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sungbeam · 9 months ago

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BIRD HUNT — three

nonidol!choi line x f!reader

gotham city is a gutter running rampant with the ill, corrupt, and the insane. at times, justice and vengeance must be served by one's own hand... no matter the lengths one must go to do so.

▷ genre, au, etc. bat family au, dc comics inspired, dark, vigilantes au, slow burn, ceo/billionaire au, cat woman!reader, murder mystery au, action, suspense, angst, slow burn-ish?, love square??; choi line inspired by dick grayson (csb), jason todd (cyj), and tim drake (cbg), including bruce wayne for choi minho and damian wayne for nishimura riki, inspired by 2022's The Batman

▷ chapter warnings. swearing, mentions of death and murder, mentions of weaponry, depictions of violence, use of pepper spray, breaking and entering

▷ word count. 4.4k // taglist: open

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FILE_03 : by the tail

gotham city.

[seven days since your mother was murdered.]

"Is she here?"

The voice was familiar to your sensitive ears, and although your eyes remained fixed on Mrs. Lee, you shifted your attention mentally to the two—no, three—wait… four?—figures making their way over to where you and Mrs. Lee stood in the home office space. Their footsteps were as quiet as heeled loafers could be against hollow wood floors. The Lees' home in the suburbs was a safe distance from the heart of Gotham, so the neighborhood was much nicer and much more like a home. The Lees had been ushered here after Lee Sungjae had been found murdered, and they'd resided here since.

You had been called in the day after the incident happened—that was the day after you had gone to see your father. We must work fast, Yn. They've already gotten to one of my… men. That was what he'd told you, and when he elaborated, you had discovered that every news channel now blasted footage of Lee Sungjae's dead, glassy eyes.

You had been busy since, trying to both grieve in peace and work at the same time.

"—take more time, Yn-ah. Losing a loved—" Mrs. Lee's voice cracked slightly and she covered her mouth.

"Mrs. Lee—"

She waved your hand away, angling her body away slightly so she could regain composure. "No, no. It's alright. I'm alright. I just… I know how it feels, and I think you deserve time to yourself, as well."

Of course you told her about your mother. You had to take another day off when one of your coworkers had noticed how spaced out you were when you came in. No, you didn't tell her your mother was murdered the same way her husband had. That was between you, your father, and the motherfucker who did this.

But for now, you were supposed to be here to answer the police's questions about your employer. You had been one of three of Mr. Lee's secretaries for the past several months now, having come under his employ about a year ago after Choi Enterprises turned you away. But magically, a few days afterward, this offer from the office of one Lee Sungjae had arrived in your inbox. When one door closed, as they said, another opened. Whatever guardian angel was looking over you then certainly wasn't looking over you now though.

"Miss Ln?"

You turned around and expected to see Commissioner Kim Namjoon and your co-secretary, Shin Ryujin, but you hadn't expected the two others with them. They stood behind the two aforementioned, both in black domino masks that covered the top halves of their faces. Their suits were skintight, most likely to allow for more mobility, but they also accentuated their starkly muscular figures. The taller one wore a suit of dark blue and black, while the other donned a maroon red and black ensemble. You recognized them, respectively, as Gotham's very own Nightwing and the Red Robin. Vigilantes. What were they doing with Commissioner Kim?

Ryujin bowed her way out, gently taking Mrs. Lee with her. That left you with the others.

"Hello, Miss Ln," Commissioner Kim greeted with a tired, but not unkind, smile. He fished a small notepad out of his coat pocket, ballpoint pen clicking to life. "My name is Commissioner Kim. These two… not sure if you need any introductions."

When you remained silent with only a nod, he continued, "We're here investigating the murder of your former employer, and we were informed that you often handled his familial affairs. We've already spoken with Miss Shin and Mr. Yun, but we wanted to ask where you were last Wednesday night at ten o'clock."

You were very aware that Nightwing had decided to wander about the office, eyes taking in the shelves and the notes and the desk… then there was Red Robin, who's attention was pinned intently on you, arms crossed firmly over his chest. There was something awfully familiar about these two. "Is that an accusation, Commissioner?" You asked, leaning against the edge of the desk.

"It doesn't have to be," he said airily. "Just answer the question, Miss."

"I was at home," you answered, schooling your face into neutrality. "You can ask my employer's wife and my coworkers—I was taking time off to grieve my mother's death."

The shock was not the most stark on the commissioner's face, but on Red Robin's. "She's dead?—" He coughed; even Nightwing had paused his movements. "I mean, I'm sorry for your loss." You didn't recognize the voice, but you suspected it was probably being disguised with a voice modulator.

The commissioner sent him a bewildered look, but turned back to you. "I'm very sorry for your loss, Yn. Truly." He asked with almost a grimace, "Can anyone corroborate your whereabouts? I understand you were most likely home alone, but perhaps a neighbor, a significant other…?"

And there it was again—that shift in energy as both the vigilantes in the room stopped to focus on you.

You shook your head with a tight smile. It probably wouldn't bode well if you revealed to them who your father was or that you paid the Iceberg Lounge a visit that day. You were also a little too preoccupied with survival to have a significant other, and you hadn’t been close enough to a neighbor in years. "No. Just my cats."

There was something so familiar about this Red Robin character, but you couldn't put a finger on it. Or maybe it was the way he was staring at you with such pity (and sympathy) that made you wish he was someone else. Either way, you needed to know why these two vigilantes were put on the case, and what they might have already found out. At the moment, it didn't seem like it would pose a problem, but you thought it wouldn't hurt to be a little more careful.

When you arrived home that night, bones aching as much as your head pulsed, you collapsed on the couch. A few of your cats began to swarm your legs, soft fur tickling the skin exposed when your pant leg lifted. Blue, a very introverted Russian Blue who you managed to make an extrovert when it came to you, plopped himself onto your lap like a warm, vibrating mass. You ran your fingers through his fur to the symphony of someone's purrs (you figured it was Byeol; he was quite vocal).

"Should I invite him to the funeral?" You murmured to Blue in question.

He stared back at you, then silently turned his gaze to a particle of dust floating in the air.

You exhaled back against the couch cushions. "I'll take that as a yes."

In the dead of night—because there was always a dead of night, even for Gotham City—you pulled a dark beanie over your head and the top half of your face. Two holes had been cut and sewn for your eyes to see through, and at the top of the hat, two little triangles sat akin to ears. You recalled the night you had crocheted this on a whim, your mother having done most of the work.

"Blue wants it to have cat ears, mama," you'd told her just as she brought out her tub of yarns.

Your mother's eyes glittered. "Is that right? Well, we'll have to add cat ears then, won't we?"

You thought it would be fitting to find her killer in this. You thought it fit you quite well, at least.

The rest of you was dressed in black, and your hand grazed over Soul's fluffy, white head as you propped open the second floor window. "I'll be home soon," you whispered to the last of your family, then disappeared into the night.

"I can't get why this is so familiar to me," Beomgyu voiced into the echoes of the Batcave, hands braced against the main monitor as he stared at the copy of the note: A Debt Repaid. He had been staring at it for the past week, not consecutively, but it hadn't left the forefront of his mind. Like you.

Soobin trudged over to his brother with a bowl of cereal cradled in his large palm, the other hand spooning the sweet milk and wheat flakes into his mouth. "Mm. Maybe give it a rest for a little, Beom."

"And do what?"

"How do you know Ln Yn?"

Beomgyu whirled around just as Soobin settled into the desk chair, waiting. Beomgyu made a scoffing noise, eyebrows flying up to his shaggy bangs. "Where did that come from?"

Soobin smiled and shrugged. "You tell me." He slurped up a bit more milk before adding, "You're the one who reacted like that in front of everyone when she said she was grieving her mother's death. You sounded shocked that she died."

"Well yeah, wouldn't you be shocked to hear someone else died so close to another's death?"

"Stop trying to bullshit him, Gyu."

Both the brothers looked up at the voice who had just entered the underground space. Yeonjun strolled into the main area in a white tank top and sweats, hair sticking up in different places. He stretched his arms above his head and yawned loud and wide.

Soobin cocked a brow at him. "Nice of you to finally join us, hyung. How'd the date go?"

"Great," Yeonjun quipped. "We're going on a second one soon. I think Felix almost sent me off with a kiss goodnight." He slumped onto the edge of the desk, eyes lazily taking in the images and information displayed on the many monitor screens. "This is our stiff, huh?"

Soobin sent him a look that distinctly said 'No, we're just looking at dead bodies for fun.'

"Yeah," Beomgyu replied. "The note the killer left is so familiar to me though. Have you seen it before?" He knocked his knuckles against the monitor with the note.

Yeonjun's eyes narrowed on the screen, before he leaned back with that bored look renewed on his face. "You're both idiots. It's from that one killing a couple weeks ago."

Beomgyu and Soobin traded looks. "What?"

Their eldest brother leaned down to reach the lowest drawer at the desk. From its depths, he fished out a large bag of chips and grabbed a handful to stuff his face with. "Y'know," he garbled and gestured vaguely with his crumb-dusted fingers. "Beomgyu, you know! You were there with me. It was that one lawyer guy who was found dead in his car beneath the bridge. That same note was taped to his windshield."

"Oh yeah," Beomgyu drawled, while Soobin shook his head with a sigh. The former then knocked his foot against the latter's shin. "Aye! You didn't even know it."

"Yeah, because I wasn't on that case," Soobin fired back. He finished off the rest of his bowl of cereal and set the empty ceramic in his lap before crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes, like his brothers' were lined beneath with heavy eye bags. Someone was supposed to be on patrol around the city right now, but neither of the three brothers were in any rush to get up. "So it's just one person going after these people then."

Yeonjun chewed his bottom lip. "Then we just gotta find the connection."

"Was the lawyer guy from a couple weeks ago Lee Sungjae's attorney?" Soobin asked.

Beomgyu grabbed a hold of the wireless keyboard on the desk and braced it upon his thighs. He pulled up an internet browser and typed in their inquiry. All three brothers made noises of disgruntlement; if the lawyer hadn't been Sungjae's attorney, then how were they connected? It was no secret that 99.9 percent of the population here in Gotham had some sort of… shadow looming over their shoulder. It was almost impossible to get anywhere without the help of a corrupt figure, whether that be a mob boss like the Penguin or loan shark with special strategies to get someone to pay up.

Either way, there would be lots of digging required.

"Let's start with Lee Sungjae and the lawyer's records,'' Soobin decided as he sat up in the chair. "We'll sort through phone records, acquire security footage of their movements, their texts, etcetera."

"I call none of those," Yeonjun said. When his younger brothers scowled at him, he raised both hands in feigned surrender with a giggle. "Fine, fine. You're both lookin' at me like I murdered your favorite puppy."

They remained silent.

"What, too soon?"

The basement headquarters suddenly erupted in a dull siren sound, and Beomgyu was swift to pull up a set of footage on one of the monitors. It displayed a section of the sky, a white spotlight circle cast against a massive, dark gray cumulus cloud with a distinct bat shape in the center—their call to action.

All three men were on their feet in an instant—keyboard and cereal bowl abandoned on the table, capes and utility belts clicked into place.

"Meet you losers there!" Yeonjun hollered as the cave filled with the revving roar of his motorcycle engine like a clap of thunder.

Soobin and Beomgyu hurried over to their respective cycles. "Hey, we're not done talking about Ln Yn!" Soobin called to his younger brother.

Beomgyu flashed him a thin smile. "That's what you think!" And he sped away down the runway.

Soobin chuckled to himself, grinning. Then he revved his engine and launched himself after his brothers.

To be completely honest, you had no idea what you were doing. Actually, that was a lie. You kind of knew what you were doing, but that was leagues away from completely knowing what you were doing until it was muscle memory. Right now though, as you gripped onto the side of the building, fingertips digging into the concrete ledge like a lifeline (because it might as well had been one), you couldn't wait until it became muscle memory.

God, your arms were going to ache tomorrow morning.

"It's worth it, Yn," you muttered to yourself, under your breath, and that was what made you reach up one more time and grasp onto the ledge of the window sill. You had always wondered why buildings like this lacked security cameras, but based on its practically smooth facade, it was no wonder. Only a crazy person would dare scale something like this.

The law firm building was not one of the largest nor one of the dingiest. If it had been some place like Clark & Field, you would have considered other ways to get into the building, but it would probably be through the inside (because scaling a fifty story skyscraper without a net was not on your bucket list). And if the building had been on the dingier side, it would have, frankly, been much easier to find footholds and places to brace. Except for any mold or crumbly parts. That was not fun either.

Or maybe you could classify scaling buildings as just… not fun in general. But the skills and the strength would come with time.

This time, however, was fueled by pure willpower.

But the universe was on your side for once, and the window you clung to gave way and granted you entry. The stupid lock picks had actually worked.

Despite being dead for two weeks, Yang Eunhyuk’s office still looked like its owner was still alive. There were documents left out in the open, all of the furniture had yet to be touched, there was an old (upon further investigation, really old) cup of coffee on the desk, and a two-week-old calendar for the week’s appointments and cases. You peered at the calendar and skimmed its contents, but found nothing terribly noteworthy. You strolled by the bookcase, footsteps light as a cat’s, and glimpsed the titles. There were a lot of convoluted-sounding titles on the shelves, and honestly, you doubted that he even read half of the books there. They were probably just for show when clients came in.

After you had given yourself a tour of the space, you determined that no one had truly cared enough about this man to really clean up for him. The door out into the hallway was locked, and through its frosted glass door, you could make out the distinct yellow police tape crossed over the frame. This was no crime scene, but the police had still had the room locked down… odd.

You figured they didn’t care enough. But maybe this guy had more connections than you were giving him credit for. He had been one of your father’s clients, after all. (Actually, that wasn’t enough to determine whether or not Yang was smart or not. Resorting to your father’s ever-generous solutions was stupid; and you were very well-aware that that made you stupid, too.)

Your father had sent you to this office for something in particular.

“Yang Eunhyuk was an idiot and a half,” your father had told you the day you had come to him. “But he knows how to hide his things when he needs to.” He had carefully relayed all of the necessary information to you as the two of you sat on the couch together to outline your next steps and what exactly he was asking of you. “He owes me a compilation of files and a burner phone.”

When you’d asked what for, there was that gleam in his eyes as if he found the question amusing. “Well, to find out who betrayed us, of course.”

“To find who killed Mom?”

He had nodded at you—waved his hand flippantly. “Yes. That’s the same thing, Yn.”

A burner phone and a compilation of files. Your father had already searched Yang’s personal place of residence, but there had apparently been nothing but “shit." So here you were… sorting through more shit.

You drummed the pads of your fingers on the surface of the desk.

“Where would he hide you, hm?” You murmured to yourself. You tried all of the drawers under the desk—four of the seven came up locked. The top three drawers were all filled with a smorgasbord of knick knacks and junk like a fidget spinner, fidget cube, a package of cigarettes, and even a used gum wrapper. (Gross.) You slipped a lock pick out from your sleeve as you considered the remaining four locked drawers, then realized that Yang Eunhyuk might not have kept your father’s files in the same place as his regular, ol’ case files.

And so, you moved away from the desk.

You figured there were specific places a lawyer would keep their most sensitive files to ensure discretion and privacy. You recalled how your late employer, Lee Sungjae, often had his most precious files stashed away in a place that was so obvious that no one would ever assume any person in the right mind would hide such things. For Sungjae, it had been a picture frame on the wall of his office, the one with him and his entire family pictured. It was cute; but when one peered behind it…

There was only one picture frame in the entire office space. It was small and it housed his law degree. You wondered if it was phony.

You decided to give it a chance and reached for it with a gloved hand.

When you took the frame off the wall, a frown slipped onto your face at the solid wall behind it. Huh. It was worth a—

You stepped backward and inhaled sharply when your leg hit the back of his cheap office chair. You managed to right yourself, but your ears had also perked up at a curious sound. You swiftly replaced the frame on the wall and knelt down by the desk chair and twisted your body to peer beneath it.

The sound you had heard had been a soft swish. It was subtle and not at all loud, but thanks to the empty office and your own hearing, you had picked up on it. It was practically a miracle.

Your heart pounded in excitement as you stuck your hand beneath the chair and felt up the bottom. There—you felt a distinct, padded folder—and there—

Your fingers wrapped around a small device no bigger than the palm of your hand. It must have been attached to the bottom of the chair with some kind of tape, and you gave it a good yank. And behold… in your hand was the alleged burner phone, staring up at you, just begging for you to sneak a peek into its logs. But before you could, you removed the file that had been hidden beneath the chair as well. It was a standard manila folder stuffed to the brim with papers and, you assumed, lots of sensitive information. Your eyes were widening like your smile as you just struck gold.

Not too bad for your first time in a while.

You startled at the sound of a thump.

There was a figure, a shadow, standing on the window sill by the end of the desk. He was familiar to you with his dark hair and domino mask, and his red and black uniform. His cape flowed from just off the precipices of his shoulders and hung around the backs of his knees—imposing and regal but not in the way of any movements he made. The Red Robin had stood before you just earlier in the day at Lee Sungjae’s suburban home. He had been the one with the familiar presence to you, along with his… colleague? You didn’t know his and Nightwing’s association or relationship, but you weren’t about to interact long enough to find out.

“Breaking and entering is illegal, y’know,” the masked vigilante mused, and you could just make out the shadow of his smirk in the darkness. “Even at crime scenes.”

You rose from your spot on the floor, slipping the burner into the holster pocket on the garter around your thigh and tucking the file in the crook of your arm. There wasn’t really a place you could hide the chunky piece of shit. Despite your heart palpitating in your chest, you maintained a cool exterior. He didn’t know who you were, and you expected that he wouldn’t be able to recognize your voice since you had only spoken to him once.

“Nothing done in Gotham is illegal,” you replied to him.

His head cocked to the side, arms folding over his chest. “You’re not wrong about that. But…” He nodded at the file folder. “I really can’t let you leave with that.”

Oh, dear god. You needed an escape plan—and fast.

Nothing was coming to mind; it was just get out get out get out! (Very helpful, as always.)

“I’m sure you can make an exception for me,” you said with a mocking pout. “How’d you even know I was here? I didn’t realize Yang Eunhyuk had a connection to Gotham’s exclusive Bat Boys.”

A scoff from him. “He doesn’t. Your luck just happened to be running out, sweetheart.” He stepped off the window sill and entered the office, stalking toward you with slow, methodical steps because he knew you were cornered. You really should have tried that office door when you had the chance.

As you began backing away, you shook his head and tsked. “C’mon,” he coaxed. “Give me the folder.”

“And I can go?” You wondered how fast you could disappear once you flung yourself out of that window.

He smiled. “If you give me that burner, too, sure.”

Your heart stopped for a millisecond. God damn it.

He must have seen the doubt in your eyes, and that fucking smile of his widened. Something about that was tug-tug-tugging a nerve. He stopped walking toward you as you slowly made a move to set the file down on the floor. “Good girl.”

The file flopped onto the wooden floor.

"Slowly," he drawled, eyes glued to your form as he watched your hand move toward the holster pouch.

All the while, you were counting down in your head.

Before he could blink, you swung a leg out and kicked the file back behind Red Robin and toward the window. His head swerved in that direction, and you launched yourself at him before he could realize his mistake.

You kicked at him, one-two, adrenaline pumping through your veins like a virus. He blocked your blows, just as you swung around and made a grab for his mask.

He caught your wrist; you whirled—it was a high stakes tango you had not been prepared for. But you jabbed your elbow behind you, fist flying up toward his nose. Every move you made was desperate and offensive.

You slipped free and ducked, body curling under his arm, under his cape, until you ended up in the flurry of the dark fabric.

The vigilante knew his own cape though. You gave him that much.

He grabbed the opposite end and arced it over your head, arm coming down to wrap you in it—but you threw yourself out of it, landing a swift blow to his shin. Wouldn't do much except make him curse and loosen his grip slightly.

The file was in sight—oh god, it was right the fuck there.

You made a mad dash for it, leaning down slightly and reaching out with your hand—

"Not so fast, kitty—"

You hit the floor with a curse, palms flat against the wood. His foot had hooked around yours and tripped you, his knee set against your back like his own palm as he held you against the floor.

You felt his breath by your ear. "What's in the file, sweetheart?"

"None of your concern," you gritted out, then throwing your head back until you heard and felt that telltale "fuck!" from Red Robin.

You ignored the throbbing in the back of your skull to fling yourself around and throw off his balance again. Your hand dove into your holster pocket to retrieve the small cylinder of mace, then sprayed it in a final move of desperation, breath and chest heaving.

The man sputtered, hand flying up to his mouth as he stumbled backward and tried to eject the chemical from his body. "Dirty fucking move," he spat as you turned tail and made for the file.

Only—

"Looking for this?"

Two others had joined the party, to your absolute horror. Nightwing stood with the file in his hand, while Red Hood—the vigilante from the bank, and supposedly Choi Yeonjun based on your deductions—was perched up on the window sill with zero care in the world.

Well shit.

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ashdumpsterpile · 4 years ago

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ASH’S TMA HURT/COMFORT/FLUFF REC LIST

For the gays. (And @damcrows who’s been dead for the past 24 hours. Rest in peace babe. Read some gay fic. Deny the inevitability of canon. <3)

___

the end, but the start (of all things that are left to do) by @ajkal2

Jon wakes up.

aka. mag200 tore out my heart

(Very smol, very short, very spoiler. Def recommend for anyone who just finished the podcast.)

remind me how to smile by @tamerofdarkstars

Jon is probably fine, just hiding out somewhere while the whole murder thing blows over and that's... fine. Martin is fine with that explanation. Really. He's got plenty to distract himself - like listening through the entire What the Ghost episode library, for example. Or watching Georgie Barker's Instagram livestreams.

(Yea this was in the last rec list, but you don’t understand THE ADMIRAL GIVES CUDDLES)

Chamomile by Dribbledscribbles

Whatever the ex-tea was, if it really had ever been that last bag of chamomile Martin claimed he’d found tucked in the back of the cupboard, it was fast now.

Martin had tried catching it, chasing it, blocking its way with shoebox lids and plates and an upended footstool, but the thing was just too quick. Jon knew as well as Knew that he might have left off the attempts completely if not for the creature’s preferred game.

The game was, See How Many Times I Can Push Martin Towards Cardiac Arrest Before He Comes at Me with The Broom.

(Scottish Honeymoon Era. Adorable and weird. A vampire gets harassed.)

hey stranger by @ennuijpg

It’s a late night Tesco run, how eventful could it be? It’s not like Martin is going to run into his boss who’s wearing something absurdly different from usual and get the most acute form of whiplash possible from seeing him, right?

(Martin runs into Jon at the grocery store and has an existential crisis.)

roses roses, roses. by @judesstfrancis

Rose scented laundry detergent. Running into Jon in the breakroom. Running into Jon on his way back to his desk. Rose scented detergent. Running into Jon. Roses. Jon. Roses, roses, roses.

(Canon enemies to friends to lovers au-ish. Martin POV. Very pining much sweet.)

go softly by doomcountry

And there is nothing else besides this.

(More hurt/comfort than fluff. Scottish Honeymoon Era. Mild eye mutilation.)

Not Alone by @backofthebookshelf

After the coffin, Daisy and Jon are both fragile. They hold each other up.

(Post-buried Jon&Daisy starter pack. Very hurt/comfort.)

trust my love by antlsepticeye

“you… you’re real, aren’t you?” jon whispers, the fog slowly dissipating from his mind. “it is not a trick?”

“i’m here,” martin says softly, reaching up to grab jon’s hand that was resting on his cheek, intertwining his fingers with jon’s and squeezing. he moves jon’s hand to martin’s chest, resting it over his heart. “you’re alright. i’m alright. take your time, love. let’s just take some deep breaths, okay?”

