I don’t even want to wake up if I have to do this forever.”

The words are rushed from you, blurring together as you feel the deep hysteria and panic rising within you once more. Hands clenching his shirt are shaking while your breath is coming a little faster again and your poor, swollen eyes are stinging from the heat of yet more tears. You’d have thought you had none left to cry.

“It’s like everything is weighing me down, all of it. My job, my lack of career, my finances and just me as a person. It’s all building in my head and I just...I can’t. But at the same time I feel nothing inside. I wake up and wonder why I’m bothering to get up because I have nothing to do, I can’t focus on shows or games or books. I’m lethargic and unhappy and the idea of going out just makes me want to cry. I drove home from the store the other day and the entire time I felt like there was a hive of bees in my stomach, all angry and my heart was racing. I didn’t even know what I was anxious about! That’s not normal and it happens all the time. I’ve tried, for you and my parents and friends but it always comes back. I can’t do it anymore, I can’t.” You’re not entirely sure what you can’t do, but you say it so forcefully that Hoseok simply nods.

He doesn’t speak at first, contemplating what to say and trying to remember what his therapist had discussed with him all those years ago when he’d gone. It was hard, because obviously your case wasn’t like his. But he wanted to help, or at least try and guide you in the right direction. Because you were reaching out, and he wanted to be the one to hold you steady while you fought your way out of the darkness.

“How long have you been feeling like this? I’ve noticed you pulling away recently, I didn’t want to push you on it though.” Hoseok admits, his voice soothing as he runs a thumb along your cheek, wiping your tears away.

Almost childishly, you shrug. “I don’t know. It comes and goes. I always...I hate doing things that make me happy or excited because I always crash after. And the longer my happiness goes on, the harder and further I crash after. It’s like my mind can’t cope with just...being...normal.”

Hoseok shakes his head firmly then, pulling back slightly to get you to look at him. His eyes are worried and his expression is concerned, but you can tell he’s determined. You can also tell that you’ve just said something that he disagrees with.

“Don’t call yourself not normal. At the risk of sounding like some lame quote from the early 2010s, there’s no such thing as normal. You’re just...you’re not okay right now. I think we can both tell that. And there’s nothing wrong with not being okay. There’s nothing wrong with admitting you’re having mental health problems and I hope you won’t be angry with me for saying it but...this...today...baby I think you need to see a doctor or something. I can’t tell you what will help because I don’t know, and I don’t want to mess it up. But you have to want to get help.”

Looking down at your hands, you sniff quietly as you contemplate what he’s said. As per usual, he’s said it sweetly and in a way that isn’t offensive. The very idea of admitting that you had mental health issues made you quail inside, wanting to tell him that he was wrong and you were fine.

But he wasn’t wrong...and you weren’t fine.

“What if they don’t believe me? Or tell me it’s just in my head? Or that I’m just sad or something? And what if work finds out and they get angry at me? People will tell me I’m just faking it or something, looking for attention.” The stereotypes slip from your lips without you realising it but you’re worried.

Despite the push for being more open around mental health lately, you know that people still don’t view it positively. That admitting depression or anxiety can often come with an eye roll or an exasperated sigh. You knew how it went, you weren’t depressed you were just tired or weren’t willing to put in effort and so forth.

But you knew it wasn’t that. It couldn’t be, not when it felt so real and strong.

“Sweetheart, if they think at your work then fuck them. You already hate that place and you’re looking for something new. Don’t let them get to you, you are more important than anyone there. And if they want to act like shit around something as serious as this, then they don’t deserve you. Your doctor should listen, and if they don’t then make them listen. They’re there for you, not the other way around. It’s in your head purely because it’s your mental health and it can be helped. I won’t lie, it’s probably not gonna get cured. But you’ll find ways to cope. And I’ll be here for you. So will your parents and your friends. We care for you and we want you to be okay.” He rubs at your arms then, his touch warm even through the soft material of your sweater.

“I’ve watched you draw into yourself and it’s worried me for a while now. But if you’re willing to reach out to me at your lowest, which I’m going to assume that breakdown was your lowest, then I think you want help. I can’t make it go away, but I can help support you while you get your feet back under you. Will you consider going to the doctor? Please?”

Pushing your head into his neck harder, you sniff hard and pushing the sleeves of your sweater past your hands. Your heart races at the thought of discussing your personal issues with someone you don’t know, but you know Hoseok is right. You need help, you need to reach out.

Swallowing hard, you realise that you need to do what he’s suggesting. You don’t want to get back to that point where you realised you didn’t care if you lived or died anymore. Because you wanted your life to get better. You just didn’t have the tools to pull yourself out of the swamp.

“Okay. I’ll go.” His body relaxes imperceptibly at your agreement and you feel bad, realising how worried he must have been for you. But that worry vanishes when he tilts your head up to his, a sweet smile on his face before he kisses you gently.

“Good. You won’t regret it, I swear. And thank you. For trusting me enough to call me when you were afraid and for telling me now. I want to try and help you anyway I can. I know what it’s like to feel very lost and afraid. I just got angry at the world though. So...please talk to me when you’re not feeling okay, even if you think I’m going to be annoyed or can’t be bothered. Because I’d rather you talk and vent to me than do something else.” And suddenly, you realise he’s got tears in his own eyes.

Reluctant tears you can tell, the way he gives a small smile that’s forced, his dimples showing but no real happiness behind it. Swallowing, your own smile wobbles too as you realise that he must have been so worried.

“I will. I swear. I swear.” His lips press to your forehead, resting there long after he’s finished his kiss and you simply embrace it, absorbing his deep feelings to you that you can tell he has even though he doesn’t say a word. Unsurprising really, because you feel all the positive and warm feelings you have towards him blossoming through the hollowness in your chest.

He’s not going to fix you and you both know that. But you’re surprised to realise that you don’t want him to either. That this is something you have to start yourself. For your own peace of mind but also so that you don’t become reliant on him while pressuring Hoseok with something as precarious as your mental health.

You’ve reached out for help finally, and now you just need to accept the help you’re given in turn.

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shypotato-translations · 4 years ago

Text

QTVW Chapter 22

Showbiz* Sexy Queen (IX)

The director gave the crew a day off to prepare their luggage and by midday on the third day, the crew chartered a plane to Kunlun Mountain.

After a series of plane rides, car rides, truck rides and cattle rides, the crew finally arrived at the location chosen by the director in a state of disarray.

The director chose a location relatively close to the mountains because the setting of the novel 《The Burial Man》is in the mountains of Kunlun, after all, the safety of the crew had to be taken into consideration and they could not really go into the deep forest.

After considering the cost and time it would take to build a place to live, the director chose to go to a nearby village of a thousand people and share a house with the villagers.

However, for various reasons, such as safety, number of people and emotions, it is necessary to share a house with several people so that they can take care of each other.

After the director told the crew about the decision, Mei Mu Lan immediately looked at him with glowing eyes and raised her chin to point at Ling Yi Yao who was standing with her back to them.

Then she turned her head, her eyes locked firmly on his, the look so long and intriguing that the director shivered, practically shuddering.

These days, after months of living together, the director has long recognized Mei Mu Lan's nature, and even though he still sees her with a charming and lovely face, he just can't feel the slightest bit of aesthetic appeal.

Instead, he immediately recalled that when Mei Mu Lan was looking at Ling Yi Yao, her wolf-like eyes were green and oozing with power.

And Ling Yi Yao is Ling Tianye's niece, the director and Ling Tianye are childhood friends growing up together, they have a very good relationship.

He also has a big brother-like care and closeness to the delicate and tiny little Ling Yi Yao.

The director said in his heart: A dead friend is not a poor friend, Ling Yi Yao, this is the peach blossom you have attracted, go and enjoy yourself!

It is said that if you get in the way of a relationship, you will be kicked by a donkey, and for the sake of his own life, the director said in a serious and very solemn manner,

“At the village headman's house, the people staying together are me and the photographer, and the people staying in the second are ......

The nineteenth family, the people that will stay together are Ling Yi Yao and Mei Mu Lan, ah, this villager's room is smaller and can't squeeze more people in, so it's just you two sharing a room.

OK, the next family, is ......”

The director finished reading out his arrangement with a sweaty face, feeling like his back was about to be pierced by Ling Yi Yao's stern gaze.

He ignored the hot and condensed eyes behind him and quickly disappeared at the end of the crowd, gloating as he thought: I can't handle Yao Yao, but there's always someone who can handle you now, right?

Seeing that the stare was ineffective and that the outcome was already decided, Ling Yi Yao did not struggle any more and went to the villager's house at the end of the village, carrying her luggage with her.

Mei Mu Lan immediately followed, her face smiling brightly, almost blinding passers-by.

Mei Mu Lan said,

“Ling Yi Yao, we're actually moving in together, ow, I feel my heart beating violently, what about you what about you? Don't worry, I will treat you well and I will be gentle.”

Ling Yi Yao's habitual woodenness: “……”

I don't want to know why it sounds so strange and colorful coming from you when we are just living together.

The two settled into a room in the villagers' house. Ling Yi Yao refused to share a bed with Mei Mu Lan and slept on the sofa.

She also performed her standard of wood chopping in front of Mei Mu Lan when she was admonished.

Mei Mu Lan looked at the neatly arranged firewood of exactly the same length and size, and suddenly felt pain all over her body.

She swallowed and consoled herself by thinking: After all, we're under the same roof, so we just need to brush up on Ling Yiyao's goodwill.

It's not quite working yet, but it's a good idea.

After more than three months of filming in the Kunlun Mountains, the crew of 《The Burial Man》had only completed about half of their shooting tasks, which was much slower than the director's expectation of completing them in four months.

The weather here is really bad, like a child's temper, sometimes it's windy and sometimes it rains, sometimes it's windy and sunny one minute, the next minute it's cloudy and overcast, this makes it impossible for the crew to shoot normally, so they have to take the time to shoot when the weather is good, and when it turns cloudy, the whole crew takes a break.

Because of this, filming has slowed down.

And whenever it was a cloudy day when the crew took a break, Ling Yi Yao would leave Mei Mu Lan's sight and go and stay somewhere else.

But it didn't really work, because no matter where she went, Mei Mu Lan would eventually find her and look at her with a smile and arched eyebrows, a little haughty expression, like a child who had gotten away with a prank, with all her emotions showing straight on her face.

Ling Yi Yao noticed that Mei Mu Lan's eyes were beautiful, round and narrow, clear and spiritual, and when she saw her, her eyes would immediately open wide in surprise, full of her.

Ling Yi Yao had a dangerous feeling every time she saw her eyes, she had a feeling that this person would affect her, and these unstable emotions were unnecessary for her true self.

She always had a bad feeling that her life would be changed by this woman. And she doesn't want to change now, so she distances herself from her, away from her. Although the result was not to her liking.

Just like now, she left the set once again and went to the Kunlun Mountain range outside the village, she climbed up the mountain and reached a natural flat spot on the mountain, she stood still and her eyes went over the distant mountain clouds and saw the azure sky.

As she looked at this natural picture of the mountains in the sky, an indescribable feeling of loneliness arose in her heart.

She felt like the mountains and clouds, existing between heaven and earth for an unknown number of years, seeing the sea change and the stars shift.

Everything is changing, but what remains the same is not only the change, but also the silent spectator herself.

And at that very moment, a pair of hands suddenly attacked her, wrapped around her waist and carried her down to the ground, and then a familiar stammering voice rang in her ears, the soft and elegant voice of Mei Mu Lan.

She said in a rush,

“Hey, don't kill yourself, I haven't played with you yet? If you have any problems, tell me, I will help you to find a solution. Jumping off a cliff is a tragic and unattractive way to die, you know? Come on, take a deep breath. Come on, calm down,”

Ling Yi Yao: “……”

With a blank face, she grabbed her hand, squeezed her wrist area and disengaged her hold.

Then she stood up, patted the mud on her body, got low/down and pulled Mei Mu Lan, who was still lying on the ground, up and said,

“I am…… thinking about the plot, how did you find your way here without killing yourself?”

Mei Mu Lan deflated and said,

“You were standing on the edge of the cliff, and I was scared. It's a good thing you didn't try to kill yourself, otherwise I'd be a widow. If you dare to jump, I will jump with you, youjump, ijump.”

Ling Yi Yao: “……”

Suddenly I feel so tired, this kind of speechless mood, who can understand?

Mei Mu Lan suddenly remembered that Ling Yi Yao had asked a question and replied,

“Oh yes, I followed you here, I grew up studying theater, my family taught me some ancient martial arts moves in order to make my body agile, I didn't expect it would come in handy today.”

She arches her eyebrows and smiles.

Ling Yi Yao had gotten used to her nonsense, and in any case, they had been together for most of the year, and she was beginning to understand her.

This Mei Mu Lan, apart from being a bit of a collector, weird and in a strange state of mind, is actually a nice person.

It is said that she has never played a film role before, but in her first scene in the set, she was able to portray the woman in the cabaret, who was so beautiful and amorous that she seemed to be ruthless, without ng, in a single line, which made the director applaud and exclaim that she was a natural talent for acting.

And she was able to establish friendly relations with everyone except her, so she seems to have a good personality and emotional intelligence.

As Ling Yi Yao was lost in thought, a hand appeared under her eyes and she blinked to see Mei Mu Lan looking at her with a worried expression.

She asked,

“Tell me what you're thinking about, and I'll help you with it, as three people are better than a wise man, there are more ideas than one, and maybe you can find the answer in my ideas.”

Ling Yi Yao's gaze came into contact with her sincere and pure eyes, and she immediately averted her gaze and walked to the edge of the cliff, saying,

“It's the final scene in the plot where the female undertaker jump off the cliff.”

Mei Mu Lan also walked to the edge of the cliff, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, when she opened her eyes again, her original leisurely and lazy aura changed immediately.

At this moment, she was like the undertaker who was about to jump off the cliff, her body exuding emptiness and desolation.

Her deep, dark eyes were seemingly emotionless, like a delicate human doll, devoid of any semblance of human emotion.

Then she softly hummed a song, the old nursery rhyme in a soft voice, resounding** between the cliffs, and the doll-like figure began to be tinged with the fireworks of the world, her eyes interpreting the vicissitudes of change over the years, from childhood innocence, joy, freedom and tenderness to emptiness, desolation, pain and despair, a thousand emotions flashed by.

Then she hooked her lips into a light smile, a few hints of lingering despondency, a few wisps of nostalgic bewilderment, a murmured song, etched with a thousand years of time, between shifts of light and shadow, she shifted from complexity to simplicity, and finally, with a touch of relief, she opened her arms slightly and jumped.

Of course, someone tugged behind her, and Mei Mu Lan, returning from the plot and once again being the chirpy, always-talking Mei Mu Lan, said excitedly,

“How was it? How was it? Did I do a good job? Gee, it feels okay but it's just a little short, you know what's missing?”

She asked with a troubled and puzzled face.

Ling Yi Yao looked down the cliff and she said,

“She didn't really want to jump, I think, and it was clear from the way she sang the songs of her childhood that she didn't want to die. An intelligent woman like her, who had dominated everything and played the various elites of modern society, would not have given up her life if she didn't have a choice.

She should have been unable to help herself, but there was something unbearable about her. Humans are the most complex creatures, and there are a thousand Hamlets for thousand of people. The real meaning is only to be expressed implicitly, the rest is left to the audience to understand.”

At this point, Ling Yi Yao changed her tone to a lighter one and said,

“Thank you so much this time, your interpretation was great and helped me a lot, thank you.”

Mei Mu Lan smiled narrowly and said shyly,

“Oh, don't say that, how embarrassing, how annoying, my whole body is yours. Just come to my ** tonight and I'll accept your love for me in return.”

Ling Yi Yao: “……”

She turned around and left without a moment's hesitation.

Mei Mu Lan pointed her finger and shouted at her back,

“Can't I give my life to you then? Hey, wait for me!”

Ling Yi Yao: “……”

Nothing is left to chance, ignore it.

Another three months passed quickly, and at the moment when Ling Yiyao, the 《Burial Man》, jumped off the cliff, the director shouted in a loud voice,

“Cut! End of the film!”

Everyone in the cast exhaled, relaxed and said,

“Finally finished filming.”

That's the end of the film, it's not about the actors, it's about the post-production team.

The crew quickly packed their bags and returned to the city the next day.

The film, which was shot over nine months, was officially closed and the day after the group returned to the city, they went to the hotel together to celebrate.

The director, who has always been stingy and cheap, was finally generous at the end of the day, saying in a small, weak voice,

“It's been a lot of hard work, so I'm treating you all to a celebration party, so don't steal it from me, but……” I wouldn't mind if someone paid for me.

But before he could finish, he was interrupted by the cheers of the crowd.

Photographer A,

"Shit, the stingy director wants to treat, it's a once-in-a-century event, I'll order the most expensive one!"

Director's assistant B,

"The director's treat? Let me see the menu ah, come, waiter, I order shark's fin, bird's nest, bear's paw ......"

Mei Mu Lan's eyes glowed,

"Ah, I'll have the full Han Chinese banquet, is there one? No, then a Buddha jumping wall, a roast suckling pig and a ......"

The director stood silently behind them and lifted the flat glasses on the bridge of his nose, a shiny white light flashed and a "ding" was heard around them.

Then an eerie, dark aura spread out and covered the whole room, and everyone present was overwhelmed and shivering by this aura.

Photographer A,

"It's a bit cold all of a sudden, what's going on?"

Director's Assistant B,

"I had a bad feeling, like the director didn't bring any money or something."

Mei Mu Lan's eyes glowed,

"It's okay, we can mortgage the director here and be the boss's wife's pressed husband."

Director: "......" fist pumping.

Other onlooking crew: "Huh!" Light the candles!

The director held up his glasses, smiled evilly and carried these three people downstairs, booked a small private room separately, then ordered a few bowls of beef noodles and said,

"Well, this is the appetizer, after you finish this, then meet us in the private room upstairs. Remember what I said, it's all eaten up O."

With that he opened the door to the room, locked the three of them in and returned to the upstairs room himself.

Other crew: "......"

The director walked in and said,

"Come on, come on, don't be polite to me, order whatever you want, don't be polite."

The crowd: "......" lol!

#yuri #transmigration #world hopping #shypotato #QTVW22

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mythicalsecretsanta · 4 years ago

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In The Bleak Midwinter (G)

This gift is for: Grace-Anna (AKA @rhettroedits) Seaborne does not particularly enjoy Christmas and he especially doesn’t enjoy being back in his home town for it. From your Secret Santa, Mai (AKA @holdbythenotsharp)

Link to AO3, or read below:

As the insufferably cheery notes of Wonderful Christmastime invade his awareness, Charles Seaborne realizes he has been standing in front of the uninspiring wine selection of an A&C, staring at it blankly for some time. Trying to choose between a mediocre Merlot and quite possibly an even more mediocre Pinot Noir is impossible with the seasonal jingle assaulting his ears, overriding intelligent thought.

To be honest, he’d prefer whiskey, but years spent away from his home state had made him forget grocery stores here don’t carry hard liquor. To be really honest, he could die a lucky man, if he never had to hear Wonderful Christmastime again, he thinks as he reaches for the Merlot.

Seaborne doesn’t enjoy surprises. As a rule, he doesn’t allow himself to be caught off-guard. Some might call him inflexible, even uptight, he prefers methodical and well-prepared. But as it turns out, it’s very difficult to be prepared for seeing a ghost.

He had been on his way to the checkout, before remembering his intention to pick up a proper shampoo to replace the miserable 2 in 1 his hotel offered, so he turns around to navigate back to the personal care aisle. Halfway there he spots the figure of a tall man standing in the middle of the pet food aisle, browsing dog treats. It had been years since Seaborne last saw him. His glasses are smaller than they used to be, with subtle metal rims, and he’d grown a full beard at some point, but there was no mistaking. His best friend from childhood — who he had not heard from for almost a decade — had apparently gotten a dog.

Apprehension and dread overwhelm Seaborne. He wants to run away, but his feet have stopped moving. It’s not like they had a falling out, really. He could probably just say hello, and Roach would probably say hi back. But then what?

Roach drops a bag of treats into his basket, jolting Seaborne back into action. He scurries behind a shelf and pretends to be engrossed in canned fruit until his heart stops racing. After a moment of contemplation, he decides he can subject his hair to the torture of 2 in 1 for a day or two more and makes his way out of the store, stealing glances over his shoulder, making sure he is not spotted. He doesn’t notice his hands trembling until he’s sitting in his El Camino in the parking lot, failing for the third time to aim the key into the ignition.

By the time he’s back at his hotel room, a spartan affair at a Holiday Inn near the interstate 40, he has almost convinced himself the man he had seen was actually a ghost, or possibly one of those kombucha drinking hipsters that had invaded the town since his last visit. What are the chances it was the man Seaborne specifically hoped to avoid this trip?

After watching two episodes of Magnum P.I. and polishing off most of the wine, he’s practically forgotten about the encounter. It’s as if it hadn’t happened at all. He plans to go on as usual, as if it’s just another job in just another town, not the prodigal son’s return to a place that had not been kind to him. That night he has an unsettling dream about being lost in a maze of dark alleyways, wandering endlessly, hunger and thirst eating away at his insides. Just when he expects to collapse next to a stack of pallets in some dead end that stinks like month old garbage, he notices a lonely turkey vulture on a nearby rooftop staring at him with piercing eyes, waiting.

The dream refuses to leave him alone the following day, and gloomy imagery creeps back into his mind as he sits in his car, staring out of the window and across a parking lot at an office building. It’s rainy and chilly, and the windows of the El Camino keep fogging up as he shivers in his seat, fingers wrapped tightly around a takeaway cup of some sickly sweet gingerbread flavored coffee concoction. If nothing else, the sugar and the caffeine should give him energy to keep staring at the building’s only exit. The guy he was hired to follow should be out any moment now, but Seaborne is not a patient man, so he fiddles with the knobs of the car radio, taps along on the lid of his cup after finding a station that doesn’t play Christmas songs and — after realizing the tapping will not keep him entertained for long — fishes out his phone from his pocket. He’s been doing this for years, he can easily keep one eye on the door of the office building and the other on his phone, while he idly slides his thumb across the screen to reveal increasingly inane, mostly holiday-related, updates from distant friends and even more distant family members.

“Where the hell is he?” Seaborne mutters to no one but himself and leans back in his seat. Even after all the years of working in a job with a lot of downtime, he hasn’t learned to tolerate boredom. It still makes him irritable and antsy; like each minute spent with nothing to do pressurizes the anxious energy inside him until he is ready to pop.

After a while of scrolling, he is sure he doesn’t want to see another picture of someone’s child or pet in a cutesy costume or posed in front of a decorated tree in a mockery of domestic bliss. He hasn’t been paying that much attention to the motions of his thumb, so when he looks down again he’s startled to see the profile page of a Jim Roach. After some initial hesitation he browses through the pictures, just to confirm he is in fact still with Gina and they have two kids and a third on the way. There are several collections of photos, of a vacation to Hawaii, of an anniversary party, of their children’s birthdays. Seaborne scours through them frantically, like he’s trying to find something specific, but he doesn’t know what. When he looks up from the device, his is the only car in the parking lot and the office building looks dark and empty.

That night as he sits alone in his hotel room, trying to distract himself from the strange and somewhat disconcerting damp smell lingering in the surrounding air, he googles Roach. For no real reason, just… He’s curious. He finds Roach has started a business selling commercial kitchen equipment, and all signs imply he is doing alright for himself. He lives not too far from where they both grew up and his number is listed. Seaborne saves the number on his phone. Just in case.

When he calls the number the following morning, he hasn’t planned what to say. Indeed, he hadn’t planned to call at all, but he can’t get the number out of his mind. The mere presence of the number in his phone’s memory has been burning a hole through his pocket ever since he left the hotel earlier. It’s still early, he figures. Judging by the opening hours of Roach’s store, he might still reach him by calling his home number. He hits the call icon on his screen, fully aware he has never done a single thing so spontaneously in his entire life. It rings for some time, and he contemplates hanging up.

“Hello?” Gina answers the phone.

Seaborne inhales to say… to say what exactly? His mind is blank, and his jaw is so stiff he fears he couldn’t move it even if he knew what to say.

“Hello?” Gina’s voice is more demanding and Seaborne is sorry for bothering her like this. She’s probably trying to get the kids to school or something. He really shouldn’t have called. Hanging up on her seems more courteous than creepy, given the circumstances. He decides to drive by Roach’s house later instead to satisfy his curiosity about how the man lives these days, maybe see what kind of car he drives, or if he has a pool.

The driveway is empty when he gets there a few hours later, and he can’t see a pool, but Seaborne slows down to get a good look at the swing set in the yard. It’s a nicer model, he knows after shopping for one for his niece’s birthday last year. The house is nice too; it looks welcoming and happy nestled in between others just like it, with their well-maintained gardens marred only by the occasional scattered toy. Roach has come a long way from where he was when the arrival of his firstborn pressured him into accepting a job offer from his father-in-law instead of pursuing a career with his best friend.

The twinge of something dark he felt outside Roach’s house returns to him later at night, when he is back alone in his hotel room. The feeling is hard to name. Jealousy of the pleasant, middle class family life Seaborne never accomplished with his ex-wife, perhaps, or remorse of letting all that between him and his best friend? Sleep evades him as he tosses and turns in his overly soft bed, getting up every once in a while to adjust the temperature, have a glass of water or to urinate. No amount of focusing on his breathing or imagining himself on a tropical beach calms down the heavy pounding of his vexed heart. He doesn’t know what a panic attack feels like, but suspects it might be something like this.

Even three cups of coffee cannot revive him the next day. Exhaustion is like an itch behind his eyes and sitting still in a car with nothing to do aggravates him even more than usual. The insecurity and guilt that had cursed his existence the night before still linger in him, gnawing away at his usual indifference and cynicism. Worst of all, the day has been long but futile, Seaborne has still not got any incriminating evidence against the man he has been following for the better part of a week and he is seriously considering just packing up his things and going back home. What good will it do him, another day or two in this town that only reminds him of his loneliness? As if the holiday season wasn’t bad enough already.

The passenger side door of the El Camino opens, interrupting his thoughts. Seaborne turns to scold the intruder, but the words he had held on his tongue glide to the back of his throat and he swallows them, as the intruder settles down on the seat beside him, arranges his long legs neatly under the dashboard and leans back in the seat like it’s something natural he does every day. For a while they just sit still, air thick with anticipation. Seaborne has no idea what to expect, and the questions spinning in his mind refuse to be arranged to words.

“What’s the gig? Who are we following?” the intruder says. He’s wearing sunglasses instead of the glasses he had on in the grocery store, and he looks a bit like a rock star with his big beard and leather jacket. Or a moron, considering it’s not sunny, but Seaborne lets that slide for now.

“We are not following anyone, dude, what are you doing here?” Seaborne can’t help but feel a little self-conscious about still wearing the same gray tweed coat, now sporting holes in the elbows. It’s still a good coat, though, and he was never one to throw away perfectly usable items of clothing.

“You wouldn’t have driven by my house six times in two days if you weren’t looking for help.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, so what are we doing?”

“It’s an infidelity thing… You know, I only drove by your house because the guy’s mom lives near there, at the end of the cul-de-sac. I was looking for him and thought he might be there.”