(TOUCHSTARVED JON HAS ENTERED THE CHAT.)

reaching out by Athina_Blaine

By the time things settled, when Martin had finally managed to crack through his cold shell, feel some of his old self returning to him in bits and pieces, they had found their little routine.

One that had the two of them sleeping in the same bed, making breakfast, going to the mart. Where Jon reached for his wrist while they slept, and Martin luxuriated in the gentle warmth of his fingers.

But not one where Martin reached back. One that had Martin kissing Jon awake or taking his hand over the breakfast table, because ... Martin never had the courage to try. And then it never became a part of the routine.

And Martin desperately wanted it to be.

Martin and Jon have an important conversation.

(More Scottish Honeymoon Era for the soul. Hurt/comfort/fluff.)

Belabor by @janekfan

Jon's given the position of Archivist and is falling apart at the seams. Tim and Sasha are upset and playing games. Elias is overbearing and manipulative.

And poor Martin is stuck cleaning up the mess.

(THEE first fic I ever read for tma. Season 1, hurt/comfort/fluff, and hints of Jmartin. janekfan is the absolute master of seasons 1-3 hurt/comfort. This is my favorite, but pls check out the rest of their fics.)

tea, blankets, and a damnable stubborn attitude by ivelostmyspectacles

“Are you really gonna stay here and pester Jon all evening?”

“I’m not pestering him,” Martin retorted, sounding vehement if not busy going through the cupboards. “I’m heating up soup.”

“Oh, you might as well make him another cup of tea while you’re at it.”

“Oh, good idea.”

Jon shot Tim a withering look.

(The one where Jon is ill, Martin makes tea and they watch doctor who together. Fluff 1000%.)

A Kind Hand by @voiceless-terror

Jonathan Sims was adjusting just fine, thank you very much.

In which a minor workplace spill causes Jon to realize that he might have friends.

(Ah yes, the other master of seasons 1-3 fic aka voiceless-terror being my other fav author in the fandom. This one is also season 1 hurt/comfort/fluff.)

A Weather In The Flesh by @cuttoothed

"There is a span of years where Jon doesn’t touch anyone other than the occasional hand shake. It’s not so bad. He’s never been someone who’s needed physical affection."

Jon has never been any good at making people want to stick around.

(More touched starved Jon! Much hurt/comfort!)

Something Old, Something New by @cirrus-grey

Months have passed, and everyone is doing better than they were. Daisy and Basira are getting married, Melanie is feeling her old self, Georgie is as much herself as she has ever been, and even Jon has stabilized on his wild fall away from humanity. Everyone is doing better.

Well. Almost everyone.

(Daisy/Barsira wedding! Melanie is a bitch and we love her! Jmartin dance! Post-canon (almost) everyone lives!)

The Weight of Love by @voiceless-terror

Jon is a restless sleeper. Martin attempts to adjust.

(The fic where Jon is literally me and Martin attempts to sleep for 1k words.)

The Art of Conversation by @voiceless-terror

"Do you ever stop talking?"

Jon has a complicated relationship with words. Difficulties come and go.

(Jon has adhd and Martin is in love.)

Novelty by @backofthebookshelf

Jon experiences A Sexual Attraction; Martin has A Concern. They figure it out.

(Any fic that explores the ace spectrum is a 10/10. We stan all ace interpretations of jon on this blog.)

Half a Hug by Dathen

I know you weren’t going to hurt me, I trust you, he said again and again. And then a different kind of fear shone through, hollow and echoing: “Please don’t stop touching me."

Or: Life is hard when you're touch-starved but have trauma related to your closest friend. Spoilers through TMA 132.

(Honestly bless every author who saw jon&daisy and was like. They’re siblings. No I will not elaborate.)

the loneliness never left me (but i can put it down in the pleasure of your company) by Athina_Blaine

It was about Martin making Jon feel safe, treasured, and loved. And it had been so, so long since anyone made him feel that way.

And, in the face of it all, Jon was starting to flounder.

(At this point I just need to make separate rec list for Scottish Honeymoon Era.)

you can watch me corrode by scarletfish

"So, how long have you been pulling this shit then?"

"I… excuse me?" Jon’s indignant, certain she can’t mean what he thinks she means.

"When was the last time you ate?"

(Georgie decides Jon and Melanie need a normal day off. Jon learns that he and Melanie have more in common than he thought.)

(Look, Melanie isn’t my favorite person in tma, but she and Jon are like THE SAME PERSON and I adore fics that elaborate on their relationship.)

Out of the Wind, In From the Cold by @ostentenacity

There are two bedrooms in the safehouse, and two beds.

For a moment, Jon considers asking to share, but decides against it with a wince. “I really loved you,” Martin had told him. Loved. Past tense. And Martin doesn’t exactly have a lot of choices right now in terms of company; it would be cruel to demand he play at feelings he no longer has just to make Jon happy.

(For a moment, Martin considers asking to share. But he dismisses the idea with a shake of his head. Jon has already done so much for him. Martin isn’t about to ask for more, especially not when it’s something he doesn’t really need. He has his right mind back, and he has Jon’s friendship. That should be enough for him. It’ll have to be.)

---

Jon thinks that Martin doesn’t love him. Martin thinks that Jon doesn’t love him. They do not, of course, discuss this. Unrequited love is already awkward enough, right? No need to dwell on it.

(THEE SCOTTISH HONEYMOON ERA FIC. IT’S ABOUT THE PINING, BEING MUTUALLY OBLIVIOUS AND FALLING IN LOVE. 10000/10.)

I Do by @voiceless-terror

“I, um- this was supposed to be a lot more romantic, I swear.” Martin looks down at the dirty bar floor. “I had it all planned out, I-I was going to take you somewhere nice, and then we’d go for a walk in the square- I’ll still do it!” He hurries to explain, as if that’s the most pressing part of this situation. “It’ll be really nice, I’ve already hired a photographer-”

In a fit of protectiveness, Martin proposes to Jon.

(Everyone lives, Martin accidentally proposes and Jon is crying in public.)

________

#lmao follow for more fic recs #ash recs #ash's rec list #ash recs fics #tma fic list #tma fics #jmart #jmartin #jon sims #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #tma fic recs

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mortimer-writes-sometimes · 4 years ago

Note

Can I request something where sans keeps making excuses to keep Grillby talking? And when confronted, he admits that he just likes hearing Grillby’s voice? 👉👈

Haha, so this was going to just be silly fluff, I swear, but... Look I swear it all works out and it’s really cute in the end. I hope you enjoy!

Talk to Me

Word count: 3323 Summary: Sans wants to hear from his boyfriend more, but he goes about it the wrong way.

“Hello Sans, this is Grillby. I just wanted to call and make sure you’re alright. It’s been two days since I’ve seen you at the bar… I asked Dogamy and Dogeressa if they’d seen you and they both said they haven’t. Are you ill? If you are, I could bring something for you and Papyrus, or- ah, well, I’ve been talking long enough. Forgive my rambling. Just send me a message to let me know you’re alright? I hope to see you soon.”

Sans let the voicemail play as he laid in bed, relaxing a bit. It had been months since Grillby left that message. Sans had some kind of flu and was bedridden for a week. As soon as Grillby heard, he came over with canned soup, cold packs, and audiobooks, giving Papyrus a break to rest and ensuring that both of the skeletons were well cared for. The audiobooks had been nice, but they’d been nothing compared to Grillby’s voicemail. When Sans heard it, it occurred to him that he wasn’t sure he’d ever heard Grillby talk for that long in one go. The even rhythm of his voice was remarkably soothing. Sans had fallen asleep to that insignificant message more than once.

The skeleton felt a bit silly. He and Grillby were dating now. He had more than enough opportunity to talk to him. Something still felt off though. Even when they were outside the bar, Grillby was always a one-or-two sentences kind of guy. He never told any stories, he didn’t ramble on about his favorite subjects, and he never vented in length about his day. And then there was that phrase. “Forgive my rambling,” Sans muttered to himself, frowning. He’d heard that twice since he’d started dating Grillby, and something about it didn’t sit right with him. Speaking about dates with Grillby…

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Sans’s watch went off and he shot up. Shoot, he was late! Grillby had the evening off and they had agreed to meet up at the bar before going to MTT Resort for dinner. Grillbz made a reservation and everything! Sans hurriedly put on a black tuxedo-print shirt and then threw his freshly-washed jacket on top. That was about as close to fancy as Sans got.

Grabbing his phone, the skeleton took a shortcut to Grillby’s, where the bartender himself was waiting outside. Damn, he made Sans feel underdressed. Grillby had a black suit jacket on over his navy blue dress shirt, and it looked like he might have even ironed his usual bowtie for this. He was looking at his watch, making Sans feel a pang of guilt. This was what, the fourth time in a row he’d been late for a date?

Grillby didn’t seem to mind it. He glanced up and caught sight of Sans, smiling a bit. “I see you’re all dressed up,” he chuckled. “You look nice.”

“Not as nice as you, hot stuff.” Sans grinned, holding out a hand for Grillby. “Ready to go?”

Grillby nodded and took his hand. “Ready.”

Dating Start!

One moment, they were in Snowdin. The next, they were at MTT Resort, barely in time for their reservation. Sans had done a few comedy gigs at MTT before, so it wasn’t like it was a new place to him, but somehow going there with Grillby made it feel different. The lighting felt softer, the music seemed gentler, and when the two of them sat at their table, the smile Grillby gave Sans made the skeleton feel like he was dreaming. For the first time, MTT Resort Restaurant felt romantic.

“What are you thinking about?” Grillby asked, breaking Sans’s train of thought.

Sans chuckled. “You,” he responded honestly. “You make the whole room light up wherever you go.”

Grillby arched an eyebrow. “Well, I am made of fire.”

“Oh my god, you know what I meant,” Sans managed through his laughter. As he calmed, he gave the bartender a soft smile. “This is nice. I’ve been here a thousand times, but it’s different when it’s with you. A good different. You make everything better.”

Grillby blushed, smiling. “Sans… that was the sappiest thing I have ever heard.”

Sans grinned at his teasing. “Aww, you know you love me.”

“I do.” Grillby rested his arm on the table, opening his hand to Sans. The skeleton took him up on his offer and mimicked the gesture, holding Grillby’s hand on top of the table. Grillby ran his thumb over Sans’s knuckles, thoughtful as he looked at their joined hands.

Usually, from there, Sans would start the conversation back up with an onslaught of puns or start talking about his day. The skeleton’s thoughts drifted back to that voicemail. ‘Forgive me for rambling.’ Their talks were always pretty one-sided, huh? It didn’t seem to bother Grillby at all, but it bothered Sans. He wanted to hear his boyfriend ramble. He wanted to know what was going on inside the fire monster’s head. And, if he was being honest with himself, he just wanted to take a moment to bask in Grillby’s even baritone voice.

“What are you thinking about?” Sans asked.

Grillby hadn’t expected that question, looking up. “Us,” he answered simply, smiling a bit.

That wasn’t a satisfying answer! Sans pressed a little more. “What about us?”

“About the time we spend together.” Grillby met Sans’s gaze, eyes full of tenderness and beautiful firelight. “I have never felt greater happiness than I do by your side.”

Man, how did he manage to sound so romantic in so few words? Sans flustered, dramatically fanning his face. “I’m swooning. And you said I’m a sap? If I’m a sap,” he joked, “Then you’re the whole maple.”

Grillby chuckled. “So tonight’s joke theme is going to be trees, I take it?”

“You better be-leaf it.” Sans winked at him. “Hey, why do trees make the worst frienemies?” He waited for a beat, then said, “Because they’re the best at throwing shade!”

Sans sometimes wondered if Grillby would have laughed at that joke if it came from someone other than him. Whether or not he would, he was laughing now, and Sans wanted it to go on forever. Unfortunately, it didn’t. Grillby regained his composure and let go of Sans’s hand, picking up a menu. “While I hate to interrupt the pleasant-trees, we should figure out what we want to eat.”

“Heh, good one,” Sans mumbled with a smile as he picked up his menu. Aha! This could be the perfect opportunity! “You know,” he began, “I’ve been here for gigs, but I’ve never actually eaten here. All these fancy dishes sound super complicated. Can you explain some of this stuff to me?” Grillby was passionate about cooking, so surely he would have a few words on the matter. More than a few, hopefully.

Grillby glanced up over the top of his menu. “What are you in the mood for?”

“Uhh…” Good question! Sans hadn’t really thought about it. “I dunno. I’ll figure it out as we go?”

Grillby nodded and looked back down at the menu. “Alright.” He considered the dishes on the menu for a long moment. “What about the swiss steak? It’s a tenderized steak cooked in a pan with onions and tomato sauce. It appears in the recipe they use here they also add mushrooms. I can’t be sure, but as far as spices go I would guess- well. I’ve already explained the basics. Forgive me for rambling.”

“No no, you’re good! I…” Sans wanted to groan. Oh, come on! For a moment there, the skeleton had been able to get completely lost in Grillby’s voice, taking in every word. “I, um, I think that sounds good, but I want to hear about some other stuff first.” He scanned the menu, picking a random dish. “What’s, uh… beef stroganoff?”

Grillby tilted his head, locating the name on the menu with interest. “Oh, that’s another good dish. Stroganoff is made with small pieces of a marbled cut of steak, ideally sirloin or ribeye. The sauce is made with…” Grillby trailed off and adjusted his glasses. “Well, it’s a white sauce. It’s usually served over noodles.”

So. Freaking. Close! “Yeah, great,” Sans mumbled, looking for another food that might get the bartender talking. He’d seemed excited to share for a minute there, so why did he stop? It was so frustrating! “What about… how do you say this one? Cock-ow-vien?”

“Coq au Vin,” Grillby corrected gently. “It’s a chicken dish. The chicken is slow-baked with vegetables in a wine sauce.” He stopped there instead of going on as he had before. Darn. Operation Have-Grillby-Explain-The-Entire-Menu was a bust.

Sans ended up going with the ‘Coq au Vin’, mispronouncing it on purpose when he ordered so Grillby would give him that fond look of exasperation he loved so much. The skeleton chuckled and played innocent, shrugging. “What’s with that expression? I said it eggs-actly how you did!”

Grillby just rolled his eyes. “Sometimes I wonder why I ever chose to date a comedi-hen,” the bartender sighed, smiling a bit at Sans’s resulting snicker. “So how was your day?”

Sans shrugged. “Eh, pretty much the usual. Papyrus tried out that waffle recipe you gave him today. It was… interesting.” Usually, he would elaborate, but he had something else on his mind. Time for Plan B: Make Grillby the center of attention! “Hey, you used to live around here, didn’t you?” Sans asked, abruptly changing the topic. “What was that like? As a kid?” If there was one thing any monster could go on about, it was childhood memories. Right?

Apparently not. “It wasn’t significantly different from living in Snowdin,” Grillby answered simply, eyeing the water the waiter had brought him as if it were going to jump out of the glass. “Just warmer.”

And… that was it. That was all Grillby had to say about it. If anything, the bartender seemed to be talking even less than usual. Sans was starting to get a little frustrated. “I’m sure it was different. More monsters, the construction of the Core… C’mon, Grillbz, don’t be shy about it. What was it like?”

“Noisy.” Grillby pushed the glass of water a bit further from himself. “That’s part of why I moved to Snowdin.”

Sans picked up the distracting glass and threw it over his shoulder. “Well then tell me why else you moved to Snowdin. Lava to snow seems like a pretty big shift just to get away from the noise.”

Grillby was caught a little bit off-guard, glancing over Sans’s shoulder before meeting his eyes again. “W-well, I’m an adult. It’s natural that I would leave home at some point, haha…”

“Yeah, but don’t fire monster families usually stick close together?” Sans asked.

“That’s correct.” Grillby adjusted his glasses, gaze falling to the table. “But I chose to open a business in Snowdin.”

Well, now they were just going around in circles. It seemed no matter what Sans asked or what buttons he pushed, Grillby was going to give him short, distant answers. The skeleton was beyond frustrated. Was it so much for him to ask to hear his boyfriend talk for more than a few seconds at a time?! He sighed inwardly as an oblivious waiter came by with their food, setting it on the table and cheerily asking if they needed anything else before walking off. The food looked nice, but the conversation tonight was… well, kind of nonexistent.

An awkward silence settled over the table as the two monsters looked at their plates. Unsurprisingly, Sans ended up being the one who had to break the silence. “So… Looks good. Why don’t you eat some and tell me what you think?”

Grillby wordlessly picked up his fork, taking a bite of the steak he’d opted for. He noticed he was still being watched and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I-it’s good,” he mumbled. Did Sans realize his eyes had darkened? Was everything okay? The fire monster was starting to feel like he was being interrogated.

“Yeah? Care to elaborate on that?” Sans knew he was being pushy, but he didn’t know what else to do. He wanted to hear Grillby talk. He wanted to see him let down his guard and ramble for once. Just once, he wanted to be the one listening instead of the one doing all the talking. Was that too much to ask?

Yes. Yes, it was.

Grillby suddenly stood up, keeping his gaze on the wall, the floor, anywhere but Sans. “Excuse me,” he mumbled, “I need to step outside for a moment.”

Sans sat up straight, finally snapping out of his thoughts long enough to pay attention to his boyfriend’s body language. Grillby was on the defensive, tension evident in each flame of his body. Before Sans could say anything to stop him, the fire monster had rushed off, walking past him and exiting the building. Well, shit.

“What the hell just happened?” Sans mumbled to himself, going over the events of the evening in his head. Yeah, maybe he’d been a bit pushy with Grillby, but it wasn’t worth getting that upset over, right?

“What was it like?”

“Noisy.”

“Don’t fire monster families usually stick close together?”

“That’s correct.”

“Ah, well, I’ve been talking long enough. Forgive my rambling.”

“Forgive me for rambling.”

...Grillby’s been talking plenty, Sans realized, eye sockets widening. He’s been telling me he’s uncomfortable all evening. I just wasn’t listening.

Grillby sat against the wall outside of MTT Resort, sighing as he took off his glasses and hung his head. He felt so embarrassed. He just couldn’t figure out what he had been doing wrong, and if Sans had kept questioning him he was sure he was going to cry or yell or- or something unpleasant. It had been weird when Sans started asking about the menu as if he couldn’t read, but Sans was weird like that sometimes. It went from weird to uncomfortable when the skeleton started asking personal questions, practically demanding answers. The bartender wanted to answer them. It wasn’t fair that Grillby knew so much about Sans’s personal life and Sans knew so little of Grillby’s, but…

...well. The fire monster had his reasons for not talking about it on what was supposed to be a romantic date.

People talked to people. Grillby knew this. His patrons at the bar were always making small talk and rambling and telling their stories, and that was a good thing. That was how people got to know others and become friends. On more than one occasion, he’d find himself listening to a conversation and thinking of just the story to tell or just the comment to add.

On more than one occasion, he felt a hand on the back of his neck, shoving him down and reminding him that children were seen and not heard. Even as an adult, that inclination to only say what needed to be said and to say it as concisely as possible stayed stubbornly in the back of his throat, choking any stray chatter that might make trouble for him.

People talked to people. Grillby knew this.

It was just… hard, sometimes.

“Takeout for Gr- Grail-bee? Is there a Grail-bee here?”

Grillby put his glasses back on, looking up. Sans stood over him with a plastic takeout bag, the skeleton looking sheepish as he offered a smile. “Hey there, firefly. You okay?”

“I’m alright,” Grillby mumbled, moving to get up. Sans stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, sitting next to the fire monster instead. Grillby relaxed back against the wall, looking at the bag and immediately feeling guilty. “I’m sorry. I-” Grillby’s voice cracked and he took a deep breath, choking back the tears he’d been trying to avoid in the restaurant. “I ruined dinner, didn’t I?”

“No, no, Grillbz,” Sans quickly reassured, turning towards Grillby and putting a hand on his shoulder. “You didn’t ruin anything. C’mon, don’t cry- come here, it’s okay, I’m sorry.” He pulled Grillby into a hug, rubbing his back. “Shh, I’m sorry. I made you real uncomfy back there, and that’s on me. I should’ve been paying more attention.”

Grillby wrapped his arms around Sans, taking deep breaths. “Sans,” he finally mumbled, “I understand that you are curious about me and my background, but why were you so… insistent, tonight?”

“Weeellll…” Sans rubbed the back of his neck. “I honestly didn’t care about the question itself so much as I… wanted to get you to… ramble? You know, it sounds really dumb out loud, heheh…”

Grillby took a moment to process that, pulling away after a moment. “You wanted me to ramble?”

Sans chuckled nervously. “Yeah, I mean, I… I-i like the sound of your voice? It’s, um, calming.”

“It’s calming,” Grillby echoed, dumbfounded. All of that stress, just so Sans could listen to him talk for a few minutes.

Sans braced himself for the worst as Grillby lapsed into silence once again. He was going to be pissed, wasn’t he? “Look, I really am sorry, Grillbz. I don’t know what I was thinking, I just-”

Sans was cut off by a quiet snort of laughter. Grillby was… chuckling? Not just chuckling, he was laughing. He started to laugh and then couldn’t stop, resting his head on Sans’s shoulder as the fire of his hair danced with mirth. Needless to say, the skeleton was very confused. “So… Am I missing the punchline here or something?”

Grillby sat up, smiling at Sans with that fond, exasperated look again. “Sans, you numbskull… Why didn’t you just ask me to read you a book?”

Oh. Oh yeah. That probably would’ve been the easiest way to do it.

Sans groaned and put a hand to his skull, sending Grillby into another fit of laughter at the skeleton’s expense. Sans figured he deserved it, after all the pressure he’d put on Grillby that evening. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I’m guessing this means you forgive me?”

Grillby calmed down, smiling at Sans before planting a kiss on the top of his skull. “Yes,” he said softly, “I forgive you, bonehead.”

“Cool,” Sans chuckled. “Sooooo… If I were to ask you to take me home with you and read to me…”

“The answer would be yes,” Grillby said with a small smile, standing up and offering Sans a hand. “I’ll even let you pick the book. But first, you have to go for a walk with me. We can take a shortcut once we reach Waterfall, not a moment sooner.”

Sans took Grillby’s hand and stood, opting to hold his hand as they walked instead of letting go. “Wow, that’s sweet, Grillbz. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have a crush on me.”

Grillby rolled his eyes fondly. “Good thing we both know better.”

The two fell into a comfortable silence, walking side-by-side through Hotland. Grillby looked around himself as they did, smiling softly. Usually, Sans would be the one to break the silence, if it needed to be broken. Well, it had already been a fairly unusual evening, hadn’t it?

“I used to walk to school down this road,” Grillby suddenly commented, smiling fondly at the memory. “My brother Cole always walked with me, just in case something happened. Of course, the only time something did happen, he was at home sick and I was walking to school alone.”

“Oh?” Sans looked up at him, smiling brightly. Was he dreaming? Or was this really happening? “What happened?”

“Well,” Grillby began, “They had just started construction on a new steam puzzle nearby…”

Another day, Sans would sit down with Grillby and ask him why he moved to Snowdin. Another day, Grillby would be ready to tell him everything. For that evening, though, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was which book Sans would choose and how many pages Grillby could get through before they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

Thanks for reading! If you like this, consider reblogging/leaving a comment telling me your favorite part! If you want to send me a prompt, my ask box is open! I hope you liked this!

#undertale #grillby #sans #sans x grillby #sansby #undertale fanfiction #undertale sans #undertale grillby #dustyfic #ask answered

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qlala · 3 years ago

Note

pleeease can we have more teacher barry au? or kidfic? my crops are dying

Alright, sorry for the slight delay on this one, but please know that you're a menace and I kept thinking about it and then I wrote this for you all in one sitting.