“Sure. Good to see ya, man.”

“Hmm.”

Seaborne wants to say he missed Roach, working with him, or just sitting with him like this, but it might be too much. They never said things like that before, theirs just wasn’t that kind of a relationship. He suspects Roach is not expecting it either, judging by the way he leans his cheek on the side window, staring intensely at something outside. Probably some squirrels running around in the park across the street.

“So. Still investigating privately after all these years,” Roach says, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Turns out it’s what I’m good at. Or at least somewhat more successful than as a chef.” Seaborne replies. It’s not untrue, he’s made a name for himself and has a steady trickle of cases landing on his table, even if success may be a slight overstatement.

“Questioning the questionable. Missing dogs and eaten flowers, still?”

“Shut up.” A slight twitch in the corner of Seaborne’s mouth reveals he doesn’t mind the gentle jabbing. The years had softened some parts of him at least. He is no longer the tightly wound bundle of aggression and defensiveness he once was. “Still a lot of cheaters though.”

“You know I gotta ask… is the guy at least older than twelve this time?”

“Come on, man!” Seaborne can no longer contain his giggling, and the delighted grin on Roach’s face only spurs him on. “At least acknowledge my lack of mustache first!”

#mythical secret santa 2020 #type: fic #rating: G #gift swap #submission

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suntumarchive · 4 years ago

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A commission for @cafesotenbori ! Thank you so much~

Fandom/s: Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure Character/s: Yoshikage Kira x gender- and appearance neutral victim Kink/s: Fearplay, vore CW: Graphic swallowing, implied fatal

Plot: Yoshikage Kira is an unmarried man, and he has no intention of changing that anytime soon. But sometimes, going on “dates” is a great way to get to know his freshly chosen victims... especially when he invited them over for “dinner”.

___

Dark, heavy rain clouds weighed down on the peaceful city of Morioh, and enveloped the buildings in a grey haze, as if they wanted to warn the inhabitants of the approaching storm coming in from the south. Occasionally, thick rain drops landed on the still warmed up asphalt streets, causing ghostly swabs of mist to creep up from the ground. The low rumbling of Kira’s stomach cut through the gloomy silence like a sword, and he checked his wristwatch for what felt like the millionth time. Did his date decide to just not show up in that weather? That would truly be a shame… He’d been looking forward to having them over for dinner.

Eventually, though, the man was pleased to see their silhouette in the distance, getting closer in a rather hasty manner. Clearly they wanted to protect themselves from the downpour, which would soon hit the area of Morioh where the villas were located. Yoshikage Kira gestured towards his house, and greeted them with a small chuckle.

“Looks like you barely made it in time!”, he made it sound like he was talking about the rain, but honestly, there was a slight sense of anger inside him about how late they were. Kira was someone who liked it when everything was tidy and smooth, and being two minutes late was something he personally couldn’t condone. He always made sure to arrive at least five minutes early. But in his 33 years of age, he’d very often experienced that other people weren’t living their lives the same way he was… and it made his fingernails itch for murder. If nobody else was going to do it, it was up to him to get rid of the vermin among humanity, and keep Morioh as beautiful and peaceful as it should be.

“I’m so sorry, my bus was a little late”, his visitor panted, and shot him a bit of an awkward smile as they approached his house with him. Kira knew he was obligated to forgive them, but he found himself staring at the wetness that was pooling on their forehead, debating if it was sweat or rainwater… would he have to wash them…?

“Please, no need to apologize… a few minutes don’t make a big difference, do they?”, Yoshikage smiled and took his shoes off before entering the building… luckily, his date was smart enough to do the same, or he’d have gotten pretty pissed off.

Just the thought of having them in his home made him pretty uncomfortable… Kira glanced down at his fingers, and noticed his nails had already grown several millimeters from the stress. He felt disgusted… every time he let vermin into his house, he was extremely relieved once he erased them entirely. The unlucky person who happened to be the “vermin” Kira had laid his eyes on looked around his house with great curiosity, eyeing the furniture and decorations… Hm, surprisingly simplistic. The man was quick to gently pull them aside, and guide them to his living room.

“I’m so happy you made it”, he insisted.

“Please, have a seat while I prepare dinner for us.”

“Wonderful! Thank you, Yoshikage!”, the person plopped down on the couch rather loudly, making the office employee cringe inside. He hated being called by his first name by anyone but his father. Once again, his fingers began to itch, and he had to remind himself of why he was doing this… he had to stay calm if he wanted this to go smoothly. This kind of stress wasn’t good for him… Yoshikage needed to avoid anything that would cause him to lose sleep at night at all costs. He wanted his life to stay nice and quiet… inviting vermin to his house was the closest he’d ever get to committing risky murders.

But admittedly, he felt kind of excited thinking about the part that was still waiting for him… the best part of tonight. Dinner. He’d share an appetizer with his unwelcome date, mix a carefully prepared shrinking potion into their food, and have them as a little snack before the main course. He hummed to himself as he removed a wisp of blond hair from his face, and skillfully cracked open the top of the soft boiled egg he’d made before… Half of the still runny yolk was removed, and replaced with a few drops of the potion. Luckily, only a sip would be enough for his visitor to shrink to the size of a little mouse. Once again, he felt his stomach growl as he toasted the bread that he’d serve with it. Kira hushed his own belly and almost lovingly ran his hand across it.

Just be patient, my dear…

Before his visitor could snoop around his home any more, the serial killer brought the appetizer with the added potion to the table. He’d cut the bread up into even slices, and even brought a bowl for the shell, and a tiny spoon in the perfect size to eat the inside of the egg without spilling anything. His guest was pleased to see this, and chuckled lightheartedly.

“Oh, how cute! Thank you, Yoshikage!”

Once again, his first name... He dug his nails into his thighs as he sat down, hoping to prevent them from growing again this way. His urge to kill was almost unbearable at this point, and he found himself eyeing their throat, wishing to see blood gush out of it.

“Of course. I hope you enjoy. The soup will be finished soon.”

They seemed to be satisfied with that… Kira stared at their fingers as they broke the bread and dipped it into the egg… It felt like ages until they finally brought the slice towards their mouth and started eating. Yoshikage felt terribly on edge, like he was just waiting for something to spill… that would probably be what would cause him to spill as well.

“So, I take it you like to cook? Since you know, we could have just gone to a restaurant too! Not that I mind when you cook for me, don’t get me wrong! In fact, it’s nice to be here with you and not have to worry about the rain!”

“Please, be careful with the yolk, or you’re going to spill it all over yourself.”

Once again, the killer watched them drop the bread into their mouth… some orange liquid ran down their chin, which they quickly wiped up with their finger and sucked it off.

“You’re so prudent”, they chuckled, and began to dip more bread into their tiny egg… Kira could almost hear the shell cracking a bit farther, and the single drop of potion land on his table. He gritted his teeth.

“Careful. That’s messy.”

“Oh, ‘scuse me…”, and again… they wiped it up with their finger. There was a streak of yolk and potion visible on the wood of his table… Kira barely had the patience to wait anymore. Lucky for him, they’d swallowed enough of the potion for it to take effect at this point, and the blond man was delighted to see that their hands began to shrink.

For a moment, his date wore a confused expression on their face. Was it just them, or did the bread feel a bit bigger all of a sudden? And the egg? The entire table??

They looked over at Yoshikage Kira, and back down at their body. While watching the sleeves of their shirt growing longer and longer, they started stammering something the man couldn’t understand, but it made him chuckle. He had a feeling he knew what it meant.

“Oh dear… Looks like the main course is going to be served soon.”

“M-m-main- course-“

The helpless person desperately watched the world around them grow, including their date, who soon looked like a giant as he looked down at them with his sharp, blue eyes. Pretty soon, the poor soul was so tiny that their clothes pooled around them like an oversized blanket. Still confused, they attempted to squirm out of the fabric, but partly covered their body out of shame and fear when they saw Kira crouch down next to them.

“You’re bigger than I expected… I suppose I didn’t use enough of the mixture. But it’s alright. I can still swallow you with ease.”

Finally, it began to dawn on Kira’s victim. This guy…! They were the main course!!

“You lured me here because you want to eat me?!”, they squealed, and flailed about, trying to move away from him. How cute… as much as Kira wasn’t a fan of small animals, he always found it quite endearing when shrunken vermin was afraid of him.

“No, no. I didn’t lure you anywhere. You came here at your own accord, because you wanted to.”

“M-my people will notice when I don’t come home, you know?!”

“Oh, will they…?”, Kira chuckled lowly, the tone in his voice sent a shiver down his guest’s back.

“Well, if that’s the case, I’ll just have to eat them as well, wouldn’t you agree?”

The serial killer reached out for the still squirming, tiny person, and firmly grabbed them, leaving them no room to escape. No matter how much they squealed, kicked and bit him, he made it pretty clear that he wasn’t going to let go, and firmly pressed his continuously growing fingernails against their small form to remind them how easily he could kill them.

“Y-you wouldn’t dare to…”

“Oh… Believe me, I would.”

Yoshikage lifted them towards his face, and made direct eye contact with them for several seconds before he parted his lips. Terrified, the person in his grasp stared at his teeth, his wet tongue, and the saliva dripping from the roof of his mouth… When they felt his warm breath on their skin, they immediately began to squirm again. They’d rather be pierced by his nails, or at least crushed than eaten!!

“No, no!!! Don’t eat me!!”

“No? What a shame”, Kira cooed.

“I remember you saying you’d do anything for me…”

“W-what?!”

“Don’t you remember?”, his icy gaze made them shiver.

“You said you’d do anything for me if you could only go on a date with me a single time… well, here you are… we went on a date. And now it’s your turn to give me what I want.”

“I DIDN’T THINK YOU’D FUCKING EAT ME!!!”, their piercing screech hurt Kira’s ears, and he honestly couldn’t wait until they’d be silenced by the strength of his stomach… but no, not yet. He squeezed them a bit tighter, and lowered his fist towards his belly, forcing the tiny person to push their head against him.

“Shh… do you hear this?”, Kira was almost whispering when he asked that.. The poor soul in his hand had no choice but to listen to the noise coming from his gut. Constant bubbling vibrated against them from underneath his belly button, and with the aggressive churning from his audibly upset stomach, it blended into a terrifying mixture. Was this where they were going to end up soon…?

“You’re making me feel stressed…”, the killer continued, and lifted them back up towards his face, giving them a surprisingly calm look.

“I don’t like feeling stressed at all. It influences the quality of my sleep at night… I hope you’ll be quieter once my stomach takes proper care of you. Squirming makes me very gassy… I hate waking up from my own belches, it’s rather embarrassing.”

“You’re nuts…!!”

That response only caused Yoshikage to chuckle, once again forcing the poor thing between his fingers to look at his teeth…

“Is that really how you’d like to be remembered? Don’t you have any… nicer last words to say?”

“No…!! No, please, don’t do this!!!”

He liked the sound of that much better already… The more Kira lowered them down towards his mouth again, the more they squealed and squirmed, but they had no chance against his powerful grasp… or his strong jaws. It was a little uncomfortable to slip them past his lips, but once he bit down and his teeth shut around them like an unbreakable metal door, the poor soul in his mouth knew their fate was sealed, no matter how much they struggled and kicked. All it got them was more thick saliva that coated their body, more wetness they slipped on, and more liquid that brought them closer to the throat they feared so much.

“Please, Yoshikage, I love you-“

Their voice didn’t even reach the predator’s ears anymore… After tilting his head back, Kira gulped down audibly, and the tiny person in his mouth slid down his throat as if it were a dark, tight waterslide. The strong muscles of his esophagus continuously worked them down, past his heart and lungs, and down into his stomach, where they were immediately greeted by humid air and deafening noise. Several of their bones had been broken on the way down. The scent of death crept up their nose, and made them want to vomit… All they could do was desperately gasp for air, and kick the lining of Yoshikage’s stomach. But their panic only coaxed out a small, pathetic belch, which could easily be covered up by three of his fingers.

“Excuse me. Your panicking makes me feel a bit bloated”, he chuckled to himself. Not that they could hear him from out there… his voice probably just sounded like intense rumbling to them. Finally, the blissful silence he enjoyed so much settled in his home again… Well, besides his active organs getting to work underneath his shirt. He patted his belly, satisfied with his meal… Now Kira had a tough decision to make… would he let them suffocate? Or would he immediately crush them with more food?

#writing #commis

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elegantfilmphotographyfantasykid · 5 years ago

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Just Lost is All

Hello, I wasn't planning on writing the next part already but I got 15 notes in the first day of posting it, (might not seem like a lot to some but I am giddy as fuck right now) so here is pt2

warnings: angst, A/B/O dynamics, alpha Bucky, omega reader, an appearance from the Shelby brothers, cursing

ALSO IM CHANGING POINTS OF VIEW SO LIKE YEAH

When you looked up all you could see was the disturbed look on Bucky's face, and for a second you were clueless as to why. Then you realized, his scent was probably overwhelming to an alpha and that's when more tears threatened to fall. Here you were in the arms of the man you loved and the only thing you got from him was disgust, you didn't care if he didn't like you but you couldn't handle him being disgusted in you.

“Bucky?” Your voice came out as a whimper and you seemed to snap him out of his thoughts, his eyes finally met yours and a single tear slid down your cheek before you could stop it. shame had you wriggling out of his grip and harshly wiping the betraying drop of sadness from your cheek. you turned to the rest of the team clearing your mind and focusing on the task at hand. you motioned for them to follow you and turned away not paying any attention to if they actually listened. You crept down the hall hugging the wall and making yourself as small as possible, making sure no one would see or hear you as you made your entrance.

Right now you were in the cell blocks which were deserted, there was only one reason for that. You spun on your heel catching Steves eye motioning for him to hand you your hood before whispering harshly.

“The auction has started someone needs to make sure no one gets away with these kids. If they do I will make it my personal mission to ruin their fucking lives, so unless you want another criminal in this world, do not let them out.” you took a deep breath to calm yourself knowing you had to be collected for the next part of your plan. You put your hood on pulling it up to shadow your face before standing straight and waltzing into the room with the stage, which you walked onto. You grabbed the mic staring at the crowd searching for the cruel eyes of the man who had been in your cell not even an hour before, as you looked at all the faces everyone seemed confused. But you knew the men that ran this, they were too cocky to bring out guards just yet, they would let you have your time, so you took it. Then you spotted him, arguing with a man slightly shorter than him, he was wearing a suit and he had black hair that was shaved down on the sides. His face was clean shaven and he dripped with confidence and dominance. Your omega nature fought against you wanting to bow to this stranger, but you knew better. So you cleared your throat into the microphone to get the attention of the two who looked like brothers now that you thought about it, and as soon as the one that you had already met looked at you, something akin to a growl ripped from your throat.

“Now I have a few introductory words before we get to the real fun,” your voice was mechanical, “first stay seated as their are several snipers ready to shoot at any sign of someone leaving,” you fibbed about the several as only Clint was watching, but you knew none of these rich assholes would take a chance, “second I would like the asshole with the Birmingham accent to sit up front,” You could see confusion flash over him and the other mans face, a shadow of a smile was on your features satisfied that you had caught him off guard. When they both stood at the edge of the stage you pulled your hood down looking the man from earlier in the eyes, you could tell he didn't recognize you at and that just pissed you off even more. Then it clicked watching him you could tell the exact moment he recognized you, he grew angry quite quickly while the other man just watched, you were tired of calling him the other man though so you named him Bob in your head. As Bobs angry little friend climbed on stage and you heard Bobs voice call out.

“Arthur if ya don't calm yer ass down I swear to the good lord.” Arthur as you now knew him didn't listen, he was seething as he stalked closer to you. On the outside, to someone who didn't spend as much time reading others behaviors as you did, he might have seemed calm and confident but you weren't fooled you could see his eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

“Now how did the bitchy whore of an omega escape her cage,” his voice was harsh and his face was becoming red, every omega instinct told you to bare your neck submissively, but you stood a bit taller a growl escaping your lips.

“I would back the fuck up if I were you,” you managed to keep your voice from shaking as you spoke, “the only reason you aren't in cuffs is because I wanted you to know, I am the one who got the best of you, see it wasn't that hard you became to comfortable in your ways, it made you quite an easy target.” you stared him in the eyes your voice growing more intense as you spoke. Then you heard a deep chuckle and looked down at Bob who looked like he couldn't be more relaxed, he had a cigarette between his smirking lips, and when you made eye contact he raised his eyebrows.

“I don't know what my brother dearest did to you, but I cannot wait to see him get his ass thrown in jail.” you were surprised to say the least, but that surprise turned to fear when you seen Arthur reach up from the corner of your eye. You closed your eyes and expected his hand to make contact with your face but all you heard was a grunt and the click of what sounded like a gun. Slowly your eyes opened scanning the still full room. You looked down at Bob and he had a gun pointed at his brother and when you glanced towards Arthur, Bucky was there holding the arm of the man who had inflicted more pain and fear on you than you have felt in your entire life. A sigh fell from your lips as Steve came in, he watched as Bucky handcuffed Arthur and you stood numbly. Steve's eyes met yours and he gave you a small nod meaning that this was over, they had gotten all the omegas out and the cops were on their way. You gave Bob one last glance before walking towards Tony who was waiting at the side of the stage, your ears perked up when you heard him yell for his brother, a sad smile hinted at your lips as you heard his real name.

“Thomas don't you dare fucking let this happen, you bastard, Tommy! Tommy fucking Shelby look at me!” You told Tony to let the others know that this Tommy character was allowed to leave unbothered, you could tell he had nothing to do with this. Then the Avengers waited until they heard the squealing tires and the piercing sirens of police pulling into the parking lot, when the doors to the building burst open the hero's took their leave, they had no time to give statements

Right now everyone just wanted to get you home and taken care of and that's what they did.

#avengers #alpha bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #reader insert #omega reader #plus sized reader #chubby reader #angst #sad #scared reader

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conflictedenergies · 5 years ago

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LFC :: Vy’cenin Nimblebreath

THE BASICS — -

Full name: Vy’cenin Nimblebreath Nickname(s): Vy, Cen, Cenin, Nimble Dimble. Alias(es): Anjelona Summersong. Age: Middle-aged. Birthday: September 10th. Race: Sin’dorei. Gender & pronouns: Non-binary, they/them. Sexuality: Questioning. Marital Status: Single.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE — -

Hair: An unruly nest of long and platinum blonde locks that may once have been silk soft to the touch. Now it’s dry and crispy, even greasy on the worse days. Eyes: Something of sickening shade of green-ish yellow that never quite stays the same. Sometimes it’s almost golden, other times a radioactive Fel green. Height: 5′4″ / 162.56 cm. Weight: 85.98 lbs / 39 kg. Build: Skinny, muscles prominent from the lack of fat on their body. Scars: None. Tattoos: A small one of the silhouettes of several flying birds in a flock on their left wrist. Piercings: A single stud earring in their left earlobe. Distinguished Traits: Heavy bags under their eyes and seemingly discoloured veins. They’re a muddy green, though the visibility of the discolouration varies. Common Accessories:

A purple cloak with hood.

Several worn hip-pouches of leather and cloth, full of herbs and various healing items.

A single armband type bracelet on their right arm.

A walking stick that quite honestly looks like Vy’cenin simply decided to pick up a fallen branch.

PERSONAL — -

Profession(s): Retired scholar and teacher. Adventurer. Hobbie(s): Reading, learning, sight-seeing, exploring, practicing magic, doing small talk with whoever is in chatting vicinity. Language(s): Thalassian (fluent), Common (accented but fluent), learning Gutter-speak. Skill(s): Being decent at quite a lot of things but never specialising in anything, which is especially prominent in the art of magic. Residence: Nowhere, really. Cen can no longer afford their apartment in Silvermoon. Birthplace: Silvermoon. Religion: They cannot put a name to who or what they believe in, but they do pray. They pray to the balance of the world. Patron Deity: Balance, I suppose? Fears:

Dying of hunger.

Losing Rupgup.

Having their identity forcefully changed and malformed by people who are not themself.

Anyone looking down upon them due to their body.

Their addiction chaining them to one place.

RELATIONSHIPS — -

Spouse: None. Children: None. Parents:

Celzia Nimblebreath (mother, deceased).

Parlinan Nimblebreath (father, alive though he has disowned Vy’cenin).

Siblings: None. Other Relatives: None Vy knows of. Pets: None that they consider pets. Rupgup is more of a companion than a pet or a servant.

TRAITS — -

Extroverted / Introverted / In between /: Vy’cenin wants nothing more than to spend their days hanging out in a tavern and exchanging stories with the patrons. They’re really bad at maintaining relationships, though.

Disorganised / Organised / In between /: Them being a teacher has not helped Cen in the slightest here. Their things are constantly in a mess.

Close Minded / Open Minded / In between /: It’s their whole gig.

Calm / Anxious / In between /: Sometimes concerningly calm, Vy’cenin is extremely difficult to rile up. You could point a blade in their face and threaten their life and they’d merely blink, smile, and offer you a series of compliments.

Disagreeable / Agreeable / In between /: They fight for what is right, not to come to an agreement, though they’re very much willing to compromise if it makes sense.

Cautious / Reckless / In between /: Seeing no reason to be cautious, Vy isn’t so, yet it’s not in their nature to be entirely reckless either.

Patient / Impatient / In between /: No comment.

Outspoken / Reserved / In between /: They hide nothing except for just how bad their magic addiction and the Light and Fel conflict is killing their body inside out.

Leader / Follower / In between /: Mostly Vy’cenin doesn’t bother taking charge as there’s usually already somebody else there to handle the situation. If not, though, they’re more than willing to step up, raise their voice, and get things under control. It’s a teacher skill.

Empathetic / Apathetic / In between /: No comment.

Optimistic / Pessimistic / In between /: Cenin is mostly optimistic. There are only very few things they’re pessimistic about, but in those cases their view cannot be rocked.

Traditional / Modern / In between /: No comment.

Hard-working / Lazy / In between /: It’s difficult for them to get back into the motion of things.

Cultured / Uncultured / In between /: Part of the sin’dorei culture is literally wedged into Vy’s veins.

Loyal / Disloyal / In between /: Vy’cenin is loyal yet not loyal loyal. Though they will absolutely fight for you, they put themself first. In a sense, Cenin is selfish.

Faithful / Unfaithful / In between /: Their faith in balance is unshakeable.

Assertive / Timid / In between /: They’re truly a friendly person, yet they don’t quite act timid. Cenin consistently lean more towards being assertive but not quite in a threatening manner. Though, if needed, Vy’cenin is in no way afraid to assert their dominance.

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION — -

Smoking: Sometimes. Alcohol: Sometimes. Drugs: Does sucking magic out of crystals count? Triggers: None. Face claim: Tilda Swinton. Alignment: Neutral good / true neutral. In-game classes they take the most after: Demonology warlock and discipline priest.

ALT VERSES — -

Pokémon: Vy’cenin is a Galarian citizen, unemployed and homeless with an Applin as a caring companion and a Corvisquire as a fierce protector. They’re looking into the balance of Pokémon typing, desperately wanting to get their hands on any information they can get on every Pokémon and every type to put together a perfectly balanced team. It’s difficult, though, when they’re as far out of society as they are.

RP HOOKS — -

Tavern meetings: Vy’cenin is in a lot of taverns.

Magic: If your muse has any sort of magic knowledge, Vy’cenin will want to discuss it and see if they can implement the knowledge into their daily life to ease their pain.

Your muse went to school in Silvermoon or needs teaching: Vy’cenin was a teacher and will always, at heart, be one.

Horrible health: Vy’cenin’s health is absolutely terrible and they often fall asleep on the street and goes weeks only eating magically conjured food. Find Cen outside, knocked out cold, or eating a mana bun, and take action- be it cruelty or lending a helping hand.

Addiction: Vy’cenin’s magic addiction has permanently crippled them, and it has only gotten worse since the Sunwell was empowered with the Light. Help them, relate to them, something.

OOC INFORMATION — -

where i roleplay: discord and tumblr. vy’cenin can be found at @conflictedenergies while follows and likes come from @foxfictioncentral. what im looking for:

adventure & actions rp.

angst.

connections of all sorts (business, friends, enemies, familial, lovers, what have you).

slice of life.

emotionally charged rp.

character solidifying/challenging.

long-term and short-term connections.

pre-established relationships.

what i wont do: explicit sex, self-harm, suicide, and excessive gore.

i mainly write multi-paragraphs style as i have a tendency to vomit words, but won't say no to rping with different styles. my writing is very emotion heavy, and my favorite thing to write is emotionally challenging stuff. give me all the angst, tho i write p much anything

useful links: about || relations || starter call

other muse blogs: @hugs-not-anonymous @once-upon-a-memoir

mun blogs: @foxfictioncentral @jcfoxington @arcticartings

#world of warcraft rp #looking for contact #looking for rp #neutral faction rp #horde rp #sin'dorei #blood elf #.inner conflicts of opposites.about #.lfc

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carmenxjulia · 5 years ago

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You Never Did Get My Name Ch8

Title: You Never Did Get My Name, Chapter 8

Description: Just casually sleep in the same bed as if it doesn’t mean anything. It’s fine.

[Read on AO3]

Carmen thrashed in her sleep, anxious dreams filling her subconscious. Her breath came in rasps, as if she was fighting to get enough air. The commotion eventually roused Julia, when her houseguest's movements removed the comforter from her body.

"Carmen? Carmen?" Julia's hand was on her shoulder, trying to wake her, or at least, draw her far enough out of her subconscious that she settled down. Her skin was damp with sweat, and Julia at first pulled back when she felt the unexpected dampness. "Carmen!" she called, louder.

That was enough to send her bolting upright, whirling on the agent and knocking her back with her shoulder, slamming her balled-up hand into the pillow Julia was laying on, barely missing a direct hit.

Julia yelped, bringing her fists up to shield her face, startled by the unprecedented attack. She waited with bated breath for Carmen's next move, unsure if she was still asleep and dreaming somehow. She stared up at her in the darkness, trying to determine if she should say something or even if she should move at all. She could call her name again, but that might trigger another strike. One that might not miss.

It suddenly became painfully obvious to Julia that she didn't actually know Carmen all that well. Yes, they'd met a couple of times, had intriguing conversations, and even talked about their personal lives a bit. But before they'd met, for all Julia knew Chief and Chase were right, and Carmen Sandiego really was a villain. She had already admitted she stole things in order to return them to their rightful owners, and Julia had bought that. There was evidence it was true, but, there was still a real possibility that she was wrong. And regardless of how she felt, in reality she had invited an international criminal to stay the night.

Carmen's eyes widened in the darkness, as the fog of sleep lifted and she remembered where she was and who she was with. "Sorry, I- I-" she didn't know what to say. She'd never shared a bed with anyone in her life that she could recall. She'd never woken up from a nightmare and not been completely alone, left to pace by herself in an empty hotel room or walk the dark streets trying to clear her head. This type of companionship was so new and foreign and Carmen almost didn't realize her fist was still planted firmly in the pillow and her legs were on either side of Julia, essentially straddling her.

"I'm sorry," she quickly moved off, sliding as far as she could to the other side of the bed. She rested her back against the headboard, curling her knees against her chest as she concentrated on evening out her breathes and returning her heart rate to normal. She'd done a lot of these calming exercises in the past several weeks.