It's both teacher!Barry (though still set in the canon universe!) and coldflash kidfic. <3 I just put it up as a prequel to "good cop, bad cop" on ao3, since I guess it technically is that? Although, if you guys have opinions about what order the series should be in, I'd interested to hear it!

“Barry?”

“Hm?”

“You’ve got something in your hair.”

Barry hid a wry grin, and glanced over at Len—at least, glanced as far in his direction as he could manage. Two small hands were holding his head still, though Henry did let go of one handful of Barry’s hair to reach out when Len stepped around the coffee table and stood in front of them.

“Alright, kid.” Len bent down and hoisted Henry off Barry’s shoulders, and both of them ignored Barry’s indignant yelp when Henry didn’t quite remember to let go of Barry with his other hand in time. “I like the hair too, but he’s gotta move his head to”—Len propped Henry on his hip and reached out to steal the top page from the stack of papers in front of Barry—“grade pop quizzes.”

“Those are midterms.” Barry stretched, then tipped his head to one side with a muffled crack.

“Then you’re going easy on them.” Len took advantage of his distraction to hand the paper to Henry, who scrunched it in his hand with a broad smile.

[read on ao3, or continue reading below the cut]

“Len!” Barry recovered the paper in a sweep of yellow lightning, and Len traced his trajectory from the fading after-image even as Barry tried to smooth out the test on the arm of the couch.

“So feet on the coffee table are allowed when the Flash does it?”

“Language,” Barry reminded him, without looking up.

Henry, ever the trooper, was taking the loss of his prize in stride, and Len rewarded him by bending his knees to let him reach for the next paper in the stack.

“Leonard.”

“He’s working on his reading.”

“He’s eighteen months old.”

Len read the upside-down paper Henry was offering to him. “Another year for whoever’s test this was, they might be at his level.”

Barry got the same ruffled look he always did when he was torn between defending his students and agreeing with every hyperbolic praise Len had for their son. Eventually, he landed on, “You’re not helping.”

“I disagree.” Len accepted the paper from Henry, turned it right-side up, and finished skimming it. “You’ve got a typo in question three. That’s why they’re all putting ‘hydrogen.’”

Barry yanked the exam back, despite having a stack of identical ones on the table in front of him. His eyes went wide as he looked over it at Flash speed, and then he said a word that made Len cover one of Henry’s ears with his free hand and tut.

“You shape the minds of the next generation with that mouth?”

Barry wasn’t listening, too busy dragging his hand down his face, his fingers ending up in an annoyed fist over his mouth.

“Can you please,” he said slowly, evenly, with the couples-shrink-approved, conflict-management voice that always made Len smirk, “give Henry his snack.”

“With pleasure.”

Barry leveled him a glare, but it was without heat, and he tilted his chin up in a clear request for a kiss when Len passed behind the couch again.

Len obliged. He could feel some of the stress drain out of Barry’s shoulders when he drew his fingertips over the edge of Barry’s jaw with the hand not still supporting Henry.

“Hi,” Barry murmured when Len pulled back, at least a full minute later than he’d intended. “Missed you.”

“I was gone an hour.”

Barry’s answering smile was crooked, with an unabashed dimple that Len refrained from tracing his thumb over; he had a reputation to protect. “You know, you could just say it back sometimes.”

“Fine.” Len smirked as he tweaked a cowlick that Henry had left in Barry’s hair. Then he met Barry’s gaze, all false sincerity, and drawled, “Hi.”

Barry rolled his eyes. He couldn’t hide the wry smile even when he turned his head away for a second, though, and he gave Len a playful glare. “You know I meant—“

“Hi!”

For a second, neither of them moved. Then Barry reeled back with something like panic in his eyes, alarmingly contagious, based on the way Len’s heart tripped into fourth gear. “Did he just—“

Len hoisted Henry up to sit on the edge of the couch, and they both stared at him. He ignored them both for a few moments, small hand squishing the cushion before he watched it slowly expand back to its original shape. Then he noticed their eyes on him, and looked up with a beatific smile. “Hi!”

Barry was off the couch in a bolt of lightning, then back a heartbeat later with his phone out, talking so fast he was nearly incomprehensible. “Twice, Joe, I swear, he looked right at us—“

Len got a glimpse of Detective West’s patient expression on the phone screen as Barry waved it toward Henry. “Barr, you said that the last three times. I told you, kids talk when they’re ready. Iris didn’t say a word until she was—“

Barry turned the phone and held the screen out to Henry. Len bit back a reflexive objection; they’d agreed, no screens until he was five (and it’d be eighteen if Len had his way).

Henry reached out for the phone, all Barry’s reckless confidence when confronted with anything new.

Tinny over the speakerphone, West’s voice said, weary but unflaggingly affectionate, “Hi, Henry.”

Barry let Henry have the phone—and that time, Len did shoot him a look—and Henry flattened a tiny palm over West’s face on the screen. Then he tilted his head thoughtfully, lifted his hand, and chirped a delighted, “Hi!”

Barry swept him up with a rush of static that made Henry shriek with laughter, phone forgotten in an instant. Barry deposited them both at Len’s side with a breathless grin, and Len didn’t quite manage to disguise his own smile as a smirk when they looked up at him in unison. West’s voice was still coming from somewhere nearby, but Barry could fish the phone out from between the cushions later. For now, Barry was getting suspiciously bright-eyed, and Len lifted Henry out his arms before Barry could set the kid off crying, too.

“Who had ‘hi?’” he asked. He ruffled Henry’s hair, already overdue for a cut, dark and curling up at the ends. Henry only allowed it a moment before he started to fuss, his snack clearly not forgotten despite the excitement.

“Iris,” Barry hiccuped. He wiped the heel of his hand over both cheeks, then said, “She had ‘hi’ and ‘bye.’ She’s gonna be insufferable.”

“She’s gonna be rich,” Len countered. “Mick put ten grand on ‘Flash.’”

Barry shook his head on a laugh. “You did explain to him that we’re specifically not letting people say that in front of him? Given the whole”—he gestured, with a glimmer of lightning that distracted Henry into a fresh smile—”child’s grasp of a secret identity?”

“And deprive the pool of his ill-gotten gains?” He passed Henry back to Barry and tapped him on the tip of his nose. “Never.”

“She’s just gonna put it in a college fund.”

Len hummed, and didn’t mention the account he’d already placed a quarter mil into at the credit union downtown.

Barry’s eyes narrowed all the same. “What was that?”

“What was what, dear?” Len leaned hard on the pet name, flat and sarcastic, but he knew even before Barry straightened up that it wouldn’t work.

“That ‘hmmm.’ That was an I’m-not-telling-you-something ‘hmmm.’”

Len was saved by the bell, literally.

Someone leaned hard on the buzzer to the front door. A second later—and utterly predictably, given the number of metas in the family Len had married into—Wally West phased through the door, bouncing on his toes and looking around the room before he even finished setting Iris on her feet.

“Joe says Iris won,” he said.

Barry tore his suspicious gaze away from Len to blink over at the new arrivals. “Joe knew about the pool?”

“People on six different earths knew about the pool, Barr,” Iris said. She leaned on Wally as she toed out of her work heels. “Now, give me my favorite nephew. Can you say, ‘journalism school,’ Henry?”

Barry let her scoop Henry out of his arms, his brow still furrowed. “Wait, six different earths? How much was in the pool?”

He sounded a hair indignant, and Len took the opportunity to snake an arm around his waist and pull him back against his chest.

“Say the word,” he murmured against Barry’s ear, smiling when he felt him shiver. “I’ll get you triple by dinner.”

He felt Barry’s heart speed up where his back was pressed against him, and Len nipped the shell of his ear to cement his victory.

“No felonies,” Barry reminded him, but his voice was breathless, and he didn’t disentangle himself from Len’s arms.

“Mm, forgot again,” Len lied. “How about we send Iris and Wally to show Henry’s first word to Joe in person, and I make it up to you?”

A blush was climbing steadily up Barry’s neck, and he’d already shown his hand when he said, “The midterms. Progress reports go out Friday, I have to—“

“Telling me the fastest man alive can’t grade a stack of ninth grade chemistry tests before third period tomorrow?”

“They’re for my AP class,” Barry gasped, and he caught Len’s hand where he’d been tracing his fingers down Barry’s stomach. But he cleared his throat, then said, “Iris? Maybe you wanna bring Henry to the station? It would make Joe’s day.”

Iris gave him a knowing look, but her eyes were warm when she shared her smile with Len. “Mm. I bet it’ll make someone’s day.”

“Singh’s, probably,” Wally said, where he’d been drawing increasingly elaborate flowers of static out of the speed force for Henry’s fickle amusement. Then he glanced up. “Oh. Oh, you meant—yeah. Alright. I’ll grab the diaper bag. And congrats, you guys. On the first word, not the—“

Iris patted his arm and interrupted with, “The station, Wally?”

Wally ducked his head on a nod and gave them both a sheepish grin.

“Make sure your father doesn’t arrest my sister,” Len said. “She’ll show up as soon as she gets the intel out of Cisco.”

“No promises,” Iris said. “But I’ll give him the heads up. Bye, boys.”

The after-image of Wally’s lightning hadn’t even dissipated when Barry dropped his back against Len’s shoulder, one foot tapping rapidly. “Are we bad parents?”

Len nosed at the corner of Barry’s jaw and slid his fingers under the hem of his shirt. “No.”

“Maybe we should—should’ve, uh, reinforced it, more. He might get—confused. He said ‘hi,’ but we—oh my god, did we even say ‘bye?’ Len—“

Len spun Barry and pushed him back against the couch, then kissed him to distract him from looking anxiously at the front door. “You’re overthinking this.”

“I’m overthinking this,” Barry agreed. “No, I’m not. Len, his snack—“

“There are snacks at the station. Joe has a drawer full of Cheerios.”

Barry slid a hand through his hair, gave one last jittery look toward the door, and then slumped back against the couch with a laugh. “You’re better at this than me.”

“Already did it once,” Len said, smoothing the worry out of Barry’s brow with the pad of his thumb. “And look how Lisa turned out.”

It didn’t land the way Len had aimed it to. Barry gave him a warm smile instead of an alarmed look, and Len had to tick his gaze away for a break from the earnestness in that expression.

“Yeah,” Barry said. “Yeah, okay. Now maybe we could, uh, stop saying our family members’ names for a little while?”

Len rolled his eyes, but he allowed Barry a brief smile as he hooked his fingers in the front of his belt. “I thought you’d never ask.”

[❤️ Link to Ao3 ❤️]

#coldflash #my fics #leonard snart #barry allen #the flash #teacher barry au

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sunflowers-heart · 4 years ago

Text

October 31st – Ghost Stories

13 Days of Spooky Writing Event

Pairing: Thranduil x Reader

Word count: 2,379

Warnings: None

Author’s note: Modern!AU. My last story for the event is also the longest, I hope you enjoy it! Participating was a lot of fun, thank you so much for running it, Jessica, I look forward doing more events in the future! <3

You were never particularly fond of the centuries-old manor you used to live in with your fiancé. No amount of splendid decorations nor modern architectural solutions could stop the overwhelming feeling of being constantly watched, of every single of your steps being followed, of the shadows disappearing in the corner of your eyes whenever you were trying to catch them.

It was odd, considering the fact that Thranduil seemed to not notice any of those things, no ill energy, no suspicious rustles in the middle of the night coming from the floor below your bedroom, nothing strange. He was never the man you would consider as insensitive, on the contrary, under the cold mask of calculation there was a compassionate soul, the one you fell in love in many years ago. It did not took a lot of time for him to ask you to live in his house together—the great, luxurious mansion appearing to you like some kind of untouchable dream. And yet, there you were, sleeping in the soft embrace of the man you loved, in the place people could only dream of.

With the invisible eyes watching your every step.

“Is something bothering you, my love?” Thranduil asked one day, stroking your hair in a caring manner as your cheek rested upon his chest, the book still open in his hand. “You seem tense.”

At first you said nothing. It was the beginning of a wonderful, sunny day, the leaves of a maple tree behind your bedroom’s window shining brightly in gold and orange, the smell of tea and coffee prepared by the cook downstairs reaching your senses and causing your stomach to grumble in need. It was supposed to be your Saturday, the day where none of you were supposed to work and simply enjoy your time together.

If only not for the dreadful feeling that something was terribly wrong.

“It’s nothing,” you muttered and played with a long strand of his platinum hair, twirling it over your finger. “I didn’t sleep well, that’s all.”

“I understand.” You felt his chest throb when he spoke and then the Adam’s apple to move when he swallowed. “Did you have a bad dream?”

“Bad feeling rather.”

“About?”

You frowned. Clarification of your worries was way harder than it seemed and immediately you thought that maybe getting into this subject was not the wisest idea. Supporting your weight on one elbow, you rose up and looked him in the eyes. There was a genuine concern, a will to help, and you wondered how people around you could be so blind to still consider him as ruthless.

“It’s just a stress,” you explained vaguely and kissed the corner of his lips. “No need to worry about, let’s go get breakfast, shall we?”

Whether he did not want to push you or respected your opinion, Thranduil did not ask any more questions. Still, he managed to successfully occupy your mind with kisses and delicious breakfast.

Walking up the stairs, you greeted the maid and headed forward to the dressing room to grab a coat before joining Thranduil on a stroll through the gardens. Although the weather seemed appealing from behind the windows, you quickly found out that it was rather cold once you stepped outside. Blowing wind tossed the fallen leaves all over the estate, giving the gardener a plenty of additional job.

Thankfully, spending the peaceful, completely normal morning with your fiancé was enough to make you lighten up a little, forgetting about the unpleasant incident. Perhaps you truly were overreacting; it was not the first time when your empathy gave you a wrong impression of what was going on around you and if you could only focus on something else, you could quickly realize that there was nothing to be afraid of. You were safe and there was a bright future ahead of you, full of wonderful surprises, marvellous adventures and never-ending love.

Smiling to yourself, you turned right on the first floor and went through the corridor, taking a mental note to take a pair of gloves and a scarf for Thranduil also, before you stopped abruptly and held your breath.

Cold sweat rolled down your spine as your mind was desperately trying to understand what you have just witnessed—to no avail. Frozen in place, you could only stare blankly at the portrait hanging on the wall, the one which has been there since the times of Thranduil’s grandparents. It was all the same as you remembered it; golden frame, heavy movements of brush against the canvas, mostly brown and copper colours used, green armchair appearing as soft and comfortable, roses blooming from the corners, however, now there was one detail missing.

The armchair was now empty.

“I swear to you, I’ve seen it,” you confessed, your trembling hand hidden in Thranduil’s, warmed up by his natural heat, as you led him to the first floor. “She was not there, the lady from the portrait disappeared as if she just casually stood up and went out of her painting. I know it sounds crazy but it’s true.”

Thranduil remained quiet, following you with the long steps until you finally reached the said portrait. Unexpectedly, you felt a wave of relief washing down on you as you realized that the lady was still not present, since you were afraid that once you will go and get your fiancé here, she might come back and therefore make you appear as a lunatic. You were not convinced if he would believe you in the story only.

His answer, however, was as stoic as he always was.

“I see…”

For a long moment, you were staring at the painting. With him by your side, there was new courage in your heart and eventually, you took a step forward, looking at the canvas from a different angle, hoping to maybe see her hiding behind the painted armchair. Naturally, she was not there and the painting was as flat as you could expect.

You peeked over the shoulder when you heard Thranduil walking away and quickly followed him.

“What are we going to do about it?” you asked hesitantly.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” You blinked in confusion. “There’s a living portrait in the house and we’re supposed to just ignore it?”

“What else should we do?” He raised an eyebrow and this question shushed you successfully.

Indeed, what should you do? Look for her? Where, on the on the other paintings, like in Harry Potter? Put the portrait down, so she would not have a place to come back to? Burn it? Every idea seemed to be more ridiculous than the previous one so you only shook your head in resignation.

You would gladly take a walk in the garden now, but first, you had to add few drops of bourbon to your coffee.

The lady came back on her painting next morning. She was sitting on her armchair in the same position, with the same, soft smile on her lips and you started to wonder whether yesterday happened at all. Thranduil confirmed your inquires to be true and although you still felt like in a dream, the life was going on. This time, however, everytime you passed the painting by, you were eyeing the portrait carefully, looking for any signs of movement, any proof that you were not crazy.

You and your fiancé equally.

She did not move for the next week but it was getting harder and harder to be glad about it, since various objects from the home started to disappear and appear in the same places some time later. First, your favourite mug, then Thranduil’s tie, a shoe, a key to the basement, porcelain figurine, 5th volume of the book series, a vinyl record and a single candle from the candelabra. None of the staff knew what happened and surprisingly, they were as shocked to discover the things reappearing as you were previously.

“Did that happen before?” you asked Thranduil one evening, while sitting by his side in the enormous living room by the fireplace. “Before I moved in, I mean.”

You did not have to explain the details to him, so he would know what were you talking about in an instant.

“Sometimes,” he sighed, still looking at the screen but now paying no attention to the film’s plot.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Why should I?” Corners of his lips turned up in a weak smile. “To scare you off with the ghost stories about my house being haunted?”

Fair point.

“Have you ever tried to… talk to it?”

He sent you a curious gaze.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean trying to communicate. I’m no expert but things like that usually happen when they want something. When they’re lost or scared or lonely. Maybe that’s the way of getting our attention so we can do something about it, while we’re still here.”

Thranduil did not answer for a long time, staring blankly at the screen, completely lost in his own thoughts. When you started to wonder whether he will talk about it with you anymore tonight, he finally spoke again, his voice slow and quiet, barely a tone above a whisper.

“My wife died many years ago. This place changed so much since she left, no current staff remember her and with every passing year, I’m remembering her less and less myself.” Rising a glass, Thranduil took a big sip of the wine but you decided to not interrupt him. It was the first time he has ever started to speak about her so elaborately.

You were aware that he was a widower, he has informed you about that at the beginning of your relationship, just in case you had anything against it. Still, he never spoke about her again as if he was avoiding this topic as much as possible, and you knew better than to start it. She was the love of his life and although at first it unsettled you, seeing the painful, tired expression on his face when he finally brought the subject proved you that there was nothing to be afraid of. His love for her was eternal but it did not lessen the depth of affection he had toward you.

Love was not a pool to divide between the people in certain parts, it was always different and always whole to give.

“She loved this house,” he continued. “She loved her son and she loved me. This place was filled with her love, completely. And truth be told, once she was gone, the scariest thing I’ve ever experienced was waking up one day and realizing that she’s not here anymore. As if she never existed, as if she was just a projection, a fleeting dream, a whisper on the wind… I could no longer touch her, feel her, hear her voice. She was as far away as the stars upon the sky, unreachable, unimaginable.

Then, things like that started to happen, sudden disappearances but nothing harmful, just a simple jokes. Silly games. At first I couldn’t believe my own sight either but it was true and it was not evil. Moreover, it was as if she was still there, a soft reminder that I wasn’t mad, dreaming about her love, and the memories we shared were real.

I missed her every day and please, don’t hate me for that, but I believe I’ll miss her forever, too.”

It was rare to see the tears in his eyes and the sight was enough to make you feel your eyes burning also. Gently, you hugged him, hiding his face in the crook of your neck and stroking his hair, the bittersweet grief squeezing your heart harder than ever before. You loved him more than anything; you were willing to leave your homeland for him, to withstand his difficult, distant personality and eccentric behaviour and to devote the rest of your life for him knowing, that he will never be truly yours.

Holding him in your arms, weeping the tears of sorrow, you loved him more than ever before.

The last thing which mysteriously disappeared in the house was never found.

You were sitting with Thranduil by the long table and enjoying the delicious dinner, listening to the music playing and making plans about your upcoming wedding. Before the meal, you were looking through the album featuring variations of cakes, the one which included so many propositions that it was hard to pick at least five better than the others. You had a feeling that the preparations will take much longer than you previously thought, but the vision of marrying your fiancé was more than appealing.

“I’m afraid to even start a conversation about the decorations,” Thranduil added. “Perhaps it’d be wiser to simply hire someone to take care of it.”

“We’ll see. I don’t want anything to be missing on our special day.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll personally supervise the preparations.”

“That’s a relief.” You sighed dramatically. “Speaking of which, I have some good news for you. The earring, the one I was supposed to wear on the wedding, was found.”

Thranduil tilted his head to the side.

“Was it?”

“Yes. It was in the casket, just where I left it.”

“I’m glad then.” He smiled genuinely. “It would be a shame if I had to buy you multiple new pairs, just in case they got lost also.”

You giggled at that statement, knowing that he was capable of doing this just to make sure that nothing could interrupt your special day. Sometimes, you were starting to think that it was him who was more nervous about the whole act than you, even though he managed to hide it well most of the time.

Taking a sip of your tea, you eventually decided to not tell him about the last thing which seemed to be missing. There was no need to worry him, especially since you were certain that this one will not be found anytime soon. Your insecurity was, after all, the last thing which you wanted back, and the gentle smile of the lady in portrait ensured you that there was nothing to be uncertain about, not in the house, nor about the love of your future husband.

#13daysofspookywritingevent #13 days of spooky writing event #thranduil x reader #thranduil #the hobbit

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rons-hermiones · 4 years ago

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Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter Seven

It had been two days since she arrived at the Burrow for holiday.

Within that time Hermione has done her absolute best to avoid the entirety of the family. Well, specifically a certain gangly, freckled git.

Most hours she didn’t spend reading, the guilt was gnawing at her for being such an awful, unappreciative guest. She’d avoid meals when she could, but in the event she couldn’t evade Molly, Hermione would eat as quickly as she could before excusing herself.

Ginny, like her mother, was very perceptive and quickly caught onto what was happening. Oftentimes the girl would peel whatever book Hermione had been latching onto away from her hands and practically force her down the steps. And in the event Ginny successfully got Hermione to the living room, she’d just sit idly and watch the family interact, never interjecting herself.

Harry had stopped by from time to time, thankfully he never pried her from the bed, but surprisingly, he did make her talk. He knew, probably from Ron, of what Harry phrased as her ‘ridiculous’ plan to stay out of his way. When the conversation started turning to anything Ron, or even worse, Lavender related, she’d excuse herself and venture out into the garden.

And besides the three parties mentioned, no one really bothered her.

Fred and George did their best to get a laugh from her on the occasion she was downstairs. Mr.Weasley would greet Hermione warmly and ask if she’s heard from her parents.

She hasn’t. Not since the day after she arrived. They had sent a brief letter informing their daughter that they arrived in France, they loved her, and that they would write soon. Despite their silence, Hermione still wrote them everyday for any answers.

Bill, Charlie, and Fleur had just taken to small talk, but Hermione usually halted it, never allowing herself to get invested in conversation. Something she’d usually do.

And as for Ron, well, some nights Hermione swears she hears his loud, familiar steps shuffling outside the door as he whispers with Ginny. But, whenever the door opened, it was just Ginny and Ginny alone. These instances always disappointed Hermione for some silly reason.

Now, on the night before Christmas Eve, something she dreaded so much knowing she’d be unable to evade Mrs.Weasley’s insistence she join them, she sat in the garden.

Normally this is where she’d retreat if Ginny or Harry had taken to pestering her from the camp bed she was now seemingly glued to. Or often the contents of her prized book were too heavy, and the fresh air eased her. But tonight, she came out for a different reason. That reason being, the sight of her trunk had begun to make her sick.

Inside it held hope. Something she had lost months ago.