"Bad dream?" Julia's warm, inviting voice pierced the darkness. She propped herself up on her elbow and turned in the direction of her guest.

"Maybe I should go," she ran a hand through her wild mane of hair. "I don't think I'll be getting anymore sleep tonight."

"I can stay up with you, if you'd like."

"You don't have to do that. You need your rest."

"You need it more. You're still recovering."

"Touché."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's nothing, really. I've been in plenty of close encounters. I've taken hits from enemies. Fallen off moving vehicles. Jumped from buildings. I never had nightmares about any of that. I never felt afraid until-"

Carmen paused, wondering how much of her life she should let spill out to Julia. Still unsure if she could trust her. And yet, what reason did she even have not to trust her? Julia Argent, special agent of A.C.M.E., and technically her enemy, had not only agreed to meet up with her once, but twice. And this second time, she'd invited her to her personal residence, actively going out of her way to show she cared by asking her to stay the night. If anything, Julia had every right to be offended, given how much faith and trust she'd put in Carmen, if she had actually known about the conflict going on inside of her head.

"It's fine," she continued. "I didn't die so I shouldn't- I shouldn't be so focused on it. It's over. I know I need to be more careful. I've taken the situation and learned from it. I just got over that coat dream, now this? It's like I can't stop thinking about it. I can't get it out of my head I- I need to get back in the field so I can get focused again. Keep my mind off things."

"Running away won't solve your problems."

Something in what Julia said resonated with Carmen. Running away from the island was what got her here. Running away from V.I.L.E. agents was what got Chase captured. Running from the authorities was why she constantly had to be in hiding. She was always trying to escape from something, someone. Enemies, her past, her feelings. But no matter how much she ran, she never felt like she had gone far enough. She never felt free. No matter where she went, V.I.L.E. would always be a part of her.

"Then what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to-" she stopped, and Julia noted her voice had gotten thicker near the end, a little more hoarse, like some trace of emotion was about to bubble to the surface.

Carmen swallowed the lump in her throat, but her mouth still felt dry.

"-to cope, knowing one of my best friends doesn't even know who I am? Knowing what they did to him is probably my fault. Knowing I put people like Chase in danger, just by their association with me. How can I know I'm not in bed with the enemy? How can I know who to trust? How do I know someone else won't get hurt because of me?"

Julia felt around in the darkness for Carmen's hand, because it felt like the right thing to do in the moment. She clasped it in her own, giving a comforting squeeze to try to reassure the woman next to her. She had yet to have a near-death experience (although given her line of work, she was sure it was only a matter of time), and knew she couldn't begin to imagine the psychological repercussions of such an event.

But empathy, she had, and could offer consolation even if she didn't fully understand. "I'm not your enemy," she began, "I never wanted to be. We both seem to want to do good in the world, just in very different ways. I may not entirely agree with your approach, but, it is often more effective than the efforts of local law enforcement, interpol, or even A.C.M.E. And there are others you work with, right? Your team? They must believe in you and your cause.

"Sometimes bad things happen to the people you care about. You can't always be there to protect them. And the only way to protect yourself from feeling like things are your fault is to stop caring about anyone. What kind of life is that? We can't just stop caring. About the people we know. Those we don't, but are trying to protect. You can't blame yourself all the time. People get hurt; on purpose, on accident. It's not your fault. It can be hard to accept things that are out of your control, but eventually you have to. Otherwise you'll spend your whole life worrying, and you still won't be able to control what's happening all around you."

Carmen let out a long, slow breath as she processed all of what Julia had said. She squeezed Julia's hand, acknowledging its presence and silently communicating her gratitude to the agent. She felt the appendage in her own, the weight, the smoothness; and the feeling that stirred somewhere inside her as she became acutely aware of the touch. She was always so perceptive of the world around her, the people passing by, the way the wind moved the leaves on the trees, how footsteps sounded or the distant barking of a dog. Minute details that others missed were crucial to her precarious escapes, and it was part of what made her the best at V.I.L.E.

"Why am I here?"

"I'm not sure I'm prepared to handle such an existential question at 4 in the morning-"

"No. Why am I here? In your apartment? In your bed? You've been chasing after me and I've been avoiding you and now we're just pretending like none of that happened? Acting like your job isn't being compromised and my friends aren't in danger because of our association?"

"You're the one who initiated contact and suggested we leave out our conflicting lines of work."

"Yeah. I did," Carmen let out a single "ha" in the dark, that sounded halfway between a laugh and a sigh. "And you, you didn't report me to Interpol or A.C.M.E. or anyone. Why?"

Julia had already asked herself that question, earlier in the week, while anticipating the arrival of the super thief. "You haven't tried to hurt me, so I suppose I haven't had a reason to. And I believe you're doing good work, even if your methods are unorthodox. What do you gain by stealing from thieves and returning the items without asking any sort of compensation?"

"It has to do with people from my past. They exploit those less fortunate. It's not always about paintings or documents or artifacts. Sometimes it's about trying to starve entire nations to gain control of them. Sometimes it's about destroying pieces of history. The crimes that make the headlines are just the tip of the iceberg. They're actually the ones I worry about the least. Normally when they steal things they avoid all confrontation with any kind of security. In, and out, silently. Nobody gets hurt. But there are other times when they want to hurt a whole lot of people, risk lives for the sake of their own gain. Their operation is much bigger than thefts of material items."

"That sounds like work talk," Julia yawned, too drowsy to fully grasp the severity of the implications of V.I.L.E.'s operations.

"What can I say. I trust you, Jules."

There was something in the way she said "Jules", like the word was just a bit more fragile and tender than the rest of her sentence. Or perhaps it was the admission that there was indeed a necessary level of integrity between them. She was certain she trusted Carmen Sandiego- she must, since she had freely offered the woman her home address, and now her personal sleeping quarters.

But something made her hesitate, so instead of saying, I trust you too, Carmen, she said, "Thank you, Carmen."

"Hm."

A quiet settled between them, because Julia had insisted Carmen stay, and Carmen had obliged. Staying didn't mean falling back asleep was going to be any easier, even as Julia's soft breathing helped to calm Carmen's nerves. It was nice, she decided, to wake up after a bad dream and not be alone. Sure, she'd always been able to call Player, but the physical presence of another was an entirely different experience.

"How do you usually get back to sleep after a nightmare?"

"I don't, usually. I just get up and start planning for the next mission. There's always time to sleep later."

"What about when you were younger, then? Did your guardian have any remedies or rituals for dealing with bad dreams?"

"Not really," Carmen replied. Comfort hadn't really been in the curriculum at V.I.L.E. Used to dealing with adults, the faculty at the school weren't exactly prepared to care for a child. As for her nannies, well, their role was more that of tutors, and their duties ended at a certain point in the day. Plus, none of them stayed very long, so Carmen never really grew attached. Perhaps that was intentional on the part of V.I.L.E., preventing her from forming close bonds with anyone from the outside.

She thought of Coach Brunt, who she had looked to as a motherly figure for so many years. Who was always so kind and caring towards her. All the times she'd defended her, and how she trained her to be tough. And then she tried to kill her.

Turned out it was Shadowsan, the teacher who always gave her the coldest shoulder, who had found her. Did that make him her father? Carmen didn't exactly have experience with a nuclear family. She'd never called anyone "mom" or "dad" while growing up. But she did have parents, somewhere. Someone had conceived her, two decades ago.

Julia struggled with trying to say the right thing. The topic of parentage appeared to be a touchy subject, and it seemed the general upbringing of Miss Sandiego would have to remain a mystery for now. From how dodgy she'd been regarding the matter, Julia speculated the people who had raised Carmen might somehow be connected to V.I.L.E. What sort of business did a League of Evil have with rearing a child? Were there others out there like Carmen, brought up by thieves to do their dirty work? Is that where its members came from? Children, stolen away and fostered as future villains?

"That's too bad," was what she managed to come up with. "When I was little, my mother would hum softly while she brushed my hair."

"When I couldn't sleep I'd sneak around and explore," Carmen tried to be vague on the details of V.I.L.E. Isle. Maybe set up some pranks for the new recruits, she thought, but didn't say aloud. Julia already knew too much about her association with the organization, and she had to be careful. Even though she had decided to put her trust in her, the more Julia knew about her past, the more at risk they both were.

"No one ever tucked you back into bed and read you a story or sang you a lullaby?"

"No. The island was a safe haven, away from the rest of the world. I didn't feel like anything could hurt me there. Dreams were just dreams, not reality."

"But isn't it reassuring to have someone there for you when you're having a bad night?"

"I guess I wouldn't know what that's like."

Julia couldn't imagine not having the comfort of a parent. Even now, if she was going through a rough patch in her life, her mother and father were just a phone call away. Although she still did not know the full history of Carmen's childhood, she gathered that she did not have a typical upbringing. Perhaps that helped explain her preference for working around the law, instead of with it. Still, she didn't seem too upset that she hadn't grown up in anything resembling a nuclear family.

"Would you like to try?"

"What?"

"My mother's routine."

"How do you mean?"

"Come over here and lay in my lap and see if you can fall back asleep."

Carmen considered for a moment. There wasn't any harm, was there? Julia had bade her to stay, earlier this evening and when she'd woken up minutes earlier. If she wasn't going to leave, she might as well make the most of the night. And she had to admit, she was curious what it might be like to have some form of normalcy in her life. From what she'd researched and observed, there had never been anything normal about her life. After all, she was the first and only child to grow up on V.I.L.E. isle. But she was happy then, and she had to admit, opposing V.I.L.E. and seeking adventure brought her happiness now.

"Is this alright?" she asked, head coming to rest in the crook where Julia's torso met her legs.

"Mhmm," Julia responded, lightly running her fingers through wavy red hair.

Carmen relaxed, letting herself melt into the touch as Julia began to hum. She felt completely at ease, for what seemed like the first time in her life. Interpol, A.C.M.E., Brunt, and V.I.L.E., all faded away as drowsiness returned to her. Julia had been correct. There was absolutely something soothing about being sung to sleep. For a brief moment, Carmen wondered what it might be like if this became a repeated occurence. If they might meet again, at another time, in another place. Or how their lives might be different if they could be like this forever, and didn't have to go their separate ways. But such frivolous thoughts washed away as she nodded off and returned to dreamland.

Julia, meanwhile, was contemplating how she got here. Perhaps the lack of commitment contributed to her answering Carmen Sandiego's initial message. Maybe it was because Carmen had initiated the first move. But this couldn't last. This probably wasn't meant to extend beyond the first meeting at the coffee shop, but, here they were. Soon, they would have to return to their lives and their jobs and their casual rendezvous would come to an end.

"Carmen?" she said, softly.

But there was no response, aside from the light sound of her breathing. Julia exhaled, letting herself relax. This situation was certainly… atypical, for her at least. Other than work, Julia mostly kept to herself. She was too busy traveling to really build any solid friendships close to home, and anyway, she preferred to spend her off time reading or refining her other hobbies.

Julia delicately slid back down in her bed, so as not to disturb her guest. Here she was, in a position she would have never imagined herself in. Carmen Sandiego, resting on her shoulder, forehead brushing against her neck. Their fingers intertwined. When did that happen? she wondered sleepily, not that it really mattered. She yawned once more, letting her eyes fall closed. Maybe this couldn't last. So what? At least they had the night, and, if she was lucky, breakfast in the morning. As she drifted off to sleep, her head leaning against Carmen's, she hoped she'd be lucky.

Support this and other stories! https://ko-fi.com/pizzahorse

#Carmen Sandiego #Julia Argent #Carmen X Julia #Carmelia #Fanfiction #You Never Did Get My Name #MINE #Carmen #Carulia #JuleThief #Carjules

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hugs-not-anonymous · 5 years ago

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LFC - Jasculs Freemoon

The Basics --- -

Full name: Jasculs Freemoon. Nickname(s): Jackie, Jas, Jasc, stubborn oaf, big ol’ pumpkin, Mat, Mattie, dreamboy, moony. Title(s): Self-proclaimed bodyguard-dad. Former Slayer and Commander. Champion and Hero, though he usually doesn’t respond to them. Alias(es): Mateth/Mateus Dawndream. Age: About 12.000 years. Birthday: February 9th. Race: Green/Emerald Dragon. Disguises himself as a half-dragon-like kaldorei or sin’dorei. If necessary, he can disguise himself fully as either, too. He prefers his kaldorei form. Gender & pronouns: Male, he/him. Sexuality: Homoromantic, bisexual. Marital Status: Married.

Physical Appearance --- -

Hair: Purple so dark it appears black. Long, soft, and incredibly curly, though it's kept in a braid most of the time to keep it from becoming too much of a ridiculous, unruly mess. Jasculs also adorns a full, neatly kept and trimmed beard. Eyes: Unlike most demon hunters, Jasculs still has his eyes, although they're blind and tinted deeply with fel, both of the eyeballs sickeningly green. Height: 262 cm/8'7" in kaldorei form, 210.8 cm/6′11″ in sin’dorei form and too tall for my brain to comprehend in dragon form. Weight: 160 kg/353 lbs in kaldorei form, 128.6 kg/283.51 lbs in sin’dorei form and yet again too heavy in dragon form for my feeble human brain to make realistic. Build: Muscular mountain with slight pudge around the stomach area. Scars:

A small, y-shaped, faded scar between his eyebrows.

Scars from Naroua's teeth just above his left elbow.

One in the shape of the North star on his abdomen. It has one long line up the torso, another long one down, and two smaller ones to the left and right of the center. There is a tear in his wing on the other side of the scar.

His palms, soles of his feet, and back are littered with faint scars from burn marks

Several faded marks and slashes from older fights.

A jagged, disconcertingly huge line on his chest from being impaled by a pitlord’s polearm. Don’t think about the fact it’s directly above his heart.

His back is a nightmare of whip scars. Before them, there were other scars, but they cover up any and all flesh and skin of Jasculs’ back. If it weren’t for them he’d walk around shirtless.

Claw marks above, below, and in his eyes.

Tattoos:

The arcane tattoos of the Illidari, Emerald Nightmare-red variant. They’re mostly centered around his chest and shoulder-blades, though they run down his arms as well. They’re slightly faded and need a touch-up.

One that goes from his ankle and up his shin, picturing several rose-bush branches with thorns and flowers.

A pitch-black tattoo of a world-tree starting just above the tail bone and swiveling up the length of his back.

Piercings: He used to have many but now all the holes except for one in each earlobe has grown together. Jasculs rarely ever actually wears piercings, though. Distinguished Traits: His resting bitch face, awkward stuttering and babbling, and small, unthreatening, stubby horns. Common Accessories:

A small leather pouch at his hip, containing various personally valuable items as well as a needle, thread, and a small bottle of disinfectant

Clean bandages around his forearms. Cliché but incredibly handy.

A blindfold made out of said bandages.

Two enchanted bracelets. They're made out of a simple, black leather, rolled up to create firm but strong threads. In the middle of each thread is a single, purple-ish pearl. When tapping them twice with two fingers or speaking the keyword - “Rakeesh”, butcher in Eredun - they transform back into their original form: one-handed swords.

A simple ring with engraved runes. In elven form it's on his left hand ring finger and in dragon form it's on one of his horns.

Personal --- -

Profession(s): Professional squishy dumbass. Dad of the year. Butting into every fight where someone seems/might be overwhelmed. Sells leather, meat, fish, and other wares he compiles from skinning and fishing as well as doing various odd-jobs. Once upon a time he was a war-machine/tank for the Illidari, and you can probably still get him to be your bodyguard if for the right cause. Occasional adventurer/champion, if the cause is worth it. Hobbie(s): Cooking, gardening, napping, and reading. He’s trying to pick of knitting but, uh. It’s not going that well. Language(s): Fluent in Draconic, Thalassian, and Darnassian; almost fluent but heavily accented Common, Dwarven, Taur-ahe, and Zandali; can speak and somewhat read Orcish, Pandaren, and Draenei; can understand and speak (although with broken grammar) Eredun, Kalimag, and Nathrezim but not write or read any of them; can read, write, and somewhat brokenly understand Shath’Yar and Nazjar but pronunciation is beyond him. Skill(s): Cooking, skinning, fishing, and leatherworking; wielding glaives, one-handed swords, one-handed axes, and polearms; using bows for hunting; enhancing his own body with traits from his bound demon and various offensive, defensive, and supportive Fel spells; disguising his own form and other people's forms by use of various Fel spells. Once upon a time he could do it with nature and arcane magic as well but now it gets turned into Fel; being a bit of a dumbass; emotional socialising and creating safe spaces for people. Residence: An unmapped mountainside in Stormheim. Birthplace: The Emerald Dream. Religion: Elune. Patron Deity: Elune, Ysera. Fears:

His most intense fear is no doubt his claustrophobia, as it is so bad it can and will cause panic attacks if he cannot move freely at all times.

Losing and failing to protect his family.

Losing himself to the Nightmare or the Eredar Conqueror he's bound with.

Being forced away from his family.

Being captured by the Alliance or the Horde. Honestly, just being captured in general.

Facing the Illidari and their leaders.

Jasculs also has a never-ending paranoia that he's being watched and in danger.

Waking up a different place than where he went to sleep.

Relationships --- -

Spouse: Sol'alore Firewing Freemoon aka Solastrasz, belonging to @frostwyrmsfury. Children:

Kinagosa (adopted, alive), belonging to @frostwyrmsfury.

Egg (adopted, unhatched, and fragile), co-owned with @frostwyrmsfury.

Parents:

Werythra Dawndream (mom, alive).

Inazeus (father, deceased).

O'Thelo Dawndream (step-dad, deceased).

Siblings:

Andiais Dawndream (step-sister, alive but it’s complicated), belonging to @frostwyrmsfury.

Phene Dawndream (step-sibling, alive. It’s less complicated).

Livatus Dawndream (half-sibling on his mom's side, deceased).

A few half-siblings on his father's side.

Other Relatives:

Quite a few aunts, uncles and cousins, though he has managed to keep in contact with exactly zero of them.

Feenris Duskblade (not blood related. Considers her an aunt).

Pets:

A manawyrm named Boomlio, proudly named by Kina.

A felsaber named Sæunn. She’s named after a Thorignir whose help during the 3rd Legion invasion Jasculs will always be eternally grateful for and was a gift from Illidan.

An injured hippogryph named Thyri.

Traits --- -

Extroverted / Introverted / In between /: Jasculs is not introverted, per se, he simply mostly keeps to his own devices. He is honestly quite extroverted, just reserved due to paranoia.

Disorganised / Organised / In between /: He's a bit of a neat freak and loves when things are organised well and are in order, yet still manages to misplace everything and accidentally make a mess. Besides, having been out in the wild for most of his life, his general idea of "organised" is… cluttered.

Close Minded / Open Minded / In between /: No comment here.

Calm / Anxious / In between /: In crowds and populated areas, the back of Jasculs' mind is in a constant state of paranoia. However, he's gotten exceptionally good at handling it, and now he's usually the mildly anxious but level-headed and clear thinking one.

Disagreeable / Agreeable / In between /: Jasculs does his best to avoid conflict and will often agree just to avoid arguing.

Cautious / Reckless / In between /: Well, until his intelligence fails him. Jasculs is a dumbass and often gets himself into trouble on accident. He's also surrounded with troublemakers and people of varying degree of reckless, and he has to do equally or more reckless things to keep them out of danger.

Patient / Impatient / In between /: No comment.

Outspoken / Reserved / In between /: This entirely depends on who he's with and how comfortable he is with them.

Leader / Follower / In between /: Weird for a Slayer, yes, but, well, he never lead anyone. He never had a say in anything and most definitely did not have a choice; he just did as he was told.

Empathetic / Apathetic / In between /: Jasculs is super emotionally charged. His emotions don't control him or make him vulnerable at all, it's simply how he lives, how he likes to live. It makes him feel fulfilled and alive and not monstrous. He's very understanding of emotions, both his own and other's, and overall have an emotionally freeing feeling about him.

Optimistic / Pessimistic / In between /: Jasculs in neither an optimist or a pessimist, honestly. He's a realist.

Traditional / Modern / In between /: He likes family traditions but is overall very adaptive to his surroundings and the times. There are traditional things he misses but just as many modern things he's happy have replaced traditional things.

Hard-working / Lazy / In between /: Though Jasculs loves relaxing, he's in no way lazy. He doesn't really believe in lazy.

Cultured / Uncultured / In between /: Over the years, Jasculs has accumulated many cultural influences, but he's never quite gotten properly cultured with any civilization. Even cultural things from the green dragons or the kaldorei tend to elude him.

Loyal / Disloyal / In between /: No comment.

Faithful / Unfaithful / In between /: Faith is a very conflicting topic to Jasculs. He still prays to and believes in Elune but not like he used to. There's a seething doubt in his mind about whether Elune really cares or not, and if praying to her even matters, but he tries not to listen to it. Having faith in humanity, elven kind, and all other races of Azeroth is also becoming difficult. He says he's sure they'll see their mistakes of their ways and come together to save Azeroth but he doesn't really believe it anymore.

Assertive / Timid / In between /: Though he's not scared to assert dominance and scare away anyone who attempts to hurt himself or anyone he cares about, Jasculs is all around a rather timid and soft person. It often makes him sad that many find him scary, to which he'll whine like a hurt puppy.

Additional Information --- -

Smoking: Doesn't keep cigarettes on him but won't decline if he's offered one. Alcohol: Rarely, if ever. Drugs: He's quite too old for that. Triggers:

Not being able to move freely and wherever he pleases is the one trigger that will always, without fail, make Jasculs crushingly uncomfortable and hyperventilate. More often that not, it causes a panic attack.

Being told to "suck it up" about an emotional issue of his, being policed and lectured about his "purpose", and people amounting his worth to how much he has done for them trigger a severe moodswing where he's incredibly irritable, sassy, and easily snaps, and then later a depressive episode of varying intensity.

Face claim: Idris Elba. Voice claim: Jasculs laughs like Mark Fishbach aka Markiplier but otherwise he has no voice claim. Theme songs: It Will Be Me by Melissa Etheridge & Want You Here by Plumb. Alignment: Chaotic / lawful good. In-game classes he takes the most after: Vengeance demon hunter, with a bit of druid, hunter, and warrior inspiration here and there.

Alt Verses --- -

All of these can be mix-and-matched as you please!

Corrupted: The Nightmare corrupts Jasculs in Val’sharah. During a night terror, around when G’Hunn breaks out, he accidentally kills Kinagosa, Mo’hir, and Sol’alore during a night terror. It’s the last straw and Jasculs loses his mind; he reverts back to calling himself Mateus Dawndream and only finds joy in causing endless bounds of chaos.

Garden: Sol’alore dies during an attack on Dalaran. Kina and Jasculs bury him in Val’sharah and a wild, beautiful garden sprouts from his grave. They live there, and the garden is the only thing keeping Jasculs afloat in his depression.

Jassalarian: Miraculously, Malassarian survives the burning of Teldrassil, and him and J’aaris proceed to join Jasculs’ little group of found-family.

Rometh: Grand Magister Rommath joins the Illidari and, after being freed, Mateth takes extremely well to him. Rommath overthrows Orian and Kayn, and Mateth gets to go on with his life without all the main verse struggles.

RP Hooks --- -

Demon hunter / the Illidari: Before he left was banished from the Fel Hammer, Jasculs held the title of Slayer. He was the right-hand-man of the Commander / Illidan replacement, though he had no say in much on anything. Pre-Warden imprisonment, Jasculs was more of an intimidating shadow than a person; the demon binding ritual put him in a state of emotional and mental paralysation, meaning he did nothing but follow orders. Jasculs had no say in anything and was more of a husk of a tank and war-machine rather than an actual person, but being woken up from his imprisonment and losing his siblings shook him out of that state. Your character has most likely fought against him in Outland, or heard of him if they’re a demon hunter.

Bounty: Not only was Jasculs banished from the Fel Hammer, he was also accused of being a traitor of the Alliance and a war criminal and thus had a bounty placed on his head. The Horde, wanting to have any lavage at all against the Alliance, did so as well. From the end of Legion up until a week or two into the Nazjatar and Mechagon campaign, he has been travelling the world in an attempt to keep his head out of bounty hunter’s hands. Your muse can have either helped or endangered Jasculs and his family before they settled in Stormheim. Or, y’know. Tracked him down in his new home.

Actual old but quite emotionally clever fart: Jasculs has been through many phases in his life and has met a lot of different people and has fought against and with a lot of different people. Does your muse perhaps remember him from any of the Great Wars, or even the War of the Ancients? Possibly even before the Sundering? Maybe your muse needs emotional comfort/guidance; his age has brought Jasculs an immense amount of emotional knowledge, and his general presence tends to have a calming effect on people.

Militaries: There’s not a military on the face of Azeroth Jasculs hasn’t been a part of prior to the whole Outland ordeal.

Legion: Jasculs was involved in all of the Legion campaigns and played quite a role as tank and general adventurer. He is especially remembered in Suramar, Val’sharah, Stormheim, and Argus.

Dragon: Being a green dragon, Jasculs has a natural connection with nature and thus gets along quite well with hunters and druids. On the other hand, though, his demonic energies have animals freak out and attack him in his presence, which never fails to hurt his feelings. Your muse can help him be less threatening or teach him herbalism (he’s bad at it. Like, immensely. It’s embarrassing). Is your muse a dragon or dragonsworn or maybe even a dragon hunter? Maybe they sought him and his family out, but why? Did something with the Emerald Nightmare happen?

Self-proclaimed bodyguard: Not only does Jasculs attract trouble like a magnet attracts metal, he also has quite the habit of being in the area when other people attract it. He’s paranoid and devoted to keeping other people safe, even if they’re strangers; if your muse gets in trouble, Jasculs will more than happily jump in, whether his help is asked for or not, and even if he doesn’t know what’s going on.

OOC INFORMATION --- -

where i roleplay: discord and tumblr. jasculs can be found at @hugs-not-anonymous while follows and likes come from @foxfictioncentral. what im looking for:

action & adventure rp

connections of all sorts (business, friends, enemies, familial, what have you)

slice of life

emotionally charged rp

mostly long-term connections

pre-established relationships

angst

what i wont do: explicit sexual content, self-harm, suicide, torture, and addiction, as well as excessive gore (as in all the former things are okay if not explicit, but excessive gore is just. yuck).

i mainly write multi-paragraphs style as i have a tendency to vomit words, but i won't say no to rping with different styles. my writing is very emotion heavy, and my favorite thing to write is emotionally challenging stuff. give me all the angst, tho i write p much anything

useful links: about || relationships || verses || promo || starter call

other muse blogs: @conflictedenergies @once-upon-a-memoir

mun blogs: @foxfictioncentral @jcfoxington @arcticartings

#world of warcraft rp #looking for rp #looking for contact #pokemon rp #good omens rp #neutral faction rp #green dragon #kaldorei #night elf #sin'dorei #blood elf #.beyond the scales.about #.lfc

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robininthelabyrinth · 6 years ago

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Tear Into Your Soul - Chapter 6 (ao3 link)

For @blackberreh-art, who wanted some Madara focus and Hashirama/Madara

There comes a time in a man's life when he has to think about the choices.

About what it was that led him to where he is now.

For Madara, where he is now happens to be hiding behind a dango stall so that Izuna doesn’t find him.

So, really, what even is his life right now?

He feels like he knew, once, but then things just sort of happened.

First there was war, then there wasn’t, and then rhere was all of the negotiations to start the village and spending every minute feeling like the elders were going to stab him in the back for it, followed shortly by the even greater stresses of actually setting up a cohesive ninja village, and then all of a sudden there was Hashirama coming up behind him, darkness, confusion, kidnapping – and then Tobirama, beautiful earnest Tobirama who still didn’t know about the kidnapping portion of their first real encounter and never would as far as Madara was concerned, and, fuck, he can barely even think the man’s name without a frisson running up his spine, which he supposes is what happens after several weeks of, just, constant sex.

And Hashirama –

Madara very carefully does not think about how he feels about his lifelong best friend and former enemy right now. If he does, he might think about the curl of heat in his belly and shaking cold in his fingertips; think of how terribly he loves him – has always loved him – and how he’s afraid of him, too; think how somehow in his mind all of those battles that never went anywhere meant that he categorized Hashirama as something safe and now even with proof that he’s incredibly not he still can’t quite break that habit; and think, too, of that overwhelming feeling of debt, of course, always debt and gratitude for saving Madara’s heart and mind from turning to ash and all Hashirama ever asked in return was to make all Madara’s dreams come true –

That’s why Izuna can’t find him.

There is no way Madara is explaining what’s going on between him and the Senju brothers to Izuna.

Izuna, who Tobirama so very nearly killed –

Izuna, who Hashirama saved.

The curse of the Sharingan: Madara remembers the exact moment when he heard the shout and saw Izuna fall, stricken, Tobirama finally coming out the victor of what he had always privately and irrationally thought would be an eternal stalemate.

He remembers abandoning everything – the mission, the battlefield, even whatever members of his clan that could not keep up – to get Izuna back home and into the care of the medics.

He remembers how sick he felt when the medics told him there was nothing they could do to save Izuna from Tobirama’s well-aimed strike and how Izuna’s attempt to dodge had earned him nothing more than a slower death.

He remembers the black rage that consumed him when the sentry ran in, shouting that the Senju had taken the almost unimaginable step of attacking the Uchiha compound itself.

He remembers the way that rage had turned him almost rabid, feral as a wild dog, when he’d run outside and seen Tobirama standing there – distant, cold, merciless as he always is on the battlefield – with what appeared to be a masked army at his back, saying that he’d heard that the job he’d done was incomplete and that he’d come to finish it.

A lie, of course.

A good lie, though; it’d done the job: Madara, maddened, had bellowed in his rage, ordering every able-bodied Uchiha to attack, all at once. And Tobirama was so incredibly fast that it’d taken a good ten minutes before their strikes actually started landing and they’re realized that the whole army, Tobirama and the masked men all, were nothing more than those damnable shadow clones because apparently he’d figured out a new twist to the technique that let him make incredibly large numbers of them.

They’d rushed back to the compound the second they’d realized that the ‘attack’ was a feint, but by then Hashirama and Tobirama (the real one) had infiltrated to Izuna’s sickbed, Hashirama healing him and Tobirama keeping watch, and Madara had barely burst into the room when Tobirama had used his hiraishin to spirit the two of them away to safety, leaving behind a healed Izuna and a single kunai piercing their wall, holding up a scroll reading “We trust we’ve made our point” and listing a date and time for peace talks.

Madara really should have realized that Hashirama must be insane back then.

(Before, he’d imagined that Hashirama reacted to Tobirama’s near-kill with anger and grief, shouting that Tobirama robbed him of his best hope of peace with Madara, killing once and for all that dream born by the riverbank, and demanded that Tobirama accompany him to the Uchiha compound to help fix what he had wrought. Now that he knows Hashirama a little better, he thinks it went differently: Hashirama pulling his brother into his arms, whispering praise, and saying, “I’m glad you didn’t kill him immediately. I know just how we’re going to use this.”

And if, sometimes, Madara wonders whether Tobirama’s deadly strike landed true on his brother’s orders…well, Izuna still lives, even if his lungs are a little weaker than they once were, and now they have peace, so surely the ends justify the means and it would be wrong of him to question how it was all achieved. Right?)

In short, there is no fucking way he’s telling Izuna about the exact nature of his current relationship with the Senju brothers, no matter how many times Izuna bothers him about how “altered” his behavior has been since that week he went on that so-called mission with the two of them.

Besides, multiple other people in the clan have told Madara that the entire clan finds him infinitely more tolerable now that he's happier and more relaxed, and if they'd realized that getting laid by a Senju on a regular basis was what it took they would have kidnapped one ages ago.

So Izuna can’t really be concerned. He’s probably just fishing for details to help him win that damnable betting pool regarding which Senju, exactly, Madara is banging, and in what configuration.

Not that anyone in the betting pool has actually guessed right.

Madara doesn’t blame them. He and Hashirama mutually thought of each other as best friends throughout all these long years of war, and they met on a regular basis on the battlefield – if he hadn’t been able to figure out that Hashirama, in addition to being the extremely cheerful, emotional, childish, optimistic, and endlessly hopeful man that he is, is also a sadistic psychopath with a matchless ruthless streak, well, what hope did everyone else have?

Even Izuna thinks of Hashirama as “the nice one”, and he’s in line to be named co-head of the village’s new merged T&I division alongside the head of the Yamanaka clan once the negotiations of their assimilation in to the village is complete.

(To be perfectly honest, Madara’s own greatest contribution to village unity may very well have been recommending that Hashirama take Izuna instead of Tobirama as his aide for some of the peace talks with clans they’d determined would be necessary to be part of the village. Izuna’s most staunch protests against the creation of Konoha has always concerned leaving the defense of the Uchiha clan in the hands of people he didn’t consider adequate, and while Madara’s not actually sure what happened during those peace talks, Izuna did come back with a slight green tinge to his face and significantly fewer concerns about Hashirama’s willingness to do what must be done if necessary.

And with even Izuna now firmly on the side of integration, the remaining dissenting voices were quickly silenced – thought whether Izuna's good faith in the village will survive finding out the exact details of what his beloved older brother has gotten himself into...

Well, probably best not to test it.)

On the other hand, there’s missing Hashirama’s well-hidden madness, which Madara can’t blame anyone for, and then there’s just being stupid. Madara’s heard what ridiculous rumors are going around about him and Hashirama – all gooey romance and hand-holding, childhood romance divided by family strife and reunited at last through Hashirama’s perseverance and hope – and he knows it’s not his public demeanor that invites such speculation. How shinobi who have been on the same battlefield as the Senju, sometimes in opposition to them, forget that their precious God of Shinobi is in fact a shinobi, Madara’s not sure, but they definitely have.

Still, it's better than what they say about Tobirama.

(cold, harsh, soulless, disdainful and jealous of his brother’s affection for Madara, untrusting of the Uchiha, full of bitterness and hatred, intent on poisoning their precious peace from within)

Tobirama: beautiful, earnest, well-meaning, broken Tobirama, whose mind Hashirama has so thoroughly molded to his own purposes that Madara despairs of ever being able to explain even something so simple as how unusual (wrong) their relationship with Hashirama is.

Tobirama, who tries so hard and does so much that no one sees, who is more or less single-handly building the foundation for Madara and Hashirama's dream village, who can perfectly read a person's body for the purposes of battle but fails to even start to understand their minds for the purposes of peace. Whose inability to speak in anything but the sternest tones makes people overlook him as heartless and cruel, when in truth he is anything but.

(Tobirama loves as deeply as any Uchiha, with all the pain that comes with it, but whom everyone treats as if he is too strong to feel such things – Madara, whose clan should really know better than to misjudge him but still does it, understands being in that position better than anyone.)

Sure, Madara has only had his own eyes opened about Tobirama recently – he’d been as vile as the rest of them before, blaming Tobirama for what Hashirama did, for what he didn’t do, for everything, making him the village scapegoat just because he didn’t smile – but now that he’s aware, he's determined to put a stop to it. He never could stand people who failed to appreciate what they had by holding them to impossible standards; he’d put a stop to any comparisons between himself and Izuna at once, harshly, and to see Tobirama retreating further and further into himself, languishing in Hashirama’s shadow, causes him an almost physical pain.

Now that he sees it, and now that he does he sees it everywhere, he's decided that he will burn anyone who dares think of Tobirama as the lesser just because he's not Hashirama, even when - especially when - Tobirama would never think to question it.

...Hashirama probably factored that into his plans, too.

Damn strategists. People in the village joke about Tobirama being part Nara, all quiet reserve and brilliant mind and concern for the troublesome, but it took discovering that Hashirama also has that clan’s notorious ability to see all the steps necessary to reach their goals, as famous if not more so than their shadows, to convince Madara that there might be some truth to the rumor.

After all, look at where they are now.

Everything Hashirama wants, he has: a village of peace, a ban on military action by children, power enough to protect his last living brother –

Even Madara.

(Madara's hardly the only Uchiha to be attracted to the Senju brothers - there's been an active black market in suggestive pictures made of convincing henges more or less ever since the day they came of age - but his position as Hashirama's (former) best friend had given him particular reason to daydream. But none of his much-exercised fantasies had prepared him for the reality that Hashirama would not just want him, which he'd barely dare hope, but would want to own him, a greedy and possessive and all-encompassing love that Madara really, truly shouldn't find nearly as hot as he does.)

Almost as if summoned by his thoughts, Madara feels the tightening around his throat that means that Hashirama wants him to come home.

He reaches up and tugs at his neck, scowling.

Damn collar.

Damn Hashirama, too, for using a promise made in a moment of weakness to convince Madara to put the collar on without clarifying that it then wouldn't come off.

Woven with the most precise use of the Mokuton Madara has ever seen Hashirama use, the collar is a gorgeous swirl of brown roots and branches, green vines, red and yellow leaves, so fine and delicate that it looks like embroidery.

Madara knows it does, because after two of the village's leading shinobi simultaneously began wearing them, disguised as adornment sewn into their outfits (and the fact that Tobirama was similarly collared was not as comforting as Hashirama might think, given that Madara knows perfectly well that Tobirama would do anything Hashirama wanted no matter how foolish), the whole damn village picked up the trend.

The Konoha collar, they're calling it. Ridiculous.

Hashirama probably planned that, too, or maybe it’s just the universe loving him so much that it gives him unlooked-for gifts in the form of good luck. Now his entire village has unknowingly adopted the symbol of Hashirama's dominion, and all because they think it’s fashionable.

As Madara said: ridiculous.

And given how ridiculous it is, Madara really shouldn’t find the memory of Hashirama, eyes dark with lust and possessiveness and no small amount of madness, murmuring as he fixed the collar into place that it would help him make sure that nothing would ever part them again as damnably hot as he does. It’s a wound that’s lingered in Madara’s heart, too, ever since that day by the river, and knowing that Hashirama feels as strongly as he does, however he expresses it, soothes something in him that he didn’t even know needed soothing.

(He’s still not sure about how he feels about the idea of being owned, though somehow it’s only taken Hashirama a month of repeated positive reinforcement to convince Madara’s cock that the idea’s not half bad and definitely not worth objecting to. Not that Madara would let himself be ruled by his sexual desires, of course, but given the near-celibate state that his high rank and the respect of his clan has boxed him into for years on end, they are rather persuasive…)

Maybe he would object more if Tobirama hadn’t been collared at the same time – collared like an animal by his own damn brother, on his knees with the ecstasy of the converted in his eyes like a painting that Madara has seared forever into his brain with his Sharingan, and no matter how much he knows better, Madara still somehow expects every time he sees Tobirama wearing the collar that Tobirama will suddenly realize that this is all twisted and wrong, that no matter how beautiful the two Senju look together there is a power imbalance between them that will never be fixed. But that will never happen: the depth of the brainwashing involved here will take years to fix, if fixing it is even possible.

(If Madara could only think about the collaring logically, he might be able to convince himself that it’s unacceptable, but thinking about the collar makes him think of Hashirama and Tobirama and things that mean that he’s basically ended up jerking off at least once a day to those thoughts for the last month and clearly thinking logically just isn’t going to happen until he gets this whole thing out of his system and his libido under control again. He’s sure that’ll happen. At some point. Surely…)

The only good thing that had come out of the stupid collars, in Madara’s opinion, was how the fashionable popularity of the collars in Konoha ended up sparking the idea for one of Tobirama’s most brilliant ideas to date, and given that Tobirama and brilliance are practically synonymous, that was really saying something.

Using Hashirama’s usual inattention to detail as cover, Tobirama snuck through a law allowing certain Hokage-approved products to be sold without any tax burden on either seller or buyer, thus significantly reducing the price and increasing the profit, and worked with the village merchants to encourage the sale of Konoha ‘souvenirs’ to civilians from across the land. Once the Council – Tobirama had insisted on their having one, represented by elders from each clan that joined, and while Madara had originally doubted that democracy was really applicable to shinobi, the existence of the Council had turned out to be a major selling point in convincing more clans to join the village now that they knew their opinions would be heard – found out about it, mostly when their budget for new works had decreased due to receiving less tax, they protested it as foolish and self-indulgent waste.

Well, they’d protested right up until Tobirama explained that each necklace or keychain or pacifier or whatever had been stamped, among other decorative features, with one of his Hiraishin marks, thereby giving him - and whatever listening devices or bombs he carried with him – immediate access to villages and clan compounds across the land that he would never have been able to access otherwise.

(Madara is so very, very glad that they’re no longer at war with the Senju, especially since by the time Tobirama got around to explaining his plan several dozen of the stupid things had already gotten lost somewhere inside the new Uchiha compound. Izuna had been incredibly pissed off at the unfathomable breach in security.)

The collar gives another squeeze, harder this time, and that cuts off Madara’s daydreaming.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Madara grumbles – and given what a summons by collar like this usually means, he has reason to expect that he will very soon be coming in a different sort of way – and peeks around the side of the stall to confirm that he’s lost Izuna.

With that confirmed, he nods at the highly amused stall owner – a civilian, though one who managed to keep such a straight face that Madara thinks he might be a spy – and dashes up the side of the nearest building to make a beeline towards Hashirama's house.

Their house, he supposes, given that he shares it with the two Senju brothers with the official reason being that it’s more convenient for them to be near the village’s administrative center, but really, it’s Hashirama’s house.

Everything in that house belongs to Hashirama, but most especially its other two residents.

(Madara wishes he wasn’t the sort of person who was turned on by the methods Hashirama considered appropriate in disciplining his younger brother, particularly after that research spree of his, but, unfortunately, he really, really is. If only Tobirama wasn't so beautiful and so broken, so lovely in his obedience, in his need, in his pleas for mercy, then maybe Madara wouldn't want him so badly that he'd agree to anything if only to get more of him –)

The second Madara passes the threshold, his collar tightens pointedly in a way that he’s learned means that no one else is home that Hashirama's got something planned.

Which means wearing clothing is not allowed.

Madara licks his suddenly dry lips - why does he like this? - and gets himself undressed, leaving only the collar in place.

He heads first to the bedroom, his cock already hard in anticipation, but oddly enough, Hashirama’s not there.

He’s in the office. Actually working, no less.

“Tobirama, there’s no need to wear a henge when we’re at home,” Madara drawls, even those his sensor abilities make it clear that it is, in fact, Hashirama sitting there – even if the fact that he’s sitting at the ridiculous ‘walking’ desk no one else can use wasn’t enough to give him away.

Hashirama looks up at him with a blinding smile, waving the desk away so he can rise to his feet.

“Good, you’re here,” he says, coming over. “I got you a present.”

Madara has exactly one second to feel a distinct sense of foreboding – even without the Sharingan, one learns to get a feel for these sorts of things – and then Hashirama plops something on top of his head.

“…are those cat ears?!”

“They are! I saw them in the marketplace today and thought of you,” Hashirama says, apparently oblivious to Madara’s growing incredulousness. “Just like that prickly stray that hangs around the fish shop –”

“Hashirama. I am not a cat.”

“Of course you are,” Hashirama says, settling his hands on Madara’s shoulders. He’s still smiling. “You’re anything I say you are.”

And then something burns on the back of Madara’s neck, snapping his chakra shut so quickly that he can’t breathe for a moment and the pressure of Hashirama’s hands grows and he falls to his knees –

Right onto a pillow.

“See?” Hashirama says, sounding smug. “My good little kitty.”

“Since when,” Madara wheezes, ignoring how nice it feels when Hashirama’s fingers gently knead his shoulders and ignoring even harder how hard his cock still is, “can you attach chakra suppression seals to the Mokuton?”

“Tobirama –”

“Say no more.” Madara’s not even surprised. Hashirama probably hadn’t even needed to ask, he could have just smiled faintly at the thought of surprising Madara like this and Tobirama would have set to work immediately. Hashirama has Tobirama remarkably well –

Madara swallows.

Trained.

That's different, though, he argues to himself. Tobirama doesn’t know what freedom is, while Madara has not only been free but clan head, commander of dozens of soldiers, for years; he’s agreeing to Hashirama’s nonsense because it apparently appeals to some sort of bizarre sexual urges that he was previously unaware of. He might be submitting, but he’s still in control.

He can walk away any time.

“Oh, Madara, look! I also found this.”

Madara stares.

Right before his eyes, Hashirama is dangling what appears to be a small plush mouse.

“No,” Madara says flatly.

“You should play with it. It’s a present.”

Madara sees red. What the hell is Hashirama up to? Humiliation games are what he plays with Tobirama, not with Madara; those games have certainly been enjoyable to watch (and experience) but Madara definitely isn’t into that sort of thing –

Hashirama’s hand moves to his hair and pulls, yanking Madara’s head backwards to look up at him.

Madara’s cock gives a traitorous twitch. None of his other lovers have ever been brave enough to play with his hair, even though it’s right there and somewhat unavoidable; thus far all of his exploration in that direction has happened, by necessity, on his own.

This is different from those little games he designed for himself: more unpredictable, more dangerous. Hashirama’s strong, physically as well as in terms of pure power, and there’s a certain thrill in knowing that the fingers tangled through his hair could probably pick him up and throw him if they so wished. A thrill in being helpless, on his knees, and yet knowing that his life is in no real danger – Hashirama loves him, madly and desperately, and he’s not going to kill him, though he might be willing to hurt him, as evidenced by the further little tug on Madara’s hair.

…it's much better than doing it to himself.

“You’re being ungrateful, kitty,” Hashirama murmurs. “And here I go to all this trouble to get you a nice present, and you won’t even try it out? That’s not very nice.”

Madara shouldn’t find this hot. He’s not a child, he’s not Tobirama; he’s never enjoyed being disciplined. If anything, it always drove him mad when his father or the elders meted it out; he hated it with an unruly passion that he never failed to express. He should jump to his feet right now and storm out of the room in an angry huff, that’s what he should do.

And then –

And then Hashirama might never do this again.

Might never look at him with those eyes gone dark, that little hint of a smile hiding behind his best attempt at a stern expression (it’s not very convincing); might never put his hands in Madara’s hair and pull just the way Madara’s always secretly hoped that someone would –

…Madara maintains that this is a very stupid game that Hashirama’s playing, but maybe it’s worth giving it a shot.

But on his own terms, to remind Hashirama that Madara’s here of his own free will and not by coercion, that no matter what they play at when it comes to games of ownership, at the end of the day they’re still best friends and equals.

Madara looks up at Hashirama from his position on his knees and smirks, ignoring how dry his lips are. “And what’re you going to do about that?”

Hashirama’s face breaks out in a giant grins in response.

Next thing Madara knows – what is with these Senju, do they ever stop training their speed? – Hashirama’s sitting on the floor and Madara’s lying over his lap.

Madara has that second of foreboding again, except this time he knows exactly what’s going to happen and he’s not okay with it. Hashirama couldn’t seriously expect him to agree to be –

Hashirama’s hand comes down right on Madara’s ass.

“What the fuck, Hashirama –”

Hashirama hits him again, and Madara yelps in surprise. This isn’t the piddling little impact play he’s managed to talk at least one particularly brave lover into, where every strike is half-hearted at best – Hashirama’s really putting his back into it. And given that Hashirama is built like the trees he can summon with a thought, with thighs and arms as massive as oaks, with all the power that suggests behind his blows even before he adds chakra, that’s really saying something.

It makes Madara think of the battlefield: the way his blood is on fire, adrenaline pumping through his heart when he sees Hashirama across a field, knowing that in only a moment they would clash with an impact so powerful it would rattle his teeth, matching that terrible strength with his own. The way they would be abandoned by their clans, all wise enough to know to get out of the way when titans walked the earth and gods met in the fury of war; the way it sometimes felt, through the fog of smoke and fog, as if they were alone together, caught in an endless battle that went on forever.

Makes him think, guiltily, of those secret dreams he sometimes had that twisted the Sharingan-clear memories of those battles into something else, something darker. Some where he finally took advantage of Hashirama’s hesitancy to gain the upper hand, forcing his friend to his knees – and of other dreams, even more secret, where it was Hashirama who won, unleashed at last, and forced him down in turn, right there in the battlefield with all of his clan around, their Sharingan-red eyes glowing through the fog, watching, searing the sight of their defeated leader into their memories forever –

Madara whimpers and thrashes without actually trying to escape, his cock rutting against Hashirama’s thick thigh as the other man strikes again, setting up an unpredictable rhythm that is occasionally broken up by reaching out to give Madara’s hair another purposeful tug.

It’s so good.

No one else would ever dare do anything like this. No one would even dare think of it – to put the fearsome leader of the Uchiha over their knee and spank him like he’s a disobedient child? It’s unthinkable.

“You really should be more open-minded,” Hashirama says. His tone is as mild and unaffected as if he were remarking on a new restaurant opening in the village, albeit one that he’s looking forward to trying out, like Madara isn’t rutting against his lap and can’t feel how hard Hashirama is. “I’m your Hokage, now. You should trust me to make good decisions for you.”

“Hashirama –”

“Shh. Good kitties don’t talk, not if they’re going to say mean things. They’re only allowed to say good things. You can be a good kitty for me, right?”

Hashirama’s free hand settles in Madara’s hair, right next to those ridiculous ears, and starts very purposefully stroking, sometimes with a fierce tug interspersed.

At no point does his other hand stop coming down, even though Madara’s ass has got to be bright red by now.

Madara groans and grinds down, seeking more pressure. This position isn’t good enough.

“Well? Are you?”

Madara grinds down some more.

Hashirama stops moving.

Someone makes an absolutely pathetic, wretched whining sound, full of denied need.

Madara has the sinking feeling that it was him.

“Well, Madara? Tell me you’re a good little kitty for me and I’ll give you a reward.”

No way. Absolutely no way. Hashirama might be very good at figuring out Madara’s most secret desires, but there is absolutely no way that Madara would ever –

Hashirama’s fingers trace, very lightly, over Madara’s ass.

Madara shivers.

The fingers dip lower, still gentle, still delicate, not enough pressure to actually do anything other than tease, and there’s the slightest little pressure against Madara’s hole, but then they’re pulling away and Hashirama is sighing and unfolding his legs like he’s actually thinking of getting up and going back to work and –

“I can be a good kitty,” Madara blurts out, and he feels his face go scarlet. He didn’t actually just say that. He didn’t. It’s some sort of genjutsu, clearly, to make him think he’s said that, meant to torture him.

“What’s that?” Hashirama says, the kindness in his voice only a mask for his cruelty. “A good little kitty, you say? For who?”

“For – for you,” Madara manages to spit out, twisting to hide his face in Hashirama’s belly because he can’t bear himself right now, horribly shamed but perversely grateful that Hashirama isn’t making him say that again. “Hashirama, please –”

Hashirama’s fingers come back, this time pressing in confidently, slicked up and stretching him and Madara starts wiggling again, hoping that this time he’ll get enough stimulation to actually come –

Something presses into him, and it’s not fingers.

Hashirama laughs, a little chuckle that Madara only ever hears from him in the bedroom – satisfied and pleased and more than a little turned on.

Madara twists to look and then he can feel his face go red again.

It’s a tail.

Well, on the outside, anyway; the inside is wood carved into a familiar shape (very familiar, actually – Tobirama? Seriously? If Hashirama wasn’t able to create his own sex toys by waving his hands, Madara wouldn’t be able to go anywhere near the woodcarvers ever again lest he die of embarrassment), pressing into him in all the best ways, but the outside is long and soft, silk threads meant to mimic fur wrapped around a thin wooden core so that Hashirama can make the tail move through the air before wrapping around Madara’s thigh and giving a little squeeze.

“What a good kitty I have,” Hashirama coos. “What a sight you make. Look at yourself, Madara.”

He pulls Madara’s hair again, purposefully this time, dragging Madara out of his lap and back to a kneeling position on that cushion from earlier and crap, there’s a mirror there, since when is there a mirror there?

A mirror showing Madara in all his shame, no less: naked but for the cat ears and matching tail, the collar around his neck, and the hard cock that shows anyone looking how much he’s enjoying his own degradation.

“If only the rest of your clan could see you now,” Hashirama says, and Madara shudders, shutting his eyes but unable to blot out the sight of himself. “Their Madara-sama, fearsome and mighty, able to match anyone in the battlefield – what would they think of you now, on your knees for me? A good little kitty for me?”

Madara would like to say he recoils from the thought, humiliating to the extreme, but he doesn’t; he just wants to come. He could, too: Hashirama hasn’t bound his cock in any way, for once, and that means he could just reach over and –

Hashirama catches his hands and wraps something around them, winding it around his fingers and up to his forearms. Something thin and weak, nothing that would actually keep Madara back if he wasn’t willing – another way to show him that this is happening with his compliance, no matter how much he wishes he could blame coercion for his participation in this – and Madara doesn’t look but he has the distinct suspicion that it’s yarn.

“Now, kitty, you’re going to be good for me,” Hashirama says, and he really does stand up, pulling Madara’s head in until his face is pressed up against Hashirama’s still-clothed cock, rubbing against it like he really is some sort of obscene parody of a cat. “You’re going to be very good.”

Madara hates how much he likes it when Hashirama compliments him. No one ever did, not like this; he had to fight and sweat and bleed for any praise he ever managed to get from his clan elders or, worse, his father, and Hashirama hands it out like it’s nothing, sweet loving words falling from his lips at the slightest sign of obedience.

(Sometimes Madara thinks he can see why Tobirama bends so quickly to Hashirama’s will. It’s terribly seductive, that praise, the warmth of approval in Hashirama’s eyes.)

That’s probably what makes him agree without words, letting Hashirama settle in one of those stupid chairs he’s always making (the one he was using when Madara first came in is right there) and opening his mouth to take Hashirama’s cock, letting it sit heavy on his tongue, a now-familiar taste of heat and flesh.

He thinks he knows what Hashirama wants – imagines himself licking at Hashirama’s cock and mewling like a kitten, and feels the flush rise in his cheeks – but when he starts to suck Hashirama weaves a hand into his hair and gives him a little tug, making him stop.

“That’s very nice of you to offer, Madara,” Hashirama says. “But I really need to get some work done, or Tobirama will kill me. Just hold on a little and I’ll get right back to you.”