When her parents originally agreed to let her stay at the Weasley’s for Christmas (not under the pretense of a possibly dying Arthur), she was ecstatic. Immediately she began searching for the perfect gifts.

For Molly, she had found a lovely welcome mat with small embroidered stars around the thick lettering. It would look perfect on the front steps.

For Arthur, a Muggle alarm clock. It was both practical and for him, fascinating.

She had picked up a broom cleaning kit down in Diagon Alley. Harry was attached to his Firebolt, so Hermione figured he’d appreciate it. In addition, she had a picture printed of him and Sirius from last Christmas. The brunette just hoped she wasn’t over stepping with that one.

For Ginny she had gone with a few hair clips similar to the ones the ginger told her she liked over the summer. That and of course, a book on the best female quidditch players who ever lived.

Hermione had been perusing a Muggle shop before coming to the Burrow over the summer, and there were the perfect gifts for the twins. A Muggle joke book along with a bag of whoopee cushions. They were harmless, but would surely keep the pair thoroughly entertained.

Ron had informed Hermione early on about Charlie, Bill, and Fleur joining them for Christmas, so she was able to pick something up for them. For Charlie, she decided to go with something practical being this would be the first time they would meet. A few bottles of dittany (known to help burns and scratches from Dragons) along with a baby picture of Noberta, was what she had gone with. Bill and Fleur, being newly engaged, Hermione had gone with a joint gift. She had struck gold when she found a brilliant take on the Beauxbatons and Hogwarts shields combined. Something to remind them both of where they came from.

And as for Ron, well, now she was afraid her original gift may be too personal for where they stood right now. She had gotten the idea from a talk they had back in fourth year, when he was fighting with Harry...

“Where have you been?” Ron asked Hermione as she entered the common room. His tone wasn’t accusatory, just worried.

At this, she flushed red, “I was uh, talking to Harry.” At this he made a noise of disgust, “well I wouldn’t exactly call it talking.”

And for the briefest moment Ron paled, imagining the pair of them snogging.

“What do you mean?” He barely managed, fumbling over his words.

“Well,” she blushed again, “I mostly yelled and he well, he just stood there.” Hermione admitted sheepishly.

“Why’d you yell at Harry?” Not that he was opposed to the action.

And just like that she’s fired up again. Her hair crackles at the thought, “it’s completely unfair the way he’s treating you Ron! And I’m not going to let him get away with it.” She tutted.

He stared at her in amazement, “but you told me you didn’t think he put his name in.” He pointed out softly.

Hermione squirmed, “I don’t think he did, but that doesn’t give him the right to treat you the way he is. I suppose you tried to speak with him Ron and though I think he told you the truth, he didn’t have to be such an-” she paused, “he didn’t have to be so rude about it!”

“Bloody hell! You were about to swear.” The smile on his face only grew.

“No I wasn’t!” The brunette quickly defended, “anyway, he doesn’t understand it Ron. You’d think he would, you two are closer than I am to either of you.” Her voice dropped.

The smile he was wearing soon slipped, “that’s not true Hermione.” If only she knew...

At this, she remained silent, eyes trained on the fire.

“What doesn’t he understand?” Ron whispers after a moment.

Finally, her brown eyes meet his and she sighs, “Ron I know you better than you think I do.” If only he knew...

At this his face scrunched in confusion, imploring her to elaborate.

“You don’t particularly care if Harry actually put his own name in or not, you just care that he’s making you feel second best.” She whispered, worried he’d react in red hot anger.

Shocking them both, he merely gulped, “yeah, I suppose you’re right.” He admitted.

“Oh Ron,” she said sadly, “I don’t know how it feels, being an only child, but you have to know when I think of you, I think of you alone.” Hermione confesses bravely.

“What do you mean?” He dares to push her for more.

“I don’t think of how Bill may be a brilliant Curse Breaker, or how Charlie is bravely taming Dragons, I don’t think about how Percy was Head Boy and expect you to want that too. Even the twins, whenever you make me laugh, I don’t compare it to how much they make me laugh. Ginny too, she may be brilliant at Quidditch but that doesn’t make you any worse.”

He stares at her in shock, she takes this as confusion and goes on.

“What I mean is Ron, is that you’re you, Ronald Weasley, and I don’t want you to be anyone else. I don’t expect you to be like anyone else, alright? If I wanted to be best friends with any other Weasley I would, but I’m not, amI? Am I even making sense?” She rambles, desperate for him to speak.

Catching his breath, Ron nods and faces her, “I think I know what you’re trying to say Hermione.” A small smile finds its way across her face, “it’s just hard, when you’ve never had anything of your own, part of you feels like them. Does that sound mental?”

His mind flashes to all the robes, books, bed sheets, and toys he’s shared with his siblings.

In Bill’s old shoes, he feels like he has to be braver.

Whenever he’s reading one of Charlie’s old Charms books, he feels like he has to be daring.

In Percy’s robes, he has the sudden urge to make sure everyone’s doing what’s right.

When his Mum gave him a mixture of Fred and George’s old quilts, he felt like he had to make his dormitory laugh whenever he was nestled underneath them.

Even Ginny, his youngest sister, whenever he shared the family owl with her, Ron felt like his letter had to be an inch longer than hers.

“It doesn’t sound mental Ron.” She assures, and the look in her eyes conveys nothing but understanding, it warms his heart.

He huffs quietly, “Harry, I mean, he was my friend, and now, everyone’s gonna go around and want that too. And he’ll probably let them because what am I next to someone like Cedric Diggory?” He admitted.

“Hey,” her hand fell atop his knee making him look at her with wide eyes, “you’re the best friend I’ve ever had, I wouldn’t trade you for a dozen Cedric Diggory’s.” Hermione gave his knee a small squeeze.

And the action, the expression on her face, it all felt so sincere. So real.

Bravely, he grabbed her small hand from where it was resting on his leg and held it snugly.

“Thank you for yelling at Harry, it must’ve been wicked.” He teased with a light laugh.

A chuckle moved past her lips, “that’s not exactly the word the first years who watched would use.” She said blushing.

Ron beamed even more at this, imagining a feisty Hermione scaring away little first years as she took her anger out on the chosen one.

“Ron, I just wanted to let you know,” she’s looking away, suddenly feeling shy, “that if you’d have me you know, I’m yours. Just yours.” It’s nothing but a whisper, barely heard over the crackling fire.

The breath leaves his mouth so fast, it’s like a dementor’s kissing him. Quickly, he berates himself for allowing himself to think she means as anything more than friends. He’ll take it anyway. He thinks he’d take anything she has to offer.

“Yeah,” he says softly, “yeah I’d definitely like that.”

A grin etches its way across her features as she twines their fingers together.

They sat like that the rest of the night. Not letting go even when Dean and Seamus eyed them from nearby.

It wasn’t a grand gesture or declaration of love, but it was the start to the possibility of something more. And as Hermione spent the remainder of her night holding his hand as they talked in hushed whispers, Ron realized she could’ve been anywhere else. But instead, she was here.

And for the first time in Ron Weasley’s life, he felt like the first choice.

When recalling that night on the common room couch, something always stands out in Hermione’s brilliant mind.

The fact that Ron said he’d never had anything that felt like his own. So with that in mind and the ever growing feelings the witch had blossomed for him, Hermione decided on something bold.

It wasn’t exactly an ‘I love you’, but it was personal to him, and if he had cared that much about her to read into it, well he might figure out how important to her he really is. The fact that she’s cataloged just about every interaction they’ve had in the past six years.

Wanting to convey as much without spelling it out, she had found a lovely oak whittled Wizarding Chess set. And in the box that held it, she had gotten ‘Property of Ron Weasley’ carved on the top.

She’d even preemptively written the card:

‘Something to call yours, Happy Christmas Ron.

Love, Hermione.’

She had signed plenty of letters to him with those four letters, but part of her hoped that the note coupled with the gift may wake something within him. The possibility he feels the same way.

However, she knows now that isn’t the case. It can’t be. Not when Lavender Brown will be waiting for him when they return to Hogwarts.

So here she is, out in the garden, the Weasley’s garden no less, her precious book thrown aside, contemplating on whether or not she should give the gift.

The selfish part of her says no. Hermione tells herself he doesn’t deserve anything from her after how he’s made her feel.

Her morals scream otherwise. They’re telling her she’s the one who expected anything more than friendship from him and that she’s stupid to get so upset because he didn’t feel the same.

Weighing her options, Hermione makes the quick choice to just give him the damn thing. One last act of friendship. A goodbye of sorts.

She closes her eyes in pain, she just wants him happy, even if it kills her. And if that means distancing herself from him, then so be it.

For the smartest witch of her age, she sure is oblivious to the fact that inside, only meters away, Ron is feeling the exact same way.

...

“You know I don’t like how she just sits out there. She’s so far away.” Ron comments boldly from his place on the couch.

“Ronnie, she’s not that far, you can see her from the window.” Fred says.

“I don’t think he exactly meant physical distance.” Bill commented over the book he was reading, making the room laugh, as Fleur elbowed him harshly.

He blushes, “shove off! The lot of you, I just mean that things aren’t exactly safe.” He points out.

Ginny scoffs from the couch, “please Ron, the wards here are almost as tight as the ones at Hogwarts.” She points out.

Bill speaks again, “yeah, Dumbledore himself helped put them up. He came by here with Mad Eye over the summer while we stayed at Grimmauld place.”

Ron sighed, “you still don’t know, I mean, look at Charlie. He just waltzed on up.” He defended. Harry seemed to agree, but said nothing.

“Well to be fair Ronnie, I know exactly where the Burrow is, I reckon You-Know-Who and his followers could care less about where a bunch of pure bloods live.” Charlie pointed out.

“Technically, we’re blood traitors.” Ron commented.

They ignored this, “anyway, there is an apparition line, why do you think I walked up from the pond? That’s where it ends.” He reminds.

“Still it’s rather close and look at Hermione, she’s not far off from the pond at the edge of the garden.” The youngest Weasley boy says peering out the window again, watching as the witch reads that same damned book soundly under a tree.

The twins began to laugh, “you sound almost as paranoid as Harry over there.” Fred teased causing the dark haired boy to give him a small shove, but a grin played on his lips no less.

“Ickle Ronniekins just wants his girlfriend inside so she’ll finally talk to him.” George reminded.

Ron opened his mouth, no doubt to say something nasty to his brothers, before Bill stopped him, “even if someone did apparate we’d hear it first Ron.”

“Yeah,” Ginny chimed in, “we heard Charlie the other night.”

“Exactly.” The eldest Weasley agreed.

“Ron if you are so worried you could always go out there too, no?” Fleur suggested with raised brows and a mischievous smile.

At this Bill proudly kissed her cheek as the room erupted in snickers as the blonde joined the fun.

“Yeah Ickle, listen to the last, why don’t you go sit with her? Unless...” he began knowingly.

“Unless what Fred?” George asked his twin.

“Unless little Hermione would rather be taken by death eaters than spend time with Ronniekins.”

“That’s not even something to joke about Fred!” Ron boomed angrily, suddenly feeling faint at the idea of the likes of someone like Malfoy’s dad anywhere near Hermione.

“Alright.” Charlie said standing, “Ron, don’t you have reading to do or something?” He asks his heaving brother who looks like he’s about to pounce on Fred.

Surely, this calms his breathing, “right, reading.” He says gruffly, quickly exiting the room.

“Honestly, he’s so sensitive.” George mutters to his brother.

The room is still tense. No one speaks for a few minutes, and it’s Ginny who breaks the silence. Her eyes are wide as a somewhat amused smile strikes her lips.

“Wait, did you just say Ron’s reading?”

#ron x hermione #ron and hermione #rons-hermiones come find me #ron weasley #hermione granger #sixth year #hp fanfic #hp #romione fanfic #romione

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thekidultlife · 5 years ago

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The Most Convenient Escape | Jihoon Soulmate! AU (1)

⍟ Pairing: Jihoon x fem!reader

⍟ AU: Fantasy/ Soulmate AU

⍟ Genre: ANGST, SLOW BURN, fluff

⍟ Warnings: swearing, mentions of abuse, drinking, and sex

⍟ Word Count: 4.5k

⍟ Synopsis: For all your life, you have a deep disdain towards Soulmate Bonds, so much so that you are able to writeopinions about it in a local newspaper. However, as life would have it, you wake up one day bonded to a person you hardly knew. Throwing in an investigation, annoying roommates, and a revolution looming just beneath the surface, you had to seek for the most convenient escape.

AN OPINION ON THE SOULMATE BOND by Alex Fireflower

The Porta Persa Edition, August 17

If the appeal of romance and the idea that a person whose devotion to us shall surpass eternity exists in our midst, among the younger generations, if there was any doubt in this matter, then the recent excitement for the coming Soulmate Bonding Ceremony is its colorful illustration. Alas, our dear friends of the State! It is once again time for the great and olden tradition of Soulmate Bonding. Here in this land of abundance and prosperity which gifts are said to be owed to this venerable ceremony, we must lay upon our trust and our fate to ancient magic, which we wholly believe shall lead our hearts to our destined soulmate--our lifetime partner, the other half of our soul, and so on.

Yet our dear readers, allow this humble editor to argue the opposite.

It is established that the magic of Soulmate Bonding allows two persons, at most random strangers, to be paired together for a lifetime; sharing either emotions, thoughts or senses. Such a practice has always been placed under a rose-colored light by the government which, if simplified in broad terms is, in our opinion, a blatant propaganda for an obsolete tradition which endangers the wellbeing of our citizens, a practice which limits responsibility and free will, core values of which this land has been founded upon.

If we shall suppose that a relationship between soulmates is perfect and blessed upon by the great heavens, then cases of arguments and cases of abuses would not exist as pests of our society, the destroyer of families and the trauma of children. If soulmate relationships are the pinnacle of success in family life, then divorce laws do not have any purpose to exist in our civil code, as custody battles do not have a place in our respectable courts. We are all blinded by the garish lighting provided by this dictatorship; through their flowery and romanticised propaganda we hear in the radios everyday as we sit down for breakfast or as we enjoy our pudding after dinner. This poor excuse of a government which has deceived its own people, seeks absolute authority through the most invasive ways known to man, inside the most intimate partnership a human being could experience in their entire life.

By consuming this tomfoolery, we become puppets to romance, to impossible dreams, thus vulnerable to the mandates of this dictatorship. It is said that men, whose eyes are set high above the heavens, are doomed to fall off the cliff’s edge. There ought to be balance between idealism and pragmatism, lest we suffer the consequences of our own torn expectations of a perfect relationship and a good life. By relinquishing our right to choose, to exercise free will, we then must forget our roles as individuals, solely responsible for the effects of our choices. We then shall blame it on neutral magic, on fate and the Universe, the mistakes of our own doing. Aye indeed, let us ought to create the most convenient escape from our own flaws and our indecisiveness. Let us forever be destined to depend our lives upon the forces of the Universe, upon accidents of Nature!...

You smelled like ink.

The ugly, artificial scent of a printing press; ink. You had it on your hands as well, catching a freshly pressed newspaper as the midnight breeze blew upon a stack by the window. It was late yet the machine kept whirring, pressing, printing as piles of paper grew into hills and mountains of South Porta Persa.

It would truly be unlucky to trip and make a mess of everything right now, you thought, inspecting the warm paper for any misspelt words or misaligned layouts with a careful eye.

“Good enough for' ya, darlin’?” A voice deep and rumbling interrupted your close inspection, his tone mischievous and mirthful as he wiped his hands clean on his trusty apron, the metal wrenches on it clattering about.

It was good ole’ Jupiter, the ruler of the mechanical movable type in grand Porta Persa, a man late in his forties with a receding hairline to match. You had always liked him since you were a child, in his long beard and ink stained hands, and his various adventures at sea in his large Galleon. Yet now he is a master of the press, and you were his client.

Giving a satisfied smile, you shrugged, placing the newspaper on top a stack without minding.

"Better than anywhere else, my good Sir," you replied, a trace of a laugh hinting to escape. "Nowhere I can trust The Porta Persa Edition to anyone other than in your expert hands."

He chuckled, his belly rumbling; just as anyone named 'Jupiter' should be. "Then I'm honered lass! As I'm honored to be Alex Fireflower's avid reader!"

"Oh stop flattering me," you chuckled, patting his shoulder. "Ah, it seems quite late now, isn't it? I better go."

Jupiter nodded. "Aye lass, you're movin' to the Academy tomorrow, innit? Ya should hurry home now before anyone catches ya!"

"Aye, captain!" You replied in a singsong voice, quickly moving to the exit. "Oh and please tell Soonyoung, if he comes over later in the morning that I need help with the bags! Thanks, Jupiter! May Jove kiss you on the asscheeks!"

Kissing his cheek goodbye, you bounced down the stairs as you heard him bark in laughter and raced back to the home you have been staying since you were a child. Even as a daughter of the city alchemist, you lived humbly with your father in a two-story house with a style akin to stale bread. Yet he was usually absent, either in the homes of the sick or in some faraway place hunting ingredients for his potions. It didn't matter to you anyway.

Snuck behind the back door, you eventually reached your room and lit a gaslamp on your otherwise messy desk full of paper and books. It never gets cleaned up in some way or another, you thought.

Sitting on your bed, you watched the glittering lights of Porta Persa at midnight, wondering if Alex Fireflower's words in that widely popular newspaper would lit a fire in people's hearts. Despite your young age, being a writer in a prolific paper was anxiety inducing, knowing how much words could stir up a person's sentiments.

From afar, you could hear a faint melody of a love song between lovers, soulmates. A concept you disdainfully look down upon, if your writings were any indication to that. The bonding ceremony never sat well with you. You never understood those who excitedly and eagerly surrender their life to the whims of coincidence and then live to become happy. It was either a pretense or an 'anyone will do' type of situation.

"Oh, isn't the ceremony later in the morning?" You remarked, peaking at the calendar on your desk. You shrugged.

In any case, you have been prepared to deny this unwelcome intruder. It took a while to research but there were ways to suppress the connection between soulmates, mostly elaborate spellwork and potions. Yet you have been ready for years, almost a decade: casting spell upon spell on yourself and drinking disgusting potions, truly glad that you had an alchemist for a father. Now nothing will stand in the way between you and your aspirations.

Getting a bit sleepy, you snuck in your sleeping gown and laid on the bed. Closing your eyes, and for once, leaving the rest for the Universe's turn in this game of chance.

The next thing you came to was a dull throb on your head, something akin to a mediocre hangover, and a loud rapping on your front door. It was late in the morning. The birds were chirping, the loud clattering of bustling human activity and Soonyoung’s rather energetic shouting on your front door was grating on your ears.

You tried to think of any reason why you were particularly not feeling a hundred percent today yet was once again interrupted by Soonyoung calling you out.

Rolling off your bed however, made everything come crashing down on you. You lurched on the floor, thinking about throwing up yet none came, only your empty coughs and an uncomfortable pressure on your diaphragm were there. Your limbs were weak and trembled as you tried to lift your leg up, inevitably stumbling back to the floor and hitting your back against the bedpost in a painful thud.

What is this…?

In your pain, you grit your teeth, unable to utter anything with your dry throat. You tried to massage your temples to alleviate the throbbing, yet that was the exact moment you realized what was actually happening. With eyes as wide as saucers and a heart rate that seemed to increase in great increments, a cold sweat ran down your spine as you saw what was on your wrist. A cynical grin on your lips, you scoffed at the chances.

“...dammit,” you squeezed out, glancing at the bracelet-like tattoo around your wrist, in its clear straight horizontal bars and iridescent shine whenever you turned it around. You almost laughed at how ridiculous things were. Your greatest nightmare has happened while you were asleep. A bond has been formed.

Finally having some sort of clarity, you were suddenly feeling much better, knowing what to do next. Dragging out a chest underneath your bed, you fished out a concoction which would weaken the suppressants you had induced upon yourself over the years.

This was the side effect, you considered as you took the potion in one swallow. The suppressants would make you feel terribly ill, more so because this was day zero of the bond, but it will effectively block out the connection. On the other hand, you can weaken the blockage, yet it would as well restore the connection between you and your soulmate.

You cringed at the thought, yet there was no other choice. Today was moving day and you knew, without a doubt, that left alone for any longer, Soonyoung would break into your house, worrying something had happened to you. Something did happen, yet it was none of his concern.

And speaking of the devil, there he was rushing into your room; panting and sweaty from probably climbing the terrace and into one open window, as you hid your trunk of potions back under the bed.

“Y/N! “ he shouted, barging inside and spotted you dusting your lap as you stood up. “You weren’t answering the door, so I--“

“I’m fine,“ you interrupted, sensing energy forming at the base of your stomach as it wells up and stretches into a thin string. Hopefully, the amount of potion you drank was not too strong enough to lower your walls.

You shook your head. “Anyway, can you help me with my stuff? They’re already down the hallway, so we only have to carry them to the terminal.”

“Oh, sure, sure. But seriously, are you alright?” Soonyoung asked, noting you were more closed off than usual. You only turned your back at him and walked towards your closet.

“I’m fine, Soonyoung. Don’t worry,” you dismissed him. “Now, could you please allow me to dress myself up?”

He was quiet for a while but eventually nodded, and left you in your ministrations. Sighing as he closed the door and disappeared, you struggled to keep yourself up. Just by lowering the suppressants, a tidal wave of thoughts barraged inside your head, immediately overwhelming you. They were obviously not yours and now you wondered if this was your connection, and if your soulmate was also thinking what you were thinking at that moment. Before you could arrive at an answer though, the thoughts once again stopped and your mind calmed down.

You breathed in and out. There was no way you could truly understand what was happening. You can only form conjectures and draw theories yet none of them were absolutely irrefutable. You couldn’t understand why it suddenly stopped, but nevertheless it was a welcome development. You can finally finish your chores without disturbance.

As soon as you were done, you went downstairs to look for Soonyoung who seemed to have been waiting at the drawing room. He had already hailed a carriage to carry your belongings to the terminal, so you guessed it was only you they were waiting for.

“I hope no one has called the police when you climbed through the terrace again,” you greeted him with a smile, your personal trunk on your hands.

“Nah, they know it’s just me,” he replied, grinning back as he took your trunk.

Soonyoung was a childhood friend, the heir of a fine and lucrative shipping company among many in Porta Persa. He has a natural talent in mischief and a bundle of energy, yet surprisingly hard working. Together with you and Wonwoo, who was another friend, Soonyoung was currently preoccupied with The Porta Persa Edition as one of its editors.

"We'll be seeing more of each other from now on!" He remarked excitedly, helping you up the carriage before joining in as well. "If you know what I mean."

You sighed at his rather indiscreet methods of discretely conveying that you three were running a rather controversial newspaper.

"How was today's paper though?" You asked as the carriage began moving and jumping around the cobblestones.

Soonyoung grinned victoriously. "Folks were deliciously eating it by the news stands and Wonwoo said the Parliament and the Royal Elders were absolutely livid with Alex Fireflower's piece!"

You feel a sweatdrop roll down your cheek.

"It's kind of scary with the way you say that," you replied, and then continued with a more confident tone, "but I'm glad they got the message. People need to wake up from this farce."

"You seriously hate the soulmate thing, huh?" Soonyoung commented. "I mean, I can't really say anything since I don't have my bond yet."

You glanced at him, thinking of your own bond and instinctively hid your wrist underneath your gloves.

"Lucky for you."

By the time you both arrived at the terminal, it was all a breeze from there. The teleportation portals were not as busy compared to other days, thus with just a cart and Soonyoung by your side, you have officially moved to the Royal Academy of Porta Persa.