And somehow that’s even more humiliating: he’s just sitting there, kneeling on a cushion with his still-stinging ass on his ankles, tail curled up around him and pressing inside of him, with his mouth around Hashirama’s cock and not even doing anything.

Hashirama’s stupid walking desk comes over and stops right over his head, like Hashirama really is planning on doing paperwork while using Madara as – as some sort of cock warmer, a toy for his pleasure, and the very thought makes Madara burn.

Not, as much as he would like, in a bad way.

“Shh,” Hashirama says, and the hand in Madara’s hair starts carding through it. “I’ll be right with you. Just a little patience. You can be patient, can’t you?”

That hits right in an old, sore spot: Madara’s never been patient, never, and the elders of his clan are always lecturing him about it. Too brash, too impulsive, not thoughtful enough – they don’t believe him when he tells them that he knows how to lie in wait, how to hold his strike until the right moment, and no matter how many infiltration or assassination missions he takes, they never change in that belief.

He knows he’s playing right into Hashirama’s hands by not fighting him, not demanding that they do more right now, but this position feels strangely good – hand in his hair, cock warm in mouth and cool in his ass, the comedown from the adrenaline of a strike – and anyway, there’s no way Hashirama can possibly make him wait that long.

So he sits there, waiting, and things start to – drift, almost.

His mind goes quiet, almost peaceful, and it’s almost like the feeling of waiting for an assassination target to get into place, anticipation but somehow muted. There’s nothing for him to think about right now: no clan business to attend to, no irritating questions about his stability from the Council, no missions to plan or shinobi to worry about, no politics…nothing.

Nothing but the warmth between his lips and the hand in his hair.

“I knew you’d make a good kitty, Madara,” Hashirama is saying somewhere very far away. “Isn’t it nice? Cats don’t worry about anything. You don’t need to worry about anything. It’s all being taken care of. Everything’s in good hands: your village, your clan, your family. Everything’s fine. Everything’s good. You don’t need to think about it. You can just be. Just lie in the sun, warm and happy and mine. Isn’t that good?”

Madara lazily hums in agreement, barely aware that he’s doing it.

He’s not sure how much time passes and he finds he doesn’t really care. He’s always thought he wasn’t made for peace, no matter how much he longed for it; always suspected, in the dark hours of the night before the dawn, that even if he one day built the village of his dreams that it would never be enough for him. That he’d always be restless, unsatisfied; that a man built to the specifications of endless war would never be able to learn what it means to be at peace, not really, not in his heart – that he’d end up a relic, a warmonger among those too tired for war, paranoid and alone and watching everyone around him settle into peace in a way he could never hope to match.

But those fears are gone, now: he’s as peaceful as the heart of a banked fire, his overactive mind finally at ease. No worries, no fears, nothing to do but be – knowing in his heart that everything is fine, that even if anything happens Hashirama will deal with it, and able to just rest. At last.

He can finally release the burdens that have rested on his shoulders since that terrible day by the riverside when the weight of his duty crashed down upon him, since even before then, since the day he first understood what it meant that he was the heir. To be an older brother, in a clan at war.

(He wonders for a moment if Hashirama has trapped him in some sort of genjutsu, since he can’t use his chakra right now to dispel or even check, but surely no one would use one for such a pointless little game as this.)

“You’re doing so well,” Hashirama tells him, even as he keeps working, the soft sound of brush on paper on the table above Madara’s head just barely audible, lulling Madara further into the hazy doze he’s in. “So good. I knew you’d be good, but you’re doing even better than I dreamed you would. Such a good kitty. Good little kitty –”

He says more in that vein, lots more, and Madara just lets it drift over him, the words soothing and his mind blank, ignoring the minor physical discomforts of the position – his ass still sore, the collar pressing around his throat, his jaw going stiff even as he drools all over Hashirama’s cock, unable to wipe it away, his own cock heavy and hard between his legs – in favor of that wonderful feeling of floating.

It’s so very hard to disagree with Hashirama when he feels this good. Feels this free.

It’s really not that bad, being a cat.

Being Hashirama’s cat.

Not if that means he can let go of all his troubles and sit here, listening to whispers of praise, and know that for once in his life he’s fulfilling and even exceeding every expectation of him.

“Very good,” Hashirama says. “You did such a good job, Madara; I’m all done with the paperwork now. You can have your reward now.”

When Madara doesn’t respond, still distant as though everything is happening through a pane of glass, Hashirama puts his hands in Madara’s hair and starts to move his head for him, fucking his mouth in little gentle gestures that slowly, ever so slowly, bring Madara back down to earth.

He comes, eventually, and Madara swallows it all down, obediently using his tongue to clean Hashirama’s cock after, licking him up just like a good kitty should. When Hashirama gives him his foot and leg to use to get off, not even bothering to use his hands or his mouth or even his Mokuton to get Madara off but just leaving Madara to rut against him like an animal, Madara is appropriately grateful.

“You’re so good,” Hashirama tells him, again and again, his fingers still warm in Madara’s hair. “Being so good, all for me. This is what you get when you let me take care of you. Isn’t it better like this? Such a good kitty.”

Madara comes, awash in sensation and pleasure, and doesn’t even think to complain when Hashirama’s next orders are for him to take a nap in the bed in the corner, the one that’s right under the high window that’s only small enough to let in light and not visitors, that lets him soak up the warm afternoon light as Hashirama takes care of all the necessary business, cleaning him up with a nice warm cloth before settling back in at the desk to continue the important work of caring for the village they’ve made together.

It doesn’t even occur to Madara to remove the ears or the tail.

He’s a good kitty.

(He wakes up four hours later, realizes he’s late for dinner with Izuna and the Uchiha elders and trips over himself three times while getting ready even as Hashirama laughs at him, but something of that peace remains with him even later that night, lets him smile at Izuna and laugh at his leading questions and tell him without explaining anything that everything is just fine, Izuna, don’t worry so much, nothing has changed.

Everything is just fine.)

#hashimadatobi #hashimada #madatobi #senju tobirama #uchiha madara #senju hashirama #uchiha izuna #my fic

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httpjeon · 7 years ago

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— 1-800-music-street | taehyung (m.)

taehyung/reader | fluff, smut | homeless!taehyung

wordcount: 13.2k

contents: mild violence, use of alcohol and weed, mutual masturbation, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, cunnilingus

― synopsis: you’re enchanted by a street performer and then he saves you, resulting in multiple meetings one can only describe as fate.

blog masterlist | sister fic

The streets of Seoul were ablaze with life, couples walked around holding hands, girlfriends chatted and giggled, and guy friends jokingly shoved each other around. People like you, the ones on their own, were enjoying the gradually warming night air the city had to offer. Your hands were tucked into the warm fur coat you had on that didn’t do much considering the small cocktail dress you were wearing.

As you walked down the packed sidewalk, a beautiful melody began to drift to your ears over the sound of animated talking that surrounded you. You paused for a moment to listen to the music, glancing around through people and over heads to try and find the source.

Your eye caught sight of a small crowd formed on the sidewalk across the narrow street. Looking both ways for any oncoming traffic, before jogging across, your heels clicking softly on the blacktop as you went. Finally, you reached the small crowd and managed to pus your way between the people to come to the front of the group.

While catching your breath, you watched the scene before you. A beautiful man stood in front of you, his lips wrapped around the mouth piece of his Saxophone while his long fingers expertly pressed the keys to produce the mesmerizing melody you heard across the street. He was dressed nicely, a crisp white button-down shirt tucked into black dress pants completed with black dress shoes and a black tie. His hair was an ashy gray-brown color and hung low in his closed eyes as he played, gently blowing with the passing breeze.

You were so lost in watching him, you didn’t even realize that the song ended until the people around you erupted into applause for him. A smile bloomed across his mouth, a boxy smile that made his eyes crease up cause you to smile along with him. Something about his smile was just…contagious.

Suddenly, a hand dropped on your shoulder, making you jump in surprise, tearing your eyes off of the street performer to look behind you.

“Jieun!” You cried happily, throwing your arms around your friend in a tight hug.

“We were all wondering where you got off too,” Jieun said, grinning at you. “The other girls sent me out to look for you since you’re 20 minutes late!”

You blanched at her words, “Oh god, has it really been that long? I’m sorry, I got so caught up in this performance, I didn’t even pay attention to the time.”

“That’s fine,” Jieun smiled, waving you off. “Let’s just go.”

Grabbing your wrist, she tugged you out of the crowd, making a bee line to the club you frequented with your friends on weekends; Club Century. Your heels clicked in sync with one another as you hung onto each other and laughed and talked all the way there. You told her about the beautiful street performer and she gushed on how hot she found the DJ at Club Century.

When you both waltzed through the doors, the hot air inside was ripe with the scent of alcohol and cigarettes. You both had to squeeze through the sweaty bodies that were filling up every inch of the joint as they danced to the music that shook the very air around you. Jieun expertly pulled you in the correct direction before you were finally able to sit down with you group of friends.

“Finally, ______,” Sooyoung complained, playfully shoving you when you sat down between her and Yeojin. “It’s so typical for you to be late!”

“She got distracted by a pretty-boy street performer!” Jieun teased, enjoying the way you blushed.

“It’s so like you,” Yuri giggled behind her hand. “getting distracted by music.”

You rolled your eyes, folding your arms over your chest in a faux pout until your eyes landed on the single empty seat at the table. “Hey, what about Misun! She’s not here!”

“Oh her?” Sooyoung smirked. “She was here but she got whisked away by some hot guy, you know her.”

You scoffed in disbelief, the night was only beginning, and she was already running off to get laid by the first hot guy she laid her eyes on. You desperately wished you could be surprised at it. Misun was the type of girl that had all the guys flocking to her and 99.9% of the time she would go home with one of them.

“If anyone loves sex, it’s her.” Jieun piped up, sipping on his pink fruity drink.

Before you knew it, drinks were coming to the table, all sorts of hard liquor and even some simple wine coolers for you all to choose from. You decided to keep things slow tonight, not wanting to go home wasted or wake up with a hangover, so you chose a watermelon wine cooler to sip on.

After a several rounds, you were feeling the warm effects of the alcohol loosening your body up. Jieun and Sooyoung were hanging onto each other as you all watched your usually reserved friend Yuri hit it off with a guy on the dance floor. Yuri was clearly not as drunk as the other two, but you could tell her usual shyness had melted away as she ground her backside into the crotch of the surprised hottie behind her.

You felt your phone vibrate against the table, surprising you into jumping. You looked down to see your best friend’s name across the notification bar.

From: jimin-ie [1:43am] just checking in, everything alright?

You smiled, he was so caring. You had been friends with him since elementary school when he had moved in beside your house. You had watched each other grow, he turned into a studious book worm who stayed close with his own small crowd of friends while you turned into the outgoing, weekend party girl. Still, you both made it work and you both lived in the same apartment building, even.

You unlocked your phone, hovering over the keyboard as your tipsy mind filtered through your thoughts.

To: jimin-ie [1:44am] im alive, i think i’m going to head home now x

Before you could even lock your phone again, you saw the grey typing bubble pop up, so you waited for his response to come in.

From: jimin-ie [1:44am] alright, be safe! text me when you make it home.

To: jimin-ie [1:44am] will do, buttercup x

You let out a sigh when you saw his read notification pop up, signifying he had seen it, before you locked your phone, reaching behind you to tug on your fur jacket that you had taken off when you had gotten hot after your first few drinks.

“Alright, girls,” You called over the music, drawing their attention from the still dancing Yuri. Their drunk eyes glassily focused on you, watching as you winced when your knees popped from being seated for too long. “I better get on home, Jimin will kill me if I stay out too late like last time.”

“Oh right,” Sooyoung giggled, head resting against Jieun’s shoulder. “He almost had a heart attack when you didn’t come home before 4!”

“I’ll see you girls later, make sure you let everyone know you made it home safe!” You grabbed your purse off the table, sliding your phone into the side pocket before waving at your friends to signal you leave.

You took a deep breath, letting the nice clean air fill your lungs after spending hours surrounded by smoke and sweat. Your ears were ringing in the quiet night from the blaring music you had grown accustomed to while inside Club Century.

You winced as you stared walking, your heels hurting your feet at this point. Wrapping your arms tighter around yourself, keeping your jacket closed tighter around your body as the coldness of the night air set in. There weren’t many people left on the streets, most either having gone home or were nestled inside one of the many bars or clubs that’s littered this side of town. The few people that you did pass, were the occasional drunk girl or horny couples who were clinging to each other on the way home, ready for a long night of fucking (you could only assume).

The echoing clicks of your heels against the concrete underneath your feet lulled you into your thoughts. Your body was growing sleepy, and the sound of your warm bed and cozy pillows had a smile drifting to your lips. Coupled with your inebriated state, you lost touch with checking your surroundings and therefore missed the thudding footsteps that started to trail behind you.

Before you had the opportunity to register what was happening, a strong hand wrapped around your mouth and a sinister voice grumbled in your ear.

“Don’t make a fucking sound, just hand over your purse, lady.”

Your eyes were wide as you felt the man trying to tug your purse off of your shoulder. In a sudden burst of courage, you elbowed the man in the stomach, drawing a low groan from him as he lost his grip on you. Seeing your opening, you took off down the street, looking around and hoping someone would come out and help you.

Luck, as it seemed, was on your side as the second you made a turn down the street, you ran head first into a strong chest. Before you could lose your balance, the persons hands gripped your waist to steady you.

“Hey, are you alright?” The man’s deep voice calmed you for a moment.

When you looked up you were shocked to see the man from earlier. The street performer. You were too stunned to speak, however, and just opened your mouth without saying anything. The man looked at you, a delicate brow raised in expectance. His attention was suddenly ripped from you as your pursuer finally caught up to you.

“Hey,” He growled, not paying any attention to the street performer as he grabbed your arm, wrenching you from him and causing you to lose your footing. You could feel your ankle bend, causing your shoe to fall off your foot. With a grunt, your knees hit the ground, making you whimper as you felt your skin cut.

“What the hell?” The deep voice of the street performer echoed in your head, piercing through you frightened thoughts.

“Stay the hell back, buddy,” The mugger growled. Out of the corner of your eye you could see his brandish a knife, holding it defensively against the street performer. “the bitch has it coming. Now, hand over your purse, lady!”

Even through your fear, you still clung to your purse, refusing to give up your belongings to the asshole. The mugger growled in frustration, trying to rip the object from your trembling hands. Clenching your eyes shut, you suddenly heard a scuffle before the offender released your purse. Holding it tightly to your chest, your eyes flew open to watch as the two men fought in front of you.

The street performer let out a grunt of pain as the mugger sliced him across the chest with the knife. The criminal, sensing that he had no chance now that the other man was defending you, wildly swung the knife in an attempt to defend himself from the other man’s fists. While he was unarmed, he was able to land a solid punch on the mugger, knocking him off of his feet.

“Fuck this,” The mugger stood up on shaky legs, wiping his sleeve across his nose where blood started to ooze down before he spit on the ground, glaring at you as you sat on the cold concrete ground. Watching with wide eyes, you followed the hooded man as he booked it down the street until he was out of view.

“Are you alright?” Your savior panted, reaching down to take your hand to help you stand up.

Slowly, you put pressure on your trembling legs, hissing as you felt a sharp pain shoot through the ankle you had unfortunately rolled. The man, immaculate face now having spots of blood on it, looked at you in concern.

“Do you want me to call someone?” He asked, keeping his hands on you to support you as you took pressure off your hurt ankle.

“Ah, I c-can call my best friend,” You reached into your purse, hand trembling as you fished out your phone from the side pocket.

However, when you pulled out the device, you found the screen smashed from what you assumed was the struggle. Feeling frustrated, you felt your eyes begin to tear up as you looked up at him.

“Can I use your phone?” You asked with a sigh. “Jimin is gonna kill me…”

He slowly shook his head, an apologetic look in his eye. “I don’t have a phone…”

“What?” You asked, shaking your head in shock. Who in this day and age didn’t have a phone, especially someone his age?

He sighed softly, gesturing to himself. “Despite my appearance, I’m actually homeless.”

“O-Oh…” You furrowed your brows, thinking through your options.

Without your phone, you couldn’t call Jimin to come get you. And with your ankle the way it was, there was no way you could walk home. Then again, this man had just saved you and got injured in the process, the least you could do was…

“Why don’t you walk me home?” You asked, shaking your hair out of your face as you looked up at him.

He looked at you in confusion before shrugging and giving you a nod. “Alright, that’s fine…just tell me where to go.”

He helped you down the streets, keeping his arm wrapped around your waist as you hobbled your way to your house. The walk there was mostly silent, with him asking the occasional ‘are you okay’. By the time you reached your apartment complex, you were completely sober, and exhaustion had set in.

“Okay, this is it,” You said, leaning against the wall that held the buzzer. You typed in the number of Jimin’s apartment and waited for him to answer.

“Yeah?” His raspy voice came through.

“Jimin-ie,” You mumbled. “Don’t freak out, okay?”

“What?” He said, suddenly sounding much more awake. “What happened? What did you do?”

You sighed, “I’ll explain later, I hurt my ankle can you come down and help?”

“Shit, yeah I’ll be right there,” He said, shuffling coming through the receiver. “Let me call Jin-hyung. See you in a second.”

When he hung up, you heard the man who helped you sigh. You looked over to him, watching as he scratched the back of his head, obviously feeling awkward.

“I guess I’ll head back,” He said, sticking his hands in his pockets. You finally got a good look of his injuries, he had a busted lip and a cut on his cheek bone. His shirt had been obviously ripped, exposing the smooth skin of his chest, now marred with a shallow cut that he bled onto the once-perfect white of his shirt.

“Why don’t you stay?” You blurted out before you could think it through. He froze, brows up in shock at your sudden invitation. “I-I mean…my friend Jin, he’s a med student, why don’t you let him look you over and make sure your wounds don’t get infected, you know?”

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, looking down at the cut across his chest before slowly nodding, knowing it was a good idea to get it checked out.

“My name is Taehyung, by the way,” He said, after a beat of silence.

You smiled, “Nice to meet you, Taehyung, I’m _____.”

He flashed you a smile of his own just as the door opened and Jimin came rushing out. As soon as he reached you, he slid his arms around you, giving you a hug.

“You need to stop going out, you know that?” He chuckled, looking over you to make sure you weren’t severely injured.

“Ah, Jimin, this is Taehyung,” You said, ignoring what he just said, using Taehyung as a distraction. Jimin, oblivious, turned and smiled, holding out a hand to shake with the man who had saved you.

“Whoa,” Jimin gaped, looking over Taehyung in shock. “What happened to you?”

“Ah,” Taehyung bit his lip bashfully scratching his head. “Got into a fight, that’s all.”

Before Jimin could start to interrogate the poor man, you tugged on his sleeve, requesting to be lead up to your apartment. Without missing a beat, Jimin reached down to hook his arm under your knees before lifting you into his arms.

“Get the door, would you, man?” Jimin asked, laughing when he heard your little complaints.

Taehyung nodded, reaching past the both of you to pull the glass door open, holding it so Jimin could carry you through. Quietly, he followed you all the way to your apartment, even going as far as helping Jimin open your apartment door and help you through before closing the door behind him, making sure you didn’t hit your hurt ankle on the doorway.

“Have a seat, Taehyung, make yourself at home.” You said once Jimin put you down on the couch. Taehyung stood awkwardly for a moment, watching as Jimin pulled out his phone to type into it before he slowly pulled his shoes off of his feet and took a seat beside you on the couch, keeping a respectable distance between the two of you.

You leaned your head back on the couch, closing your eyes as you let your body calm down after the stressful night you’d had so far. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, making your eyes open as you looked at Taehyung who was watching the door.

“That’s Jin-hyung,” He said, bouncing over to the door to yank it open, revealing a tired looking Seokjin who was holding a briefcase. “Sorry to drag you out of bed this late, hyung.”

“It’s not a problem,” Jin yawned, kicking his shoes off before he padded over to you. “So, you hurt your ankle?”

“Yeah, but take care of Taehyung first, okay?” You said, waving Jin’s motherly hands off of you. “He got a cut across his chest I don’t want to get infected.”

Jin stared at you blankly for a minute, as if digesting your words before he nodded and looked over to Taehyung. You could tell Taehyung was in pain as soon as Jin began to prod at the wound on his chest and assessing his other superficial cuts.

“Go ahead and slide your shirt off for me,” Jin said, voice alarmingly calm.

Your eyes nearly popped out of your skull when Taehyung, with no hesitation, began to unbutton his shirt. As inches of his caramel skin became available to your eyes, you were astounded by how good of shape he seemed to be in. He wasn’t the healthiest weight for someone his size, but it was to be expected for someone who lived on the streets, but you could tell he, at least, was able to eat.

Once his ruined shirt was discarded next to him, Jin began to investigate the wound. Taehyung winced and hissed as the med student’s fingers delicately prodded the pained flesh, causing a small amount of blood to drip down.

“How bad is it?” Jimin asked from where he stood, leaning against the wall.

Jin slowly shook his head, “It’s not going to need stitches or anything, but I would suggest at least getting it checked out by an actual doctor when you can. At the very least, I think it’ll scar.”

“That’s a shame,” You mumbled to yourself. “You got some medicine for him, Jin?”

You received a nod in response before he began to dig through the case he had brought with him.

“This is some ointment you can put on the cut while it’s healing,” Taehyung held out his hand as he was given a tube from Seokjin’s case. “And I’m going to give you some gauze to cover it with, so it doesn’t get dirt in it or anything.”

Seemingly finished, Jin turned his attention to you with a smile before he began to pull your heels off of your feet. You winced in pain when he grabbed the ankle you had injured earlier, receiving an apologetic smile in return.

“It’s swelling a little bit,” He said, frowning as he examined you. “I think you may have sprained it…”

“Well shit, _____,” Jimin growled, finally pushing himself off the wall. “What the hell even happened?”

“Jimin,” You groaned, already feeling a headache begin to sink into your skull and not wanting to deal with a worked up Park Jimin at this time of night. He was your best friend but sometimes he acted like a complete mother hen, even rivaling Seokjin, that could drive you absolutely insane.

“No, you’re not getting out of explaining this,” Jimin snapped, placing his hands on his hips.

“Fine,” You sighed exasperatedly. “I was almost mugged.”

There was a beat of silence following it before Jimin erupted.

“WHAT!” He cried, immediately flocking over to you, knocking Seokjin out of the way as he was trying to wrap your injured limb. “Why didn’t you call me sooner?! God, why do you insist on going out so late by yourself?! I bet you were drinking too, weren’t you?! Oh my go-what am I going to do with you?!”

“Jimin, I swear to god, I will strangle you if you don’t shut up!” You threatened, glaring up at your worried best friend, who immediately quieted after your threat. “I didn’t call because my phone was broken in the struggle, but Taehyung saved me!”

“What?” Jimin asked, sounding shocked, looking at Taehyung in shock. “You weren’t just a guy she was bringing home?”

Taehyung blushed lightly at the assumption Jimin made. “No, I just met her on the street when she ran into me.”

“It takes one hell of a man to fight a mugger for a random damsel in distress,” Seokjin muttered, looking up at Taehyung in amazement. “That’s great though, thank you for helping her out.”

“I-It was no problem,” Taehyung quickly said, shaking his head and blushing at the praise.

‘Cute,’ you thought, smiling to yourself.

“Now, ______,” Seokjin said, finally finishing wrapping your foot in a bandage. “That should help for the night, but in the morning you seriously need to check in with your doctor.”

“Yeah yeah,” You mumbled, rolling your eyes as you attempted to wave him off.

“Jimin,” Jin sighed, shaking his head at you. “Make sure she goes to the doctor tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah,” Jimin nodded, helping his friend stand up. “Of course I will. And again, thank you for coming so late tonight, I really appreciate it.”

“I’m always here for you guys,” Jin chuckled, toeing his shoes back on before opening the door. “I’ll call to make sure everything’s okay tomorrow, _____!”

You waved your hand in annoyance without even turning to look at him, “You’ll have to call Jimin, mine’s broken, remember?”

Jimin and Jin paused at the door to laugh with each other at how troublesome you could be before Jimin gave Jin a quick one-armed hug as thanks. Before he was out of sight, he made sure to wish Jin a safe trip home, even thought he didn’t live far at all. Jin was careful, more careful than you were that’s for sure, so there was no real reason for anyone to worry about him. Still, Jimin extended the well-wish fr his friend anyway.

“Well,” Jimin sighed, looking over at you two on the couch. “You need anything?”

“Nah,” You mumbled, looking over your shoulder to the door. “I think we can manage on our own!”

“Well then, I’m going to head home,” Jimin said, sliding his shoes back on where he’d kicked them off against the wall. “Take care, _____,”

“You got it!” You grinned at him, giving him a wave.

Once the door was shut, you turned to look at Taehyung who was busy buttoning his shirt back up.

“I guess I better get back,” He said, standing up with the medical supplies he was given in his hand. You noted the way he didn’t say ‘home’ as a normal person would, which only made your heart ache. You couldn’t let this man, who had risked his life to protect you, go back to sleep on the cold streets.

“Why don’t you stay the night?” You asked out of the blue, not missing the way his head snapped up to look at you in shock. “You can take a shower, or bath if you’d like and I can make some breakfast in the morning.”

“Y-Really?” He whispered, his voice giving out. “Are you sure?”

You furrowed your brows, wondering why he was so shocked.

“Well yeah,” You chuckled. “Hasn’t anyone let you stay with them?”

“No…not really…” He mumbled, glancing down at his feet. You followed his gaze, frowning when you saw how worn out and dirty his socks were. He probably didn’t have another pair, if you had to guess.

“What about your friends?” You asked, feeling slightly guilty for prying.

“All my friends are street rats,” He said softly, scratching the back of his head nervously. “A-Anyway, about that shower…”

“Oh right,” You slowly stood up, wincing at how sore your ankle was, but limped on it anyway. “I’ll show you,”

Taehyung quickly caught up to you, grabbing your arm and linking it around his neck to help you keep weight off of it. You smiled and muttered a soft ‘thank you’ that caused him to beam his boxy smile at you.

“The bathroom’s right here,” You said, stopping and opening the wooden door. Taehyung hesitantly released you and made sure you were balanced before he stepped inside. “There are towels in the cabinet up there and there should be some of Jimin’s shampoo and whatnot under the sink if you don’t feel like using my girly stuff,” You teased softly, making Taehyung chuckle.

“I wouldn’t care if it was your girly stuff anyway, it feels like ages since I had a proper shower,” He said, opening the cabinet under the sink to browse what was there.

“Well,” You said softly. “Take as much time as you need, I don’t mind. I’m going to head to sleep. If you decide to stay there’s a spare room down the hall, it’s the one with a ribbon on the doorknob.”

You could see Taehyung nod to you as he read the bottle of shampoo in his hands. With a small smile, you shut the door before limping down the hallway. Once you reached your dark bedroom, you immediately collapsed onto your bed, groaning at how nice it was to feel the familiar softness of your pillows beneath your head. Without even changing, you closed your eyes and listened to the sound of the shower starting up before you felt yourself drift off to dreamland.

You woke to sunlight drifting in through the blinds in your window, blinking several times to clear away the haze that settled in your sleep. Stretching your stiff limbs, you sat up in bed quickly realizing with a soft chuckle that you fell asleep without even getting under the blankets.

“Or changing my clothes,” You uttered to yourself, wincing as you felt how dry your throat was.

You slid off of your bed before getting onto your feet, immediately wincing as you put pressure on your injured ankle, a sore reminder that you needed to see a doctor. Taking care not to hurt yourself too much, you wriggled out of your skin-tight dress from last night in favor of a nice pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt you stole from Jimin after he left it in your bathroom after a shower one night.

Limping out of your room, you crossed the hall to the spare bedroom, hesitating for a moment before knocking on the door. There was a moment of silence before you heard shuffling on the other side right before the door creaked open.

“Y-Yeah?” Taehyung asked as he peeked through the crack in the door. His voice was even deeper than it was from last night, raspy as well, you noted. His hair was a mess of bedhead, a result of a good night’s sleep.

“I’m going to make some breakfast, I just wanted to let you know so you can take another shower if you want,” You said, keeping your voice soft, feeling that it was too early in your day to speak any louder.

He broke out into a closed-lip smile, laughing enthusiastically as he swung the door open. You quickly realized why he was only speaking through the crack in the door; he was dressed only in a pair of boxers.

“Can I…you know…help you? It’s been such a long time since I actually cooked…” You could see a brief flash of sadness in his eyes before he smiled boyishly at you.

“Yeah of course you can help!” You giggled, escorting him to the kitchen.

“How’s your ankle by the way?” Your brows raised when he asked, for some reason not expecting him to care.

“It’s a little sore,” You shrugged, opening fridge to pull out the eggs. “How do you like bacon? Or do you prefer sausage?”

“I like them both,” He said softly, wandering around your kitchen to look at everything.

“Both it is then!” You giggled at the way his eyes widened a bit at your words. You briefly wonder when the last time he actually ate was, but you shook the thought away quickly when you felt sadness settle into your heart. “Can you grab a pan out of that shelf in front of you?”

Taehyung followed your finger and opened the cabinet, pulling out the first pan he found there. You set it on the stove, pouring a small amount of oil into it before starting the stove with a click of the knob.

“How do you like your eggs?” You asked as you waited for the oil to heat up, glancing at him standing there, shirtless and mindlessly scratching at the bandage on his chest.

“However you want to make it, it’ll be delicious.” He said, smiling at you in a way that made his eyes crease up cutely.

A pop from the pan brought your attention back to the task at hand. After plucking an egg from the box, you cracked it and deposited it into the pan, resulting in the kitchen being filled with a sizzling sound.

“Can I help with anything?” Taehyung asked over the sound of cooking egg while you added salt and pepper to it.

“Uh yeah,” You nodded your head toward a cabinet near his feet. “Grab the skillet out of there and add some oil to it and start cooking the bacon for me?”

“I’ve never cooked bacon, but I’ll try.” He said, doing as you said and taking the skillet out.

As he stood beside you, you realized he was quite a bit taller than you and you could feel his body heat from how close he was. His bangs fell into his eyes as he turned the knob to the stove to start the eye up before pouring in some oil.

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you along the way,” You said, adding a teasing tilt to your voice that made him giggle softly- a sound that, for some reason, made your heart race.

‘It’s because he’s cute,’ You mused to yourself, focusing on cooking the meal.

It took nearly an hour to cook everything, but when it was completed, your house smelled divine. Taehyung sat at the table, practically vibrating with excitement and foaming at the mouth as you put the plates on the table.

“Well,” You sighed as you took a seat, feeling the effects of standing on your injured foot for so long. “Dig in!”

With eyes lit like a Christmas tree, he took his fork and began to shovel some onto his plate before he took a bite, practically shoving an egg whole into his mouth. You were filled with something warm as you watched him eat your food like this, you’d never seen someone enjoy your cooking this much-even if it was only eggs and bacon and sausage. It made you happy to know he was at least getting a good meal. As he took big gulps of orange juice, you swear you could see his complexion brighten from its previous dull, ashy look.

You were mid bite of a link of sausage when your front door opened, your alarm system dinging to alert you that someone had come in. Jimin came waltzing in, obviously drawn by the smell judging by the way he stole a piece of bacon with a grin.

“Whatcha got there?” You asked, gesturing to the bag he carried in his free hand while he stuffed his stolen bacon into his mouth.

“Oh right,” Jimin held the bag out to Taehyung who took it with a furrow in his brows. “Some clothes of mine, yours were ruined last night, right?”

“I can’t take this!” Taehyung cried, immediately trying to give them back to Jimin.

“After you saved my best friend’s ass last night, I owe you at least this much.” Jimin said with a smile, turning and walking out of the kitchen. “Go change, you two!”

You took a few more moments to finish eating with Taehyung, listening to Jimin laugh at something on your TV from his place on the living room couch. When you finished eating, Taehyung helped you put the dishes in the sink, trying to insist he would clean them but you denied, claiming you’d finish them later when you got home.

Going back to your bedroom, you hurriedly began to put on your clothes. When you finished getting dressed, you could hear Taehyung and Jimin talking animatedly about something with their animated laughter drifting through your home, drawing a smile onto your own face at the sound of Jimin’s infectious laugh. Walking out, you were surprised to see Taehyung wearing the clothes Jimin had given him.

“Wait,” You said with a smirk, catching their attention. “Aren’t those Jungkook’s clothes?”

“Yeah…” Jimin giggled, rubbing the back of his neck. “He left them at my place ages ago when he stayed over, I just never gave them back so…anyway, Taehyung here has better use for them!”

“I won’t argue with that,” You said, walking to your door to slide your shoes on, taking care not to hurt your ankle anymore than it already was. “He has what seems like a billion of those white t-shirts.”

“Taehyung here was just saying that he’s gotta head back,” Jimin said, pulling his own shoes on from where he had kicked them off when he entered unannounced.

“What? Are you sure?” You asked, looking at Taehyung as he slipped on his worn-out shoes.

“Yeah,” He said, running a hand through his freshly washed hair. “I gotta get back to my friends and back to performing, you know? Gotta make money somehow.”

Biting your lip, you gave him a small nod. “Alright, if that’s what you want.”

You were advised by your doctor to take things easy for a while to avoid pain and more injury to your ankle. You sat at home for days, feeling as if the walls were closing in on you every second you were confined. Staying at home wasn’t your forte, you were a busy-body, enjoying being out and about and getting things done so having to stay in one place for so long was close to torture for you.

Finally, the day came where you were allowed to leave and you decided to do some grocery shopping as a celebration of being free. Being stuck at home for so long caused you to binge eat, resulting in a low supply of food when you were once over-stocked on things to eat.

With you arms full of groceries, you walked down the street towards your apartment with a smile on your face. It felt so good to feel the sun on your skin again and the breeze in your hair.

‘Why am I so dramatic…’ You mused, chuckling softly.

“Just fuck off, filthy street rat,” A man spat from the entrance of an alleyway. You paused for a moment, startled by the hostility in the stranger’s voice. “Begging on the streets like this, who do you think you are? Go get a job like the rest of us!”

Whoever the man was bullying didn’t seem to respond, making him scoff, spitting on the ground before he stalked away. Waiting until you were sure no one was around, you wandered over to the person he had yelled at.

“Oh my god!” You cried as you saw Taehyung on his hands and knees, panting with his hair matted to his face with what you only hoped was sweat and not blood. “Taehyung, are you alright?”

“_-_____?” He asked, looking up at you to expose a split lip and swelling eye where a bruise was setting in. “Of course it’s you who found me…”

“W-What do you mean?” You asked softly, kneeling down in front of him as he sat up and wiped a stray bead of blood off of his lip.

“This is the third time we’ve met,” He chuckled softly, wincing at the pain in his lip as he smiled. “I think this is what they call ‘fate’.”

“Now’s not the time for jokes,” You sighed, reaching down and grabbing his arm, making sure not to drop your groceries to the ground.

With Taehyung on unstable feet, he held onto you as he walked with you. Before you could protest, he took some of your groceries citing that it was ‘the least he could do’. So, you swallowed your protests and helped him the 3 blocks back to your apartment complex.

Taehyung seemed to have remembered the way to your place as he easily took the lead in the way there. You were surprised, expecting him to be feeling a little weak after being beaten but he just dropped your groceries in the kitchen and took a seat on the couch with a sigh.

“Let me take care of your cuts, Taehyung,” You said softly, pulling out the first aid kit you kept in your kitchen above the fridge.

When you entered the living room, Taehyung had leaned his head against the back of the couch and his brows were furrowed in pain. When you sat down beside him, the first aid kit in hand, he looked up at you. For what feels like the 500th time, you were able to admire how good looking he was with his bangs falling messily in his eyes.

“Go ahead,” He said, suddenly sounding a little drowsy.

You gave him a sympathetic smile as you opened up the kit, pulling out little pack of alcohol wipes. As soon as it touched the cut on his lip he hissed and pulled away from you.

“Shit, that burns!” He growled, shocking you by the sudden roughness of his voice. You blinked several times, trying to clear your head of the heat that drifted over you.

“S-Sorry…I’m just trying to clean it…” You whispered, surprising yourself at the weakness in your voice.

“I know,” He said, one side of his mouth sliding up in a half-baked smirk before he rested his hand on your head, affectionately ruffling your hair. Your eyes felt like they were as wide as dinner plates at the sudden gesture. “Go on ahead then.”

Shaking yourself out of it, you used to alcohol wipe to clean the cut, making sure it was free of blood and dirt while also making sure he wasn’t in too much pain from it. Once it was finished, you dropped the used wipe and wrapper on your table before closing the kit and placing it on the table as well.

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” He said softly, bringing his finger to touch his lip.

“Why don’t you go take a shower,” You smiled as his eyes lit up at the mention of your shower. “When you come out you can put an ice-pack on that eye and we can eat, alright?”

Nodding enthusiastically, he rushed to the bathroom, shutting the door quietly before starting the shower. Once you were alone, you let out a sight and pressed a hand to your heart, wondering why it was beating so much.

“Maybe because he’s so charming…” You mumbled to yourself as you wandered to your kitchen, ready to make a nice dinner with your freshly-bought groceries.

While you put things away from the shopping bags, you kept out the chicken and noodles -having decided to make some Fettuccine Alfredo for Taehyung to enjoy. For some reason, the thought of him enjoying your cooking once again brought a smile to your face. He looked so happy when he ate, it was truly endearing, and you wanted to see it more often. You wanted to cook for him more often. You interrupted your own thoughts by shaking your head before you quickly distracted yourself by cooking.

By the time dinner was done, Taehyung was out of the shower with a towel drying his hair. He grinned at you, looking like a new man after his shower with his tanned skin clean and dewy fresh. His eye seemed to have swollen a little bit more and you sighed softly, making him cock his head at you curiously.

“What’s with the sighing, little lady?” He asked with a grin.

“We gotta take care of that eye,” You mumbled, motioning to the table for him to sit down. “I’ll get you an ice pack after we eat, dig in.”

Once again Taehyung wolfed the food down, making little hums of contentment. You quietly ate your own food, a small smile on your face as he quickly began to work on his second bowl.

“Is it good?” You asked, blushing when he furiously nodded with his mouth full.

“The best food I’ve ever tasted!” He licked his lips free of the creamy sauce before shoving another bite into his mouth. You smiled, finishing your own bowl and leaving the table to place it in the sink, vowing to clean it later.

“Let me do the dishes,” Taehyung said, taking his now empty bowl to the sink.

You shook your head, placing it beside your own. “You need to ice that eye!”

“Oh right,” He said, gingerly touching his bruised cheekbone.

“Have a seat, I’ll bring it to you,”

“Thanks,” He said, placing a friendly hand on your waist that made your heart jump into your throat, before he left.

With the icepack in hand, you took a seat beside him on the couch where he was staring out the window beside him at the nightscape of Seoul. He gingerly placed it on his eye, sighing at how nice the cool ice felt on his heated skin. A comfortable silence drifted between you two that you didn’t seem to want to break, the only sounds being the bustling city below with car horns and sirens.

“No ones ever really let me into their home like this before, you know,” Taehyung’s voice was almost inaudible even with him sat beside you. “most people just see me as a street trash.”

“That’s why that man beat you up today?” You questioned, keeping your voice low to not disturb the atmosphere.

Taehyung solemnly nodded, keeping his eyes casted on the window. “He saw me playing for cash last night, it’s really typical for the ‘Upstanding Citizens to Take Care of the Street Rats.’” His voice turned harsh and his eyes turned cold as the anger and resentment settled into his heart. “As if I chose to be homeless.”

“This has happened before?” Your eyes widened as you realized he might have been living on the streets for longer than you thought since he was so young -couldn’t be older than 25.

“Ever since I was 16 I’ve dealt with this shit,” Taehyung spat, shaking his head as he closed his eyes, seeming to be lost in thought. “My dad kicked me out after my mom died, he started drinking and said he couldn’t afford to pay for me anymore. I haven’t seen him since, I heard from an old acquaintance he died or something. To tell you the truth, I don’t really care.”

“That’s horrible,” You muttered, placing a sympathetic hand on his back. “How’d you start performing then?”

“My mom got me into music and I decided to learn the saxophone,” He shrugged, taking the icepack off of his eye and placing it on the table. “when I needed to make money on the streets, it seemed the logical decision to just play. It’s worked pretty well, I don’t always make the most money but I can at least get some ramen to eat at night.”

“Well, you’re welcome to stay as long as you want,” You smiled, standing up while grabbing his discarded icepack and first aid kit. “I really don’t mind.”

“I’ll stay a couple days, at least until my cuts completely heal,” He sighed, laying his head on the arm rest of the couch. “my pretty face is what gets me money, you know!”

“Pfft, sure, whatever you say!” You put the icepack back in the freezer for Taehyung to get to later if he needed. “I’m going to head off to bed, you can go to the spare room whenever you want.”

The mornings for the following days were filled with laughter and Taehyung getting the chance to stuff himself full of your food. It also boosted your ego to see him enjoy your food for four days straight. It was definitely an understatement to say you enjoyed your time with Taehyung in your home. You would spend a while after meals doing dishes together, and then you would both watch TV until one of you ended up crashing. There was one night you even found yourself in bed in the morning, when questioned about it Taehyung simply blushed and brushed you off.

When the day came where he decided to hit the road again, you were filled with a explicit sadness that you couldn’t -or didn’t want to- explain.

“Are you sure?” You asked, feeling a sad quiver in your voice as you spoke. “I’ve really enjoyed having you around, you know?”

Taehyung gently placed his hand on your head, a gesture you had grown accustomed to over the last four days. “I can’t burden you, sweetheart. It’ll be fine!”

“You’re not a burden though,” You muttered, poking your bottom lip out in a pout, making him smile.

“I’ll see you later, alright?”

“How do you know?” You whispered, looking up at him through your lashes.

“We’ve got some fate shit going on!” He chuckled, wrenching open the door before blowing a playful kiss your way.

The slam of the door signified his departure and you were left standing in the apartment. It suddenly felt much emptier than ever before.

“I don’t know about this…” You mumbled, looking around towards the entrance of the alleyway. “I don’t want to get into trouble.”

“Oh it’s no big deal!” Jieun’s boyfriend Daehyun chuckled as he blew out the smoke from his mouth. “I promise nothing bad will happen.”

“C’mon Dae, if she doesn’t want to…” Jieun defended, nudging her boyfriend playfully.

“I just don’t want her to feel left out,” Daehyun chuckled, holding out the blunt towards you.

“Don’t be boring, _____,” Junhong chided with a scoff.

“I’m not boring,” You spat, feeling aggravated by this boy even though you’ve only known him for 15 minutes. You had no idea how Jieun dealt with this crowd.

“Then take a hit!” Youngjae pestered, poking you in the side, resulting in you smacking his hands away.

“Fine, jeez!” You snatched the blunt from Daehyun’s outstretched fingers with a nasty glare on your face.

You examined it in your fingers, nearly burnt out from the boys and Jieun taking hits. Licking your lips, you brought it to your mouth, squinting as you inhaled the toxic-tasting air. You held it in a little bit before letting out your breath. Suddenly, you were overcome by the urge to cough -causing the boys to laugh at you.

“It’s not fu-unny…” You choked out, gasping in a breath with tears in your eyes.

“_____?”

All eyes turned towards the entrance of the alleyway at the call of your name.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Taehyung?” You whispered, dropping the blunt from your fingers as he advanced towards you.

“Hey man, what’s the deal?” Junhong groaned from where he leaned against the wall.

Taehyung didn’t even spare him a glance as he stalked up to you, wrapping a strong hand around your wrist before dragging you off You could hear Jieun cry your name before Daehyun told her not to worry about it.

“T-Tae, wait a second!” You whined, trying to pull your wrist from his hold.

Judging by the ominous aura that surrounded his wide shoulders, you could tell he was pissed off. He took wide steps that you struggled to keep up with in your heels. People passing by looked at the two of you, some in shock and some in worry. You quickly registered that he was taking you back to your place since he memorized the buildings surrounding your home.

“Get inside,” He growled once he tore open your front door, gently shoving you inside. You rushed into your home, kicking off the heels that had begun to hurt your feet. Once the door slammed shut, he whirled towards you in a rage. “What the fuck were you thinking?!”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” You cried, not used to anyone yelling at you like this.

“Drugs, ____? Really?” He hissed, kicking his shoes off in a fit, making them hit the wall loudly.

“Wh-It was just one hit of pot!” You scoffed, finding this whole ordeal ridiculous.

“That’s how it starts, _____! Are you stupid?!”

“Woah, hey,” You cried, feeling tears sting your eyes at his harsh words. “You don’t get to talk to me like that!”

“Well, if you’re going to be another stupid junkie, I don’t really care!” He spat back, gaze unforgiving at the tears slowly sliding down your cheeks. It was one thing you hated about yourself, you cried when you fought with people.

“Why does this bother you so much?” You asked, voice dropping several octaves in response to your tears.

“I tired pot once too, you know,” He said, eyes still fiery in his anger. “And then I tried it some more and when that stopped making me feel good I started trying more drugs.”

“I don’t-“

“And before I knew it, I was down shit creek and all my friends left me and I dropped out of school and I was kicked out on my ass by my dad,” He whispered the last part, running a hand through his mussed hair.

“That’s why he kicked you out?” You asked, slowly lowering yourself to sit on the couch.

He nodded, finally seeming to calm down as he sat beside you. “After my mom died, I fell into a depression. My dad started drinking and I started looking for a way to make things feel better for a while. I stopped caring the harder the drugs got and then my dad got tired of it and threw me out. I don’t want anything like that to happen to you, _____.”

“Tae,” You shook your head, finally relaxing your body. “I only tried it to get those assholes to stop pestering me. I was a little curious but all it did was burn the hell out of my throat, trust me when I say it wasn’t pleasant.”

“I want to look after you, ____, I don’t know why, I just…care about you now.” He chuckled, looking down at his hands bashfully.

“The offer to stay with me is still open, you know…” You mumbled, meeting his eyes sharply.

He locked gazes with you, biting his lip before smiling, giving you a nod of approval at your words. Before you could register that he was moving, he cupped your cheek and pulled your lips to meet his. You were shocked for a moment, feeling sparks ignite between you before you smiled and kissed him back. His eyes slid closed, his eyelashes brushing against your cheek as he deepened the kiss.

“That was nice,” You chided once he pulled away.

Grinning, he pushed a piece of your hair behind your ear. “Yeah…it was…still want me to stay here?”

“I’d love to have you,” You replied.

2 weeks passed with Taehyung in your constant company. He did a lot of housework, siting that it was the least he could do since you gave him a place to call home.

One day, you were both sitting on the couch with the TV playing something in the background. Your nose was buried into a book you had to read for an upcoming essay for class so it took you a good little while to notice that Taehyung was unusually quiet.

Looking up, you saw him staring blankly ahead at the TV, clearly not really watching what was happening. Furrowing your brows, you placed the book on your lap.

“Tae?” You called him, waiting for a response for a few seconds before you realized he hadn’t even heard you. With a careful hand, you placed in on his shoulder, watching him jump before whipping his head to look at you.

“W-What is it?” He mumbled, peering at you through his bangs you had offered to cut for him but he claimed he looked best with longer hair.

“You okay?” You asked, keeping your hand on his shoulder.

He looked down, biting his lip before shaking his head. “I’m just…worried about my friends.”

“What do you mean?” You asked, folding your arms over your chest as you waited.

“Well, out on the streets me and my friends Yoongi and Hoseok stayed together and made money together. It’s how we survived,” He said with a sigh. “I’m just worried about how they’re holding up and…I miss them, you know?”

“Well why didn’t you say anything?” You chastisized, getting up to move into the kitchen, swinging open the refrigerator with Taehyung trailing behind you.

“What’re you doing?” He asked, peeking over your bent figure.

“Making some food for your friends and then we can go and see them!” You said cheerfully as you stood up with an armful of vegetables and meat, prepared to make a delicious meal.

“R-Really? You’d do that?” He asked, round eyes wide in surprised.

“Of course,” You smiled, placing everything down on the counter. “They’re important to you and you’re important to me so they’re important to me too…uh…by association!”

Taehyung blinked owlishly for several seconds before bursting into a dazzling smile that made your heartrate accelerate. “Alright, let’s make some delicious food for them then!”

Almost 2 hours later you had concocted a picnic basket full of food for Taehyung’s friends. The smell alone was making your stomach growl, signaling how hungry you were. But you knew it could wait as Taehyung took the heavy basket and began to walk to the door.

“I can’t wait for you to meet them, they’re really great guys,” He gushed, closing the door behind him when you both made it to the hallway.

“Tell me about them,” You said, walking with Taehyung as he escorted you to the location of his previous dwelling.

“Well Yoongi-hyung is the oldest, he’s been on the streets for a really long time. He wanted to pursue music when he was young but his parents were totally against it and when he started to do it in secret, you know produce mixtapes and make money to save up for college…well, his parents found out,” Taehyung sighed, adjusting his grip on the basket. “They threw him out and he’s been on the streets ever since, before we met he told me he was sleeping in subways and bathrooms.”

“Wow that’s so terrible…” You whispered, biting your lip. “I can see where you two would get along though, you both like music!”

“Yeah, exactly!” Taehyung giggled, looking at you with bright eyes. “Hobi-hyung enjoys music too but he dances. He doesn’t really like to talk about how he ended up on the streets, but as far as I know…he ran away from home.”

You couldn’t quite understand the appeal of leaving a roofed home for a place like the streets of Seoul of all places. But, there must have been a reason, you mused, for someone to leave home like that.

Crossing the street at the pedestrian-crossing area, you were able to follow Taehyung down an alleyway, taking a few turns before you arrived at a dead end.

There was a barrel that clearly had a fire going in it, what looked like a little fort made of forts and boxes was set up -you assumed for shelter. Around the fire two men sat drinking out of water bottles with smiles on their faces.

“Yoongi-hyung! Hobi-hyung!” Taehyung cried, rushing over to the two with a smile on his face.

“Woah! Tae!” One of them cried, launching out of his seat and hugging Taehyung tightly while the other looked over the two of them fondly.

“Hobi-hyung, meet _____,” Taehyung introduced, gesturing your over to them.

The one now identified as Hoseok, shockingly, gave you a tight hug. With wide eyes, you hugged him back-not used to such friendly people in the city.

“So, you’re the one who stole our little Taehyung away, huh?” Yoongi called from his seat. When Hoseok released you from his hug you saw Yoongi holding a teasing grin across his face.

“It’s nice to meet you both,” You muttered, suddenly feeling shy with all the attention on you.

Taehyung, as if he could feel your awkwardness, held up the basket happily. “We made you guys some food!”

“Woah, really?” Hoseok cheered, stealing the basket and placing it beside the fire.

“Have a seat, you two,” Yoongi gestured to the spare two crates they were using as chairs.

You sat down beside Yoongi, adjusting yourself as you got comfortable. Hoseok was rooting through the basket, making various sounds of approval at what he saw.

“How’s life been treating you two?” Yoongi asked, grabbing a sandwich from Hoseok’s hand and unwrapping the cling-wrap from it.

“Things have been really good, hyung,” Taehyung responded, looking over at you with a smile. “I feel really good.”

“You look good,” Hoseok added. “Your skin looks much healthier and you’ve gained some weight.”

“______ feeds me well,” He said bashfully, biting his lip as he fought a smile.

“Mmm, I can imagine I’d gain a good 40lbs eating food like this too,” Yoongi groaned, clearly enjoying the taste in his mouth. “This is incredible.”

You could see where Taehyung got his love for food now. From Yoongi. Taehyung, as if reading your thoughts, blushed and shook his head.

“Thank you for watching over him, ______.” Hoseok said, after he finished his own sandwich. “We’re really grateful at least he’s met someone to care for him.”

“I-It’s no problem really…” You denied, shaking your head at them. “I’m really happy to do it. Taehyung is an amazing guy and it’s been really great having him around.”

“He really is lucky,” Yoongi chuckled. “Good food, a roof over his head, and a good person taking care of him. He’s still a kid at heart so I hope he’s been good.”

“Hyung!” Taehyung cried, shoving his friends shoulder, making the older laugh. “I have been nothing but respectful!”

“That doesn’t mean much coming from you, Mr. Charmer!” Hoseok added to the teasing, making Taehyung whine in defeat.

“See how badly they bully me, _____?!” He cried, tossing his head back dramatically.

“I see nothing,” You shrugged, looking off to the side, making Hoseok and Yoongi burst out into laughter.

You sat up for a few hours after you got home, watching some late-night TV. Taehyung was tired after having a good time with his friends, that he went straight to sleep when you got home. You could feel your abs hurting from how much the three of them made you laugh that night.

You could hear Taehyung’s light snoring from his bedroom as you made your way to your bedroom. Once inside, you flicked on the light and shut the door with a soft click. Pulling your phone from your pocket, you found your contact labeled ‘Namjoon’.

The line rung a few times before he picked up with a raspy ‘hello?’

“Namjoon,” You said with a smile, happy to hear your friends voice. “I hate to call you this late, but it’s kind of urgent…”

“Hm? What is it?” He asked, sounding more awake now.

“Do you…by chance, have a job opening at your restaurant?”

“Are you…looking for a job?” He asked while yawning over the line. “I thought you were waiting until you finished Uni to get a job?”

“Not for me,” You replied, shaking your head even though he couldn’t see it. “I have a friend, he plays the saxophone and I know you said something about looking for someone to play music.”

“Well, I haven’t found anyone,” Namjoon responded. “I’ll give him an interview, how’s that sound?”

“I’d be really grateful to you, Namjoon,” You whispered, unable to contain your smile. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, _____.”

The sound of your door opening is what woke you up. When you opened your eyes, you could see Taehyung smiling from the doorway.

“Wakey, wakey,” He cooed, giggling at your confused face. “I cooked some eggs for you!”

“What? Really?” You asked, sitting up in bed. He was still wearing his pajamas and his hair was an absolute wreck. He looked…. adorable.

“Before we eat,” You mumbled, gesturing him over to you. “I have something to tell you.”

“Are you pregnant?” He asked jokingly as he sat down on the edge of your bed.

Scoffing, you shoved him playfully in the shoulder. “I got you a job interview, thank you very much!”

“What-Really?” He asked, smile dropping into a wide-eyed look of surprise. “You did?”