The Royal Academy of Porta Persa, or just the Academy, was a state-ran university, yet the most prominent among other universities in the area. Atop a hill overlooking the main port, it was constantly covered by wisteria and cherry blossom trees all year long thanks to magic, painting a surreal landscape for all of Porta Persa to see.

"Even if I've seen this from my window every night, this is still quite a sight to take in," you exclaimed as you both walked towards the dormitories.

Soonyoung gave a small smile. "I was like that last year, you know."

Due to the prestige of the Academy and its quality of education, only a select few can attend its venerable halls of learning: the elite and the intellectually gifted. You were lucky to be part of the latter group. The entrance examinations were intense yet you still made it, happy that you were finally able to attend their Effective Journalism class which was the reason why you wanted to go in the first place.

"I'm sure your dorm master will tell you later, but I'm going to say it anyway," Soonyoung started as he pushed your cart up a slope. "In the dorm rooms, the ladies and the gents are separated."

He made it seem so controversial that you made a deadpan look by the time he finished talking.

"I think that should be obvious by now."

"Eh? But aren't you disappointed? We can't brainstorm article ideas together with Wonwoo, you know!"

"But we can just talk in the courtyard." You shrugged, not really getting Soonyoung.

"We can't just talk in the courtyard! People will know we're The Porta Persa Edition!"

You stopped walking. "Soonyoung, the newspaper is registered in your name. I think, except my identity as Alex Fireflower, this is no longer any secret."

He gave an exasperated sigh. "You're such a killjoy!"

"Oh, look. We're here," you pointed out, totally ignoring Soonyoung's comment.

The girl's dormitory looked especially lavish with marble and ornate columns. Lilac wisteria trees dotted the surroundings, creating a flowery curtain around the dormitory. On the entrance way though was a female guard and the dorm master.

"I think I can manage from this point on," you said, taking the cart from your friend's grasps, "Thanks for your help though! I'll contact you later!"

"Oh if you say so then! Hope your roommate's nice though!" he replied, taking a step back and giving a small salute. "I'll wait for you and Wonwoo in the dorms! See you!"

You gave a cheeky smirk and saluted him back before pushing your way inside the dorm. As you entered, the dorm master welcomed you with a polite smile in her dark floor length dress and clipboard in her hands. She was an older woman yet lacked the frightening aura dorm masters seemed to have.

"Good morning! You are Ms. Y/N, I assume?" She asked and you nodded, showing your identification pin as proof.

"Well unfortunately, we don't have any room in the main building, which is why we have decided that incoming students have to stay at the refurbished building." She started as she began walking you across the courtyard. "There were a lot of students last year, we really had no choice."

"I see. Well, I'm ok with anywhere, to be honest. As long as I have a bed and a desk to write on," you replied, gazing at the fancy architecture prominent among all the buildings.

She chuckled. "Don't worry. The rooms are considerably bigger in the renovated building with a private bathroom and a small kitchen, though you have to share it with another person."

"That's quite fancy, huh? Looks like I still have my luck today," you replied with a chuckle, pushing your cart forwards.

Shortly, the building you were to stay for the rest of your years in the university pulled into view. It was indeed massive and frighteningly grand, and seemed like only the rich can afford such residence, which definitely worried you. It would be quite difficult if you got paired with a snobby and spoiled princess of some far away land.

Entering the building, you noticed that the hallways were no different with its golden inlays and dark marbled floors. Ceiling to floor windows graced on your left as the dorm master led you to the third floor (via an elevator) and to a wide ornate door.

"I think it's this room." Fishing a set of keys from her pocket, she opened the door and led you inside.

To no surprise, it was an extravagant room. In your front was a sofa set by a fireplace which serves a sitting room for guests. The common room proper was separated by french doors and a wall of glass which looked like sets of windows.

You slowly took it in, unused to this kind of place. Taking a step forward, you looked around: there were fresh roses on the side table, bookcases filled with heavy tomes and encyclopedias, a scent of nearby cherry blossom flowers from an open window.

This was definitely not what you had expected. This large room fit for royals was not what you had in mind when you imagined yourself living in the dorm rooms of the Academy. And it frightened you.

"Do...do I have to pay for this?" You asked the dorm master who was waiting for you at the doorway.

She smiled. "No need to worry, Ms. Y/N. All of your expenses here are paid by the state."

"Is it really alright for me to be here…"

Your words faltered, thinking about how lucky and privileged you were to be living in this kind of place in the next few years, while there were others who stayed in a much humble dorm room.

"Is it not to your liking?" The dorm master asked which you immediately denied.

"No, no. This is good," you said. Too good even.

Your thoughts you flushed out before it could convince you to just stay at your family home. That would definitely not be ideal at all. Tentatively opening the french doors leading to the common room, what you saw was definitely not what you expected.

Fresh from an immersive bath was a man, not much older than Soonyoung, in his half naked glory.

"Who on earth are you?" He asked and you froze.

Frozen because all you wanted to do was to wake up from this horrible nightmare of a day, or you wanted to evaporate there at your very spot from sheer embarrassment.

Without a word, you immediately closed the door and ran back to the door where the dorm master was looking at you in confusion.

"This…! This room is clearly occupied! By a man!" You nearly screamed at her, yet still held a bit of your composure.

You could still see the afterimage of the man in your mind, his dark black hair wet, his toned body only covered by a mere towel. You furiously tried to erase it out of your eye sockets before you sink into the gutter.

"Huh? But the records say this room is occupied by Iris Appleby," she replied in panic, checking her clipboard over and over again.

In the midst of her checking, the man emerged from the bedroom, now much more appropriate in trousers and a button up. He seemed to be a bit annoyed from the disturbance, you noticed.

"I assume there must be some problem here," he said coolly, hands in his pockets.

If anything, you thought the dorm master had seen a ghost from how pale she got just from taking a glimpse of the man.

"Sir Lee Jihoon! I must apologize for this inconvenience!" She exclaimed tearfully. Her panic had doubled and was now frantically checking the records.

You blinked several times upon hearing the name, and then finally, it clicked a second after.

The youngest parliament member, huh?

"I'm sure there was some mistake! We thought this room was occupied by someone else, Sir! And it's the only available room we have!" The dorm master cried, and you grimaced.

"Alright, madam. Please take a deep breath," you told her, patting her back. "We could check if there are other rooms left, okay?"

"I already did through the clipboard! We have the dorm rooms monitored by magic tracing, yet in some way, only this room was registered with a wrong name," she replied as her shoulders sagged.

"I don't mind her as a roommate," the third person involved finally spoke. "The rooms are separated and we only have to share the bath, the kitchen and the common room anyway."

The dorm master seemed hopeful for that solution as she gave you a questioning look. Lee Jihoon also glanced at you, his sharp eyes seemingly judging.

It's either here or back at home, huh? There was no way you're going back.

"As I said earlier, madam, I can sleep anywhere as long as I have a bed and a desk," you replied with a reassuring smile and then gazed at Jihoon. "It's not really as bad as it looks."

Ecstatic with your answer, the dorm master shouted her massive amount of gratitude and bowed farewell after giving you your keys.

Turning around, you faced Lee Jihoon who had his arms crossed, and an unimpressed look on his face.

"I'm Y/N! First year History of Magic major! Nice to meet you, my roommate," you cheerfully introduced yourself yet was met with only sheer silence. You narrowed your eyes at him.

"This is the point where you also introduce yourself while shaking my hand and we then go on with the particulars of our own lives, never to interact again except when sharing the kitchen and the bath," you continued, clearly irked.

He raised his brows at you in amusement. Taking your hand, he shook yours firmly.

"Lee Jihoon, Magical Law, 2nd year. A pleasure as well," he replied, and then gave the most sarcastic smile you've ever seen, if you've ever seen one, before dropping your hand.

"Let's actively avoid each other from now on," he replied with his back turned. Walking away, Jihoon waved at you and then went towards his own room.

Alone, the silence was empty. Yet you simply shrugged at the whole event. Having a politician as a roommate was way better than a princess.

Dragging your cart of belongings inside, you went to what you assumed was your room, opposite to Jihoon's. You noticed that the common room consisted of another ornate fireplace, a large gilded table and a high tech kitchen fueled by fire-charged stones. There were also a few pieces of expensive decor which would really suck if you managed to break one.

The common room was fancy, and your room was, of course, no different. It was a bit bare yet it was already filled with furniture. The canopy bed was at the center; a tall curtained window behind it, as well as a set of chairs just in front of a fireplace. A desk and a few bookshelves was at the far right, near the door. Your closet was a walk-in type, you observed, yet immediately grimaced, knowing you never had that much clothes in the first place.

Huffing, you sat on a lounge chair at the end of the bed. (It wasn't dusty, thank god.) Yet today was by far the most exhausting day you had.

Removing the glove on your right hand, you checked if the soulmate marking was really there or just an early morning nightmare of yours. It was still there though, glistening against the midday sunlight from the window.

It looked innocent that way, just black horizontal bars. Yet its meaning was something you wished did not exist at all.

--!!

All of the sudden, you felt a sharp pang on your head, followed by a sound of static on your ears and a barrage of muddled thoughts in your head. You grabbed a fistful of your hair to at least calm it down a bit yet it was for naught.

A bad migraine, you convince yourself. It was definitely not.

Struggling at the lounge chair for several minutes left you panting and nauseous. There was no solution to this as this was of course the result of you tampering with the connection. You felt like banging your head on the wall because of the pain and because of your own sheer stubbornness, yet that wouldn't really solve anything, will it?

Before you could even contemplate asking your roommate for help, the pain and the overwhelming confusion disappeared and left you in a state of clarity.

Exhausted, you closed your eyes and sighed.

"I never knew you detest me so much, my dear soulmate."

Those were definitely not your thoughts.

#seventeen #svtcreations #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen woozi #lee jihoon #woozi fluff #the most convenient escape #chapter 1 #i accidentally deleted the original post.....

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alright--okay · 4 years ago

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you ever been to a basement show? pt. 1

tsukishima kei x reader

summary: Tsukishima sees you everywhere, and for a big school thats weird. And it’s not like he’s gonna do anything, that’d be even weirder, but one day in your shared lecture he sees you wearing a shirt with some small band’s name. A band he know. And well, now he has to know who you are.

word count: ~1.5 k

a/n: this is college au where Tsukki is basically into really indie/alt music and so are you so you guys start as like concert buddies/friends and grow as more. I started this a while ago and have been posting to ao3 but I’m trying to find motivation to write more so imma start posting to tumblr lol hope anyone reading enjoys <3

read on ao3!

pt. 1 Polite Company - Rainbow Kitten Surprise

Tsukishima saw you everywhere, it didn’t make any sense. If the University of Tokyo was so big, why was he seeing the same girl all around campus?

Particularly in his one stupid archeology elective. The class was a joke compared to everything else he was taking but it gave him a break from his other more intense courses and he wasn’t about to refuse the opportunity to slack off. You were not only in the large lecture portion of the class but also in his recitation, meaning he saw you three times a week, not including the glances he caught of you just from walking around.

And he wasn’t stalking you (he swears), it’s just that you were … everywhere. Sitting in the last row of the lecture hall (just a few seats to the right of him), waiting for the TA outside the classroom for recitation (usually on your phone), or doing work in the student center as he passed through (always with your headphones on, always).

He had no clue who you were. You most probably weren’t an archeology major like himself, he would have seen you in the intro classes or any of the higher-level courses. Yeah, Tokyo was big but he could at least recognize some other people in the major, and he had never seen you in the three years he had been attending the University of Tokyo. Or at least didn’t notice you before, but that also seemed unlikely.

Today was no different. The lecture portion of the course was a little too early for anyone’s liking, so Tsukishima went to take his usual seat in the back row, ready to half pay attention, half play on his phone. You were already there, headphones atop your head as you continued to look at your phone, the faint sound of music escaped the padding by your ears but it was too muffled to make out an actual beat.

Tsukishima said a quick “excuse me” as he moved to step over your legs and bag on the ground. You remained quiet, giving a polite smile as you tucked your legs in, attempting to give him more room to pass. That’s when he caught sight of your sweatshirt. Normally he paid no mind to what you, let alone anyone, was wearing but the bubbled blue outline of the word “Forests” gave him pause. That was a band. That was a small band. How the fuck were you aware of their presence.

Tsukishima quickly made his way past you as he realized he really shouldn’t be staring at your chest (even if it was just to read your sweatshirt, he swears). He tried to nonchalantly maneuver his way into one of the old lecture hall seats a few down from yours before quickly pulling out his phone.

No way is it the same Forests, he thought as he brought up the band’s website and quickly scrolling through there merch.

Starring back at him was the same fucking sweatshirt. That meant you knew this band, this tiny band. He was so used to being alone in his music taste. Akiteru only listened to what was on the radio and Yamaguchi entertained Tsukishima when he went on rants about music and bands, but he didn’t really listen to any of it. Tsukishima had come to accept that his music-listening experience was mostly gonna be reserved for laying in his bed alone, staring at the ceiling, and absorbing the lyrics. This was fine, he could still enjoy the music just fine. But … you knew some of his music.

~~~

Tsukishima tried to ignore the thoughts of you. He didn’t know you, you were a random person who just so happened to maybe, possibly listen to the same type of music as him. Who cares?

It was a little later in the week and Tsukishima was making his way to the recitation for this stupid elective. The TA, as usual, was late so Tsukishima made his way over to the wall to wait, his own pair of headphones supplying a flow of music.

When you made an appearance from around the corner, Tsukishima couldn’t help the extra attention he paid to your clothing. And god fucking damn it. That was a Mom Jeans shirt. There was someone who listened to the same music as him. Or at least similar. But that was enough for Tsukishima to decide he wanted to talk to you.

To yama:

i have a situation

From yama:

oh ?? care to elaborate ?

Tsukishima paused. This was weird, wasn’t it? He had never interacted with you besides the time he had to move past you to get to his seat. And the lecture was huge. Nobody talked to each other unless you were already friends or were in desperate need of notes. Tsukishima was in neither of those situations.

To yama:

okay so theres this girl and before you say anything no im not trying to ask her out but she was wearing a shirt for a band i listen to

From yama:

that you listen to? not to say youre some hipster indie boy…. but you tend to listen to v obscure music

To yama:

yea i know that thats why im kinda freaking out like do i say something?? and if i do say something what would i even say

From yama:

go for it !! if shes anything like you she probably doesnt get to talk about music much either so just bring up her shirt or something itll be fine tsukki

To yama:

yea ill think about it

Tsukishima put his phone away as someone held the door open for him. Apparently the TA arrived sometime while he was texting Yamaguchi so he quickly made his way into the classroom, taking a seat a few rows behind you.

He would talk to you.

Just not today.

~~~

After the recitation the day before, you had pushed your headphones back onto your ears as soon as the TA was finished and made your way out of the room, his eyes following as you did so. Tsukishima had gone back to his apartment only to be further interrogated by Yamaguchi. What band? There were multiple bands? Did he know you? What class was this again? Are you cute? That’s where Tsukishima cut him off, moving into his room to attempt some work.

It was now Thursday morning, meaning it was time for the second half of the lecture. He was gonna do it. Tsukishima was going to talk to you.