“Yeah,” You nodded, smiling bashfully at him. “It’s at a friend of mine’s restaurant, he’s looking for someone to play music.”

“Y-You…what?”

You smiled at his utter bewilderment, placing a hand on his head in a fashion similar to what he did to you on occasion.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked out of the blue, staring at your lips.

Without a moment of hesitation, you nodded. The feeling of his lips on yours was indescribable, his scent surrounded you and you could taste mint from his toothpaste he used earlier in the morning. His hand came around to cup the back of your head. Your eyes slid shut as he deepened the kiss, using his tongue to lightly trace over the seam of your lips.

At the taste of him, you couldn’t help the small whimper than escaped from you. In response to the tempting sound, Taehyung groaned into your lips, gently pushing you to lay down on the bed. Your heartrate began to accelerate at the feeling of his body pressed against yours.

“Can I…touch you?” He asked, voice shaky, as if he was afraid of your rejection.

Blushing, you gave him a nod, gently taking one of his hands and leading it to your breast, covered by the sports bra you were planning to wear to bed. He groaned appreciatively, squeezing your breast gently once before slipping his hand beneath the band of your bra.

The feeling of his bare hand, rough from playing his instrument and living on the streets, brushing against your sensitive nipple had you keening. You quickly pulled your bra up, over your breasts, too lazy to actually take it off your body. Either way, Taehyung moaned appreciatively, enjoying the site of your breasts bared to him.

“God, you’ve made me so hard,” He whined, licking his lips as he pinched your nipples, making your hips arch against his.

“Y-Yeah, you are…” You whispered, gently grinding against his hard cock through your sweats and his slacks. “Can I…can I see you?”

“R-Really?” He choked out, looking down to see your lust-filled eyes locked on the tend in his pants.

With shaky hands, he left his grip on your breast in favor of tugging his belt off, dropping it on the floor and unbuttoning his pants. You were practically drooling by the time he pulled his cock out of its confines. It was already leaking at the tip from how aroused he had become from you.

Feeling confident, you wrapped your hand around him, smirking when he tossed his head back to moan. The velvety smooth skin beneath your palm was hot to the touch and pulsing in his arousal. You wished you could wrap your lips around his tip and taste all the precum he was oozing on your hand. Hissing, he gently fucked himself into your palm, making you smirk at how needy he was.

“Fuck, I need to touch you,” He growled, shamelessly shoving his hand into your sweats and panties. “Holy fuck, you’re wet,”

“I-It’s because of you…” You whimpered, grinding into the fleeting touch he left on your swollen clit.

“Is that so? The sight of my cock got you dripping, huh?” You don’t know what you were expecting from him in bed, but you definitely didn’t judge him to be a dirty talker. Either way, it had you even more turned on to hear his deep voice saying such filthy things to you with his hand stuffed in your panties.

He didn’t waste a single second before he sunk his middle finger into you, crooking it up to meet your g-spot, making your hips arch into his touch. You gently squeezed his cock, slowly beginning to pump him in time to his thrusts of his finger.

“A-Add another,” You whimpered, biting your lip as you anticipated the stretch his long fingers would give you.

Your eyes closed, and your grip tightened around him, making him growl in pleasure, as he sunk another finger into you, making your walls stretch. The feeling is just what you wanted and with him abusing your g-spot, you could feel yourself growing close. It had been so long since another person gave you a much-deserved orgasm, that you were feeling embarrassingly sensitive to his every move.

You doubled your efforts for him, wanting him to reach his own end along with you. You were feeling desperate to see him orgasm, hear the sounds he would make. Would he moan your name or just give a deep, breathy moan in the throws of pleasure?

“Fuck, babygirl,” He growled, pumping his hips as you worked his cock in your slick fist. “Just like that, you’re gonna make me cum.”

“M-My clit, Tae…” You whimpered, feeling the sensitive bud throb with neglect.

“Not until I cum, sweetheart,” He whispered, biting his bottom lip and furrowing his brows in concentration as he watched your pump his thick shaft. His precum was leaking all over your fist, making slick sounds erupt in the room.

He began to pant as you doubled your efforts, wanting to cum along with him. His head fell back, exposing the flawless expanse of his neck that you suddenly longed to mark up. You couldn’t though, because of his work.

“Here I cum, baby,” He grunted, pressing his thumb against your needy clit.

The sudden stimulation had your pace faltering, but Taehyung didn’t seem to notice as streams of his cum spurted out onto your bare stomach, one reaching your breast. Even through his orgasm, he didn’t let up on working his fingers into you.

You tossed your head back, releasing his softening cock as you fell over the edge into your own orgasm. Though the blood pumping through you ears you could hear Taehyung’s soft praises as your walls clenched rhythmically around his digits.

Once your body relaxed against the bed, he pulled his hand out of your panties. With hazy eyes you watched him pop his soaked fingers into his mouth, eyes rolling back into his head as he tasted you. You could see his cock twitch back to life as he tasted you and you grinned, launching yourself at him with a giggle.

Taehyung let out a loud sigh as he entered your shared home, closing the door quietly behind him. He loosened his tight while he kicked his shoes off, happy to be free of what he labeled ‘The Most Uncomfortable Shoes in the World’.

“Tae, is that you?” You called from the bedroom, drawing his attention down the hallway, where he followed the sound of your furious typing.

“What’re you still doing up?” He asked, leaning on the door frame with a smile, happy to see you after a long day.

“Finishing up this essay, how was work?” You asked, barely even glancing at him.

He shrugged, wandering over to the bed. “Tiring but rewarding, I made over $200 in tips alone tonight.”

“No way!” You cried, finally looking up at him, revealing your dark circles under your eyes. “That’s incredible!”

“You should rest up, baby,” He chided, sitting on the edge of the bed, reaching towards your laptop and closing it. “It’s late.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” You smiled, picking up the laptop to place it on your bedside table. “What would I do without you?”

Taehyung shrugged and sighed dramatically, “Crash and burn probably,”

You both shared a smile as he proceeded to go through his night routine. The clock on your bedside read 11:23PM in blinking red lights by the time Taehyung crawled into bed.

Facing each other in the now dark room, you could barely make out a small smile on his lips. With wide eyes, he reached up and brushed his fingertips against the smooth skin of your cheek, pushing some stray hairs behind your ear.

“You’re so pretty,” He whispered, voice barely breaking through the calm darkness.

You were unable to hide the smile that split across your face at his sweet words. You sat up a little bit, licking your lips before pressing them against Taehyung’s smooth ones. He grunted softly, sliding his tongue into your mouth to get a taste of you, tanging a large hand in your hair as he pulled you to straddle his lap.

Beneath you, you could feel how his cock had begun to grow, twitching in his sweats as your shared kiss began to heat up. Beneath your hands, where you were using his chest to hold yourself up, you could feel how his heartrate sped up.

“Take your shirt off for me, baby,” He cooed, his breath fanning against your lips.

You sat up, smirking when he groaned at your movement on his hardening member. Grabbing your t-shirt by the hem, you yanked it up over your head and tossed it away. Taehyung bit his lip at the sight of your bare upper body, all for him, your perky breasts begging to be grabbed with cute pink nipples that he wanted to wrap his hot mouth around. You took his hand in yours, guiding them to your chest until his warm palms were wrapped around your breasts.

“Shit, baby,” He croaked, thumbing your nipples gently. You whimpered softly at the spark of pleasure it gave you, having his hands on your body like this. “You have perfect tits, don’t you?”

“Ah, Tae…” You whined, pushing your breasts further into his hands, watching his deft fingers pluck at your hardened nipples.

“Feel how hard I am?” He grunted, grinding himself against your clothed center.

“Fuck…yes,” You moaned, angling yourself so your clothed clit bumped against his hard shaft.

“Fuck this,” He growled, grabbing your waist and tossing you onto the bed before flipping himself over to hover above you. “Get naked for me, sweetheart,”

His lips suddenly became very busy as he nipped at your neck, wanting to leave a mark on your skin. With you head tilted back for his easy access, your thumbs hooked into your shorts and you shoved them down along with your pink cotton panties. You hadn’t realized you were so wet until you felt the cool air on your exposed center.

When your pants and panties were kicked off the bed, Taehyung detached himself from your neck after leaving a strawberry colored mark on your otherwise flawless skin. His lips trailed fire hot trails down your body, making a stop at your right nipple which he eagerly popped into his mouth. You at the feeling of his tongue swirling around the bud. Feeling your other bud being neglected, you reached up and pinched it.

“Fuck, that’s it, touch yourself for me,” He groaned against your breast. His other hand became busy as he forced your thighs apart, leaving your cunt exposed to his prodding fingers.

“Please, Tae,” You begged suddenly, looking down at him with wide eyes as you wrapped your fingers in his hair.

Smirking, he glanced up at you through his long bangs. “What is it, baby? What do you need?”

“I-I want you to eat me out…” You whispered, feeling your cheeks heat up at the sound of your own voice saying such things out loud.

Taehyung merely groaned in response before he was suddenly sitting up and pushing your legs up against your chest until you were completely exposed to his lustful gaze. His tongue swiped over his lower lip as he looked at your wet, swollen lips dripping cream down to the sheets beneath you. Holding your thighs open, he descended and lightly dragged his tongue over your lips, moaning at the juices that collected on his tongue.

“Shit, you’re so sweet,” He growled, and it was as if something snapped in him because he was eating you like you were his last meal.

The sloppy noises he made as he slurped all your juices into your mouth was nothing short of pornographic. As soon as his tongue met your aching, neglected clit, you were a mess of cries and moans. To say that Taehyung was talented with his tongue would be an understatement, he was an absolute God with his tongue.

“Oh fuck, Taehyung,” You cried, arching your back off the mattress as you felt a familiar ache begin to settle in your stomach.

“Gonna cum already? I just started,” He teased, wrapping his lips around your throbbing clit and sucking until you yanked at his hair when it became too much.

“Y-Yes, I’m so close,” You cried, your nails scratching his scalp as the force you were holding onto his hair.

“Then cum,” He growled, swirling his tongue around your bud, making you sob when the pleasure finally erupted. Taehyung dutifully continued to suckle and lick your clit, working you through your orgasm until you couldn’t take it anymore. He smirked when he felt you squirming, desperately trying to get away from the unbearable overstimulation. “What’s wrong baby?” He chuckled.

“T-Too much, Tae!” You sobbed, trying to push his head away from your center as he continued to lay gentle licks to your sensitive clit.

After what felt like an eternity, he pulled away, grinning with his mouth glistening with your cum. Using his thumb, he cleaned up the corners of his mouth before licking them to collect the rest of your juices.

“Best pussy I’ve ever tasted, you know,” He whispered, sounding breathless from making you cum with his mouth.

Without warning, he stood up and pushed his sweats down, exposing his hard cock to your view. He had a delicious length to him that you couldn’t wait to feel filling you up. At your own dirty thought, you felt yourself clench around nothing, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Taehyung, who smirked in response.

“Get your sexy little ass over here,” He giggled, grabbing your ankles and yanking you down so your legs were hanging off the edge of the bed.

The cute expression quickly vanished as he sunk two fingers into your soaked entrance, making you whine at the sudden stretch. After pumping into you a couple times, he pulled his fingers out and wrapped them around his cock, smearing your juices down his length, mixing it with his precum.

“You ready, sweetheart?” He whispered, releasing his member as he stood between your spread legs.

“Please Tae, fuck me,” You begged, reaching above your head to grip the sheets in preparation for his entrance.

Smiling at you, he pressed the head of his cock against your entrance, glancing at your face to make sure you were alright as he began to sink in. You were in heaven as he bottomed out, feeling spectacularly full of him with his shaft pressing perfectly against your g-spot.

Gripping your hips, Taehyung began a slow pace, letting you both get into the rhythm without cumming too fast. His eyes were fixated on the way your cunt stretched to accept him every time he plunged back into you. Your mind was a haze of complete lust, arching your hips to meet his thrusts, desperately trying to grind your clit into any skin you could every time he bottomed out.

It didn’t take long before Taehyung was unable to keep a slow pace, wanting you both to achieve all the pleasure possible. His hips sped up, fucking himself into your soaked walls desperately, tossing his head back as the pleasure began to build up.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking wet!” He growled, releasing your hip with one hand to drag his thumb over your swollen clit. “How’s my cock feel, sweetheart? Tell me,”

“S-So…fucking good, Tae,” You gasped out, eyes rolling back into your head as he angled his hips to abuse your g-spot in time to his circles on your clit.

“Your little clit is so swollen, bet you wanna cum real bad, huh?” He growled, carefully pushing the hood of the little bud back carefully, smirking when you flinched away at the oversensitive feeling of his finger on your exposed nerves.

“Fuck Tae, I’m gonna cum!” You shrieked, tossing your head to cry out.

Taehyung watched with lidded eyes as you exploded, your back arching and you crying out his name. You tossed your head back and forth while your body trembled, your thighs spasming around his hips while your walls clenched his cock, drawing out his own orgasm.

“Fuck, that’s it sweetheart, take my cum in that little pussy,” He grunted, feeling his cock twitch inside your spasming walls as you finished your orgasm.

By the time you were both done, and he was softening inside you, you were panting, sweating messes. Draping his body over yours, he found your lips and pressed a gentle kiss against them.

“Love you, Tae,” You whispered drowsily, watching the beaming smile you were taken by the first night you saw him performing on the street. It was still just as breathtaking.

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jungdrizzydraco · 5 years ago

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An O.C. for Your Asses!!!

I wanna see if the characters are legit before I move forward with this short story im working on (I'm a character first kinda guy, so I work inside-out) leave any form of constructive critique you wish, they are still works in progress, thanks!!

Augustine Harriet Andersson

Age:22

Sign: Gemini (sun) Cancer (moon) Virgo (rising)

Height: 5'8

Eye Color: Formerly dark-brown, bleached to a pastel-hazel because of some dark magic fuckery

Hair Color/Cut: dark-brown,q shifting variations of a fade, whose design changes somewhat based on his thoughts and emotions (yes, this is an enchanted fade)

Build: lean, lightly muscled from years lifting cauldrons in his grandfather's potion shop

Notable Features: Dimples; left-dimple is deeper than right, multiple piercings on each ear, artificial left eye (looks organic but to magical eyes, it looks otherwise)

"Have you ever been like...fundamentally angry? I feel that way...like at my core, there's this rage that seethes and coils at the pit of my stomach, everyday, like a python that can't quite squeeze his prey all the way to death. Everytime I think I've grown up, forgiven something or someone or myself, there's this anger that tightens right back up all over again...like it's reminding me of something. Somedays...I feel like that feeling will petrify everything I've ever loved about myself, and I'll just be another slave to outrage and ego and pain...just like everyone else...haha, then I'll really be a normie." -August Andersson, on his depression and internal anger issues.

Augustine Andersson is a witch-boy. But you could probably already tell that from looking at him: the way his eyes are almost constantly fixed towards some unseeable infinity, the way air molecules hum with fresh, manic energy around him, how he seems to absorb sunlight and the way his brown skin would filter the glow as a result of his connection to the natural...it was all very off putting to others around him for most of his young adult life. And as we all know, no one likes a freak, so such years had a hand in building his current trust issues, feelings of great anger and inadequacy, and all the tics and tricks he uses to keep such feelings at bay. He's not at a total loss; at his core he is a humanitarian, deeply compassionate and available to those who have managed to capture his heart, as well as wild and humorous. However, he keeps a tight lid on his darkest feelings and insecurities, out of fear that they may be too much for those around him (also, he might accidentally call forth a vile arch-daemon on accident, but that's neither here nor there.) After finally having had enough of his mundane time amongst the humans, he vanishes from his college campus one day and takes to the open road, hoping that like the many young, angsty teens in the movies he loves, he will find himself in his own solitude. But the best way to deal with oneself is when confronting someone else, and after a close-call with a reckless (and very cute) motorcycle rider on an interstate, August will be forced to deal with every single part of himself, the good, the bad, and the strange...

A few more things about him...

1. His father is Afro-swedish, hence his last name.

2. Loves to travel and is nomadic by nature.

3. He gets a special kind of warmth out of being moderately petty at all times.

4. He loves open spaces and bodies of water, as well as hikes through mountains (ok so he only went once in Vegas, so sue him, he really liked it!)

5. Surprisingly low maintenance, really just likes being around people that are happy, and the feeling easily rubs off on him.

6. Both positive and negative emotions easily rub off on him.

7. Can get caught up in moments of warm content, given his unstable interior life, and can get lost in wasting/spending time.

8. Gets restless easily.

9. Budding film buff, faves include Kill Bill vol. 1&2, Her, Moonrise Kingdom, Gone Girl, Blue is the Warmest Color, Moonlight, & Mean Girls.

10. August's father is very engaged with politics and civil rights, so in honor of that, he decided that his son's middle name would belong to one of the greatest figures of the civil rights movement: Harriet Tubman.

11. Favorite new movie is The Favourite.

12. Due to a lack of acceptance of his full self and the full spectrum of his sexuality, he is judgemental of others and holds them to the same near-impossible standards he holds for himself.

13. Things he expects from others: To read his mind and conjure what he wants without saying, to have his needs and boundaries respected without actually stating so, for others to fit in whatever box he thinks they should be in, for everyone's intellect to be slightly lower than his own, but high enough not to annoy him with silly questions, ect.

14. Listens to Lorde, J. Cole, Rex Orange County, Frank Ocean, Lana Del Rey, Tyler the Creator, Young Thug and assorted film soundtracks.

15. Enjoys playing into his double-sided nature when it suits him, and has a secret glee in melding into different roles depending on who's around him.

16. Is attracted to more eccentric personalities in platonic and romantic relationships

17. Smokes weed to escape boredom. (and his problems)

18. Smokes weed because he likes the feeling.

19. Is secretly a little ratchet, but he'll kill you if you say so, it'll fuck up his reputation as the quasi-sociopathic erudite.

Magic House-Thoth

Augustine is a member of the Sacred House of Life, witches whose magic is passed down from the Egyptian Gods themselves. August himself is a descendant of an African slave-witch, once known as Ashe. She was taken to Egypt as a typical piece of cargo from zealot raiders, and was sentenced to a life of building the pyramids. Or so she would have thought: Thoth, the God of Magic and Knowledge, took pity upon her and beguiled her to follow an invisible force into the desert one night. He then revealed himself to her in his ibis-headed brilliance and bestowed upon her a set of choices: he could free her now and set her loose across the desert with all the things she would need for survival, or he could give her secrets and wisdoms unknown to man at the time, but she would have to frequently return to him for lessons. Ashe always prized knowledge and growth over any material thing, or even something such as freedom (I prefer to disagree myself). And secrets from a God must count for that much more, right? She indulged in option two. Thoth grinned and whispered to her the mysteries of life, the secrets of the stars, and the riddles of worlds lost and intangible, he spoke magick into her very soul. She would then use her newfound knowledge to fool her captors, freed any slave that would believe in her, and with her wits about them, guided them across the desert to build a library-like sanctuary, in honor of Thoth. The former slaves then learned from the god's teachings, passed through Ashe, and became witches and educators in their own right, and Ashe came to lead this new coven of magi. This is how the House of Thoth became to be.

Magick: As a member of house of Thoth, August has the ability to manipulate various aspects of the moon, writing, hieroglyphics, knowledge and sciences, and the progression of time. His particular specialty is the creation of Moon Dust, a substance used as a medium for most of his spells. By gathering various quantities of mineral, be it: crystal, rocks, pearls, aluminum, or even silvers and golds, he can channel his magic into them and break down and rearrange their atomic components into a corrosive, abrasive substance that also tends to stick to objects due to an electric charge. This dust is also dangerous to breathe in. He tends to carry around a pouch or two on his person, as trying to create some on the fly is nearly impossible given how much time and intricacy is needed to create the substance. (I mean, working with just a pile of plain old rocks would take a couple of hours to convert, let alone harder or more distilled substances.) Spells that he has mastered so far include...

Spell of Refraction: A spell in which the moondust bonds to whomever or whatever August desires (sans the harmful effects, it's enchanted in this state) and whatever is enveloped in dust turns invisible via light refraction.

Spell of Revelations: He can spread his moondust over an area and have the pieces cling to imprints of negative emotion or dark magick. A spell used for forensic work.

Spell of Retribution: An offensive spell that uses moondust to its fullest offensive powers and creates small funnels of dust to ravage the opponent. The largest funnel made could surround a fully grown man.

Golemancy: Can create golems out of the moon dust he has formed, usually no larger than a human toddler. They tend to take form roughly resembling lego-men (he was a big fan of the Lego Expanded Universe as a child), but one can easily be fooled by their size: each golem has the strength of three men, and can combine to further power themselves up.

There are a few spells that don't require the moon dust...

-The Veil: A surface-level illusion layered directly over the skin. This allows the caster to look like whatever he wants to look like and sound however he wants, but can be broken if struck with bad intentions (like a slap from an offended woman on the street)

-Somnus: A very old, yet practical spell. Also one that does not require moondust, this handy spell induces sleep. Those affected by this spell will not remember being forced to sleep, but they will have active and vivid dreams for distraction. Also necessary for Dream Diving.

-Dream Diving: A skill Augustine has yet to master, this allows the caster to astral project into one's consciousness for complete access to the afflicted parties mind, if the brain is distracted by dreams. August has gotten stuck in several public nude dreams, and it takes long hours to remove oneself from another's mind.

-Illusion Casting

-Temporary Madness Inducement

-Script Magick: By writing down a word or phrase on any surface that can be sufficiently marked on, whatever has been written manifests somehow, just so long as it is within his power. He can't create miracles with it though.

Top 10 Roadtrip Songs

Sobriety- Sza

No Role Moldelz-J. Cole

Sacrifices -Dreamville, assorted artists

Grown Up Fairy Tails- Chance the Rapper, Taylor Bennett

My Boy-Billie Eilish

U.N.I.T.Y.- Frank Ocean

West Coast: Lana Del Rey

Cruise Ship-Young Thug

400 Lux-Lorde

Let Em Know- Bryson Tiller

#writblur #oc #my writing #my ocs #iwrite

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theartificialdane · 6 years ago

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Andromeda: Requiem

Violet recieves a letter. Her stepfather is dead. This is what happens when a mothers love forces her to face her worst fears. Galactica and Paris AU tie in.

/ Thank you to @veronicasanders for her eternal patience, great guidance and insistence on pushing me beyond my comfort zone. This would not have been made without you. Dedicated to @imanationalphenomenon - I’m sorry I made you wait this long, but here it finally is!

“Make a right.”

Sutan nodded, Violet guiding him through a tiny suburb outside Atlanta, the city sign saying Lilburn. Violet had gotten the message a little over a week ago that her stepdad had died, his wife barely reacting as she read the letter that had arrived to their New York address from someone who had called himself Dax. Sutan had never seen Violet’s childhood home, had never met anyone from the family that had his wife for the first 13 years of her life. He didn’t know what he was expecting. He turned down the road, it all looking strangely normal. Where Violet had grown up just a normal neighborhood filled with small suburban homes with front lawns, trampolines and garages.

They had attended the service after circling for what felt like hours looking for the right church, the town feeling like it was 80% churches compared to Manhattan. The service was surprisingly full from what little Sutan had heard from Violet about the kind of person her stepdad had been. They had slipped in and sat at the very back, Sutan holding Violet’s hand through the entire thing. Sutan hadn’t even realised he had never seen a photo of Violet’s stepdad, until he was faced with the picture of him next to the casket, a large brunette man looking back at him. Sutan knew that his name was John, and how Violet’s expression darkened when she was forced to talk about him. What was the most bizarre of all though, was when he spotted a short plump woman at the very front of the church. She had to be Abigail Dardo. She was saying hello to everyone, a handkerchief clutched in her hand, her blonde hair in big curls, her blue eyes so unlike his wife, the only thing they had in common the set of their mouth and, as Sutan looked closely, the shape of theirs hands. He had wanted to get a better look at the woman who had attempted to raise the woman he loved, curiosity nearly killing the cat, but Violet had left the church in a hurry after the service, almost like she had spotted something.

”Here…”

Sutan stopped the car outside a completely normal two story house with a porch and a garage. They had circled around town, Violet clearly trying to kill time, though Sutan had no idea what she was waiting for, pointing him in different directions. They had passed a small run down dance studio, Violet gently touching his arm to make him slow down, though she hadn’t asked him to stop. The house had been the first place she had actually talked to him. Another car was parked there as well, Violet jumping when she spotted it, but she hadn’t said anything.

“So.. This is where you grew up?”

Violet nodded, his wife twisting the wedding ring on her finger again and again, the thin gold band rubbing back and forth. Violet hadn’t told him what they were doing here, but he knew she wouldn’t have insisted on going if there wasn’t something truly important she had to do, something she had to get.

“Are you sure you want to go in?”

Sutan looked over at Violet, the woman still quiet, just as she had been on the entire trip to Georgia. “Alright.” It was something he had learned to accept, even if he didn’t like it, but after almost two decades of marriage, Violet’s silence when it all became too much was as expected as how she always curled up in his arms to find enough peace to sleep after a day just like this. “Let’s go.”

Sutan moved to open his door, but Violet reached out, catching his wrist in her hand, stopping him.

“I…”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for coming with me.”

Sutan smiled, his heart filled with tender affection, Violet’s voice so very small. “I’d never let you go alone.” Sutan kissed her gently, before opening his door and stepped out on the cold winter road.

///

Violet took a deep breath, her hand shaking as she reached for the doorbell. Walking up to the house had felt like walking in a dream, everything so surreal. She knew she had fallen into silence, that Sutan was worried about her, but how could she not when everything around was just like when she was small, the road one she remembered so vividly, walking home in her beat up trainers, her heels now clacking on the same pavement that had tormented her.

She didn’t want to do this, but she knew exactly who she had to do it for.

Violet pressed the bell, a riiing sounding from inside the house, a dog started yapping, and Violet could hear footsteps, more footsteps than she expected, and then, the door opened.

“Oh..” This was yet another person Sutan had never seen before. She was shorter than Violet, a few years younger too. “So it was actually you.” She had clearly been crying, her mascara smudged. A toddler was on her hip, a little boy staring at them. “Just when I thought today couldn’t get any worse.”

“Hello Becky...”

“What do you want?”

Sutan could feel Violet’s fingers tighten on his arm, his wife’s nails digging into his jacket. The tension was so thick you could have cut it with a knife, Violet and the woman who Violet had called Becky staring at each other, both looking like they expected war to break out. Becky’s blonde hair was in a half bun, her black dress still on, the child also dressed up.

“Hi there.” Sutan held his hand out. “I’m Suta-”

“I know who you are. I watch TV.”

“Ah.” Sutan put his hand back in his pocket.

“Is...” Sutan could see Violet was visually struggling, his wife looking like she was about to vomit. “Abigail here?”

“She didn’t want to leave the cemetery just yet.”

“Can we come in?” Sutan looked at the stranger.

“Not until /she/-” Becky looked at Violet. “-tells me why you’re here.”

“I…” Violet’s nails dug even further, Sutan swearing he could feel them pierce his skin even through his layers of clothes. “I’m here... I’m here to pick up- It’s-”

“I forgot for a second that you were legally retarded.”

“I’m not-”

“You never could take a joke,” Becky rolled her eyes. “Come inside before Joshie freezes.” The woman stepped aside, bumping the toddler up.

They stepped in, Sutan closing the door behind them. {Who is she?} Sutan whispered as he took Violet’s coat, the French easily falling from his lips.

{My sister}

{You have a sister?} Violet had never mentioned a sister.

{Half-sister.}

Meanwhile Becky had put the toddler down who quickly disappeared, the voices of several kids being drowned out by the television in the next room.

“Is… is that your son?” Violet swallowed, the woman clearly uncomfortable.

“As if you care.”

“Beck-”

“His name is Joshua, he’s 2. Youngest of three.” Becky turned to them, looking Sutan up and down. “Where’s your kid?”

Violet looked at Becky with surprise. “My kid?”

“I read too. Amazing that I learned how in Lilburn, huh Blair?” Becky huffed. “You didn’t leave her in the car, did you?”

Sutan took a slight step forward, Becky’s tone like every model who had ever thrown her drink; Snide and filled with venom. “Our daughter is at school. We didn’t think it necessary to bring her here.” Neither of them had even told Melati that John had died. Their daughter knew very little of Violet’s family, their child actually fully believing her mother was French until they had relocated to America in her early teens. Melati had never met Violet’s parents, had never even heard their name. Melati had asked, just once, but Violet had told her she already her a grandma, that her Nenek was there and that had been the end.

“Of course. Because nothing here has ever been good enough for you.”

“Good enough?” Violet felt a flicker of anger in her belly, the flame the first emotion besides nausea she had felt since she and Sutan had stepped on the plane in New York. “Good enough for me?”

“Yes. you heard me. You show up now that my dad is dead, show up in your fucking.. Designer clothes, and you want to play family? You want to pretend everything is fine?”

“I’d rather die than ever pretend anything that happened in this house was fine.” Violet knew that Becky had never been on her side, but to hear it from an adult instead of a little girl hurt more than a slap to the face. Their parents had always favored Becky, John calling her his little princess. Becky could do no wrong, the girl always praised by their parents, Violet forced to sit and watch TV whenever Becky wanted to, forced to eat food she didn’t like because Becky wanted it, forced to go to every school event because Becky wanted to with her friends from her grade while Violet did her best to be invisible. She had spent a childhood of being invisible, of having nothing, and even though Sutan hadn’t said anything, she knew she wasn’t alone. She had a life now, an actual life she build for herself. She had a company and a career, a husband she loved, she had friends and her dogs and most importantly she had the daughter she was doing this for.

“You’ve always been so dramatic.”

“I was tortured Becky, tortured for, for years, and the man who did it is finally in the groun-”

“Don’t you DARE say stuff like that about my dad! He was a good man.”

Violet couldn’t do anything but stare, the room going completely silent, the TV still running in the other room. “Is that what you truly believe?”

“You have no idea how hard it was for them. You got into that, that ballet school and then you suddenly disappeared. You stopped coming home for Thanksgiving or Christmas. Not even a single birthday card and then you show up in the magazines under a completely different name dating… dating him?” She gestured at Sutan. “And you didn’t even tell us? Mama found out from someone at church, at church Blair! You throw away the only number we have for you and you’re gone, except your face keeps showing up throwing your success in our faces! My dad was a good man who did everything for you, and you never appreciated any of it.”

“Can I use the restroom?”

///

“Close the door.”

Sutan closed the door behind him, quickly locking it as he still balanced their jackets. Becky’s words ringing in his ears. He took a deep breath through his nose, his fists still clenching and unclenching. Sutan prided himself on not being a man who was angered easily. He couldn’t, not in his profession, not with the way he lived his life, but his chest was burning hot. He couldn’t believe what he had heard. How the person who was apparently his wife’s sister defended a man who had done so much damage to the woman he loved. Siblings were suppose to look out for each other, were suppose to protect each other. He couldn’t even imagine how he would have attempted to survive growing up without Raja, a world truly without his sister one he didn’t even want to think of, and here he was, witnessing parts of why his wife was exactly the way she was. Her pride, her walls, the sometimes frightening stoicism that could overtake her when she was pushed to her breaking point.

“Darling-” Sutan wanted to reach out, to touch and soothe and understand. To make sure that Violet was still there and that she was okay, but Violet hiked her skirt up and got on her knees, Sutan freezing in place. “Lovely eyes, what are you-”

“Hush. Please.” Violet tapped her knuckles on one of the tiles next to the sink. “I can’t stay in this house another minute.” Violet tapped another tile, and Sutan got down on his knees as well.

“What’s going-”

Violet tapped a third tile. “There.” Sutan watched as his wife put her nails against the wall, popping the tile out, revealing a small empty tunnel in the wall. Violet reached inside, a whisper of “Oh thank god.” falling from her lips as she pulled a tin box into the light. The box was old, the flower pattern on it clearly painted with a child's hand, a fine layer of dust covering it.

“Is that why we’re here?”

It seemed strange, but also so very very like the woman that he had married; that she would willingly walk through fire for something as absurd as a tin box not even a surprise. Violet nodded, shaking it gently, the sound of several small items rustling inside.

“I don’t want to explain this house, this.. Any of this..” Violet looked at Sutan, her brown eyes blank with unshed tears, her cheeks a pale rose, her lip thick from how Sutan knew she had bitten it. “I don’t want this to be the story my daughter knows, for it.. For it to be her story..” Sutan nodded. Even though Violet was in her 40s, even though they had gone through so much together, she was still trying to escape something, still trying to run away from a piece of herself, and after seeing the scene in the hallway, Sutan felt like he understood it all slightly better.

“She’s so much more than this, so much more than me.. She’s.. She’s so much more than us.” Violet was whispering again. “I have never had words and I’ve never been good at explaining. I mean.. You know that..”

Sutan smiled slightly, his hand finding Violet’s neck, his palms holding her and grounding her. “I do.”

“But I’ll have this now..” Violet gave the box to Sutan. “And that has to be enough..”

“I’m sure it will be.” Sutan kissed Violet, their lips meeting in a gentle, closed mouthed peck, years of comfort and trust in that single movement. “Do you want to go home?”

“More than anything else.”

///

Sutan was sure Violet was seconds from just toeing off her Louboutins and running out the door like Cinderella, but all things considered she was surprisingly calm, her entire body clamping up again the moment he had opened the door to the bathroom.

They made their way down the stairs, just as the front door opened and the worst possible thing that could happen walked through it. Abigail Dardo.

Abigail stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes meeting Violet. “You’ve actually come.”

Violet froze. Pure terror radiating off her, her breath stopping. Abigail looked like a perfectly normal human being. Sutan knew she was two years younger than him and he had nearly choked on his drink when Violet had shared the fact with him. Abigail might actually have looked sweet, like a grandma who tried to stay young, but by Violets reaction, all Sutan could see was someone who had hurt the woman he loved so much that she would forever be damaged by it.

“John would be so happy you’re here, oh I knew you would regret all that nonsense from your youth Blair.”

“Excuse me ma’am, but we were just leaving.” Sutan put a hand in the small of Violet’s back, pushing her forwards as he tried to move in front of her, casually shielding her body like he had done so many times before from interviewers or photographers.

“But you just got here-”

“Flight to catch, can’t wait.” Sutan smiled, taking another few steps towards the door. “We’re very sorry for your loss, may he rest in peace.” Sutan didn’t want John to rest in peace, not even a little, actually he would be quite content if John Dardo spent the rest of eternity in christian hell being spitroasted by the devil.

“Let me see you. You’re so tall.” Abigail blocked their exit, staring at Violet. “You look so different from the last time I saw you..” If the little girl in the photo was anything to go by, Sutan couldn’t agree more. Violet had grown into an adult, a woman who was confident and competent, who carried herself with pride so unlike the few pictures Sutan had seen from her early college days and what little video he had found from the ballet.

“Come here Blair bear.” Abigail reached out, clearly trying to hug Violet, and then it happened.

“NO!”

Violet’s shout was loud and clear, her hands in front of her as she had just pushed her mother away, her eyes large, like she couldn’t believe what she had just done. “No.”

“Blair, what are you-”

“My husband and I are leaving. Right now.”

///

Violet slammed the car door behind her, her pulse racing. She hadn’t seen her mother in the flesh since she was 16, hadn’t seen the woman who had caused her so much pain since she had gotten injured and had dropped out of the Ballet Academy. Violet felt dirty, her skin almost itching where her mother had touched her, light sweat covering her body.

“Can we go?! Please-”

Violet knew she was being hysterical, knew she wasn’t fair, but everything in her told her to chose fight or flight and she had no intention of fighting.

“We can go to the airport right away” Sutan started the car, pulling away from the driveaway and out into the big road.

“No.” Violet couldn’t handle the idea of an airport, couldn’t stand the idea of so many strangers around her, people looking at her, wondering about her. “Just. I can’t fly, I need- Can we just- drive- I- please?”

“It’s a 12 hour drive my love.”

Violet knew she was asking a lot of her husband, knew she was being terribly unfair, knew what she was requesting wasn’t okay, but she couldn’t go to the airport. Her mind was racing at the risk of being followed, and the only thing she could think of that would help was an open highway, driving as fast as they could. “Please.”

Sutan looked at her, and Violet couldn’t help but worry he would say no, that he would tell her she was overreacting and that she was being dramatic.

“Of course darling. Of course.”

////

Melati was typing away on her computer, her art history essay unfortunately not writing itself. Next to her she had the thick dictionary she had gotten as a gift from her aunt Fame. Most of her classmates didn’t understand why Melati prefered a physical dictionary whenever she could, but it just wasn’t the same with an online one, her brain that was heavily anchored in french not truly understanding a new word unless she did the physical act of looking up a word. It was most likely something she had picked up in Paris, her private school there so focused on papers and actual books that even after she had fully transferred into the american school system, there was still something about it.

Melati heard a knock on the door, her mother standing there with a steaming cup of tea in hand.

{How’s the exam going?}

{Okay.} Melati smiled, moving the piece she was working on away so Violet could put the cup down next to her computer, the scent of peach tea filling her nose. {Thank you Mama.} Melati turned her attention back on her computer, but a small cough made her look back up.

{I.. Umh..} Violet sat down. {I have something for you.}

{You do?}

Melati didn’t often get presents from her mom, gifts so much more something her dad excelled at and found delight in.

Violet placed a tin box on the desk. {Here.}

{What is it?}

{Something I had long ago..} Violet smiled, her eyes sad. {I know.. I know I haven’t always been.. Good.. at answering your questions.}

Melati felt a brief stab in her heart. To say that her mother wasn’t good at answering questions would be the understatement of the century, if not the millennium. She had never thought about how little she knew as a child. She knew her father's family, summers in Indonesia with her toes in the sand and she had thought she knew her mother, Autumn in Paris with the leaves falling and slow weekends spend in the country home eating grapes and playing with Frida. Melati Lavender Amrull had known who she was, what she came from, until she had found out that France wasn’t her mother's blood after all, and that there was so much she had no idea about.

{I didn’t.. The reason I haven’t told you much- I… Melati, I want you to understand.. I wasn’t a very happy child.. And that’s.. I want so much more for you, puppet.} Violet gently stroked Melati’s cheek, her cool thumb gliding over brown skin. {I can’t give you everything you ask for, but I can give you this..} Violet pushed the box forwards.

Melati looked at her mother, confusion without a doubt clear on her face as she gently opened the box, the thing creaking slightly.

{These are.. Things, I hid as a child. Things that were important to me. Treasures that brought me comfort and joy.}

Inside there was a picture of a little girl with a backpack that looked almost twice the size she was, a timid smile on the child's lips. Melati instantly recognizing the nose and she realized it was the first photo she had ever seen of her mother as a child. There was a smooth white rock, a piece of thick white ribbon, three light blue marbles, a piece of rosa soap shaped like a flower, a single dangling earring with a red stone and three cents.

Melati held up the photo, studying it.

{That’s from my first day of school. The backpack was my favorite.} Violet smiled. I never really.. I never liked going to school.}

{Why?}

{I might tell you another time.}

Melati nodded. Normally a response like that from her mother would make annoyance rush through her, but as she looked at the things, she realised that this was more than she had ever been told before. Even though the things that had been saved might have looked jumbled to a stranger, Melati felt like she recognised it all from her mother's designs. The childhood treasures all carrying the sense of gravity and wistfulness that so many praised the Chachki universe for. A somber longing for something else. A childish hope that something could change. A promise that the future could somehow be better.

{Thank you Mama. Thank you for these.} Melati reached out, taking her mother’s hand in hers, Violet holding it tight. Violet nodded, the grip of her fingers trying to express everything she couldn’t say with words.

#galactica #andromeda #paris au #my fics #really freaking proud of this!!!

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brancadoodles · 6 years ago

Text

Second on the list (and probably last Symbra for a while - I’ll try not to repeat prompts and if two people picked the same prompt for different pairings, I’ll prioritize ships that haven’t been written yet). This is longer than I had planned (almost 3k words, oh my Lord), but I hope you’ll enjoy I guess. It features a lot more Symm and Naya than Symbra, fair warning.

(oh and thanks again to @redcap3 for proofreading!)

"It's pillow fort made out of blankets", whispered Sombra.

Satya opened her mouth to say the first thought that came to her lips (“A pillow fort made out of blankets isn’t a ‘pillow’ fort, it’s a blanket fort”), but managed to bite her tongue on the last second. That would be understood as arrogance even if it was pure logic, and would be a useless remark. If anything, it would do more harm than good in this situation.

The situation being a blanket fort in the middle of her child’s room, with a starry comforter thrown over three chairs snuck from the living room and at least 3 other blankets and comforters tied to several furniture around. A dim light could be seen from inside, which she deducted came from the small moon-shaped reading light that belonged hanging from the wall next to the now bare bed - the mattress had been removed and placed inside the fort, as well as the stuffed toys that usually were there.

Satya’s rational understanding that children like to build forts and hideouts to play on their own and exercise their imagination clashed with her instinctive displeasure of fostering that mess. That conflict between her own nature and a child's reality had become quite familiar in the past year, ever since she had decided to begin bonding with that skittish 6-year-old victim of Vishkar’s developments, Naya. That orphaned, crippled, traumatized, marvelous creature who stole her heart and, according to Sanjay once she announced her decision to adopt the girl, her common sense.

Perhaps he was a crook, but Satya had to recognize he was at least partially right. She didn't regret adopting at all, but the appearance of rogue grey hairs on her head and the dark patches under her eyes were a few physical proof of the adaptation process. Some people had approached her in a conciliatory tone, chanting about how much work a child meant and praising her selflessness for adopting a “grown”, physically disabled one, and as a single woman no less. Satya understood how most of that praise was disguised venom or condolence, and never gave them any satisfaction by acknowledging the girl's obvious unconventional behavior. She could see enough of herself in Naya to know which tactics would most likely work in someone whose mind tended to be so foreign to everyone else, even if Naya admittedly seemed to display more obvious traits than she ever did - and she would never willingly allow the girl to be seen as stranger than any other kid.

She bit her tongue again out of frustration. That knowledge didn't make parenting any easier. In the end, Naya was unique, like every person.

“Is she inside the blanket fort?” she murmured to Sombra, unable to keep herself from making the correction.

Sombra nodded. “I tried talking to her a little, but she’s cagey. Did you guys have a fight or something while I was out?”

Satya felt her frown deepen. “She punched a classmate who made fun of her.”

“Oh.”

“She had stopped with physical aggressions. Two weeks and no complaints, only praise. She looked a lot more relaxed, too. I thought we were making progress. When I picked her up from the principal’s office I was… frustrated.”

“Mmhm” Satya thought she’d picked something from Sombra’s tone of voice.

“You do agree with me, don’t you?”

“Yea, I mean… she gotta defend herself. But not violently!” she hissed quickly at Satya’s piercing glare. “She should’ve… left the classroom or… gotten an adult… or said something. But... Saty,” Sombra sighed “you know none of these is easy for her.”

Satya looked back at the fort, and also sighed. Yes, she knew. She watched in silence a shadow stirring inside. Naya was probably reading. Or asleep.

“Saty, did you yell at her?”

“I…” She wouldn’t say she went there. She did raise her voice, and she was angry and disappointed and frustrated, and she might have steered a little more aggressively than usual on the way home and, and maybe she did act a little intimidating and had given snappish responses after the argument…

“...I might have, a little.”

Sombra didn’t chastise her, and she was forever grateful that her Oli had such careful timing.

“Well, you’ll see.” She turned away toward the hallway. “Call me if you need anything. But talk to her, she’s all weird. Has she ever built a fort before?”

“No. She usually hides in a corner beside the desk when she’s sad. This is new.”

Sombra raised her hand to Satya’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze, winking on cue before heading outside. Satya remained on the doorstep, alone and wondering.

After a minute, she took a deep breath and walked into the room, quietly approaching the makeshift tent. She cleared her throat, but her voice came out hoarse and out of tune.

“Naya?”

There was no answer, but she did see the shadow moving again, a little too much to be asleep.

“Naya. May I enter?”

The shadow moved again, closer to the lamp and away from the “entrance”. Satya decided to take that as something like permission, and got on all fours to crawl inside.

She had to knock a few of Naya's plushies off to sit as barely fit in there, of course, but it was an undeniably well-made tent, considering it was improvised by a small child out of blankets and a few pieces of furniture. Naya had brought in pillows and books and made a small nest at the farther end of the mattress, where she sat wrapped in a lavender comforter, only her face poking out.

She didn’t look at Satya, and even turned away slightly when the woman sat cross-legged in the middle of the tent. Afraid? Angry? Hurt? Sad? Satya began focusing on the child’s body language. She could carefully watch it along with her words, and have clues about what to say.

“Naya,” she murmured. “what is this?” she gestured around her as well as she could in the limited room. Naya turned her face back to her and didn’t look up when answering, softly:

“A cave.”

“A cave? Okay. Why are all your plushies in it? Are they playing?”

“No.”

“So what are you all doing in here?”

Naya hugged whatever plushies she had hidden under the comforter and lifted her chin, a little defiantly, towards Satya, but not looking at her. “I took them all inside because a storm was coming, and they all need to be safe.”

“Oh, I see.” And Naya was very afraid of heavy rain. “Why did you bring the mattress in? It must have been difficult, it’s heavy.”

Naya shot her a suspicious gaze before looking down again, shaking her head a little too abruptly. Oh, she knows I don’t like this mess.

“Caves are strong, but the ground is too hard, so I brought the mattress in.” she pointed at the toys Satya had knocked off with her chin. “They were asleep after having dinner.”

“I guess I should pick them up, no? And re-settle them.”

“You can’t. You are on their place. They’re really angry that you pushed them to the side, this is their bed.” Naya rocked forward to reach a plush cat and pull it back on the mattress, huffing annoyingly. “This is for myself and -- you pushed Lily out of the cave!”

Satya was startled at Naya’s high-pitched cry and could barely twist out of the way as the girl lunged forward, crawling over her mother and stretching as much as possible to reach an anthropomorphic sleeping bee plush doll that had fallen outside the tent. She returned to her spot in the makeshift nest hugging Lily as she hastily covered herself with the comforter again, shooting Satya an angry look. “This is our place.”

The woman sustained the gaze, knowing that Naya wouldn’t be able to hold it for long; and almost on cue, the girl looked to the side, even more irritated. Satya bit her tongue once again; she couldn’t act on her first impulse, and be annoyed. Not if she wanted Naya to open up.

She inhaled deeply, exhaling slowly.

“I believe we should talk, you and I. About what happened at school.”

Naya flinched visibly, pursuing her lips. Satya felt a pang in her heart, and was quick to add: “We don’t have to talk in here, though, as this is your place. I’ll be waiting outside, if you promise to come out to talk to me. Will you?”

Naya was in silence for many seconds before bobbing her head in confirmation, and Satya carefully crawled out of the tent, sitting on the bed frame and crossing her legs. She tightened her grip on her knee as her child didn’t follow immediately.

Try and relax, she scolded herself. It’ll be okay. You gave her space. That was the right thing to do. You’ll soon discuss what went down at school again.

“Again”? Is that what you need? Echoed a small voice inside Satya’s head. It sometimes had Sombra’s mocking tone, like now.

Satya glanced over the blanket fort, which held tight even when an adult entered it and even as Naya’s shadow showed how she fussed inside. Her daughter was intelligent and resourceful. She had trouble talking to people, but once she made friends she was easygoing and kind. She was polite, sweet, affectionate, and Satya felt a fuzz inside every time she thought about everything Naya was beyond words.

It wasn’t fair school was such a struggle. Her therapist had been instructing Satya and Sombra, and they all had been working so hard on coaching the child on her hurdles. The school was aware, and Satya made a point on participating in PTA meetings despite how most of them made her skin crawl. But Naya was skittish and impatient, and showed an aggressive streak when confronted directly - especially with other children. Was Naya aware of it? Did she realize how much progress she was doing?

She was just a kid, but she wasn’t dumb.

No:, the voice in Satya’s head barked back, she isn’t dumb, but she’s just a kid.

Satya bit her tongue again, mulling over the thought.

She inhaled and exhaled a few times before hearing Naya tumble out of the “cave”, still placing the last of her plushies carefully in position and tightening up her prosthetics around her legs. Right. Naya didn’t like standing without the hard light legs ever since Satya had them projected, and she was sensitive to comments about it.

Naya got up, taking a deliberately long time to close the blanket entrance while Satya patiently waited. Finally, the girl took a few strained steps towards a spot on the bed, two feet away from Satya’s mechanical arm. She sat down, looking at her interlaced hands, and they were both quiet for a moment.

“Meri pyaari beti,” Satya started, her voice now soft and silken. Naya sharply turned her head towards her, seeming surprised at the tone and the endearment.

Satya felt another pang in her heart. “I need to apologize to you.”

The girl blinked a few times, squeezing her hands together. Satya uncrossed her legs and unconsciously mimicked the gesture, pursuing her lips before managing to speak again.

“I am aware of your efforts to behave in a appropriate way at school.”, she continued, “I know you’ve been using your words a lot more lately. Do you see good things coming from that attitude we’ve been encouraging you to have?”

Satya knew she was using complicated words, but that’d have to do now. She clamped her fingers tighter.

“I… I do.” Naya answered, sheepishly. “Mika has become my friend, and we sit together for math exercises. And he and Jami and Claudia like to play football during breaks. Claudia can run almost as fast as me. And the teacher says I’m doing well, gives me stars.”

“That’s great!” chirped Satya, and then softened her voice a little. “We feel that it’s good for you too. You look happier now, you’re doing better at your homework…” her voice trailed off as she sought a way to lead the conversation to the unpleasant point. Naya looked down at her hands again and went dead quiet.

“I… we all want to see you like that. To continue to see you thriving. Going well.” Satya hesitantly continued. “How do you… how did you feel when you punched Lucas today and got sent to the principal’s office?”

Satya had the distinct impression that the Naya was scrunching herself to become physically smaller, a deep frown marking her face as she tangled her fingers so tight she looked like she was praying. She tried suffocating a sob, unsuccessfully. Satya tentatively lifted her prosthetic hand to touch the child’s long hair.

“Bad.” Naya answered in a sob she was still trying to swallow. “I felt like I was g-going to die.”

“Die?” Satya leaned closer, alarmed, trying to catch Naya’s gaze somehow. “Why?”

“B-b-b…” tears fell freely on the girl’s lap now, and she inhaled sharply. “Because I felt so bad, I felt I was going to die of bad. I didn’t want... I was so angry, I just wanted him to shut up.” she finally released her hands to cover her face. “I k-knew you were going to be mad. All of you. And he started c-crying. It was bad. I didn’t w-w--”

All sobbing finally drowned her voice, and she was curled into a ball, shaking uncontrollably. Satya immediately moved closer, wrapping her arms around Naya with slow assurance, and pulling her carefully towards her chest. She began mumbling sweet nothings and let herself be taken in by the warmth between them: Naya’s thick hair intertwining with her fingers; the way the child curled up against her, holding her prosthetic hand close; the quiet kisses she placed on her forehead, hands, cheeks.

How ironic it was that this was the easiest part of being with Naya since the beginning, when she’d have such a hard time being touchy with anyone else? It felt good, though. It felt right, so she did it.

Soon enough they were both still in a cozy hug, rocking back and forth as Satya hummed some half-forgotten song from her childhood. Naya’s sobs began to subside and Satya guided her into breathing exercises to help her relax. The girl was clutching Satya’s middle like a salvation board, and the woman had to gently loosen her grip so they could look eye to eye again.

“Thank you for being honest.” whispered Satya, drying Naya’s cheeks and runny nose with her sleeve. “I’m glad that you feel like being peaceful is good. I’m sorry you couldn’t help it today, and that you felt so bad.”

“Y-yea, uh...” Naya sobbed a little, a Satya reached for a stray blanket (well, she’d have to wash them all anyway after all dragging through the floor) and had Naya blow on it before the girl could continue. “I also… didn’t want you to be mad at me, like you did.”

Satya bit her lower lip, looking at Naya endearingly. “At the beginning, I said I wanted to apologize. Do you know why?” Naya shook her head. “Because I was inconsiderate. I was frustrated and sad at what had happened, and while you should know you can’t hurt others, I should have calmed down before we talked. I didn’t give you time to calm down and process it all, and I had you scared. I’m sorry.”

Naya blinked a few times before gazing away, sniffling.

“Can you forgive me?”

She bobbed her head, but Satya frowned.

“Naya?”

Naya turned back to stare at her, a fiercely serious look in that swollen little face. She scrubbed her eyes for a moment, but when she looked up again she was spoke, decisively:

“I am sorry for hitting Lucas. Next time I’ll… I-I’ll talk to Miss L about it. Even if he laughs at me for it.” she gulped and inhaled before continuing. “I’ll tell her: ‘Miss L, Lucas is making fun of me, and I’m very angry, so I’d like to ask to go to the fountain and back again so I can calm down’. Can I do that? You told me to do that.”

Satya smiled widely, relaxing at once and fixing a stray strand of Naya’s hair. “Yes you can.”

Naya seemed relieved, and flashed a smile for a second before pursuing her lips. “I’m sorry I made you sad, too.”

Satya leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “Forgiven. We’re fine now… well, after we undo the ‘cave’.” she looked around, sighing, and petted her daughter’s head. “Do not drag the mattress out of the bedframe anymore, love. Nor drag things from a room to another, unless very necessary or after you ask. I’m not very… fond… of that, okay?” she smiled to make sure Naya didn’t feel that was too important, but she was itching inside.

Naya bobbed her head without hesitation, already getting on her feet. “Okay, mom.”

She started gathering her toys right away as to show off her commitment, and was oblivious to Satya’s little choke following her words. The woman half-heartedly scolded herself for not having gotten used to being called “mom” after all these months, but she still found it hard not to feel her heart flutter a little every time.

“Also,” Naya said, carrying an entire zoo of plushie animals and looking quite grave. “I’m sorry you were forestated with me.”

Between two computer screens, Sombra heard Satya’s obnoxious snicker and Naya’s protests on cue echoing from the other side of the apartment. She smiled; it was all good.

Meri pyaari beti - My lovely daughter

#fanfic #my writing #not art #symbra #(kinda)#naya #overwatch oc #fluff #kid au

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