He walked into the lecture hall, you again were already sitting in your seat at the back. Tsukishima (calmly, obviously he was calm) walked over to your seat and sat beside you.

~~~~~~

Who the fuck was this guy?

Yeah, you had seen him around, but he never talked to you, or anyone else in the class for that matter. And yet here he was, sitting next to you and gesturing for you to take off your headphones.

“Can I help you?” you said, complying by slipping the headphones around your neck.

He took a small, almost hesitant pause, “I noticed your shirt the other day, you listen to Forests?”

Your eyes grew slightly wider, “You know who they are?”

“Um, yeah and I’m not used to people listening to the same music as me so I thought I’d … I don’t know … say hi? Introduce myself?”

“Well, you haven’t done a very good job on that plan so far,” you paused to give him a small smile, “just saying.”

Tsukishima gave you a smirk of his own, “Hi,” he emphasized, making you smile wider, “I’m Tsukishima Kei. And you are?”

“l/n y/n,” you replied, smile still in place. “So you listen to Forests. Anyone else I might know?”

Tsukishima paused for a moment, and you knew exactly what he was thinking. Bands you listened to every day were not necessarily what everyone else listened to (which let’s be real, understandable), so replying to a question like this meant either replying with more popular bands people had likely heard of or going full-on obscure and have the person stare at you in confusion. But after a moment, Tsukishima responded with his own small list.

“I know a couple of them actually,” you saw his mouth give a small uptick, probably not used to that response, “what-” The two of you were interrupted by the professor being the lecture, but you quickly turned back to the boy at your side, now in a quieter voice you asked, “what were the names of the other bands? I’ll look them up.”

Tsukishima slowly listed them off again as you typed them into your phone, excited to see what this random guy in your lecture listened to.

Time passed slowly as you and Tsukishima put your attention back to the material at hand, but as the class came to the end and the two of you were packing up your things, your mind drifted to the coming weekend.

Yeah, you just met the guy, but it couldn’t hurt to ask. He seemed kinda nice after all, and he’d probably be into it.

“Hey Tsukishima,” you called to get his attention, “you ever been to a basement show?”

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #tsukishima kei #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima x reader #tsukki x reader

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oh-theatre · 5 years ago

Note

So can you pretty please elaborate a little more about this “twin incident” in the techie au I just love the au so much!!!

OFc nonnie!!! Hope you like this and thanks so much!!!

So! it was april fools and the twins decided “Hey, ya know what would be fun? Uhhh switching lives for a day to trick our friends and boyfriends”

It’s their favorite day of the year

They never thought their undoing…would be nicknames

So they woke up extra early on the day to get ready. Roman did Remus makeup and hair to perfection, also covering up the grey streak he’s had

Remus did the same, temporary grey dye on Roman’s hair. Then they did clothes.

Remus, as long as he swore to take care of it, was allowed to wear Romans bomber jacket. Remus has a similar jacket, it’s a poofy one and they both had to swear they wouldn’t ruin it

So they’re finally ready. Now they spent the entire day before basically learning how to be each other, which was difficult because though they shared a lot in common they were pretty different people

So finally its time to put it to use, they drove to school together making sure Remus picked up Virgils coffee and that Roman texted Dee his ETA, like they always did.

They had one rule, avoid kissing

It was pretty simple, they just decided to say they were feeling ill so they didn’t want to get the other two sick. Virgil would definitely take precaution and Dee hates germs so…

Lets begin with Remus. Roman shows Remus where to go before making his way to Dee

Remus waits by the locker growing impatient, tapping his foot and fiddling with the things around him.

Finally, Virgil arrives and he’s a lil grumpy. “I hate April fools”. Remus sucks in a sharp breath… “How can you hate apri-” He pauses, swallowing. His voice isn’t off but he’s having trouble with Roman’s softer, more smooth tone. But that’s not what tips Virge off

“I told you this yesterday…” Virgil eyes his ‘boyfriend’. Remus raises his eyebrows before nodding. “Right! I’m kidding V” The nickname gets caught in his throat

Only Remus calls Virgil ‘V’. Roman always calls him ‘Virge’. SO Virgil quickly understands what’s going on and decides to play along. SO he’s like ok, let’s see how far I can take this. So he decides to lean in for a kiss but Remus stops him

“Uh actually I caught a cold from Remus so…you might not want to do that” ‘Roman’ pretends, Smart Virgil notes. “Fair enough” He shrugs taking ‘Romans’ hand as they walk to first period.

Virgil knew one thing; He had to find Dee

Now Dee! Roman, as instructed by his brother, was told to meet Dee in the student council office. So hes rushing and making sure he looks disheveled

He arrives and sees Patton there to, and he almost greets him as he usually would. But He remembers and instead, bear hugs from behind.

“Oh! Remus! Hello,” Patton greets, squeezing his arms, receiving a fun glare from Logan. “Alright well thanks Dee, see you after school. Bye Remus!” Patton says his goodbyes, Logan taking his hand as he sleepily walks out

“Bye Pat!” ‘Remus’ bites his tongue, waving a crazed smile hoping to cover up his mistake. Remus only calls Patton one thing, and one thing only PatPat. Its a nickname he’s had for Patton since they were little

“Pat” ‘Remus’ adds quickly but Dees already gotten the text from Virgil. Time to have some fun.

SO he decides that even though both Virgil and Dee have explicitly expressed their annoyance and disapproval of April Fools Day, that the boys decided to trick them he was going to get them back

So! Dee decides “Go big or go home” so he goes right in for a kiss and poor unexpecting Roman backs away

“uh! Uh! I’m sick! You wouldn’t wanna catch a cold!” ‘Remus’ tries

Dee nods slightly impressed at their excuse, but alas how long can they hold off? So just like Virgil, he slips his hand into ‘Remus’s’ and they go along the day

The twins get better as they but then comes lunch. And ofc Dee and Virgil have alerted the others to the situation, which means Pat and Lo are gonna have some fun as well

So Dee decides to tell ‘Remus’ a bunch of stuff about…’issues’ hes having that he had already told Remus the night before. SO ofc Roman is panicking because Remus didn’t mention anything!!

And Virgil takes ‘Roman’ into a secluded corner and decides hey you know whats fun…breaking up with you. So Virgil ‘breaks up’ with ‘Roman’ and Dee basically confesses a bunch of fake secrets to ‘Remus’

Now the boys really dont know what to do and of course what can they do? The bell rings and class begins. Luckily theyre in the same class so they can debrief

Remus tells Roman about the breakup and he’s heartbroken and confused

Roman tells Remus whos now worried ™

So finally its time for rehearsal and the boys are just fuming/worried. So theyre like no more games BUT FORGET TO TAKE OFF THEIR DISGUISES

Roman walks up to Virgil furious like “You broke up with me?” And goes on a whole rant in the dressing room, Pattons just chilling with parks and rec playing and Virgil just has this smug look on his face

And Romans like “why are yoU SMILING?” and Virgil just goes “I didn’t break up with you Roman, I broke up with Remus” And he then shows Roman what he looks like in the mirror and Romans face just falls

He kicks the ground while Virgil just crosses his arms and Romans like “Ehe…so you figured it out?” and Virgils just like “Yeah, like eight hours ago” So Roman starts apologizing and just feels awful but then he’s like “But please don’t ever break up with me” And is super sad and Virgil just goes “Never princey” And kisses him (OH AND VIRGIL BTW FEELS AWFUL AND THINKS THEY DEF TOOK IT TOO FAR AND HE SPENDS WEEKS MAKING IT UP TO ROMAN WHO INSISTS ITS FINE)

Now Remus is pacing because the stage managers are having a meeting with the director and he has to wait for Dee. Who he still thinks is like..not ok

So Dee and Logan come out of their meeting and Remus just rushes (still looking like ROman) and hes like “Babebabebabbebe are u OK” and his like hugging him And Dee just keeps this steady face

“Uh…yeah Roman? Why do you ask” And Logan cracks a smile before Patton comes up and drags him away and Remus just…jaw drops “Apology please?” Dee requests and Remus nods and does an apology to which Dee responds with a kiss on the cheek and also his own apology for making Remus worry

Remus than jumps on Dees back and Dee groans knowing he now has to carry his boyfriend around for thirty minutes

And that become known as the “Twin Incident”

Sorry this was so long!! I hope thats ok and I hope you enjoyed nonnie!! More questions!!

#marias mischief #techie au #sanders sides #remus sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #deceit sanders #logan sanders #demus #logicality #prinxiety #anon

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haberdashing · 5 years ago

Text

and if that was me, then who am i?

Stranger Martin AU. A young Martin runs away to the Circus.

on AO3

Martin Blackwood was nine years old, and his mother’s health was getting worse by the day, and his father was gone never to return, and his world was crumbling around him. Things he’d taken for granted, responsibilities that he’d figured the adults around him would attend to for him for years to come if not for the rest of his life, were suddenly falling on his shoulders, left undone if he didn’t step up to the plate. He wasn’t working, as it wasn’t exactly an option at his age, but he did just about everything else he could to keep the house up and running. Even then, it seemed like it was never enough, like the perpetual frown on his mother’s face grew deeper by the day.

For all he did, though, Martin was still nine years old, still just a child, still prone to youthful flights of fancy. Perhaps it was little surprise that he spent every minute he wasn’t busy with schoolwork or housework with his nose stuck in a book, desperately longing to escape his reality by delving into another, at least for a little while.

Martin knew well enough, when news got around that a circus was coming to town, that he wouldn’t be able to go. There was too much to do at home, too little money to spare for such luxuries. He still asked his mother, though, despite knowing her answer before he voiced the question. He did want to go, after all, did want to enjoy himself in an evening of pure escapism, and this way it was her word forbidding it, not just simple logic that he could try to weasel his way out of. And it burned, knowing that all the other children would doubtlessly be talking nonstop for weeks about something he would never see, would never be a part of.

As the circus’ performance neared, Martin yearned to find some way to attend the circus, despite all logic, despite his mother’s refusal, despite everything... and something occurred to him.

He’d read more than one story involving children who, when stuck in a living situation they couldn’t tolerate anymore, ran off to join the circus. And technically, his mother had told him not to attend the circus, not to not join it.

It wasn’t fair to his mother, of course, but she seemed unhappy enough regardless, and Martin could swear just the sight of his face made her frown all the greater for some reason, so maybe she’d be better off without him. And then he could start a new life with the circus, one less mundane and brutal than the one he had to face on a daily basis. A win-win situation.

Three days before the circus was set to open, Martin grabbed a handful of his dearest belongings, shoved them into a bag, and sneaked into the circus grounds with them in hand, a mix of anxiety and sheer desperation pushing him onward, fueling every step he took deeper into the heart of the circus.

Opening a random door exposed Martin unexpectedly to a view of the stage, albeit a skewed one, far from the sort of angle an audience would normally get. Even though the circus wasn’t open for business yet, a performance of some sort--a rehearsal, perhaps?--was going on just the same, and Martin was lucky enough to be its only audience member.

Colors and lights and music and movement intermingled until it was hard to say where one part of the action ended and another began. It was a dizzying, dazzling, overwhelming performance, and it was impossible and it was illogical and it was beautiful, and as Martin looked on he knew that he’d made the right move, that somewhere this wonderful must be where he was meant to be.

Martin let out a soft gasp at one point that caught him especially off-guard--something to do with knives, or a tightrope, or maybe both, it all blended together into one strange jumbled blur in his brain--and seconds after, a cold hand pressed against his shoulder.

“Here for a sneak preview?”

Martin turned around. The outlandish and blindingly colorful outfit of the man in front of him marked him as a member of the circus troupe, though Martin couldn’t remember if he’d seen the man before, either when making his way through the circus or when watching the stage.

Did... did he think Martin was just there to get out of paying? Or out of impatience, too eager to see a performance that was just days away anyhow? Because that wasn’t right at all, and he didn’t want that to be the first impression any of the circus members got of him.

“No, no, not like that--I mean, I watched some, I guess, and it was great and all, but--I came here because I want to join you.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “You want to join the Circus?”

Martin nodded, desperately, trying to ignore how his hands were shaking, how his vision was blurring with half-stifled tears, how what this strange man decided in the next minute or two might change the course of Martin’s life forever. “I do. I want to be a part of- of all of this. I did before I saw it in action, but even more now. It’s- it’s wonderful, and I want to help make it happen again.”

“Hmm.” The man tapped his fingers against the nearby wall, and Martin flinched a little as the man’s arm drew awkwardly close to him in the process. “That’s a new one.”

Martin hadn’t thought it would be a “new one.” This happened all the time in stories, didn’t it? Were the stories all lies, then?

“Tell you what, how about we go see Nikola.” The words suggested that there was a question involved, that Martin was being given a choice, but between the circus member’s flat tone of voice and the way his fingers curled around Martin’s wrist, Martin was left very sure that he was going to see this Nikola whether he wanted to or not. “Rehearsal’s wrapping up, so she should be free soon, and if anyone’s going to decide if you can stay with us it’s her.”

“A-alright. Sure.” Maybe the choice being offered was a false one, but Martin wanted to make it clear that he was willing to go along with it all, that he wasn’t going to put up a fuss or disobey at the first sign of trouble.

The walk between where Martin had been spying on the stage and where Nikola stood in front of a crowd of circus performers wasn’t long, but it was dizzying just the same. It wasn’t quite like the performance, but just walking through the circus was enough to fill Martin’s head with colors and lights and sounds the likes of which he had never imagined, let alone experienced, before that night.

Martin wasn’t sure whether he’d know which of the people around him were “Nikola” at first, but he figured it out pretty fast. Most of the circus performers seemed normal enough, at least by circus performer standards; sure, they were all strangers, and something about those surrounding him gave Martin a pit in his stomach, but they could easily have been pulled out of one of the storybooks Martin enjoyed so much, the sort of stock characters one would expect to see around a circus. Nikola, on the other hand... well.

She wasn’t actually a mannequin, was she?

No, of course not, that didn’t make sense. Living mannequins were only a thing in stories, and Martin had already learned that stories couldn’t be trusted as guides to reality that easily. It had to be some sort of elaborate make-up that made her look more doll than human. Though why Nikola then had clown make-up over the mannequin make-up was a little confusing... it seemed like one or the other would make more sense than combining the two... but it wasn’t his call to make, of course.

Besides, Martin had already gathered that making sense wasn’t the be-all and end-all here, and that was part of the attraction. Staying home and caring for his ill mother would make sense, but that wasn’t the life Martin wanted to live. The circus promised him so much more.

“Nikola?”

Without warning, the man that had led Martin to Nikola gripped Martin’s wrist hard and used it to hold him up.

“Hey!” Martin did his best to wriggle his way out of the circus member’s grip, but to no avail.

“I found this boy intruding on our property, watching the rehearsal. He says he wants to join the Circus.”

“Oh? How fascinating!” Nikola’s voice was high and energetic, and the bright red lips drawn onto her face didn’t move when she spoke. “Come here, boy.”

The grip on Martin’s wrist loosened as abruptly as it had tightened, and Martin half-walked half-stumbled over to Nikola, shaking out his hand to try and reduce the ache lingering in his wrist from where he’d been held.

“Let me get a closer look...” Nikola’s hand shot out and cupped Martin’s chin, tilting his face so that it was staring up at hers, and her hand felt cold and plastic and lifeless and the feeling of it pressed against his chin made the hairs on Martin’s back stand up straight.

“Do you have any special talents, boy?”

“Um... not really, honestly, but-” Martin could feel his face growing hot. “But I’m a quick learner, and I can do a lot when I put my mind to it, so I’m sure I can help you out somehow!”

“Oh, that’s fine, I’m sure we can find a place for you somewhere.” Nikola withdrew her hand, though Martin still looked up at her, hoping to see some sign in her facial expression that’d give away whether she’d allow him to stay. (No such luck, unfortunately, as her face was utterly still, acting less like make-up over a regular face and more like paint atop a doll.) “I’m Nikola, by the way. I run the Circus these days.”

Martin considered saying that he’d already gathered as much, but decided to stay silent instead.

“And who might you be?”

“I’m...”

Martin hesitated, considering his options. If he just gave his real name out, would they report him to the authorities, send him back to his mother? Even if they didn’t, he was hoping to start a new life here, and did he really want that life to be tied to the same name as his old one? If he was going to reinvent himself, why not go all the way?

If he wasn’t Martin, though, who was he?

Martin’s mind wandered back to all the books he’d read over the years, remembered an old, beaten-up library book about mythology that he’d come back to time and time again, and settled on an answer.

“...Loki. I’m Loki.”

“Wonderful, wonderful! It is a pleasure to meet you, dear Loki!”

He’d realized that he was being tested, before, but hadn’t realized that being asked for his name was part of the test until looking around and seeing the broad smiles on the faces of all the circus performers.

When was the last time he’d seen a sea of smiles like that?

When was the last time he’d seen even a single smile like that, wide and genuine and mirthful?

“I think you’ll fit in just fine here, Loki. Welcome to the Circus!”

Nikola extended her hand, and he took it, and her hand was cold and inhuman but he was surrounded by smiling faces and unnatural beauty and if a cold handshake was the price he had to pay to fit in here, that was a price well worth paying.

Loki looked out at the crowd and gave a smile of his own, weak but passionate.

He’d found a place in the world, now, and he was never looking back.

#martin blackwood #tma #tma au #tma fic #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #the magnus archives au #the magnus archives fic #the magnus archives fanfic #personal #my writing

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chapitre7 · 5 years ago

Text

Falling Deeper in Longing For You

The Untamed [陈情令] | Mo Dao Zu Shi [魔道祖师] fanfiction

Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji/Wei Yīng | Wei Wuxian (Wangxian)

High School AU

Characterization is based on the drama

OST of choice is O3ohn’s Shine Your Star

Read on AO3

“Brother told me you’ve missed every class in the past week. Are you all right?”

A week goes by without an answer. It feels longer when multiplied by the number of times he looks at his phone, the songs that go by in his earphones without interruption, the minutes that he so consciously spends thinking about a Wei Ying that couldn’t show up on the street, waving at him with his bright smile.

Lan Wangji is half a world away now, all around him speaking a different language from his thoughts, all of his classes taking up his time but not all of his concentration. Every time he looks to his side, he expects to see him. He expects to hear him call his name and jump on his back during recess, and he can’t stop thinking about all the times Wei Ying invited him to go out with him after school; to eat a crepe, to watch a horror movie, to choose a present for his sister, out of any possible season, just because he wanted to. He wishes he had gone with Wei Ying. He wishes he had gone anywhere with him, not just for this punishment, not all this distance.

“It rains a lot here and it’s cold. You wouldn’t like it. Have you been sleeping well? Don’t think too much and have nightmares.”

His brother writes reports to him in long e-mails. When he calls, he never talks about anything but Wangji’s well-being, asking how he’s adjusting, tells him to call if he ever wants to talk. His brother knows he’s not a talker but the offer is always there, because he knows he has things to say, choking him up, growing like vines in his chest. He doesn’t say. He just soaks up all the information in his brother’s e-mails, all the details of what’s going on in the city where he no longer exists.

Wei Ying has gone back to Yunmeng. After everything, he didn’t stay. Xichen mentions that their uncle is calmer now, that this is a good sign for Wangji. He may not have to attend college overseas. Wangji can only think that uncle has to be satisfied now that the troublemaker is gone, that he can’t corrupt his family now, with his brazen attitude, his untamed aggression. Wangji loves his uncle but he also has hated him for as long as he has loved Wei Ying. Uncle doesn’t understand. He sees only the transgressions, someone who cannot adapt to rules that cannot be broken. Wangji sees the rules as guidelines, a moral compass that Wei Ying harmonizes with, like his dizi playing, rapid and wild but falling in rhythm with Wangji’s guqin, their eyes meeting over their instruments, speaking of the emotions at their fingertips.

Wangji doesn’t have his guqin in this seclusion. He misses it as much as Wei Ying’s laugh.

“How is Yunmeng? If you focus on your studies, you won’t have a hard time. Make sure to eat well. You must have missed Jiang Yanli’s cooking.”

Wei Ying has changed his number, is his first assumption. His second is that he has blocked him, now that he no longer has any connection or good memory from Gusu. Wangji hasn’t felt like crying over someone since his mother died; he thought he had lost the ability, as much as he had thought he wouldn’t love someone again. Everyone outside of his family gave him empty flattery and coveting looks; his uncle gave him expectations and a life plan. In the monochrome universe of his immediate acquaintances, only his brother was a burst of color, giving him open arms that he didn’t know how to embrace, and enough patience to allow Wangji to create his own space around him, in his own way, his own kind of trust in this unconditional love.

Wei Ying had been red. He had fallen on Wangji on the day they met, only a few days into the first semester of high school, as he jumped over the school wall Wangji was leaning against during the self-study second period. He was the red of pain, the red of warning, the red of the tassel accessory on his backpack. “It is forbidden to enter the school grounds at this hour,” was the first thing Wangji ever said to him, and Wei Ying had covered Wangji’s mouth with his hand, wide eyes pleading for his mercy. Wangji pulled the offending hand and walked away, deciding that he didn’t care enough to tell on him. When their eyes crossed during recess, Wei Ying had looked so grateful, smiling so widely, that Wangji had to look away. He felt so warm from a smile alone, as if Wei Ying was a small sun; Wangji would only understand that he had liked him from the start when it was too late to bask in his rays again.

“Are you keeping out of trouble?”

“The days here are too quiet.”

“I want to play with you again.”

Wei Ying is an urban legend now, his brother tells him. The Wens he had fought — had almost killed with his bare fists — are wary and quiet. All of the students in the building swear they’ve seen Wei Ying in one manner or another, wearing all black, the opposite color of the school uniform, sitting on a tree, arms draped through the gate bars, wicked smile, swearing revenge. Wangji knows it’s ridiculous, Wei Ying has too many things to worry about, has as many expectations to meet as Wangji’s own, and he’s in Yunmeng. But Wei Ying has friends, and a good friend in one Nie Huaisang who’s very good at spreading rumors, so he lets himself be amused at the thought. He lets himself feel avenged too, by this phantom Wei Ying, who defies Gusu’s uptight appropriateness.

That night, he dreams of a black-clad Wei Ying, who speaks with no voice and devours him with a smile. He wakes to the loud pounding of his heart and a physical longing he’d be embarrassed to feel if it hadn’t happened before. He touches himself with Wei Ying’s name on his lips, alone in his dorm room, alone in that place, alone in foreign gray walls and skies.

“Are you well? The year is almost over. Do you have a wish for the new year?”

“I wish to see you, even if you won’t talk to me.”

“I wish to see your smile.”

Time is constant and inconstant. The weeks feel like years, yet the year comes to an abrupt end. Wangji barely feels the cold, not as much as he feels the loneliness he didn’t think he could feel in this intensity. He had always liked being alone yet he can’t stand it now, the silence, brother’s voice gently nudging him for answers he’s too emotionally clumsy to give.

When uncle and brother visit on Christmas, Wangji stays awake in the dead of night with his head on his brother’s lap like he’s seven again, too lost to decide which of the many paths to take, when none of them seem to lead where he wants to go.

If he called him, would he answer? None of his messages was read. They sit in his outbox untouched, unnoticed. He exhales, unfocused eyes resting on the fireplace. His brother massages his scalp, runs his fingers through his hair, noticeably worried but saying nothing without prompt. Perhaps he thinks him still just a child, going through an elaborate tantrum. Perhaps he knows it all ought to pass; brother Xichen has always been better at feeling and understanding and letting go.

Wangji doesn’t want to let go. He’s missed so many things, a proper childhood, a mother’s safe embrace, how could he let go of this? The whole gravity of Wei Ying, his friendliness that attracts others, his jokes, his wit, and the tilt of his smile when they’re alone?

If he lets go of his first love, would it be the natural thing to do, the human thing to do? But isn’t that the theme of so many stories, the regret of losing one’s first love?

He doesn’t want to regret.

He doesn’t know what to do, either, with everything broken around him.

“Talk to me. Tell me anything.”

“If you call, I won’t answer, just leave me a message.”

“Wei Ying, I miss your voice.”

When he had held Wei Ying back that day, there was only a hateful fire in his eyes. If he hadn’t done that, what would have happened? He wouldn’t have been able to save Wei Ying from being expelled. Maybe, he wouldn’t have been able to save Wei Ying from an even worse fate, a doomed future with a criminal record. But could he have saved himself from being the object of Wei Ying’s hate?

Wangji has never wished ill upon anyone. It was against everything he has ever learned. But he fervently wished that the Wens had been properly dealt with before that day, so they wouldn’t have picked on quiet Wen Ning, so Wei Ying didn’t barge into them like a natural disaster, full body slamming against Wen Chao, throwing insults as easily as he threw fists, until Wen Chao opening his filthy mouth to talk about Wei Ying’s mother caused all rational thought to leave him. Wangji held him back, his own trained body barely able to control his friend — his only friend, the one he admired above all.

“It’s not worth it!” He had told him, and perhaps that was the worst of it, because Wei Ying, always red like a day in autumn, struggled like a feral dog, yelling insults at both Wen Chao and Wangji. When the school staff found them, Wen Chao was crying like he had been wronged, and Wei Ying was too out of control to explain himself. And even when Wangji told the principal — uncle — what had transpired, he was still adamant Wei Ying should be expelled.

No.

That feral, wide-eyed look was the last Wangji had seen of Wei Ying before he accepted to study overseas in exchange for Wei Ying to stay enrolled at the school. He never told him. Perhaps Wei Ying thought Wangji didn’t want to deal with him anymore. Perhaps Wei Ying didn’t actually want to deal with him anymore.

Not knowing consumed him. He sends messages like a lifeline, and Wei Ying keeps him drowning at the sea.

“Come back. Wei Ying, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Come back to me.”

The moon brings a new year. The chat window with Wei Ying is no longer a conversation, but a journal, a confession, his heart. He molds himself in the words, in the admissions that might never be spoken, but still make themselves known to him. What he wants, what he regrets. It’s a mirror where he finally recognizes himself, so he no longer has to burden his brother with the weight of his own shortcomings. He still aches with the riddle of how everything could have gone differently, with every thought of how Wei Ying might be living, away and without him. Was he living well? Were his foster parents treating him well? Was his sister showering him with the affection their brother Jiang Cheng was incapable of, and that Wangji hadn’t learned to show?

As soon as he’s done with his last year, as soon as his uncle allows him, he returns. He still has dreams, still has a heart to be broken.

At the Gusu airport, he inhales deeply, ready to take one of the many roads before him.

And along the way, he’s taking the detour that takes him back to Wei Ying.

If he’s to be rejected, he needs to know.

He needs to see him again.

“I love you. I love you.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, drawing out the nickname he made for him, leaning his upper body against the railing of the rooftop. It makes Wangji nervous and he knows, mischievous as always, but right then he’s contemplative as he rarely is. “Do you think my foster parents will ever be proud of me?”

Wangji looks down at the students below, eating their lunch out in the sun. Wei Ying is smarter than all of them, but he can’t sit still during a test so it never reflects on his grades.

“If you behave,” he says, making Wei Ying groan and lean his head against Wangji’s shoulder. Like with every physical contact — and there’s always so many with Wei Ying —, Wangji struggles to grasp the reigns of his emotions and self-control.

“You’re supposed to pep talk me!” Wei Ying whines, but he’s facing down, so he misses Wangji’s smile.

“The sports festival next week...”

“Hm? The one you always win in every category?”

“You can win.”

Wei Ying rises his head, and by the time he locks eyes with Wangji, the star student has already controlled his expressions and looks solemn again. Wei Ying raises an eyebrow.

“You’re gonna let me win?”

Wangji shakes his head, placating Wei Ying’s annoyance before it can surface.

“We can... practice together.”

There’s a special light in Wei Ying’s eyes that shines with understanding, every emotion of his always ready to burst at the slightest instigation. Wangji feels privileged when he gets to see it when they study together, when they find a particular piece of music that is perfect for their style, and even when he doesn’t quite understand why, when he’s pushing Wei Ying forward, bold enough to walk by his side.

“If I can work together with the great Lan Wangji, Gusu High’s Light-Bearer, then that gives me renewed confidence to try and beat him!”

“Don’t call me that.”

Wei Ying laughs, and it’s melodic and beautiful.

“Wei Ying.”

His brother had agreed to pick him up. Then they’re going over their plan to tell their uncle about how Wangji is going to study music, and not become a scholar, like his uncle expected of him. Because music brings him joy and he’s confident he can live off it, because if he can play, anywhere in the world, a song tjay he’s once played with Wei Ying, then he’s never going to feel like a stranger again, stranded. He can carry home on his back, the summer of his life, even if... If Wei Ying...

He shakes his head and picks up his phone, ready to message or call his brother when he opens the window to Wei Ying’s number out of habit and freezes.

All of the messages are checked and read.

“Do you think of me?”

“Lan Zhan.”

He’s enough tuned to the sound of Wei Ying’s voice to pick him easily in the crowd. Even if he can barely believe that he’s there, hands in the pockets of his pants. He’s still registering it all when Wei Ying starts moving, too fast, throwing himself at him and almost making Wangji drop his luggage before he catches him. Wei Ying’s arms squeeze around his middle and his ponytail tickles Wangji’s nose. It’s been so, so long, he knows they’re making a scene, that it’s summer and his hair is clinging to the sweating skin at the back of his neck, but he holds onto Wei Ying just the same.

“Why... Weren’t you at Yunmeng?”

“I met brother Xichen in Yunmeng. He was there for a conference or something, although not even sister had heard about it, but suddenly I met him outside the school gates and...”

Wei Ying loosens his hold on him so he can back away and look at his face. Wangji is confused to see he’s almost on the brink of tears, and Wangji is nothing but controlled panic, again at a loss. Everything about Wei Ying is new and unknown and he doesn’t know how to tread, but Wei Ying has read his messages and...

“Is it true?”

He blinks slowly, heart breaking as he raises a hand to wipe away a single tear that falls down from Wei Ying’s eye.

“You’re not mad at me? Disappointed? You really accepted to go overseas so I wouldn’t...”

He sniffs and Wangji cups his face with both of his hands then, feeling Wei Ying’s fingers tighten their hold against the back of his shirt.

“You should have stayed at Gusu High,” Wangji says, kind like his touch. “With your music skills, you’d probably get a scholarship at a good college. Your parents would be proud of you.”

Wei Ying makes a strangled noise and Wangji has the peace of mind to pull him away from where they stand in the middle of the airport to a corner with less eyes. He wishes they were having this conversation at their rooftop, Wei Ying talking over their lunch while Wangji listens, his heart thumping with every word of adoration he wants to tell him.

“I didn’t want to stay there after Wen Chao...” Wei Ying shakes his head, frowns for a moment, as if speaking the name soils the moment. “You weren’t there, so I didn’t even have a reason... I didn’t know, or I would’ve...”

Wei Ying bites his lower lip and his rambling, this sweet mess that is Wei Ying and that Wangji had missed so much, makes him smile.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Wei Ying looks up at him then, one of his hands moving to touch Wangji’s wrist, the hand that caresses Wei Ying’s wet cheek the way he’s wanted for so long. Wei Ying has read his messages so he knows and if he’s not running, if he’s not hiding, then he can... Maybe he can...

“Lan Zhan, you really...?” Wei Ying licks his lips and Wangji’s eyes are drawn to the motion, incapable of looking away. “I... I’ve liked you for so long—”

He doesn’t get to finish his thought as Wangji, still holding his face, pulls him at the same time as he leans in to kiss him. Their heights are not so different, and the movement is so fast their noses clash almost painfully, so at first it’s nothing but an awkward touch of lips. Then they adjust. They’re both quick learners so Wei Ying tilts his head to the side, one of Wangji’s hands falling from his cheek, down to his neck, lips opening and closing around the other’s, still pecking, still at the beginning. Their pulses feel like dams, waiting to explode, but it’s not the time or place, it’s just the airport, and Wangji has only just returned, there’s so much he wants to say now that he has found the words to say, and Wei Ying’s smile, with lips slight flushed like his cheeks, is every encouragement he needs. Wangji laughs, briefly, light-headed, and Wei Ying’s eyes have that light again, that Wangji is only learning he can cause to shine. I’ve liked you for so long, Wei Ying had said. Maybe Wangji has an idea how long. He wants to know all about it.

“I’m back,” Wei Ying says, and it’s hilarious in its incongruity, in how it’s exactly what Wangji wanted to hear.

He kisses Wei Ying’s forehead and then his temple, and smiles into his hair as they embrace, Wei Ying a sweet, rambling against his ear of “Lan Zhan, I like you so much, Lan Zhan, don’t leave, I’ll stay, I’ll be good, Lan Zhan, I love, love, love you.”

I did.

I do.

#The Untamed #Mo Dao Zu Shi #Wangxian #Lan Wangji #Wei Wuxian #fanfiction #Alternate Universe: High School

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introvert-dragon · 5 years ago

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Perhaps we could help each other

FF.net | AO3

Summary:

"I told you it might sound crazy—but I really need you to do this for me." Astrid now looked slightly embarrassed, crossing her arms, a bit of pout coming from her lips.

And by the gods, he was totally in love.

Funny how the sweetest memory would soon turn into the most bitter ones. A crazy request turned into an unexpected, witty friendship.

[Patient: Henry Haddock, journal entry 001, pre-extraction surgery]

Hanahaki AU, Fake-dating AU, College AU, and Hiccstrid feels—lots of feels. Rating may change.

Hanahaki Disease (lung flower disease)

A very rare illness born from unrequited love , where the patient's throat will fill up with flower, they will then proceed to throw, and cough up the petals, (sometimes even the flowers).

One of the only ways for the disease to 'disappear' is if, the said person returns the feeling (it can't be resolved with friendship, it has to be genuine feelings of love).

The infection can also be removed through surgery, though feelings and memories disappear along with the petals. If they choose nether options, or the feeling is not returned in time, then the patient's lungs will fill up with flowers, and will eventually suffocate .

Perhaps we could help each other

It all started with a crazy request turned into a witty friendship—and who would have thought—all this because of his "favorite cousin" Snotlout told Astrid he was a nerd and a loser knowing fully well of his "impossible crush" on her.

Look how well that turned out.

Well, perhaps it did work out in Snotlout's favor.

Funny how the sweetest memories of Astrid would all soon turn into the dust.

[Patient: Henry Haddock, memory journal 001, pre-extraction surgery]

Hiccup was just taking his time, packing his things as usual—as he always preferred to be the last person left behind in the club room—when the door slammed open and a blonde fireball appeared before him.

"You!"

Hiccup, despite being the only person left in the room, looked around, because there was definitely no way Astrid Hofferson was pointing at him—visiting him!

"Err, me?" Hiccup pointed at himself, confused. Why would Astrid Hofferson would be looking for him—all of this. What did he do? Was he going to die? Oh, gods no. He still had a lot of project left to do in this world it was too early!

"Who else? Relax, I'm not gonna kill you, kiddo," Astrid smirked, "not yet, at least."

"Kiddo? If I may let you now, I'm pretty sure where in the same year, so technically that makes you..." Astrid glared at him. "... shutting up now."

"Good. I need your help. What's your name again?" Astrid asked, sitting on top of the desk in front of him. Hiccup was almost tempted to stare at her legs... but he'd rather not have his eyes gouged.

"Hiccup! Er... I mean Henry! Definitely not Hiccup," Hiccup answered too quickly as he averted his gaze, feeling his cheeks burn.

"Hiccup it is," Astrid finalized, a bit of a smiling tease on her face. Hiccup never thought he'd live the day he'd see Astrid— and she noticed him staring and was now glaring at him.

"Ho-how can I help you then?" Hiccup asked, almost stuttering.

"I heard you are good at nerd stuff."

"Nerd stuff? Wow so specific. Care to elaborate?" Hiccup couldn't help snark back.

Astrid narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you always this... Ugh, you know what maybe I should kill you instead. You're lucky I need your help right now."

"Oh, lucky me indeed," Hiccup commented, sarcastic. "And what help exactly? And why me?"

"I heard from your cousin you're quite good at inventing stuff and technology—and begrudgingly, your cousin also admitted that you're very kind and has a good track record of helping strangers."

"My cousin?" Hiccup asked, intrigued.

"Snotlout," Astrid answered.

Hiccup immediately groaned at hearing the name. "That's new... Snotlout acknowledging me as his cousin. So what did he tell you about me?"

"He's not that bad, just a bit on the cocky side," Astrid shrugged. "Anyways, not much... just told me you're a nerd, but a really good one at that. So I figured maybe you could help me out."

"And what makes you think I'm gonna help you?"

"Oh, you will." Astrid declared, a confident smile on her face as she looked her right in the eye.

"Oh god... what did my cousin tell you?" Snotlout didn't tell her some of his embarrassing stories, did he? He did not dare. Not to Astrid Hofferson.

"Not much," Astrid said in a sing-song voice. "Just a few embarrassing stories just in case you needed some pushing. Like that one when you were twelve and—"

"Okay, fine! I heard enough," Hiccup panicked. "I'm helping! I'm cooperating! So what is it exactly do you need help with!"

To his surprise, Astrid only started laughing. Oh great. Humiliation. Love it.

"You must find this very amusing, huh?" Hiccup couldn't help the bitterness leak his voice.

Astrid stopped laughing. "Relax, was just playing with you. Your cousin didn't really tell me anything. Although, he did call you a nerd and a loser."

"Snotlout didn't? Then how did you—"

"Science Team, Debate Team, and many more. You know, you're not as invisible as you think you are. I've read some of your work, it's a bit cool if you ask me."

Hiccup blushed, not sure how to take all the compliment. "Erm... thanks?"

"No need to thank me, just calling as I see it," Astrid said, sitting straighter and looking at him in the eye. "So, will you help me or not. It's fine If you don't want, but I promise I'm gonna owe you a really big one if you help me."

Hiccup sighed, raising his hands in submission. "Fine, I'll help you... BUT first, let me what is it that you really need help with."

Promise or no promise, Hiccup couldn't really say no to her. Especially when secretly he might have been looking forward to something like this to happen all his life.

"Okay... this might sound crazy. But promise me, you won't say crazy, alright?"

"I promise." Hiccup raised on of his hands as if swearing an oath.

"Fine... so here goes. I need you to be my boyfriend—fake boyfriend, I mean!"

"What..." Hiccup didn't misheard her, did he?

"I told you it might sound crazy—but I really need you to do this for me." Astrid now looked slightly embarrassed, crossing her arms, a bit of pout coming from her lips.

And by the gods, he was totally in love.

"You're crazy..."

Hiccup accepted her offer.

Even if he knew how badly this could possibly end—given that he might had feelings for Astrid before she even knew he existed. But still, he couldn't believe that he'd actually date Astrid Hofferson. Fake-date, sure—but it was still a date, right? He'd take fake-dating with Astrid than never getting to date Astrid at all.

Hiccup had been pacing for the past fifteen minutes waiting for Astrid at the club room that his feet started to feel sore, and shaking as he sat down when he heard the door finally creak.

"Sorry, I'm a bit late. Had a bit of a delay on my way here."

His heart jumped at the sound of her voice "Oh, Hey Astrid, Hi Astrid!" Hiccup answered, trying not to show his anxiousness... and obviously failing at it.

Now, she was staring at him with a raised brow. Was she taking back her offer? Was she finally coming to her senses?

"You're weird. Well, weirder," Astrid shrugged,"anyways.. I got you this!" She handed her a bottle of iced coffee. "I figured you might feel tired or sleepy working."

"You didn't have to. Not at all."

"Told you we are dating. Of course I have to play the part of good girlfriend." Astrid took her place on top of his desk again, crossing her legs, giving him a good view. Hiccup tried so hard no to stare at creamy her legs leveled on his eyes right now.

"So why me again? If I remember correctly... My cousin just told you I'm a loser and a nerd."

"Well... you're not. Not a loser at least." Astrid placed a finger in her chin, looking thoughtful. "Nerd, though. Definitely. Talking fishbone maybe?"

"Thank you for summing that up."

"I'm just playing with you."

"So why do you even need a fake boyfriend in the first place?"

Astrid didn't immediately answer, her eyes regarding him, before shrugging then said, "I guess we're in halfway in college now... and the next thing we know is we're full adults. I don't want to miss out on things. I just want to try new things—you know?"

Hiccup felt like there was more to it, and Astrid wasn't telling him everything but decided not to press. "I guess, that makes sense... but why me though for your fake boyfriend?"

"Hey, you're not so bad yourself." Astrid leaned forward then began fixing his collar, loosening his tie, and styling his hair. "Look at the mirror now."

He did... he still looked like a fishbone, he just got a messier hair and clothes now.

"See, not so bad?"

"Are you sure we are seeing the same thing here? Because I'm totally not seeing any difference here. Only messier."

"Exactly! You were never bad looking in the first place. Just-" Astrid gestured all of him.

"You just gestured all of me," Hiccup grumbled.

"Presentation, Hiccup," Astrid said, rolling her eyes. She stepped forward, moving out of her spot on top of this desk. Then she grabbed him by his now loose tie, and pulled him for a kiss.

She tasted like coffee; but no amount of caffeine could had made him feel as alive as he felt when her lips moved slowly with his lips. Hiccup didn't even realize that Astrid was already sitting on his lap until she pulled away from the kiss, only to catch her breath—then she was wrapping her arms around his neck and said.

"By the way, the whole boyfriend thing comes with the benefits."

#my writing #hiccstrid #hiccup #astrid #httyd #httyd fanfic #hiccstrid fanfic

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ladymdc · 6 years ago

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Feathers & Fur

I wanted to just ramble into the void for a second because I never thought I’d finish this fic.

I posted about half of this work back in 2015 under the same title. However, I deleted it because I was insecure & easily discouraged. I'm not sure what spurred me to revive it, but I am glad I did.

Since then, I have met a lot of wonderful people in the fandom and have made some great, real friendships. Without these individuals ((you know who you are)), I wouldn't have finished this. I know it isn't perfect, but I love that I tried, and I love that I finished it.

I tossed the epilogue below the cut for anyone interested in some floof and I also commissioned a lovely piece of art from Kawereen to celebrate this smol victory. You can see it here.

Pairing: Cullen x Trevelyan (A Soulmates AU) Rating: Explicit Summary: A tear in the soul lets the Fade in.

Not wishing to harm His children, the Maker breathed life into the rend with the promise they could be whole once again, but the Fall from Grace removed that promise. A gift turned curse as the rend was freed from those who created Sin, allowed to also turn their back upon them. To harshen their punishment the broken soul, longing to be whole, continues to feel the call of its missing piece in dreams.

That Cullen was hers, within reach, was the Maker's cruel joke.

Something woke him, what exactly Cullen could not be sure. The dream had been formless, but it left him with a vague sense of dread and restlessness. Thankfully, dawn was not far off. The stars were fading as black turned to grey, and even though she had curled away from him at some point in the night, Evelyn was there.

Sleep was not so difficult for either one of them as it used to be. Cullen remembered a time when they both used to work until they couldn’t anymore. Back then, Evelyn used to fall asleep with her chestnut hair still elaborately braided, wake up, decide it didn’t look too bad and pick right back up where she had left off with Inquisition business. Now it was always loose, falling in soft waves that cascaded down her back.

Normalcy looked good on her.

Quietly, Cullen got out of bed and put on warm clothes. Even though spring had officially arrived, there had been a few light frosts the past week and one brief flurry of snow. He was spending time each day splitting wood by the shed next to the house for good measure. Probably would continue to do so throughout the summer so when winter came, they would have more than enough firewood.

Winters would be hard, but that was nothing new. They had been so at Skyhold too. It would be more than worth the quiet and solitude. Plus, he and Evelyn had each other; they would do what they had always done. Protect one another, keep each other warm, share their strengths.

Survive.

Before heading downstairs, there was a moment where he almost leaned down to place a kiss on her temple. Old habits died hard, especially when they were rooted in fear and uncertainty. The move had been taxing, on them both, but more so on Evelyn. She was still recovering from it, and she needed her rest, so instead of risking waking her, he added two logs to the fire. He would hate for her to get cold in his absence.

In the den, Cullen did the same, and Dante let out an appreciative grunt from his place on the rug. The hound seemed just as pleased with their new home as they were. The Battered Shield had been a home as Skyhold had been. Someplace to store their things and be together while Cullen did what he could to set things right.

After Corypheus had been defeated, his betrayal of Meredith and subsequent public departure from the Order finally became a point of contention. Cullen acknowledged he had taken oaths and that he had broken them, but he would not admit he had done wrong. The continual backlash had been disheartening, but the Inquisition and his family had stood by him, had helped him through the worst of it. And even though he was still ostracized by the Order, he held no regret. Cullen knew he was not the only one; he was merely a figurehead, an easy target for them to make an example of, just like Evelyn had been for the Exalted Council.

She had given the world everything, but it was never enough. They betrayed her in the end, just as Solas had, so when Evelyn disbanded the Inquisition in her bitterness, Cullen had only felt relief. If she had ever needed to put herself first, it was then. Without the Anchor, the incredible mana reserve she had grown accustomed to, Evelyn was left frail and weak.

The clinic had been a simple ‘what if’ Cullen had errantly considered when he learned just how many other Templars had chosen the same path. And when he and Evelyn were left standing there, alone and adrift, on the marble steps to the Winter Palace, he knew what he needed to do for himself as much as for Evelyn.

The Battered Shield had been good for her; allowed her to adjust and put the pieces of herself back together in some capacity. It had taken time, but eventually, she was ready to go home.

The two-story cottage was unpretentious, simple, and most importantly, theirs. They had built it from afar, and only Cullen had seen it before moving in because of Evelyn’s condition. He smiled to himself as he thought back to when she first laid eyes on the homestead, recalling peace and contentment that had filled her. There was still some unpacking to do. Nine or so crates lined the half-wall that separated the large open room that served as a den and dining area from the kitchen. They would get around to it; there was plenty of time.

Cullen washed his hands before making breakfast. They had some aged cheddar and leftover biscuits from the day before, so he decided to fry up some bacon. A little of everything went in Dante’s bowl along with a slice of salted beef, then Cullen made a sandwich for himself and one for his wife. He set hers on the table.

Standing in front of the large window that faced the lake in the kitchen, Cullen ate and watched color bleed back into the world as dawn broke. Light sparkled through the low fog creeping across the black waters. The trees standing sentinel became grey-green; the sky a motley of hues. Part of him wished Ev was awake to greet the day with him, but the other part was more than pleased she was still sleeping. He could get the morning chores taken care of, then spend time with her putting their belongings away.

Outdoors, wind sighed through the tree branches and ruffled his hair as Cullen walked to the stables. It smelled of winter. Perhaps another flurry was on its way. The horses were already awake, but Cullen refilled the water tank and set out the hay before letting them out of their stalls. His lean, umber stallion lipped his palm before making its way outside with the workhorses. A little farther down, Evelyn’s destrier, the large grey creature with eerie red eyes, snorted impatiently.

Once the door opened, its ears turned forward, but it didn’t exit. Cullen stroked the horse’s neck, thinking on how Evelyn never got to see her father before he passed. Josephine had felt personally responsible for it because she had requested the visit be postponed so Evelyn could travel and personally thank the Inquisition’s allies.

Immediately after it happened, the tour was canceled so she could at least go pay her respects at the gravesite in Ostwick. The only silver lining to the situation was her two surviving brothers had insisted upon making amends. They wrote often, and had supplied the workhorses and the wagons for their move; even refused their coin though the charge would not have stunted he and Evelyn financially in any way.

Eventually, Shadow exited his stall and headed down to the water’s edge. A moment later it raised its head and looked back toward the house. The only clouds in the sky rose from the chimney. Like him, the creature seemed to have a sixth sense about Evelyn. Cullen could always tell when she woke. His mind felt sharper; his perceptions more defined then they had ever been on lyrium. He felt awake.

If it were warmer, she would break her fast on the back porch. Let the landscape swallow her up. Breathe in the fresh air mixed in with the scents of earth and grass and flowers and wood like she had the first time he brought her there. Cullen had a sudden urge to go to her, to check on her, but he set it aside. It wouldn’t be much longer until he was finished.

After he was done cleaning out the stalls, Cullen set out the horses’ food and went to chop wood. The builders had left a monstrous pile of neatly stacked logs by the house ready for splitting. There was more than enough space in the shed for storage, so he planned to keep it full at all times in case he got injured or fell ill for any amount of time during the winter. But for now, Cullen decided to split just enough to replenish what they had used since yesterday.

The ax had just come down, splitting the wood with a crack, when he heard a faint crash from inside. His heart picked up speed, and his thoughts raced even as he knew she was fine.

Inside, Cullen set the ax down by the back door and found her standing where he had eaten earlier. Dante was at her side and if a mabari could look concerned, concerned he was indeed.

Evelyn stopped absently scratching Dante’s ear and waved her hand dismissively. “It was just a plate,” she said.

But it was more than that, and they both knew it.

“How was breakfast?” Cullen asked, washing his hands. He made note of the pitcher of water with some lemon and elfroot submersed in it out on the counter top.

“It was good, thank you.”

He smiled, taking a step back to pluck the hand towel off the countertop behind him and a chunk of plate crunched under his boot.

“I swear it went everywhere when I dropped it. There’s probably pieces upstairs somehow,” Evelyn said with a laugh. It was still a little watery despite her efforts. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t pick it up; I tried.”

“Like you said, it was just a plate, but you shouldn’t be walking around barefoot until it’s cleaned up,” he said, tossing the rag aside so he could cup her cheek and feel the ample swell of her stomach. The life growing inside her shifted and stretched at the contact. There was no stopping the grin that spread across the face nor the joy in his heart.

“It won’t be much longer now,” Evelyn said, finally smiling, bright and honest, as she placed her hand atop his. “Maybe tonight if we’re lucky.”

Cullen ran his fingertips along the thin chain around her neck, following it down to his coin. He held it between finger and thumb, feeling the familiar grooves. Mia and her family were staying out in the original cabin that now served as a small guest house while the rest of their friends and family that insisted on being around to help were staying at The Gallivanting Golem nearby in Honnleath.

“When it’s time, it’s time,” he said, leaning down to brush their mouths together.

What Cullen had went far beyond luck; it was everything he never expected from life or ever dared hope for. It was that something more he longed to be part of and it was perfect.

#cullen rutherford #cullen x trevelyan #evelyn isla trevelyan #my writing #mdcwrites #feathers & fur #I finished a thing #finally #never thought I would tbh #dragon age #dragon age fanfic #thanks to those of you who gave it a chance

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theboondogglepub · 6 years ago

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A Land of Gardens Black.Part 3

Part 3: The Middle and Grey Land

Ah, hello! I see you are ready, something quite fortuitous as this part will be heady. What do I mean? You ask with such haste, I mean that this section has quite zesty taste. For now is the part not quite short and a little too long, where the middle roads meet and the crowd is a throng. Now we arrive, or more travel I’ll say, to the Lands of Middle, and the unspoken Grey. Keep up, sally forth, and do not delay, I cannot guarantee you’ll know the way. Down through the crossroads where two armies still block, past the forked, spooned, and knifed road with the clock. Beyond there, beyond fields, we find the encampment of Locke.

“I cannot believe this thing!” He shouted, the multilayered, multicolored goggles flexing robotically to find fixation as Locke shouted and stared out through his many lenses. All eight eyes on his goggles seemed to flex their lenses and refocus on eight different targets in his workshop hanger. Eight giant maneuvering crane arms each the size of a 6 story building steadied around the encampment, their gears churning in loud clacks and creaks lifting various machines and tools of goldbergian nature and design to come to rest in Locke’s hanger workshop for him to work on. He huffed, and looked out at the encampment, and here is what he saw.

The whole of the encampment was easily large enough to fit 300 people with 30 large houses and bunks, and filled to capacity it was. Outside Locke’s hanger workshop the mud streets and metal buildings were filled with people of all shapes and sizes, handing over foodstuffs for coin and trading what meager goods they had. There were those of all races, the Catte (Miqo’te), Hyum (Hyur), Lol (Lalafell), Bunyn (Au Ra), Knief (Elezen), Banner (Roegadyn), and more. It was a poor settlement of people, but it was the only one free. This was The Valley of Spared Parts, more commonly known to most as The Middle, where Locke had begrudgingly accepted refugees from the Botanist Queen and Admiral of Catte’s war. It was a large settlement, and it was well hidden, kept that way by Locke’s crafty inventions that kept the whole Middle invisible from sight of both the Botanist Queen and Admiral of Cattes.

Locke flickered his ears, and pulled up his multitudinous goggles to reveal is glowing blue eyes. “I just can’t figure it out, why won’t it work?” The catte sighed, sitting down and popping the cap on a bottle of black beer. He drank slowly, bitterly and perplexed. “Where is that woman when I need her!?”

“You called?” Anhashy the mani-formed strolled in, today being a young catte woman with soft alabaster features and striking vermillion eyes. Everyone knew Anhashy for though he/she took on a new physical form every day and sometimes every few hours, they were always with vermillion eyes and soft alabaster skin. They always also showed up exactly when not asked for, a remarkable skill to have. “I believe you called for me, yes?” Anhashy the mani-formed strolled into Locke’s hanger and beheld what the catte worked on, idly amazed by it, and idly idle as she looked on at it. About to speak up about her deep and meaningful backstory, chock full of plight and dangerous criminals sure to attract attention, Anhashy was cut off as Locke blurted out.

“You? Nooooooo. No. The other one. Maeze!” Locke indeed blurted out. Stepping out from the shadows came Maeze, with her deck of cards constantly in hand.

“I saw you call for me,” she said, walking forward, a trail of shadows behind her. You said,” Maeze pulled a card from her deck, holding it up to her face and reading it. “You said ‘No. The other one. Maeze.’ I saw you doing that before you did, Locke.” Maeze spoke monotone, detached, cool and collected. Maeze was the manifold, for each day she drew a new card from her deck to divine her future, and each day she decided based on what that card said to be a different thing. Today? “So, are you relenting to let me cut and style your hair Locke?” Today Maeze was a aesthetician. She returned the card to her deck of magical future prediction cards, and prepared her comb and scissor with her free hand. “I have just the haircut picked out. A nice bob in the front, with a large afro in the back. I call it the bofro. It will be all the rage soon.”

Locke shook his head, “No I don’t want my hair cut. Where is the thingamajig? I know I left it in here in the hanger. I need it to connect to the scrabdoodle and the widget. Did you take it? Did Anhashy take it? What about one of the children from the village? This un-Boom won’t finish building itself. It needs my expert mechanical expertise to do. And I don’t have that much time left as is!” Locke looked at his wrist, a thermostat looking piece of glass rising and falling with a cool blue glow indicating some sort of amount of something left. Locke tapped the glass stick, the cool blue color decreasing ever so slightly. “I’m due for a refueling in just a few bells.” Yes, Locke required fuel.

“No,” Maeze shook her head.”Here let me see.” Flicking up a card from her deck, Maeze gently brushed Anhashy’s chalk white hair, debating on what cut to give the demure catte. “I have not seen your thingamajig today. Are you sure it was ever here? Are you sure any of us are ever here?” Maeze looked at the flicked up card. “Ah, yes. The card agrees, your thingamajig isn’t here Locke.”

“I know where it is,” Anhashy answered, her hair being braided as she spoke.

“I KNOW its not here Maeze. What I want to know is where the heck is it? I swear if one of those little brats from outside took her I am going to just-” Locke fumed and paced his hanger, throwing over boxes and baubles and metal containers and tools. He kicked his tool cart and threw his lunch pail. “Can you use your cards to see where its at? I really want to know where it is so I can finish the un-Boom and finally fix this whole place once and for all. Too much war, too much strife. Only thing to do is un-Boom it, then the Botanist Queen and the Admiral of Cattes will understand.

“I know where it is,” Anhashy answered again, her hair being pulled up into a top knot as she spoke.

“Let me look for you Locke,” Maeze pulled another card from her deck. “No, this is what I’m going to be tomorrow.” Maeze shook her head, pulling another card then. “No, this is tomorrow’s lunch.” Another card. “This is how long it takes to read one of my predictions. I’ll save that little one for later.” Another card. “This is where the heart of the world lays, and the mystery will be unfurled for all to understand… rather boring if a little weighty in ramifications.” Another final card. “And this card says… Anhashy knows where the thingamajig is.”

“Wait, Anhashy you know where my thingamajig is?!” Locke jumped up from his slump, his fuel running about half now.

“Yes,” Anhashy said plainly, her hair in a honeycomb weave above her head.

“Well shite, why didn’t yah say so?!” Locke clamored, and then they gathered, and then following Anhashy’s trail, they set out from the hanger into the Valley of Spared Parts, otherwise known as the Middle.

As they traveled across the Middle, one would spy the ever present guardian of the land, Kayne the Pure. Why? You may ask, was he called Kayne the Pure? For one pure reason, he demanded to be the tallest, which was the purest of all desires. He was a bunyn, a very special bunyn, able to leap a near malm with but a single bound, but only if he landed atop the highest perch around. Perched as he was, matter of fact, atop the highest mountain ridge, Kayne the pure looked out across Locke’s encampment, and gave a thumbs up. Everything was clear. Locke returned the gesture, then nodded to Maeze. “Weird f**ker,” Locke said. “But he keeps us safe.” As Locke, Maeze and Anhashy left the encampment, Kayne returned to his secret tryst high above view. A tiny bunyn, the Bunyn Knight in fact, falling into Kayne’s arms. It was romantic, it was sweet, it was... for another day, another tale. For now, we continue out of the encampment.

Beyond the Valley of Spared Parts, Naih the Odd stood guard perched atop her clock. “Do you seek to leave?” She said in a particularly amoral way. “The time is exactly four plus six divided by the participle of the non-existent quadrilateral angled right trapezoid on its leftmost side. Should you seek to return, do so between the bells of nine over zero multiplied by X, where X is the color fuchsia, and seven. Do we have an accord?” Naih asked, again still perched on her elaborate timed clock. She wore robes, plain and simple, and spoke words plain and simple, and it was the riddle of her clock magic that by and large kept Locke and his allies hidden from both factions that would see everything destroyed or put under thumb.

Maeze took the initiative now, replying “We do timekeeper. Please, keep the door ready for whence we return.” Maeze had, in the time of leaving the encampment and meeting Naih the Odd, styled Locke to have a nice bob hairstyle.

On they went. Further and further away from the Middle to the Grey, a place ill-spoken of but for its constant mystery. Anhashy spoke up as they approached it. “I would not seek to go further were it not for the fact that I know who took the thingamajig. She is here, we must simply not call out for her, and she will come.”

Stepping into the Grey’s threshold, they met Aries the small. There wasn’t much to say of Aries save for the price she demanded. “PRESENT YOURSELF,” Aries cried out, and Locke obeyed. In order to cross the barrier of the Grey, one must present themselves. And so, *WHAM* Aries waddled up to Locke, aimed her fist, and crushed his warriors of light, leaving him a wheezing mess on the ground. Price paid, Lock and his two companions proceeded.

A vast expanse of crashed sailing ships, moonlit waters (no matter what time it was in fact) and broken trees, grave markers and battered and rusted weapons, the trio stepped quietly through sand and shallow pools. It was all too quiet, as if the prevalent sound of the Grey itself was silence, and it blocked out all other sounds. As they walked further in, a separate trio of men sat by a firepit, spinning some meat on sticks and laughing to one another. Locke whispered to Anhashy. “Are these the ones who took my thingamajig?” He asked, quizzically so.

“No,” Said someone else not Anhashy. Hanging high above them on a branch a nude figure in stripes of non existence laid spread out, delicate fingers strumming along the wood with a racka-tack-tack. The figure was half there, half not. Parts of her, the most intimate parts, were simply not there, and space was clearly visible between each layer in stripes. Her skin was a mix of tan and white tattoos that trailed her body, and her feet swung back and forth. Her sharp feline eyes stared down, though she was not a catte nor had catte features. “I did.” She said playfully. The Cheshire Katalin.

“Why in the hell did you take my thingamajig?” asked Locke, a bit distracted by the Cheshire Katalin’s form and movements. He knew he did a bad, for asking any question of the Cheshire Katalin, as all knew, drew either the right thing for her to say or the wrong thing, and which was true was never quite known. Insulting, genuine, insightful, infuriating, her words were as mysterious as her existence and lack thereof existence. Her body dissipated, slinking down the tree with acrobatic grace and coming to rest at the trunk roots. The stripes of her body that were missing now were slightly different, but still hiding her most intimate areas.

“Because,” She snickered. “I wanted to move things along. Besides, you’re f**king stupid.” Katalin held out her left hand, and then produced from her right hand the thingamajig. It amounted to an ‘L’ key. “Here, take it, though I don’t see what you’re going to do with it.”

Locke knew this was a trap, but it was also the only way to get correct information from the Cheshire Katalin. He played into it. “I plan on making an un-Boom to fix the land of Gardens Black.” He had laid the bait, and the Cheshire Katalin indulged. Asking her questions was beyond foolish, for you never knew what reply one would get. Making statements however, always prompted the Cheshire Katalin to respond… in excess.

“Ah, I wouldn’t do that,” The Cheshire Katalin replied, unprompted and on queue. “In fact, if you do that there may be horrible repercussions for everyone here in the land of Gardens Black. You could destroy any chance at peace, obliterate any hope of mediation. You’re far better off simply waiting to see what happens I would even say, because trying to fix things yourself and be everything by yourself to solve a problem never turns out the way you think it does.” Locke took a moment to reflect on that, and then opened his mouth to speak. “Additionally,” Katalin said, “Were I in your shoes, I would think the proper solution is to keep everyone safe as you’re already doing, and perhaps make some sort of beneficial technology outside of yet another bomb. Maybe a pair of sunglasses that help you climb stairs more efficiently.”

Locke opened his mouth then to speak, assuming Katalin done.

“Of course,” The Cheshire Katalin said, adding on. “If you bring your weapons to bare against either the Botanist Queen or the Admiral of Cattes, it would prove to cement one side in your favor, and the other against you.”

Locke waited then. Several moments stretching out into a minute. Satisfied she was finished delivering foresight truths, he began to speak. “I can-”

“You can simply not predict what your machine will do once finished, that is the truth of it all.” Katalin added finally, floating majestically through the air like a playful half-corporeal feline hybrid hyum does.

Finally, Locke nodded. “I’m going to do it anyway. What could it hu--” About to ask the Cheshire Katalin a rhetorical question, something no one must ever do, Anhashy stepped forward and shooshed his companion. Speaking of, Anhashy the mani-formed was now a large Bunyn man by the way, replete with vermillion red eyes and chalk white hair… just so you know.

“We’ll be going now. Thank you for returning the thingamajig.” Ahhashy said, towering over Locke and Maeze in height. The Cheshire Katalin nodded in reply, slipping away again into the mists of the Grey.

Stepping back out from the Grey, Locke paid the price again to Aries the Small, and spoke a little higher octave as he and his companions left to return past the forked, spooned, and knife roads to the Middle. Once they would get past Naih and her bizarre clock logic magick, they would be safe once again.

My tale is done, at least for the now, for this chapter ends not with a why but a how. How will it continue? How will it end? Where will the story reach its next bend? Is this all the cast? Is there more to be shown? Would I regale you more even whilst you moan? You seem tired as am I, so we’ll leave here to simmer, though if you’re good I may divulge little bits to glimmer. Small tales here and there as the world gets fleshed out, no need to worry, you’ve no need to pout. The Gardens Black will return strong and quite soon, just as soon as the echo falls under the Moon.

@katalinhunter

#ffxiv rp #short story #Black Garden FC #Mateus

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taesbetch · 7 years ago

Text

To Own A Hybrid P14

P1Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut Hybrid!au

Summary: The hybrid world was one y/n never really involved herself in; however, after certain events, she is tossed into a world of uncertainty in the company of a particularly rude hybrid.

Word Count: 3k +

A/N: THIS IS THE LAST CHAPTER ILL SAVE ALL THE SAPPY SHIT TILL AFTER BUT I HOPE YALL ENJOY :)

P1 - P13

3 months later

“Jungkook I swear to god if you ate all the popcorn!” you shout as you run your way back to the lounge from the toilet.

the past three months have been based on healing mostly. Coming to terms with what had taken place and how suddenly your life was back to normal was hard to process.

Namjoon had been nursed back to health and reunited with his hybrids and all in the world seemed…peaceful.

“don’t worry, I left you some” he smiled cheekily as you approached the couch only to see to small pieces of popcorn left in the bowl.

“bitch” you whispered as you climbed into your position, ignoring Jungkook’s laugh as you snuggled in between his legs. Jungkook draped his arm around your waist as you lay back onto his chest.

No matter what the cause of it. Jungkook’s laugh will always be your favourite thing in the world. Jungkook let out a sigh of content as your attention was pulled back to the T.V. it wasn’t long till Jungkook was adjusting your position, so he could see your face better. He turned you to your side and spooned you as you kept your gaze on the screen.

Feeling Jungkook’s eyes burn into the side of your face you glanced upwards giving him a questioning look.

“what?” he asked in a soft whisper as his eyes travelled around your face, admiring every inch of it.

“I love you” you giggled as he brushed a piece of hair out of your face.

“I love you too” he replied as he brought his lips to yours. Soft kisses turned deeper as you slowly pushed your body on top of his.

With entangled legs and a racing heart your hand found its way into his hair, softly massaging his hybrid ears earning you soft purrs through passionate kisses.

His hand rode up your thigh as his grip on your body got tighter.

“Jungkook” you moaned as his hand grabbed your ass firmly. You felt your stomach flip with joy as his other hand slid under your shirt, slowly creeping it way up your back.

As you let out another moan all motion from Jungkook stopped

Pushing you off him you watched in shock as his demeanour changed completely.

“sorry, I-I-I’ll be back” he said shyly as he moved himself off the couch. You two stared at each other for a brief second before he ran to his room in panic.

Now alone, you gaped at nothing. This has happened before. Anytime you and Jungkook would start getting close like this he would push you away almost immediately.

The next day you walked into your office with nothing but questions circling through your head. Were you moving too fast for Jungkook? Did he not want to? Maybe he’s traumatized because of his past?

Your head was starting to hurt. The last thing you wanted to do was pressure him into sex, it just seemed like he wanted it as much as you did. But maybe he didn’t.

“Jungkook’s been acting really weird” you said as Namjoon pulled a chair up to your table.

“weird? What do you mean?” he asked as he sat down.

You bit your lip nervously, not knowing if you should have this conversation with Namjoon. The two of you had talked about practically everything. But each other’s sex lives have never really been a topic of choice.

“well…so…were…. umm were like dating and stuff and ya know…like sometimes we start doing stuff that couples do, but then like it doesn’t happen?” you explained awkwardly, not even really explaining your situation.

Namjoon gave you a knowing look as he sat back into his chair.

“I think I know what you’re talking about. There could be some reasons why, I’m thinking either his past or his heat cycle is starting, and he’s scared” Namjoon stated as his hand found its why to his chin in his original thinking face.

“okay…elaborate, what’s a heat?” you asked curiously.

“well a heat is kind of like mate time for hybrids. Its like their body is telling them they need to reproduce” he explained as he moved his chair closer. “there’s a whole list of things hybrids do when their heat is kicking in. sensitivity in sense and smells on a partner, sexual tension etc” he added.

“what about the first one you said? You think it might have something to do with his past?” you asked curiously as you furrowed your brows.

“well Jungkook’s been involved with prostitution rings. It wouldn’t surprise me if he associated sex with bad people and bad experiences. Maybe because you're different he doesn’t know how to approach the situation. He truly cares about you, he’s probably just scared and confused.” Namjoon explained.

“what if it's both?” you asked curiously as Namjoon relaxed back into his chair.

“it could very well be both…poor thing must be distraught” he stated.

You sighed deeply as you placed your hands on your head. Oh Jungkook…

“thanks, Namjoon” you said gratefully as he started standing due to the new boss patrolling the area.

---

Work was more physically demanding than usual. Run here. Run there. Running everywhere it was great.

As soon as you entered through the door the last thing you expected was Jungkook pinching his nose and walking away from you. You were sweating a whole lot more than usual but it you couldn’t have smelled that bad.

You literally repelled him.

“sorry, ill go take a shower” you said sheepishly as you took a couple steps away from him in order to avoid irritating his nostrils any further.

“no! no its not like that!” he shouted, putting his arms up in defensive.

“you don’t smell bad, I just, its…. it’s just that your scent…its doing stuff to me” he explained as a soft blush appeared on his cheeks.

“its doing something to you?” you asked as you stepped closer, only to realise your mistake and step backwards quickly “sorry” you whispered.

Jungkook took a deep breath in before groaning and whirling around to face the wall.

“I’m sorry, I just…I don’t know” he sighed in defeat.

“Jungkook its okay…I-if you need me to go somewhere else, maybe for a- “you started nervously but were immediately cut off by a worried Jungkook.

“don’t leave! I’m alright I swear, I just don’t feel 100% ya know? But I’m okay” he blurted as he raced up to you trying to prove is point.

You stared at him questioningly but didn’t question it.

“will the games centre make you feel better? There’s a firework show on tonight” you said excitedly. Maybe he just needed some fresh air, as of late he’s just been balled up at home.

“did you say the games centre?” he asked with a wide smile, the childlike sparkle returning to his eyes.

---

You thought he would be way more excited to be here than he was.

But he just seemed stressed.

“Jungkook?” you asked as the two of you were about to enter the clown tent.

He hummed as he avoids all eye contact with you. he was clearly not enjoying anything, so you figured the two of you might as well just head home.

“hey” you said as you massaged his ears.

His eyes went wide as his body tensed from the physical contact. A brief groan escaped his lips as shook his head trying to rid himself of whatever was making him react like this. Before you ask if he was okay Jungkook quickly pulled you behind a circus tent.

Without a word Jungkook pulled you into his arms and deep inhaled.

“Jungkook are you okay?” you asked as you ran your hand through his hair. Something was clearly bothering him and due to your conversation with Namjoon you had an idea about what it was. Pulling away so that you were far enough to see his face but close enough for Jungkook’s liking.

“y/n” he called out as he squinted his eyes shut. His body seemed hesitant to breath in the air around him but by the way he was clasping your shirt you knew he wasn’t moving anytime soon.

“what do you need me to do?” you asked cautiously as he took a deep breath, something in the air driving his senses into overload. His eyes were wide, and his ears stood upright

“I need you. y/n I need you now” he growled as his hands clenched into fists.

“oh god, right now?” you asked in shock as you looked around, aware of the fact that the two of you were in public. You bit your lip nervously as you looked down at his painful looking erection.

“we have to get you home” you said in haste as you started pulling kookie out from behind the tent.

The two of you ran to the car, sweat already dripping from his face as the pain seemed to worsen with every second. Panic flowed through you as he let out a strangled sound of pain.

“y/n- d-drive” he stuttered weakly.

You quickly put the car into ignition and hoped for no traffic. Jungkook’s whines and cries were getting louder and louder and you had no idea how to help him.

“Jungkook I-I don’t know what to do, tell me how to help” you said as you switched focus between Jungkook and the road. As you pulled up to a red light Jungkook flung his seatbelt off his body before undoing the belt to his pants.

“t-touch me” he croaked weakly as he reached for your hand.

Shocked at his statement you looked down towards his exposed shaft. Gasping you uncertainly placed your hand on top of his member, the action being rewarded with a loud grunt from Jungkook.

As you grazed your hand down to his base the tease made Jungkook whimper and cry for more.

“Jungkook, it sounds like I’m hurting you” you stated worriedly as held him tighter getting ready to move but making sure it was okay with him first.

“you’re not! You’re not! Just please, move your hand!” he exclaimed as he winced and squirmed.

With a hum you began slowly, making sure the pressure you applied wasn’t to hard but enough for him not to be overwhelmed. He was way bigger than anyone you had ever been with, but this was still the first time you were doing something like this with Jungkook and with his current state it was best to take it slow.

Pumping your hand up and down his shaft you tried not to let the sultry sounds coming from Jungkook’s mouth distract you as you eventually picked up your pace.

Biting your lip, you let your body react to the way Jungkook felt in your hand, not being able to control the swirling in your stomach and the small pool formulating in your pants.

“fuck! I can smell you” he cried out as he breathed in your scent. The car was small and the smell of you was almost suffocating as it grew stronger with every noise Jungkook made.

“y-y/n I’m close” he muttered as his head flung back in pleasure. His grunts grew louder as fastened your pace. Determined to not crash the car you kept your eyes forward, however, all your energy was directed towards Jungkook.

“we’re almost there” you stated as you turned into your street.

“fuck!” Jungkook shouted as you stopped at a red light. “y/n” he groaned as he gripped the car door and closed his eyes.

Replacing your hand with your mouth Jungkook finally released letting out a sigh of relief as he entangled his hand into your hair.

Swallowing just in time for the red light to go green, you glanced over to Jungkook. Sweat covered his body as his face relaxed from its previous strained form. His clothes were disheveled, and his eyes were hazy.

“does that feel better?” you asked as you guys pulled into the complex parking garage.

Jungkook nodded weakly as you both took a minute to catch your breath. You knew he would need more than what he got but you didn’t know how long it would take until he needed more.

With a nod, you and Jungkook exited the car and started moving towards the elevator. Jungkook softly encased your hand in his as you called the lift.

“Jungkook are you going through heat?” you asked as you ruffled his hair a little bit. Biting his lip Jungkook closed his eyes as he nodded. Moving his head towards you your suspicions rose.

“Jungkook?” you asked as you entered the elevator.

Before the doors closed Jungkook placed both hands on either side of you, cornering you to a wall.

Attacking your lips Jungkook gave you no warning. Before you could register what was happening Jungkook’s arms had lifted your legs around his waist, pushing himself into you to get some friction.

Using the wall to hold you his hands ran up your body just as quickly as his lips attached to your neck.

“I’m sorry” he whispered as he continued to suck at your skin. You tried to hold back the soft whimpers escaping your mouth to form a sentence, but you could do no such thing.

“I didn’t w-want to d-do it like t-this” he said whilst grinding himself between your legs. Biting your lip, you tried to focus on what he was saying but the rushing pleasure to your core was almost too much to handle.

As the elevator doors opened Jungkook carried you quickly through the door of your apartment without disconnecting your lips.

Laying you down on the bed Jungkook’s hands did nothing else but roam all areas of your body.

“Jungkook t-take off” you breathed out as you tugged at his clothing desperately. I’m a flash Jungkook’s clothes had been thrown to the ground except for his underwear that displayed his painful boner.

“fuck, I need you” he groaned as he ripped off your clothing piece by piece. As he unclipped your bra his mouth travelled down your body almost as if it didn’t know where to mark first.

He just wanted all of you and by the way his lips captured your skin, you could tell.

“you’re so wet” he groaned as his palm ran over your soaked underwear. Whimpering you tried to push yourself harder into Jungkook’s hand, hungry for his touch.

Jungkook dipped his hand behind the cloth of your underwear, not wasting a second. You gasped as he slipped a finger between your folds quickly pulling it out to shove it in his mouth.

That one little sample of what you tasted like sent Jungkook into a frenzy. You were like a drug and he needed more of you.

With a grunt Jungkook pulled down your underwear leaving you completely exposed to his predator like eyes. Taking a moment to appreciate you Jungkook’s eyes trailed your body.

Suddenly becoming self-conscious you tried to cover yourself up with your arms, only to have Jungkook pry them away from your body with a growl.

“you’re beautiful” he whispered as he placed a kiss on your forehead.

“you’re everything I could ever want and so much more” he added as his lowered himself, taking one more sniff of you before plunging his lips into your core.

You screamed out as his lips attached themselves to your clit. Grunts from both of you filled the room, its as if he couldn’t stop from swooping up every drop of arousal.

His grip on your hip tightened as your moans picked up. It didn’t take you long to reach your edge as his tongue had been going hard since he started. “j-Jungkook, j-j-Jungkook stop, I don’t wanna cum yet” you stuttered as you tried to push his head away from your core only to have him growl and pull you back into him.

“Jungkook, p-please I need y-you inside me” you panted as your body shook, ready to release yourself.

Jungkook finally pulled away from you, his mind finally brought back to his dick trying to break free of his underwear.

Pulling down his pants Jungkook watched you attentively as he lined himself up.

“are you sure?” he asked you nervously, his eyes still full of lust and need but the pink blush on his cheek revealed he was nervous.

“of course, I am” you said confidently.

Without missing a beat Jungkook slowly slide himself in you.

Feeling the way, he stretched you out a loud moan escaped your body as your arms flew to his back for assurance. As Jungkook started moving his lips reattached them to your neck.

Low grunts filled your ear as your body rocked back and forth due to the force Jungkook was using as his slow rocks turned into passionate slams.

Whimpering, you started clenching around him as your end was coming but you could tell by his constant pace that he was no where near done.

“Jungkook I’m cuming” you moaned as your body felt light, the tension in core still building as you neared release.

“cum for me baby” he growled causing instant reaction as your body gave out to Jungkook command. Moaning Jungkook’s name he helped you ride out your orgasm not stopping in a search for his own.

Your nails dug into his back as the orgasm he gave you wiped you out, yet your body was already working towards another one.

“Jungkook, fuck” you breathed as your head started spinning.

“I’m getting close” he said as he picked up his pace, not loosing any power with each thrust.

“me too” you moaned as the similar feeling of your body shaking came back to say hello again.

Jungkook’s thrusts got sloppier as he grunts increased. It was as if your body was waiting for Jungkook, wanting to sync in releases.

With a couple more groans the two of you released together sending whimpers and sighs of relief into the air.

As Jungkook pulled out and laid next to you the two of you panted, trying to catch your breath. Your eyes were slowly closing as Jungkook entangled his hand with yours.

“do you think we’ll make it back in time to see the fireworks?”

---

Running towards the crowd you and Jungkook had just made it in time for the count down.

Jungkook’s arms wrapped around your torso as the two of you stared up at the sky awaiting the explosions of light.

“3”

“2”

“1”

The crowd cheered as a variety of colour entered the sky, the bright lights reflecting in everyone’s eyes as they looked up in awe.

“hey” Jungkook shouted as he looked over at you. His smile was ear to ear as he leaned in closer so you could hear him.

“marry me!” he yelled, however, the screams from people surrounding you wouldn’t let you hear him.

“what!” you shouted back in confusion as you shuffled closer to him.

Instead of repeating himself, Jungkook just smiled at you with all the love he could muster. Giving you a small kiss before turning back to face the fireworks he waved you off as you asked him again what it was he had said.

“another day!” he shouted as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you closer to him.

Shrugging it off you turned your attention back to the bright fireworks, excited for what life has in plan for the two of you and what would come next in the story of Jungkook and y/n.

A/n:

wow mkay so its finally over....like i dont even know where to begin with this goodbye note because this whole experience has been crazy. Thank you so much to everyone who supported and liked this fic. i really didnt think anyone would read this when i first started writing this and like fuck, yall really gave me life with your comments and your asks and just thank you! like from the bottom of my lil heart, thank you and i love you sah freckin much xx <3

- awkward nugget

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